The chamber smells of ozone and fresh blood. Cold steel presses Vael's back. Straps bite into his wrists. Metal clamps his head. He tastes bile. He sees the ceiling, sterile white. The air hums with unseen power.
A figure stands over him. Dr. Elena Voss. Her burn-scarred face is smooth. No warmth in her eyes. She wears a clean lab coat. White gloves snap tight. She holds a long, thick needle. It gleams under the harsh lights. Its tip is a dark, bio-organic mass.
"Subject Rask," her voice is flat. "Initial phase complete. Prepare for pierce-lock integration."
Vael's breath hitches. A low moan ripples from a nearby bay. Another trainee, strapped down, convulses. His face is purple. Veins bulge. Vael watches him. The trainee's body arches. A piercing shriek tears the air. The sound feels raw. It scrapes Vael's teeth.
"Systems failing. Bi-lateral rejection." A technician's voice, calm, clinical.
The screaming trainee thrashes. His restraints strain. His head slams back. The sound is wet. The neck twists at an unnatural angle. A bone cracks. Snap. His body goes limp. Blood seeps from his nose. His eyes stare at the ceiling. They are wide, unseeing.
Vael's stomach clenches. He smells iron. He tastes copper. His heart pounds in his ears. It drums like a trapped bird. Eight pilots died already. This one makes nine. A bad omen.
"Next unit in line. Initiate pierce-lock." Dr. Voss's voice. No pause. No hesitation. Her eyes shift to Vael. She takes a step closer. The needle drops. Its tip hovers above his neck.
Vael tries to pull back. The straps hold him. The metal bites deeper. He strains against it. Muscles burn. No give. He feels the cold air on his skin. He feels the needle's shadow.
"Ready the bio-needle. Calibrate spinal access." A voice barks from the control booth. An instructor. Vael feels the vibration in the table. The needle descends.
His skin crawls. He tries to scream. No sound comes out. His throat is dry. He sees the needle. It is thick. Black. Its tip is sharp. It gleams.
It touches his skin. Cold. Then a searing burn. Fire spreads. He arches his back. His teeth clench. The pain is absolute. It is a blade. It tears. It grinds. It pushes.
The needle penetrates. A dull thud echoes in his skull. Bone grates. He feels it. A spike. It drills through his flesh. It forces its way between his vertebrae. He gasps. Air rasps in his lungs. His body convulses. Involuntary. He cannot stop it.
"Spinal access confirmed. Initiating neural crown activation." The instructor's voice crackles over an intercom.
Vael's vision blurs. White spots dance. He feels the needle. Deeper. It grinds against his spine. A jolt. His muscles lock. His jaw aches. He feels the needle vibrate. A tiny drill. It burrows.
Pain explodes. It is a wave. It washes over him. It drowns him. He wants to escape. He wants to disappear. His mind scrambles. He thinks of a name. Vael Rask. He repeats it. A mantra. A shield. Vael Rask. Vael Rask. He clings to it.
Another scream tears through the room. Close. Too close. Vael's eyes snap open. He sees him. The trainee in the bay next to him. His body writhes. Blue fluid erupts from his suit's seams. His face is a rictus of agony. His screams are wet. Gurgling.
"Rejection detected. Suit failing to integrate. Pilot suffering catastrophic bio-feedback." A technician shouts. Urgent.
The trainee's limbs flail. Uncontrolled. His head bashes against the steel restraints. Again. Again. Wet sounds. Thick blood splatters the sterile wall. His eyes roll back. They glow with a faint, red light. Then they burst. Two wet pops. Black fluid runs down his face.
Vael's breath catches. He tries to gag. Nothing comes up. His throat is clamped. He feels the needle in his own spine. It pulses. It vibrates. A dull thrumming sensation blossoms at the base of his skull. Alien. Cold.
The trainee's body stills. Lifeless. His dead eyes, now empty sockets, stare up. Black liquid drips onto the floor. Vael hears it. A slow, steady patter.
"Another failure. Unit ten. Proceeding." Dr. Voss's voice is sharp. Unfeeling. Her gaze is on the dead pilot. She makes a small note on a pad. Vael sees the burned skin on her cheek. A faint web of scars near her eye.
The needle in his spine quivers. It feels alive. It pushes further. A fresh wave of fire. It floods his nervous system. His vision distorts. Static. White noise fills his eyes. He blinks. It persists. A glitch in his sight.
He tries to move his fingers. They twitch. Not his command. The suit? It flexes. Unbidden. A jolt of overwhelming data floods his mind. Numbers. Symbols. Flashing too fast. A headache blooms behind his eyes. It pounds.
"Basic Gravemind neural crown activation complete. Initial connection established." The instructor's voice. No pride. Just confirmation.
Vael's body trembles. A phantom limb sensation. Not his arm. A heavy, armored limb. He feels it. A subtle pulse in his own veins. It is alien. It is wrong.
Another scream. A woman this time. Higher pitched. More desperate. She begs. "No. Please. Stop." Vael sees her. Her face is pale. Sweat plasters her hair to her forehead. Her suit is already bleeding. Thin streams of black fluid. It seeps from every joint.
"Pilot thirteen. Acute rejection. Containment failure imminent." A new voice. Calm. Too calm.
The woman's screams intensify. Her body begins to twist. Like a wet rag. Her bones shift. Loud pops. Snap. Crunch. Her spine curves unnaturally. Her head lolls back. Her mouth is open. A silent scream. Her eyes, wide. They stare at Vael. Pure terror. Pure agony.
He sees her ribs. They begin to push out. Like sharp blades. They tear through her flesh. Blood sprays. Red on the white wall. A fine mist. She convulses. Once. Twice. Then a final, shuddering gasp. Her body shudders. Limp. Dead.
Vael's throat is dry. His tongue feels thick. Three dead. He clutches the name in his mind. Vael Rask. A lifeline. He will not break.
The needle in his spine withdraws slightly. Then it pushes again. Deeper. He feels it latch. A click. A lock. Spinal pierce-lock. His breath hitches. He tastes blood. His own. He bit his tongue.
His suit responds. A faint hum. It vibrates against his skin. It feels like a second skin. Alive. Yet alien. His own skin feels stretched. Too tight.
Visual input flickers. Static. A distorted overlay. He sees a twisted, flesh-covered landscape. A nightmare image. It flashes. Then it is gone. A quick, dry thought crosses his mind. This is just a bad batch of recruits.
His ears ring. Sounds are muffled. The technicians' voices are distant. Like speaking through water. He tries to focus. He hears fragments. "...critical... system pressure... Rask..."
He hears another pilot shriek. Loud. Close. They are still dying. He feels his body spasm. His muscles clench. Uncontrolled. The suit. It is trying to take him. He fights it. He pushes back.
"Pilot Rask. Maintain composure. Stable bio-readings." Dr. Voss's voice cuts through the static. She calls him Pilot Rask. Not Vael. The name feels cold. Impersonal. A designation. He is a number now. A unit. His grip on Vael Rask loosens. Just a bit.
Another pilot's bay goes dark. Silence. A brief moment of quiet. Then the alarms. Loud. Piercing. They blare. Red lights flash. The chamber glows with an angry, pulsating red.
Vael's suit screams. Not a sound. A feeling. In his head. A surge of raw data. Overwhelming. His mind races. It can't process. He feels his nerves fray. They burn. He convulses. His teeth grind.
A chilling thought penetrates his mind. It is not his own. It is cold. Predatory. A foreign entity. It echoes in his skull. Prey. The thought is alien. A whisper. A foreign consciousness. A cold echo. It is the suit. Speaking. Knowing.
His consciousness buckles. He fights it. He pushes. But the thought remains. An unsettling presence. It settles. Deep in his skull. His head snaps back. His body stiffens. His jaw locks. Something inside him breaks. A mental barrier. It shatters.