The chamber's cold eats at him. Vael Rask lies flat. The hum of the bay vibrates through his spine. A constant tremor from the new metal deep inside. The SymSuit feels like a second skin. It feels like a wound. He endured the agonizing spinal pierce-lock integration. He survived a Scarp Maw Gorebreed ambush during his brutal initiation. The memory still scrapes his teeth. He is Pilot Rask now. GRAVEMIND-7. Not Vael.
Vael.
The Foreign consciousness whispers the name. It echoes in his skull. Not the comms. Not his thoughts. It is the suit. It knows. He clenches his jaw. His teeth grind. Pain blooms behind his eyes. A sharp, hot spike. His neural crown thrums. It feels like a dull fist pressing against the base of his skull. The pain escalates.
He pushes against the whisper. He tries to shut it out. His suit's internal display flickers. White static overlays. He sees shapes in the static. Distorted faces. Screaming. The faces of the pilot trainees who died in the pierce-lock chamber. He hears their final shrieks. The wet, gurgling sounds. His stomach churns. Bile burns his throat.
A technician's voice cuts through the static. "Pilot Rask. Bio-readings unstable".
Vael forces a breath. The suit feels too tight. His own skin stretches beneath the bio-armor. The Gravemind neural crown activates deeper. More data. A rush of numbers and symbols. They flash too fast to read. His head pounds. He struggles to focus. He grips the name in his mind. Vael Rask. A mantra. A shield.
The pain flares. A sudden jolt. The images in the static shift. Not faces. Hands. Pale, thin hands. Scrabbling at something unseen. A dark fluid leaks from the seams of the suit, black against white. This is not his memory.
A sharp voice cuts through the comms. "GRAVEMIND-7. Report to Debriefing Bay Three. Immediately". Dr. Elena Voss. No warmth. Only command.
Vael forces his body to move. The SymSuit groans. Joints protest. His spine aches. A deep, structural throb where the bio-needle pierced him. He pushes himself upright. The bay around him is clinical, sterile. Too bright. He moves with a stiffness he did not have before. The suit feels heavier. Older.
He walks down the corridor. The walls are stark, white. The air hums with recycled oxygen. His vision is still overlaid with faint static. A phantom limb sensation throbs in his right arm. Not his arm. A different arm. Heavy. Armored. Its shape is wrong. Its pulse is Foreign.
He pushes through the heavy door to Debriefing Bay Three. It is a smaller room. More enclosed. A single table in the center. A holographic projector hums above it. The light is harsh, cold.
A figure stands by the table. Captain Maya Cross. Her Reaptor SymSuit gleams, sleek and sharp. A precision killer. Her helm is retracted. Her face is exposed. It is hard, etched with purpose. Faint scars lace her cheek, like old cracks in bone. Facial reconstruction scars. Vael's suit scans her. Reaptor pilot. Designation: PRECISION-4. Trauma signature: High. Scarring: Extensive. Her eyes are sharp. Calculating. She watches him as he enters. No smile. No greeting.
She notes his stillness. His slow movements. Her gaze sharpens. "GRAVEMIND-7. You move like a man already dead".
Vael stops. He says nothing. His comms remain silent. His posture stiffens. The Gravemind neural crown pulses. He feels it. A cold wave of awareness. He processes her. Threat assessment. Readiness. He feels nothing else.
Maya Cross steps closer. She circles him. Her movements are fluid, predatory. The Reaptor SymSuit is built for speed. Its blade-mounted forearms shift. "Unusual readings from your suit, Rask. Post-integration jitters. Or something worse?". Her voice is flat. No accusation. Only observation.
He feels a tremor. Not his own. From the suit. The nervous feedback intensifies. His vision blurs. The static flares. A distorted image flashes. A man. Screaming. Tied to a table. His chest split open. Organs exposed. Not like the others. This is different. More visceral. A medical bay. A laboratory. His suit tries to process it. Corrupted data. Memory Leak detected.
Vael forces the image away. He clenches his fists inside the suit's gauntlets. "Stable. Readings are stable". His voice is rough. Clipped.
Maya Cross halts. She looks at his suit. Then at him. Her eyes narrow. "Your systems are reporting intermittent sensory distortion. Bio-signatures fluctuating. And a deep nervous feedback loop". She nods to the holographic projector. It flickers to life. A map of a devastated city. Red zones mark contaminated sectors. "We've lost contact with Sector Seven. Civilian survivors were reported there. Intel suggests a new development".
A voice speaks from the projector. Not Voss. A male voice. "Recent field reports confirm the presence of Howlhost Gorebreed in adjacent sectors. Its mimicry tactics are escalating. It uses human screams. Human voices. To lure victims. Commanders are advised to monitor comms for false distress signals".
Vael feels a cold dread. The Howlhost Gorebreed. Its hundreds of mouths. Its ability to mimic the voices of the dead. He remembers the screams from the pierce-lock integration chamber. The dying shrieks of the trainees. The suit pulses. The sound of screams feels raw on his own teeth. It could be his own voice, echoing back at him. A dry thought pushes through his mind. More targets to track [query].
Maya Cross watches him. "You've heard the reports. It preys on fear. On hope". She pauses. "It's a different kind of terror. Psychological".
The suit shifts. The neural crown burns. The nervous feedback intensifies. Another flash. A child's voice. Crying. "Father. Please. Don't leave me". Then a sound of tearing flesh. A wet, sickening rip. The image is quick. Too fast to process fully. But the emotion is there. Raw. Desperate. It feels like his own. He struggles against it. This is not his memory. This is the Memory Leak. The fragmented consciousness of the previous pilot.
He sees his name. Vael Rask. He grasps it. A sinking anchor. Vael Rask. Vael Rask.
Maya Cross steps back. She activates the comms on her suit. "Command. GRAVEMIND-7 reports minor system anomalies. His combat readiness is acceptable. Proceeding with mission brief".
Vael hears the click. A betrayal. His instructor called him a "disposable test subject" during his bonding. Now the suit shows him memories that are not his own. The SymSuit program is not just a tool. It is an invasion. It is sentient. Or semi-sentient. It can alter his consciousness. His trust shatters.
He feels the suit access deeper. The Memory Leak intensifies. It floods his mind. Not a flicker. A wave. A full-blown hallucination. He is in the suit. But it is not his suit. It is older. Cracked. The helmet is broken. He sees through a shattered visor. Blood splatters the inside of the glass. He smells iron. He tastes copper. He is falling. The world spins. He hears sounds. Metallic groans. Sirens. A roar. And then a voice. A man's voice. Distorted. Full of agony. "It wasn't supposed to… Fracture… the world…".
The memory is too vivid. Too real. The suit groans. His own SymSuit. It convulses. His muscles lock. His jaw aches. The neural crown pulses. Hot. A searing pain. He gasps. Air rasps in his lungs. His body arches. Involuntary. He cannot stop it. The vision holds him. Trapped.
The voice whispers again. Not the suit. Not his own thoughts. Distinct. Fragmented. "...my son… the Fracture… it was my fault…".
Vael's eyes snap open. He is back in the debriefing bay. The static is gone. Maya Cross stares at him. Her face is grim. Her hand hovers near her comms unit.
Vael collapses. His legs buckle. His suit slams against the hard floor. The sound echoes. His body stiffens. His jaw locks. Something inside him breaks. A mental barrier. It shatters. The memory holds him. He is the falling man. He is the screaming voice. He is the fractured world. The voice from the memory echoes. His father's voice.