The infirmary's lights never dimmed. CTI claimed the constant brightness helped "stabilize patient neurology," but Aya thought it was meant to deny her rest. Every time she shut her eyes, the afterimage of white fluorescence still burned on the inside of her lids—an electric brand that reminded her of Hyde's limiter.
She sat upright in the narrow bed, knees drawn close, IV thread dangling from her wrist. Her body ached like glass dust ground into every muscle. More terrifying was the quiet. No monsters, no gunfire, no screams—not even the internal hum of CTI's usual alarms.
Just silence.
Aya feared silence more than war.
Because in silence, she could hear the other voices.
Fragments from the stress test lingered: the soldier begging her to leave his body, the child's laugh that sounded like Eve, the command pulses Hyde shot into her veins. They swirled inside her as if she were no longer one person but a broken choir.
The door whispered open.
Gabrielle entered with the slouch of someone running on fumes. Armor still strapped, helmet crooked under one arm. She smelled of cordite and sweat, battlefield stench carried into sterile walls.
Aya's lips cracked into the barest smile. "Mission?"
"Another skirmish north grid," Gabrielle said, setting the helmet down. "Babel's threads are crawling faster. We barely pulled thirty civilians before the growth swallowed the block." A shake of her head. "Feels like it's multiplying with hate."
Aya swallowed guilt. Hyde had told her years ago: *Every day you dither, humanity erodes by thousands.* She wondered if the north grid collapse was her fault too.
Gabrielle pulled a chair beside Aya's bed, dropping heavily into it. For a moment she just exhaled through her teeth, staring at the floor. "You should've seen their faces when we loaded the evac bus. They don't cheer. They don't even cry. Just look at us like ghosts that happened to drag them out for one more day."
Aya's chest constricted. "Maybe that's all we are."
Gabrielle shot her a glare. "Don't. Don't let Hyde's poison rot in your head. You're more than that."
Aya hugged her knees tighter. "Am I? I barely recognize myself anymore. To the soldiers, I'm the thing Hyde straps into a meat‑frame. To civilians, I'm a rumor. And when I look at the glass…" Her voice thinned. "I don't even match my reflection."
Gabrielle leaned forward, elbows on knees. Her voice softened. "Then listen to me, not the mirror. Aya, you held out an hour in that torture chamber. No one else could. And you didn't break—you saw *your sister*. That means something."
Aya's eyes blurred. "Or it means I finally snapped."
There was no reply; only the low beep of the monitor. Finally Gabrielle sighed and reached out, covering Aya's trembling hands. "Snap or not, you're still you to me."
Aya closed her eyes. Warmth from the touch reached her bones; it was the only anchor left.
---
### Cold Exchanges
Later that day, they left the infirmary for the mess hall. Aya felt eyes following her like knives down the corridor. Soldiers hushed their talk when she passed. Some didn't bother hiding their stares—uneasy, resentful, sometimes afraid.
One muttered to another, *"That's her. The dive witch."*
Aya's stomach knotted. She wanted to protest, to tell them she wasn't in control of what Hyde made her do—but what words would matter to men who saw her hijack their comrades' bodies like puppets?
Gabrielle noted the silence and stepped closer at her side, protective by proximity. Anyone who dared hold the stare long met Gabrielle's glare back—and flinched.
Still, the air of distance pressed against Aya until she could hardly breathe.
In the mess hall, the same. Tables parted subtly as she walked through, trays scraping louder than conversation. She hardly managed a few bites of tasteless stew before setting the utensil down.
"I can't," Aya whispered.
Gabrielle pushed her tray aside too, unflinching. "Then we'll eat later. Somewhere without vultures."
Aya almost smiled, fragile as smoke.
---
### Hyde's Shadow
That night, as Aya rested against her bunk, the comm embedded near her cot flared. No preamble, only Hyde's flat tone:
"Brea. Repair is sufficient. Tomorrow, phase two."
Aya stiffened. Her voice came hoarse. "Phase two…?"
"Extended dive chaining. Multiple hosts in sequence, under limiter reinforcement. No breaks. Threshold must be expanded."
Her hands curled into fists. "You'll tear me apart."
"Then you will learn where you tear. And I will record it."
Aya couldn't breathe. She managed, "And if I stop being—myself?"
Hyde's pause was long, clinical. "…Then Aya Brea ceases, and the weapon remains. Humanity cannot afford sentiment."
The line clicked dead.
Aya sat in the darkness, nails carving into her palms, wishing she could scream—but the mess hall's silence still haunted her. If she screamed, no one would listen.
Except Gabrielle.
She turned in her bunk and whispered into the air, as if Gabrielle could hear through walls: "Don't let me be just the weapon."
Sleep clawed slow, restless.
---
### Dreams of Glass
The dream was different this time.
No battlefield. No monsters. Only endless corridors of mirrored walls, stretching forever in sterile light.
Every reflection showed Aya—but never matching. Some held wounds she didn't bear. Some wore other uniforms. Some grinned with Hyde's thin cruelty.
And one—just one—wasn't her at all.
Eve.
The little girl pressed palms against the glass, eyes wide with tears. Aya reached out, desperate. Their hands almost touched—then the limiter's static rasp split them apart, glass cracking between.
*You can't reach her,* hissed a voice not hers.
Aya awoke with blood on her bitten lip.
---
### Threadbare Connection
Morning. Training klaxons barked across CTI's intercom. Aya sat on the edge of bed, numb.
Gabrielle stormed in mid‑dress, jacket halfway zipped. "You heard? Hyde's orders—today's his 'phase two.'"
Aya nodded faintly.
Gabrielle paced. "I'll fight it, Aya. I'll drag his ass before tribunal if I have to. He's breaking protocol—breaking you."
Aya's voice was a whisper. "You can't fight him. Not here. CTI lives for results, not morals."
Gabrielle stopped, glare fierce. "Then we fight differently. If he's pulling you into hell, I dive there with you. Maybe I can't stop the chain—but I can keep you from forgetting who you are."
Aya blinked at her, fragile hope flickering.
"You'd risk everything?"
"I already did." Gabrielle smirked faintly. "The night I walked into Hyde's office and told him to shove it. Do you think I'm stopping now?"
Aya almost laughed, choked with tears. She pressed her palms flat against Gabrielle's. *A test to know if touch was still hers, still real.*
For this fragile moment, it was.
---
### Closing
When Hyde's summons came an hour later, Aya followed into the chamber again. The cradle loomed like a coffin of glass and steel.
But this time, as she lay back into the restraints, her heart didn't hammer quite as loud.
Because Gabrielle stood at her side—not as shield, not as commander, but as anchor.
Hyde spoke of efficiency. Aya heard only Gabrielle's whisper in memory: *If he chains you, I'll break the links.*
Steel bit into her wrists again. Light flared overhead, preparing to tear her loose from flesh.
Aya shut her eyes—and held on to the touch still warm on her palms.
---