Youri walked down the silent corridor toward his assigned quarters.
The ship hummed softly around him, a constant mechanical heartbeat vibrating through the metal beneath his boots. The lights overhead dimmed incrementally as he moved farther from the central decks, the noise of crew activity fading into something distant and unreal. By the time he reached his door, the world felt muted—like he was already halfway removed from it.
The door slid open with a quiet hiss.
He stepped inside.
The room was small. Efficient.
A narrow bed ran along the left wall, seamlessly integrated into the ship's architecture. Its blankets were folded with rigid precision, edges sharp, undisturbed—soft fabric standing in quiet contrast against the matte alloy panels that framed the space. The bed looked unused. Untouched.
Resting neatly on top of it was a folded uniform.
A full, skin-tight pilot suit—jet black, its surface faintly reflective. The God Unit insignia was embossed across the chest and shoulders, subtle yet unmistakable. The material looked flexible but reinforced, layered with micro-plating along the spine, joints, and ribcage. It wasn't just clothing. It was a second skin.
Beside it lay the helmet.
Dark. Angular. Predatory.
Its surface was layered with overlapping armor panels that flowed into one another with an unsettling organic symmetry, giving it a biomechanical appearance. The faceplate was skeletal and severe, tapering into sharp contours around the jaw, devoid of any softness. The visor was opaque, hiding the eyes entirely.
It didn't look like something meant to protect a human face.
It looked like something meant to erase it.
Youri stood still for a long moment, absorbing the room.
The walls were dense with embedded controls—switches, dials, compact holographic screens—all integrated into clean, utilitarian panels. Every component had a function. Nothing was decorative. Nothing unnecessary.
Overhead, cool white lights cast a gentle sheen across the metal surfaces. The illumination was just bright enough to feel safe… and just dim enough to feel isolating.
At the far end of the room, a wide window dominated the wall.
Beyond it, space stretched endlessly.
Black. Vast. Silent.
Stars glittered faintly in the distance, scattered like cold embers across an infinite void. The glass reflected faint traces of the room behind him—his silhouette blending with the darkness beyond, human form dissolving into the unknown.
Youri exhaled slowly.
Then his gaze returned to the uniform.
The pilot suit sealed itself to his body as he pulled it on, the material tightening and adjusting automatically. The fit was perfect—too perfect. As if it had been tailored not just to his measurements, but to his anatomy. To his bones. To his nervous system.
When he finished, he stood before the reflective surface of the window.
For a moment, he didn't recognize himself.
Before he could think further, a soft chime broke the silence.
A nearby device on the wall pulsed with a faint blue glow.
Youri stepped closer and lifted it.
Halvek's voice came through, crisp and immediate.
"Pilot D7. Your escort unit has arrived. You are requested at the main dock."
The device went silent.
A hollow sensation spread through Youri's chest.
Not fear.
Not dread.
Absence.
He frowned slightly, pressing a hand against his sternum. It felt like something was missing—something he couldn't name. Like trying to recall a word that had been erased mid-thought.
"I'm forgetting something," he murmured.
The thought slipped away before he could grasp it.
"Yes, sir," Youri replied automatically, his voice sounding distant even to himself.
He placed the helmet under his arm and exited the room.
The main dock doors towered before him.
Massive. Reinforced. Sealed shut.
Youri stood before them, the hollow sensation still clinging to him like a shadow. His heart beat steadily, but without urgency—as if his body hadn't yet caught up with reality.
He lifted the helmet and slid it over his head.
The seal locked with a sharp click.
HUD elements flickered to life across the visor.
Then—
The doors hissed open.
The dock flooded with light.
Halvek stood at the center, arms behind his back. Beside him was General Aurelion Kaelthorn.
Youri recognized him instantly.
Same posture. Same eyes.
Aurelion.
Memory surged without warning.
Altex.
The echo of laughter. Leonora's voice—fading, unreachable.
Youri had long since abandoned the hope of ever seeing her again.
But seeing Aurelion—
His hand trembled.
Just slightly.
He clenched his fingers and hid the motion behind his back.
As Youri approached, Halvek turned and gestured toward him.
"There he is," Halvek said. "Pilot D7. Designated pilot of the Altopereh."
Aurelion studied him closely.
Then, unexpectedly, he saluted.
A full, formal salute.
For a brief moment, no one spoke.
The dock was silent except for the distant hum of engines.
Then Aurelion turned toward the ship.
"I never thought I'd end my military career with a purge order," he said quietly.
He shook his head once.
"There's no glory in genocide," Aurelion continued, his voice low. "Only malice. And hatred."
The words hit harder than any command.
Something shifted inside Youri.
The hollow numbness cracked.
The mission parameters slammed into his awareness like a physical blow.
Three billion.
Innocent.
Lives.
Faces.
Children.
Youri's breath hitched.
Fragments of daylight burst behind his eyes—blurred images of people he didn't recognize, voices he couldn't place. His hands began to shake violently.
He dropped to his knees.
"Pilot down!" someone shouted.
Halvek spun around instantly, striding toward him.
"What's happening?" Halvek demanded.
The intervention crew rushed in, kneeling beside Youri. One of them produced a syringe and drove it into his arm.
Youri gasped sharply.
Halvek's jaw tightened. "Why isn't he in Flow State?"
Flow State.
The psychological condition induced in God Unit pilots before deployment—a suppression of emotion, empathy, and self-awareness. In Flow State, a pilot didn't hesitate. Didn't question.
They obey.
It dulls feelings. Narrowed focus. Turned pilots into weapons.
It also shattered minds.
Ninety percent mental breakdown rate.
Forty percent suicide rate—if the pilot survived long enough to choose.
"We don't know," one of the crew answered, shaken. "This has never happened before."
He glanced at Youri. "The syringe should induce Flow State again."
Halvek growled under his breath. "What's wrong with these new pilots…"
Youri's vision steadied slowly.
The shaking eased.
He drew in a long breath and pushed himself upright.
Halvek stepped directly into his line of sight, waving a hand in front of his helmet.
"D7," Halvek said sharply. "Can you hear me?"
Youri nodded.
"Good," Halvek replied. "You need to get on the ship."
He turned toward the dock.
"Your mission is waiting."