Secret battle station Aspida,
Mercury orbit.
The airlock hisses open with a low, mechanical exhale.
For a moment, all the silence of space seems to contract into a single point—
a pause of breathless anticipation.
Vikar enters first.
His silhouette slices through the station's cold light like a blade of shadow.
Behind him walks General Jamal.
Every movement, every line of his body—calculated, seared by the certainty he wears like armor.
They stride down a long titanium corridor.
Cold panels. Tangled pipes. The distant hum of deep-reactor cores.
The station breathes like a living engine, alert and aware.
It knows who has just arrived.
Each footstep is not a walk,
but an ascent—
toward something sacred.
An altar. A reckoning.
Scrolling data crawls across the walls.
Energy schematics blink.
Nervous pulses echo in the conduits.
But all of that is background.
What matters now—are lives.
Human or not, real and indivisible.
When they step into the control hall,
the space feels carved from the void itself.
A cathedral of steel.
A temple of warriors.
The crew stands in perfect silence.
No breath. No motion.
Then, like a thunderclap ripping through glass:
"Freedom or death! In the name of the god Hanaris!"
The words hit like lightning,
and the station itself seems to shudder under their weight.
Vikar doesn't move.
Only his eyes sweep the room—
like scanners, not searching but revealing.
"Freedom or death," he repeats,
his voice low and rough—
but striking like a hammer on steel.
He presses a clenched fist to his chest.
As if he can feel the pulse of destiny beneath his ribs.
He begins to walk.
Slow. Deliberate.
Each step a tolling bell.
He doesn't glance—he sees through.
One face after another.
Weighed. Measured. Judged.
There is no doubt in him.
Only will—poured into form.
And then… he stops.
Left flank.
Alex and Yulia.
He doesn't look at them as subordinates—
but as if they're old comrades returned from exile.
"How are you finding it here?"
His voice is level—
but there's weight behind it.
A test hidden in the tone.
Alex answers instantly.
No hesitation. No fear.
"This is the best place in the universe!"
His words land like a thrown gauntlet.
The air grows denser.
Yulia grins beside him. Not sweet—defiant.
Her gaze is clear, unflinching.
No flattery. No submission.
Only fire.
Only knowing.
We're not here for permission.
We are the will of Kairus.
And then—like a streak of chaos in a gothic chapel—
a small, fluffy miracle bursts into the room.
A grey kitten.
Bright-eyed. Audacious.
It darts toward Yulia, leaps onto her boot,
and begins climbing—fearless and determined.
Vikar freezes.
A flicker of irritation crosses his face,
as if a fly had landed on a battle standard.
But he doesn't stop it.
He watches—
like a judge curious about a paradox.
Yulia, without missing a beat, scoops up the kitten.
No apology. No awkwardness.
Her voice is steady, almost ceremonial.
"This is our talisman, Chairman. His name is Charmer."
Silence follows.
Taut. Endless.
Most would glance down.
Stammer. Explain themselves.
But not her.
She stands calm.
Certain.
And then—
unexpectedly, almost strangely—
Vikar holds out his arms.
The kitten, as if sensing a ritual in progress,
leaps onto his shoulder and makes itself at home.
It purrs—softly but audibly.
The hall holds its breath.
Vikar gazes at the creature.
And something… almost playful… sparks in his eyes.
A hunter's glint. A war-prize accepted.
"This is a war station," he says slowly,
like tasting the words. "A classified facility.
A talisman, you say?"
He hands the kitten back to Yulia.
His look is no longer just focused—
it's resolved.
"So be it.
Charmer is now the symbol of our victory.
Let him stay."
The words fall like a seal stamped in wax.
Charmer is no longer a pet.
He is a banner. A ward.
A living emblem.
Vikar turns to face the crew.
His voice is electric.
It cuts through air like current through steel.
"We've built a fine station.
A surprise."
"The living don't yet know what they're up against."
He steps forward.
His next words are both judgment and benediction.
"You have the honor of being first to take this weapon into battle.
Remember this:
Free androids will never forget you."
The crew responds as one body,
as a single, enormous organism:
"I will fulfill my duty!"
Voices crash like a blacksmith's hammer.
Thunder. Manifesto. Oath.
Vikar walks the line.
Not giving praise.
Not even approval.
His gaze is the gaze of an architect
examining the roots of a fortress.
He says nothing.
But his silence speaks more than any speech.
Finally—he turns. He exits.
Jamal follows, step for step,
a shadow beside him.
Their strides echo into the walls.
Into the rhythm of Aspida itself.
No longer just a station.
Now—
a beast.
Awake. Breathing.
Hungry for war.
A battle is coming. One that will reshape everything.
And they—
they stand at the front, not just with firepower,
but with faith.
With an idea.
With a fluffy talisman…
and no room for error.