What if the aliens attack before I’m ready?
The thought landed fast.
What if the Prid Epics take control while I’m chasing soul energy across half a world, and everything I care about here disappears?
The image ca too easily—Elara, still and broken on a battlefield that never made the news. A spear falling from familiar hands. His mother, alone, the hope in her voice silenced before anyone arrived.
He blinked. Didn’t look away. But the fear didn’t move. It rooted him—right here, in this chair, in this room, in this mont.
Even as the crucifix whispered from sowhere far away. Not loud. Just persistent.
Naivety. Lies. This ga will consu you before it frees you.
The drones clicked again.
The sound hadn’t changed—but now it felt louder. Closer. A chanical chorus that bled into the rhythm of his pulse, each one landing like a count.
He rose.
The chair scraped behind him. His legs didn’t cooperate. They folded just enough to remind him how little strength he had left.
His hand shot out, fingers clamping down on the table’s edge.
He stayed upright—but only just.
There was no one to steady him. No voice from the door. No ally with a hand on his back. Just the cold, white air of Cube X pressing against sweat-soaked skin.
His breath ca shallow. Quick.
The tang of tal in his throat made it worse—like blood, but not quite. A taste shaped by recycled air and nerves twisted too tight.
The drones didn’t stop.
Their lenses followed every move. Every tremble. Every falter.
Elias placed his hands together again, fingertips pressing against each other as his thoughts realigned.
He didn’t rush. Just let the silence sit a mont longer.
Neither option worked.
Not if he wanted to protect both worlds.
He opened his eyes and t Warden Geras’s gaze.
"I’ll have to decline both."
The words weren’t loud, but they didn’t shake. Just clear. Certain.
Across the table, Geras blinked once—slow, deliberate. Then his eyes widened, his expression breaking just enough to let disbelief show through.
"Wh—what do you an both options?" he asked, his voice catching mid-sentence. "Elias, you’re in no place to be negotiating."
His hand spread across the table’s surface like he ant to anchor the conversation there. His tone dropped again—part frustration, part restraint.
"I can only do so much for you," he said. "But you have to work with here."
Elias nodded once.
"I understand," he said. "And I do plan to help. But I want to propose sothing else."
He straightened, slow but deliberate.
"Option three."
Geras didn’t speak. Just watched.
"You leak what I did," Elias said. "Or make it look like you lost control of the intel. Doesn’t matter how. As long as the Prid Epics hear about it."
He paused.
"Tying up my friends. Fighting that Federation operator. Freeing Junjio and his father. It all gets out."
Geras leaned back slightly, arms crossing.
"And what does that change?" he asked. "How’s that different from infiltration? You think they’ll roll out a welco mat?"
"They won’t see as a naless grunt," Elias said. "I walk in and they already know who I am. The one who turned on the Federation. The one who broke rank and made noise."
Geras narrowed his eyes.
"And you think that earns you anything but a target on your back?"
Elias didn’t flinch.
"I won’t co empty-handed."
There was no smile. No pride. Just the steady build of a plan that had taken shape the mont Geras ntioned survival.
"I give them sothing they won’t refuse. Sothing they think is already lost. But they don’t know I have it."
Geras raised an eyebrow.
His voice ca slower now. asured.
"And what exactly is that?"
Elias didn’t blink.
"First, the biosuit Elara lost to Vincent."
He leaned forward slightly, voice steady.
"They think it’s gone. Let them keep thinking that."
Geras didn’t respond, but his posture stilled.
"And second," Elias added, "soone who can actually use it. His na is Marcus."
Geras raised an eyebrow, the na clearly unfamiliar.
"Marcus?"
"I doubt he’s on any of your rosters. Just a recruit I t on my way in. Federation standard, but barely noticed. If it wasn’t for him, Vincent might’ve taken my chest apart."
He paused.
"Marcus knows the suits. Better than most. Tactical use, software sync, energy regulation. He’s sharp. We could say he helped escape. Play him as an accomplice. The details—leave that part to you."
Geras crossed his arms, still listening, though his frown deepened.
Elias kept going.
"It’s not just about sneaking in. It’s about sewing distrust. Two factions with suits they shouldn’t have. Paranoia spreads faster than truth. I can light the fire while you handle the rest."
His gaze dropped for half a second, but the tone didn’t waver.
"And if I die doing it, fine. At least I’ll know I had a hand in shaping what ca next."
He exhaled.
"It also buys you ti. I know you’re working on sothing for Elara—an upgrade, or a rebuild. She’ll need it."
That finally drew a response.
Geras’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
"You’ve got a keen eye," he muttered.
He reached beneath the table and pulled out a small sidearm. The glint of polished tal caught the overhead light as he set it on the surface.
"Alright," he said. "This could be rough from here."
Elias nodded once.
"There’s one more thing."
Geras tilted his head.
"I might have a problem. I don’t know if it’s neurological or sothing else, but... I don’t always wake up right. Sotis it’s twenty-four hours. Once, it was forty-eight."
He didn’t explain further. Just let it land.
Geras’s expression didn’t shift much, but he gave a small nod, as if already filing the anomaly away.
"Noted," he said. "You’re not the only one sorting things out."
His fingers moved without warning—fast, clean, practiced. The small weapon clicked.
A soft hiss.
A dart hit Elias square in the shoulder.
His body jerked, eyes flashing wide for half a second. The world tilted hard.
"I’m glad it wasn’t a bullet," he muttered, voice slurring now. "Thought that might happen if I picked one of your options..."
The rest didn’t make it out.
The floor didn’t rise. The chair didn’t fall. Everything just... slipped.
And then there was nothing.
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