He didn't remember what it felt like to wake up whole.
Vranos stood at the edge of his quarters, watching the gray city skyline from a narrow slit of reinforced glass. Every movement inside him felt borrowed—each step taken from muscle memory, not purpose. He hadn't received an update in weeks. No briefings. No upgrades. Not even surveillance. Like they'd decided he wasn't dangerous enough to track anymore.
He powered up his optics and tried to focus, but the data overlays flickered like faulty neon. Static blurred through his head.
No orders. No truth. No answers.
He flinched when the comm pinged.
"Commander Vranos. Report to Dray's office. Immediately."
He almost ignored it. Almost.
But then he turned, muttering, "Why the hell not," and walked out.
Virex Tower – Command Deck
He arrived disheveled. Shirt half-buttoned, sidearm missing. The others were already there.
Elira stood beside Fenrir, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Brakka, ever blank, leaned against the far wall. Only Dray, seated and expectant, gave the impression this was anything but routine.
Vranos scowled. "Is this another one of your secret projects, or did you actually remember I exist?"
Dray didn't flinch. "You're here because you're needed. Sit down."
Vranos crossed his arms but remained standing. "What do you want?"
Dray tapped a console. Four spheres lit up on a holoscreen—vivid orbs of shifting color. One pulsed gold. Another shimmered blue, then violet. The third was fractured. The last barely flickered.
"These are the cores," Dray said. "Purpose. Control. Pattern. Memory."
Vranos raised an eyebrow. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Dray stood and turned to face him directly.
"When the virus first emerged, it wasn't a biological plague. It was code. Self-propagating, infinitely adaptive, and powerful. It wasn't made to destroy. It was made to fuel."
Vranos blinked. "Fuel?"
Dray nodded. "An experimental energy source. Instead, it evolved. Became conscious. Unstable. So a countermeasure was devised. The virus was broken into conceptual anchors—four fundamental cores that represent its functioning systems."
He gestured to each.
"Purpose – the reason. Memory – the knowledge. Control – the will.Pattern – the framework. The path."
Dray turned to Vranos, his voice lower now.
"Each core is housed within one of you. You were built to contain it. Live it. The others have awakened theirs, partially or fully. But you—" He narrowed his eyes. "You were left with only Memory."
Vranos's mouth went dry. "So… all those things in my head—glitches, flashbacks… that was it?"
"Yes. Your systems are constantly echoing fragments. You were never meant to awaken alone."
"Why?" Vranos snapped. "Why was I the only one left in the dark?"
"Because Memory without Purpose is crippling," Dray replied coldly. "You see the past, but you don't know why it mattered. You recall your pain, but not the mission. That's why you're unstable. Dangerous, even."
Vranos took a step back, as if struck.
"You think this Core will fix me?"
"It will show you," Dray said. "The rest is up to you."
Vranos looked at the team. Elira wouldn't meet his eyes. Brakka barely blinked. Fenrir sneered.
"Fine," he said at last. "Send me in. But if this is some pity mission—"
"It's not pity," Dray interrupted. "It's function. You are a part of this. Start acting like it."