"Rain in the desert isn't impossible—it's just reality refusing to read the manual."
—Gareth Lancer
Rain wasn't supposed to fall in the desert. Not after the atmospheric regulators had been optimized for predictability. But Aeria's regulators had been broken for years, victims of budget cuts and bureaucratic neglect. Now it rained whenever the wind felt nostalgic, each droplet hissing on the metallic sand outside Arcadia's perimeter like tiny accusations.
Gareth sat under an overhang near the dorm courtyard, his jacket pulled tight against the unexpected chill. He scrolled through his holo-tab—the Academy's student interface that most used as a glorified schedule manager. For him, it had become a window into systems that probably shouldn't be accessible to first-year cadets.
A translucent interface flickered across his vision again:
NAME: GARETH LANCER
AGE:18
EREBUS RESONANCE:(100.00%)
ABILITY:COUNTER
CLASSIFICATION:ADAPTIVE REACTIVE
CALIBRATION:3%
He sighed, the sound almost lost in the rain's white noise. "Three percent. Not exactly superhero material. More like background character who gets eaten first in horror movies."
Someone dropped down beside him with casual grace. He looked up to see a face that made him consciously keep his expression neutral.
Lyra Kazen was the kind of person who made you recalibrate your definition of "capable." At eighteen, she stood at five-foot-six with warm brown skin that seemed to glow faintly even without her ability active. Her jet-black hair was cut in a practical pixie style that emphasized her angular features—high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and eyes the exact color of new leaves in spring.
Those eyes held a particular brand of intelligence that made you feel like she was cataloging your mistakes for future reference.
She wore the standard cadet uniform but somehow made it look effortless. When she smiled, which she was doing now, it was the smile of someone who knew exactly how much trouble you were in and found it entertaining.
"You've been staring at that screen for an hour," she said, sipping synth-coffee. "Trying to hack the cafeteria menu? Because I heard they upgraded security after the last attempt."
He didn't look up from his tablet. "No. The system keeps glitching. Showing me things that don't make sense."
"Maybe it's your face," she said casually. "I've heard that causes technical problems. Something about your resting expression confusing facial recognition software."
He looked at her then, his blue eyes meeting her green ones with that peculiar intensity he had. "Based on facial symmetry analysis and general aesthetic principles, I don't think my face is the primary variable in system malfunctions."
Lyra blinked, then laughed—a genuine sound that cut through the rain's white noise. "It was a joke, Lancer. You know, humor? That thing humans do to create social bonds?"
"Oh." He paused, processing. "Noted for future reference. File under 'social interactions that confused me.'"
She leaned forward, her expression softening slightly. "Seriously though, nobody expected you to top-score the entrance exam. People are talking. You're basically famous now, in that uncomfortable way where everyone knows your name but you don't know why."
"That sounds like a reason to relocate to another continent. Possibly another planet." He watched the rain streak down the transparent dome overhead. "Anonymity was nice. I miss it already."
"Relax. They respect you. Admiration from a distance is better than being ignored."
"Respect is just fear that hasn't figured out how to get awkward yet," Gareth said with the certainty of someone who'd thought about this extensively. "Give it time. Fear always figures things out eventually."
His system flickered again: ANALYSIS CAPACITY: 3.1%
He ignored it. "So, what's your ability again? Lyra."
"Photonic distortion. I bend light." She held up her hand, and for a moment the space around it warped, creating a prismatic effect that hurt to look at directly. The air shimmered, reality bending around her fingers. "Makes for cool party tricks and apparently decent espionage potential. I can also condense it into projectiles. Useful for combat, less useful for making friends."
"Neat. So you're basically a pixie. I was right. I noticed what you did in the exam as well. Six drones in one shot. You must have mastery over your ability."
"Exactly." She grinned. "What about you? Still figuring out the whole counter-thing? Because that's what people are calling it. 'The counter-thing.' Very technical."
"It's... complicated. Like trying to read a manual that's written in a language I used to know but forgot, and the manual keeps rewriting itself." He flexed his fingers, watching faint blue light dance across his knuckles. "It activates when I'm threatened, analyzes the threat, then generates a response. But I can't control when or how. It's like having a security system that decides on its own when there's danger."
"Sounds frustrating. Like your body knows things your brain doesn't."
"Sounds like my entire life," he said with a smile that was only half joking.
---
The training started before dawn the next morning because Arcadia believed in the pedagogical value of sleep deprivation.
The recruits assembled on the main field under a bruised grey sky. Commander Vale stood before them, hands clasped behind her back.
"Today's simulation will be your first combat pairing," she announced, her voice carrying across the field without amplification. "You'll be grouped in teams of two. Your performance will determine placement in Arcadia's internal divisions. Choose your partners wisely. Or don't. Failure is also educational."
A list flashed on the holo-screens surrounding the field. Gareth squinted until his name materialized in blue text:
LANCER, GARETH — TEAMED WITH: KAZEN, LYRA
He blinked. "Oh, perfect. The one person who already thinks I'm socially defective."
Lyra's voice carried from across the field: "I heard that! And you say that like it's not completely accurate!"
"Context matters!" he called back, aware that dozens of people were now watching. "There are nuances! Subtleties!"
"What subtleties?" she yelled.
"I'll explain them later when there aren't hundreds of people watching us have this conversation!"
Several nearby cadets snickered. Vale's expression remained neutral, but something that might have been entertainment flickered in her amber eyes.
They were led into Simulation Dome Three—a structure built to resemble the ruins of an old megacity. Broken towers jutted up like broken teeth, flickering lights cast uncertain shadows, and the echo of machinery buried deep below created an almost subliminal hum. It was large enough to feel like a labyrinth.
Vale's voice crackled through their comms: "Objective: secure the beacon at grid point Sigma-9. Hostiles: active constructs programmed to kill you in interesting ways. Assume lethal intent. You have thirty minutes. Don't die. It reflects poorly on the academy."
The world flickered—reality replaced by simulation that felt too real—and the constructs appeared.
They looked like shadows given form, made of black data and glowing red eyes that tracked movement with predatory focus.
Lyra crouched beside Gareth behind a crumbling car frame. "You're in charge of tactics," she whispered, close enough that he could smell her shampoo.
He peeked over the hood, his ability already analyzing movement patterns. "They're tracking sound and thermal signatures. So... we stay quiet and cold."
Lyra's tone was dry. "We're human. We generate heat and noise just by existing. How exactly are we supposed to stay cold and quiet?"
"Then we improvise." He was already moving, tearing a power conduit from the car's engine. He wired it into a nearby panel, creating what was technically a bomb but he preferred to think of as "aggressive urban renewal."
He gave the car a nudge. Within seconds, fire erupted across the area, providing cover and thermal chaos. The heat washed over them like a wave.
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You're disturbingly good at making things explode. Should I be worried?"
"Had a lonely childhood. Lots of time to think about theoretical applications of thermodynamics." He was already moving, staying low. "Also, I may have been a bit of a problem child."
"May have been?"
"Okay, definitely was. There were incidents. Multiple incidents. Some involving fire. Most involving fire, actually."
They moved through the ruined streets in silence. Lyra used her photonic field to cloak them, bending light until they were nearly invisible. Gareth's system pulsed in rhythm with her energy signature.
ABILITY COMPREHENSION: 27%
PHOTONIC MANIPULATION: ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS
COUNTERMEASURE DEVELOPING
"System, what does that mean?" he muttered.
ANALYSIS: PHOTONIC MANIPULATION DETECTED.
SUGGESTED COUNTERMEASURE: PHOTONIC ABSORPTION
PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 89.9%
For a moment, Lyra's cloak faltered—flickered like a bad hologram—then collapsed entirely. She stumbled, caught herself, then turned to glare at Gareth.
"Did you just—"
"I learned how to counter your ability," he said quickly, backing up. "It was an accident! The system just... did it! I didn't mean to!"
"Counter?!" Her voice climbed an octave. "You countered my ability? The thing I've been training to control since I was twelve?"
"Hey, I literally got my abilities yesterday! Still learning the controls!" He focused on the sensation—like a knot in his chest—and tried to release it. "Fine, I'll turn it off! I didn't know I'd turned it on!"
The sensation uncoiled. Lyra's cloak snapped back into existence.
Despite herself, she laughed. "You're ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. How are you even functional?"
They reached the beacon—a tall spire pulsing with faint blue light. As Gareth reached for it, his system spiked violently.
WARNING: UNIDENTIFIED SIGNAL DETECTED.
DESIGNATION: L-02
THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL
RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE WITHDRAWAL
He froze. "Lyra... we've got company. Bad company."
Before she could respond, the air behind them shimmered—and a metallic shape dropped from the shadows.
It was humanoid but wrong. Taller than human, plated in black alloy that absorbed light. Crimson energy veins ran through its frame, pulsing with something that wasn't quite electricity. Its face was expressionless, save for a single glowing slit where eyes should have been.
UNIT L-02: INITIALIZING INTERFACE
TARGET IDENTIFIED
RETRIEVAL PROTOCOL: ACTIVE
The voice was synthetic, calm, and cold enough to freeze thought: "Target: PROTOTYPE Subject Detected. Analyzing neural patterns. Match confirmed. Retrieval Protocol Active. Resistance is futile."
Gareth's throat went dry. "It's... talking to me. Why is it talking to me specifically?"
"Yeah, I caught that," Lyra said, her voice tight. "Why is a military-grade combat unit calling you 'prototype'?"
"I was hoping you'd have an answer for that!"
The machine moved faster than anything human should be able to track. Gareth barely dodged, throwing himself sideways as the shockwave from its fist shattered the ground where he'd been standing.
He rolled behind cover, pulling Lyra with him. "Suggestions? Tactical analysis? Anything?"
"Panic is definitely on the table!"
His system flared:
ANALYSIS: ENEMY FRAME — ADAPTIVE MECHANICAL CORE
HOSTILE COMBAT DESIGNATION: RETRIEVAL PROTOCOL
NO PREVIOUS DATA FOUND
ADAPTIVE LEARNING: ACTIVE
RECOMMENDED: PROLONGED OBSERVATION FOR COUNTER DEVELOPMENT
WARNING: SUBJECT SURVIVAL PROBABILITY DECREASING
CURRENT SURVIVAL ODDS: 23% AND FALLING
The machine's hand tore through the concrete slab he was hiding behind and grabbed him by the throat. It lifted him off the ground, grip like a vice. Pressure made his vision sparkle at the edges.
Its voice was almost curious: "Incomplete specimen detected. Neural seal intact but degrading. Attempting override. This may cause discomfort. Or death. Results vary."
Gareth's vision filled with static—then images flickered through his mind: cold white rooms, harsh fluorescent lights, voices shouting about containment breaches, metal instruments, a woman's face screaming his name—
Lyra's scream cut through the haze. "Gareth!"
Her light bent around the machine, concentrating into a spear of pure photonic energy that slammed into its torso. It barely flinched—but it was enough. The machine turned toward her, and that was the opening Gareth needed.
His system screamed:
DANGER LEVEL: CRITICAL
SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 6%
EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS: ENGAGING
SYNTHESIS MODE: UNLOCKED
WARNING: SYSTEM STABILITY COMPROMISED
COUNTERMEASURE: INITIALIZING COMBAT OPTIMIZATION
His body moved before conscious thought caught up—intercepting L-02's strike at Lyra with a barrier of glowing blue data rings that materialized from nothing. The impact sent a shockwave through the simulation.
Lyra shielded her face. "Since when can you do that?!"
"Since about three seconds ago!" The barrier cracked under the pressure. "And I don't think I can do it again!"
The barrier shattered. Gareth followed through on pure instinct—his system feeding him a dozen attack vectors simultaneously. He ducked under strikes that could've killed him, pivoted around attacks that should've connected, struck at joints and weak points he shouldn't have been able to see.
For the first time, L-02 hesitated. Its head tilted.
ANALYSIS: COMBAT EVOLUTION DETECTED
RECALIBRATING THREAT ASSESSMENT
WARNING: SUBJECT UNSTABLE
Then Gareth felt it—something warm running from his nose. He touched his face, and his fingers came away red. His vision blurred.
He took a step forward, then his knees gave out. He hit the ground hard, more blood gushing from his nose and mouth.
L-02 retreated a step, its mechanical head tilting. Then, in a voice that almost sounded amused:
"Fascinating. You were merely the prototype. The failed experiment. The one we thought would never wake. I am the original. The upgrade. The one that worked. I am L-02. And you..." It paused. "You are nothing but the scrap plan they worked with to produce me... the embodiment of perfection."
Before Gareth could process what that meant, the machine exploded into fragments of data and light, dissipating like smoke.
The dome fell silent except for Lyra's ragged breathing and the sound of Gareth trying not to choke on his own blood.
She rushed over, dropping to her knees beside him. "Okay. What. The. Hell. You need to explain what just happened."
He stared down at his shaking hands, still glowing faintly blue. "I... don't know. I really, genuinely don't know."
She looked at him differently now—not with fear, but with careful assessment. "You looked like you were fighting on pure instinct. Like something else took over."
"Maybe something did." His vision was still blurry. "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm not really me at all."
His system flickered one last message:
ROOT ACCESS: PARTIAL
MEMORY LOCK DETECTED
CORE IDENTITY: COMPROMISED
SUBJECT IDENTITY: L-01
Gareth exhaled, long and shaky. "Guess that's my cue to freak out later when I'm not bleeding on the floor."
Lyra's expression softened. "You do that. I'll grab snacks for your emotional breakdown."
He looked at her—really looked, maybe for the first time. "You'd stay? After all that? After watching me nearly die and possibly discover I'm some kind of experiment?"
"Someone has to keep you from self-destructing." She smiled, but couldn't hide the concern. "Besides, you're too interesting to let die in a simulation."
Then the world went black, consciousness slipping away, and the last thing he heard was Lyra calling his name with a desperation that sounded like she actually cared.
---
Far above, Commander Vale stood before a flickering display showing the simulation logs. L-02's appearance wasn't part of the exam protocol. That was something else entirely.
Her aide approached cautiously. "What was that thing, Commander?"
Vale's voice was quiet, the kind of quiet that preceded terrible revelations: "A ghost from the Erebus Project. Something that shouldn't exist anymore. Something we thought we'd buried eighteen years ago." She paused, amber eyes reflecting the screen's glow. "And it just recognized one of its own. It called him PROTOTYPE."
The aide swallowed. "That Lancer isn't human?"
"That Lancer might be the key to everything. Or the destruction of everything."
"What do we do, commander?"
Vale's expression hardened with resolve. "We watch."
She thought to herself: What path would you take, Lancer? The path to restoration, or the path to destruction?