"Failure is just data wearing different clothes."
—Gareth Lancer
The debriefing chamber was a box of white noise and harsh light, designed for discomfort. Unit Hound sat on cold metal benches, the adrenaline of the simulation long gone, leaving only the ache of failure.
Vice Commander Rael paced before them, a predator in a cage of his own making. His silence was a heavier judgment than any rant.
"Your performance," he began, his voice a low gravel, "was a study in how to fail correctly. Tactically, you were adequate. You survived. But strategically..." He stopped, letting the word hang. "You failed the moment you forgot the objective was a beacon, not a body count."
Jade leaned forward, her telekinetic hands clenched. "We neutralized the hostiles. We kept the civilians safe—"
"You engaged hostiles you were supposed to evade," Rael cut her off, his gaze sweeping over them. "You treated a surgical extraction like a frontal assault. And you, Cipher." His eyes locked on Gareth. "You identified the civilian ruse. You understood the primary objective. And then you allowed the team to be baited into a full-scale engagement. You prioritized survival over success."
Gareth met his gaze, the weight of the critique a solid, uncomfortable truth in his chest. "A non-functional team cannot complete any objective, sir."
"A team that chases every fight will never reach the finish line," Rael countered. "You confused not dying with winning. They are not the same thing." He turned his tablet toward them. The mission log played back, highlighting the moment the squad abandoned its path to the beacon. "You reacted. You didn't lead."
Then Rael's focus sharpened, zeroing in on Gareth with unnerving precision. "There is, however, one anomaly. Cipher. Your system reacted to the viral simulation code before the program initialized it."
The room went still. Lyra frowned. "His system... predicted the infection?"
"Correct," Rael said, his tone flat. "The trigger code was randomized mid-scenario. His counter-measure protocols activated 0.8 seconds before the viral parameters were even loaded into the simulation environment."
Gareth's mind raced, his own system offering no clear answer. "A glitch in the simulation's timing?"
"Arcadia's systems don't glitch," Rael stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. His gaze was heavy, laden with unspoken questions. "You'll report to diagnostics after this. Full system scan. Neural mapping."
Gareth's voice was calm, belying the sudden chill in his veins. "Understood."
Rael dismissed the rest of the squad with a final, cutting remark about their collective over-reliance on Gareth's instincts. As the others filed out, murmuring among themselves, Rael's voice stopped Gareth at the door.
"You know why I kept you."
Gareth turned. "Because you think something is wrong with me."
"Not wrong," Rael corrected, his cybernetic eye whirring softly as it refocused. "Unclear. You process data faster than any adaptive unit I've trained. Your body reacts before your system even finishes compiling the threat. That's not just human reflex."
"I train," Gareth said, the defense sounding hollow even to him.
"I've seen prodigies. None of them bend the rules of combat physics the way you do." Rael leaned forward, his voice dropping. "When you entered the simulation, your neural pulse synced perfectly with the system grid. For two seconds, Cipher... you were the simulation."
The implication hung in the sterile air.
"What are you suggesting?" Gareth asked, his own system strangely silent.
"I don't know yet," Rael admitted. "But Arcadia doesn't take chances with unknowns. Diagnostics. 0700. Full neural scan." He paused, and his tone softened, almost imperceptibly. "You kept them alive today, Lancer. Don't let the questions make you forget that."
---
Outside the chamber, Gareth found Lyra waiting by the corridor wall, arms crossed.
"Diagnostics?" she asked, her green eyes searching his.
He nodded. "Seems so."
"That's... intense. Usually reserved for people who short-circuit the training drones." She studied him, her usual teasing replaced by genuine concern. "Are you worried?"
Gareth considered the question. The analytical part of him saw only a procedure, a data collection exercise. But a newer, more human part of him felt a prickle of apprehension. "Worry is an inefficient use of processing power," he said, falling back on old habits.
Lyra's lips quirked into a small, understanding smile. "You sound like a toaster." She pushed off the wall, her shoulder brushing his as she passed. A simple, casual contact that sent a jolt of something warm and entirely non-analytical through him. "Try not to let them dissect you tomorrow."
Later, alone in his dorm, Gareth lay awake. The blue glow of his system interface pulsed softly in the darkness.
[Scheduled scan: 07:00]
The display blinked out, surrendering the room to shadows. But sleep wouldn't come. His mind replayed the day, the failure, Rael's words. Yet, cutting through the tactical analysis and the dread of the coming scan, one image persisted: Lyra's smile in the corridor, and the fleeting warmth of her touch. It was a variable his system couldn't quantify, a problem with no logical solution, and for once, he didn't want one.