"Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again."
—Gareth Lancer
No alarm blared. No warning sirens. Just a soft, deliberate hiss as the pod's seals released in slow succession, vapor rolling out in thick, white clouds. The sound was unnervingly gentle in the tense silence of the chamber.
Gareth stood frozen, his instincts screaming a chaotic mix of warning and recognition. The rest of Unit Hound had their weapons raised, trained on the opening pod. Rael's voice was a sharp crack in the stillness.
"Cipher, step back! That's an order!"
But Gareth couldn't move. He was rooted to the spot, his system humming in resonance with the pod's systems.
Inside, the woman's eyes opened. Silver-blue. Cold as moonlight, sharp as shattered glass. They focused instantly, unerringly, on him.
Her lips parted. The voice that emerged was clear, synthesized yet hauntingly melodic, echoing slightly in the chamber.
"Unit designation... L-01."
Gareth blinked, a cold dread washing over him. "That's not—"
Her gaze intensified, locking onto him with terrifying precision. "Correction. Gareth Lancer."
Every muscle in his body went rigid. She knew his name. The name given to him by the family he thought was his.
"Rael!" he barked, but it was too late. A beam of pure blue light shot from the pod, connecting a port on her chest to the interface band on his wrist. The connection was instant, violent, a torrent of raw data flooding his senses.
Lyra spun, eyes wide. "What's happening to him?!"
Rael swore and yanked his rifle up. "Contain her!"
The stun-round never reached its target. Gareth's body moved before the command finished registering. His hand shot out, not to block, but to intercept. The projectile crumpled in his palm, fizzling into nothingness.
Everyone froze.
Lyra's voice was a tremulous whisper. "Gareth...?"
The blue light faded. The pod went dark. The woman—E-01—stepped out barefoot onto the cold floor, fluid dripping from her simple grey bodysuit. Her movements were fluid, too perfect to be human.
Rael aimed again, his finger tense on the trigger. "Don't. Move."
She tilted her head, studying him like a biologist observing a strange insect. "You are not authorized to terminate me, Vice Commander Rael."
That name, spoken in that calm, certain tone, sounded like a verdict.
"How the hell do you know—"
"Because I remember," she said quietly, her silver-blue eyes boring into him. "Eighteen years ago, you were the one who gave the order. You pressed the button that initiated the purge protocol in this sector. You thought you killed me."
Rael's grip on his rifle faltered, his face paling. The confirmation of a ghost.
Gareth stepped between them instinctively, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Enough! Nobody is killing anyone."
"Bold," she said, her eyes flicking toward him. "You are different from my memories. You have... emotion now."
He frowned, the statement hitting a nerve. "Before what?"
Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Before you escaped."
The single word felt like a detonation in his soul.
[Memory corruption: 67%. Recovery sequence pending.]
A tremor rippled through the floor. Red emergency lights flared to life. Somewhere above them, the automated defense turrets built into the chamber walls activated with a series of heavy clunks.
"Extraction team, we're compromised!" Rael snapped into his comm. "Lancer, move!"
But the turrets weren't aiming at them. They were targeting the woman.
A synthetic voice echoed through the intercom. "Engage suppression protocol. Terminate E-01."
Her expression didn't change. Only her eyes did. They glowed brighter, and in perfect, silent synchronization, the turrets exploded one after another, showering the chamber with shrapnel.
Riven yelled, "What the hell— she's hijacking the security grid!"
Gareth's system lit up like a supernova, pain lancing through his skull.
[Incoming data flood — source: E-01.]
[Adapting... integrating...]
He dropped to one knee, gasping as memories that were not his own poured into his mind. Lyra grabbed his shoulders. "Gareth! Hey! Stay with me!"
Through the static, he heard E-01's voice, not in the room, but inside his head.
"Don't fight it. We're the same pattern. You just forgot."
He clenched his teeth, a scream building in his throat. "Then remind me."
For a heartbeat, the entire world stopped. Then the memories hit—not as flashes, but as a brutal, immersive reel.
EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO
He was small. His body refused to obey, trapped in a pod filled with viscous fluid. A woman with long brown hair and a face of awe and fierce compassion looked in at him. Her nametag read: DR. HELENA VANCE. His mind, even then, cataloged it. The man beside her was a stark contrast—scarred, hardened, a soldier playing at being a scientist. DR. JAMES VORKISH. His name was filed away too.
Days blurred. Tests. Scans. A constant, low hum of energy. And her. E-01. A little girl with silver hair, not in a pod but free. She was always there, her small hands pressed against his glass prison. His own tiny hand would move to mirror hers. A connection. A constant.
He saw it then. The key moment. Dr. Vance, arguing with Vorkish, her voice desperate. "The emotional core is the only thing stabilizing him! It's the buffer! Without it, the Aurora core will corrupt! We have to shut it down!"
Vorkish's voice was cold. "The project is compromised, Helena. We're initiating a purge. The L-series is a failure."
"He's a child! He's my—"
The memory shattered with the sound of screaming alarms and the hiss of containment doors sealing.
He woke on the floor, surrounded by wreckage. The chamber was in ruins, smoke curling upward. The others were dazed but alive.
E-01 knelt beside him. Her hand brushed his cheek—the touch was cool, but oddly, profoundly human.
"You are stabilizing," she observed. "Good."
Lyra's voice cut in sharply from behind him. "Get away from him."
E-01 looked at her, calm and unreadable. "You care about him."
"Yeah, I do," Lyra snapped, her photonic energy flickering around her fists.
For the first time, E-01's smile reached her eyes, a flicker of something genuine. "Then you will protect him from himself."
Rael staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his temple. "Lancer. We're leaving. Now."
Gareth glanced between Rael's hardened face and E-01's serene, waiting presence. A certainty settled in him. "She comes with us."
Rael's eyes turned to ice. "She is a classified threat. A walking breach of security."
"So am I," Gareth said, the truth of it solidifying in his gut.
For a long moment, silence. Then Rael let out a slow, defeated breath. "Fine. But you will answer for this. Both of you."
---
The arrangements were made with tense efficiency. While Gareth was ordered back to his single-occupancy room, E-01—who now requested to be called Eve—was assigned to Lyra's dorm for "compatibility monitoring and observation." The official reason was Lyra's proven stability and tactical awareness. The unofficial reason hung unspoken: if anyone could handle an enigmatic human-AI hybrid, it was the unflappable Spectre.
Lyra's dorm was identical to Gareth's in layout but felt entirely different. Where his space was a landscape of organized chaos—scattered schematics and tools—hers was meticulously ordered. A single personal touch: a small, preserved desert flower in a glass case on her desk.
Eve stood in the center of the room, turning slowly. "This space is... efficient."
"Thanks," Lyra said, leaning against the doorframe. "It's called being neat. You'll get used to it." She studied the silver-haired woman. "So. Eve. What exactly are you?"
"I am... a companion piece," Eve said, her silver-blue eyes distant. "Where L-01 was designed as the stable vessel, I was the adaptive interface. Two halves of a failed whole."
Lyra crossed her arms. "And now?"
"Now we are both incomplete." Eve's gaze focused on Lyra. "You are his tether to humanity."
The observation was so blunt it stole Lyra's breath for a moment. "I'm his teammate."
"You are more. Your emotional signature is the most consistent variable in his new emotional matrix." Eve tilted her head. "It is... fascinating."
Meanwhile, Gareth sat alone in his room, the silence pressing in on him. The familiar clutter of his projects suddenly felt alien. He picked up a half-dismantled drone core, his fingers tracing the circuits without really seeing them.
His system flickered.
[Neural load decreasing. Integration stable at 71%.]
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. The memory of Eve's touch on his cheek lingered, a ghost sensation that both comforted and unnerved him. She was a mirror reflecting a past he couldn't remember, a key to locks he didn't know existed.
A soft chime came from his door. It was Lyra.
"Hey," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "Just checking in. Our new roommate is... adjusting."
"How's that going?" Gareth asked, genuinely curious.
"She's currently analyzing my organizational system and asked why I 'curate sentimental biological artifacts.'" Lyra smiled faintly. "I think she's trying to understand what makes us human."
Gareth felt a strange pang at that. "Maybe she can tell me too."
Lyra's expression softened. "You're plenty human, Gareth. Maybe too much for your own good sometimes." She pushed off the doorframe. "Get some rest. Vale wants us all running drills together tomorrow. Should be... interesting."
After she left, Gareth lay in the dark, his mind racing. The silence of his solitary room felt different now—not peaceful, but empty. Across the academy, in Lyra's dorm, Eve stood by the window, watching the same night sky.
"Your heart rate increases when you think of him," Eve observed, not turning from the window.
Lyra, changing into sleep clothes, paused. "That's none of your business."
"It is my function to observe and learn." Eve finally turned, her expression unreadable. "He thinks of you as well. The patterns are... complementary."
Lyra shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "You're going to be trouble, aren't you?"
Eve's answering smile was faint but real. "I am designed to optimize systems. You and L-01 are the most complex system I have ever encountered."
Outside both their rooms, Commander Vale watched the surveillance feeds on a split screen. On one side, Gareth Lancer, staring at the ceiling in his solitary room. On the other, Eve standing sentinel by Lyra's window.
"She's exactly where she wants to be," Rael observed from behind her. "Close to Lancer, but protected by the one person he trusts most."
Vale didn't take her eyes from the screens. "A strategic placement, or an emotional one?"
"With these two," Rael said quietly, "I'm beginning to think it's the same thing."