"The most dangerous battles aren't fought with weapons, but with the truths we choose to believe."
—Gareth Lancer
The morning after Eve's arrival, the academy felt different. A new tension hummed beneath the usual routine, a current of unspoken questions and sidelong glances. The source of it all stood beside Lyra in the training bay, observing the pre-drill chaos with serene, silver-blue eyes.
Unit Hound was running a new combat simulation—a multi-level obstacle course with shifting platforms and unpredictable drone patterns. It was designed to test everything: agility, strategy, and the ability to adapt when the ground literally moved beneath your feet.
Gareth adjusted his stance, feeling his muscles coil with new-found efficiency. His system was already active, feeding him data streams.
[Adaptive field active. Environmental analysis: 89% complete.]
Lyra stretched beside him, her gaze flicking between Gareth and Eve, who stood near the observation console with Vice Commander Rael. "Ready to show our new observer how it's done, Cipher?"
"Focus on the simulation, Spectre," he replied, but his eyes lingered on Eve for a second too long. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
Riven cracked his neck. "Let's just get this over with. I'm starving."
The simulation began. Platforms tilted and rotated at dizzying speeds. Drones emerged from hidden panels, their attack patterns erratic, clearly tweaked to be more aggressive than usual.
They moved as a unit. Lyra used photonic bursts to momentarily blind drones, creating openings. Riven, a whirlwind of kinetic force, shattered those who got too close. Jade and Corren provided support, creating barriers and laying down covering fire.
Gareth was the nexus. He didn't just fight; he orchestrated. His predictive counter allowed him to see the flow of battle seconds before it happened, directing his teammates with calm, precise commands.
"Blitz, left flank, now. Spectre, high-right drone is charging a disruptor shot."
He moved with a fluid grace that was becoming his signature, countering strikes with minimal effort, using the environment to his advantage. During a particularly complex maneuver where a platform suddenly dropped away, he grabbed Lyra's arm, pulling her to safety with an instinctive tug that felt more personal than tactical.
"You okay?" he asked, his hand lingering on her arm for a beat.
Her eyes met his, a flicker of surprise and something warmer within them. "Yeah. Thanks."
From the observation deck, Eve watched, her head tilted. "His synchronization with the team has increased by 18.3% since the last session. But his reaction time to Spectre's positional hazards has decreased by 0.2 seconds. An emotional variable."
Rael grunted, not taking his eyes off the simulation. "Your point?"
"He is optimizing for her safety at a marginal cost to overall efficiency. A fascinating deviation."
Down below, the simulation escalated. A new wave of drones deployed, their movements different—sharper, more coordinated. Unnervingly so.
Gareth's system flared a warning.
[Anomaly detected. Drone patterns deviate from standard AI protocols. Behavioral markers suggest external guidance.]
He didn't have time to process it. A drone broke from its programmed path, ignoring Riven to launch a focused, vicious attack on Lyra. It was a feint, a deliberate tactic to split their formation.
Gareth moved to intercept, but another drone, anticipating him, cut him off. For a split second, he was blocked. He saw the attacking drone lunge, its energy blade aimed straight for Lyra's back.
"Lyra, down!" he shouted.
She dropped, but not fast enough. The blade grazed her shoulder, the simulation registering a minor injury. A sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips.
A cold, unfamiliar fury ignited in Gareth's chest. It was clean and sharp, overriding his analytical calm. His system blazed.
[Threat level elevated. Hostile intent confirmed.]
[Countermeasure: Lethal force authorized.]
His movements became a blur. He didn't disable the drone that hit her; he dismantled it, his strikes precise, brutal, and final. He turned on the one that had blocked him, his counter not just deflecting its attack, but using its own momentum to slam it into a wall with bone-shattering force.
The rest of the squad stared, the simulation momentarily forgotten. They had never seen this from him—not just efficiency, but raw, controlled anger.
The simulation ended. The drones deactivated. The five of them stood panting in the sudden silence.
Riven was the first to speak, wiping sweat from his brow. "Well. That was new."
Lyra touched her grazed shoulder, looking at Gareth with wide, uncertain eyes. "Gareth... what was that?"
The cold fury drained away as quickly as it came, leaving him feeling hollow. He looked at his hands, then at her. "It was... a miscalculation." The lie felt bitter on his tongue. It wasn't a miscalculation. It was a reaction. A deeply, terrifyingly human one.
---
Later, in the medical bay, a droid applied a regenerative gel to Lyra's simulated injury. Eve stood nearby, observing the procedure with detached interest.
"The drone's targeting parameters were anomalous," Eve stated. "Its attack pattern was not randomized. It was deliberate. It prioritized you as a high-value target to provoke a specific response from L-01."
Lyra frowned, wincing as the gel tingled against her skin. "You're saying it was trying to make Gareth lose his cool?"
"His emotional connection to you is his most significant non-combat variable. Exploiting it is a logical tactical choice."
Lyra looked at Eve, a chill running down her spine that had nothing to do with her injury. "Who would do that? And why?"
Eve's silver-blue eyes met hers. "The same one who has been testing him. The one in the system. The traitor."
The door hissed open, and Gareth walked in, his expression grim. "Rael pulled the logs. The drone's programming was tampered with. A subtle override, buried deep. It was a targeted attack."
"On me?" Lyra asked.
"On us," Gareth corrected, his gaze intense. "On our team. Someone is trying to see how we break." He looked at Eve. "You felt it too, didn't you? In the code."
Eve nodded. "The signature is faint, but familiar. It is the same presence that whispers in the static. It is learning from him, just as he learns from it."
The pieces were forming a terrifying picture. They weren't just fighting simulations or a distant enemy. The threat was here, inside Arcadia's walls, playing a dangerous game with them as the pieces.
That night, alone in his room, Gareth couldn't silence the whispers in his own code. The fury he'd felt, the protectiveness—it was a weakness, a variable that could be exploited. But as he replayed the moment, the sight of Lyra in danger, he knew with cold certainty that he would do it again.
A soft chime announced a comms request. It was Lyra.
"Can't sleep either?" her voice came through, a quiet comfort in the dark.
"Too much data to process," he said, which was true, but not the whole truth.
A pause. "That thing you did today... it wasn't just your system, was it?"
He closed his eyes. "No. It wasn't."
Another silence, this one warmer, filled with unspoken understanding. "Get some rest, Gareth. We'll figure this out tomorrow."
As the line closed, a different signal flickered at the edge of his perception. A data packet, small and heavily encrypted, deposited directly into his system's buffer. It wasn't from Aurora. The signature was colder, more clinical.
He opened it. It contained no message, only a single, repeating string of code—a complex algorithm his system immediately identified as a refinement to his predictive counter, making it faster, more efficient. A gift. Or a taunt.
And attached to the code, like a fingerprint, was a faint, familiar energy signature he'd felt once before, in a simulation against a black-armored machine.
L-02.
The ghost wasn't just in the machine anymore. It was handing him the tools to become a better weapon. The question was, for which side?