The alarm hums like it's bored of its own job. The kind of sound that doesn't wake you so much as wear you down until you give up pretending to sleep. I open my eyes to the same ceiling, the same recycled air that tastes faintly of rust and fatigue.
Rhea stands in the doorway with a datapad in one hand and a cup of something pretending to be coffee in the other. The steam curls like it's trying to escape.
"Commander wants you in the bay," she says.
"For what?"
"Combat evaluation."
"I'm starting to think you people don't trust me."
"You're an observant one."
Cadence stirs in my head, voice already bright. "Excellent. Movement. Data."
"Try to contain your excitement."
"I'm unable to."
I sit up and stretch, listening to servos adjust in quiet complaint. The metal arm feels heavier in the mornings, like it hasn't quite decided to join the rest of me yet.
The corridor outside feels busier than before. More soldiers, more noise, less patience. The compound runs on the illusion of order, powered by routine and caffeine. They watch as I pass, some whispering, others stepping aside like contact might be contagious. I catch the word "machine" more than once. It still lands the same way it always does.
"They're afraid," Cadence says.
"Good. Fear keeps them quiet."
"They're curious too."
"That's usually the prelude to bad ideas."
We turn a corner. Two guards block the next hallway, rifles slung but eyes sharp. They don't speak, just track me with that mixture of suspicion and fascination that's becoming a theme around here.
"Comforting," I say.
"They're just professionals," Rhea answers.
"They look more like believers trying not to touch a miracle."
We reach a set of double doors stencilled TRAINING BAY 2. The paint is peeling, the metal underneath scratched by years of use. Rhea keys the panel. The doors slide open, heavy and reluctant, groaning like they'd rather stay closed. The air inside smells like sweat, oil, and old wiring.
Mara stands near a wall of cracked monitors. Her posture's perfect; her mood isn't. She glances at me like I'm another piece of malfunctioning equipment. "You said you can fight. Let's see it.""I never said that."
"You moved like you can."
"Moving's different from fighting."
"Prove it."
The room's wide, rectangular, and stripped down to function. Markings on the floor divide space into lanes and sectors, like an arena for people who forgot entertainment was optional.
Rhea hands me a set of wrist sensors. "These log your response time."
"I can tell you right now it's faster than yours."
"I believe it," she says quietly.
Cadence sounds almost cheerful. "Beginning evaluation. Try not to break anything valuable."
"Define valuable."
Three training drones stand against the far wall, half-assembled from old military chassis. Their armour is pitted, optics dull red, movements jerky from age. When Mara hits the command switch, they wake like animals remembering hunger.
The HUD activates without request. The world sharpens at the edges.
STRENGTH: 1
SPEED: 1
COMBAT SCORE: 1
A faint pulse runs through my vision, syncing to my heartbeat.
"Ready?" Mara asks.
"Probably not."
The first drone charges, fast but predictable. My arm moves before thought. Metal meets metal, hard enough to jar my shoulder. The drone staggers. I twist, pivot, drive my knee into its joint. It collapses with a sound like tearing steel and surprise.
Rhea mutters, "Point-one reaction time. That's not possible."
"Possible now," Cadence says.
The second and third drones activate together. One flanks left, one dives low. I don't plan. My body does. The tactical overlay flashes thin white lines across my sight, tracing movement before it happens. I follow the pattern. My leg sweeps through empty air a moment before a drone's strike reaches that same space. It crashes straight into my follow-up elbow.
"You predicted," Rhea says.
"I cheated," I answer.
"Semantics," Cadence says.
The third drone rushes in, arms extended like it expects me to flinch. I step into it, catch its shoulder, and slam it sideways into the wall. Metal groans. Dust falls from the ceiling. I'm breathing hard out of habit, not need. The overlay hums brighter, eager like it's enjoying itself.
Mara studies the wreckage. "You weren't just reacting."
"No. Something else was.
"Cadence hums. "You're welcome."
Mara signals again. "Round two."
"Already?""Don't stop now."
Five drones this time. Older models, bigger frames. Their eyes burn hotter, and their steps make the floor tremble. They move like they remember war.
Cadence says, "Allow me."
"Define allow."
"Assistance."
The first hits. I duck under its arm, drive an uppercut into its chest, and hear something snap. The second swings wide. I roll past it, catch its leg, and pull until it folds. Sparks scatter across the floor like thrown stars.
The third and fourth come together, twin strikes that should've trapped me. The overlay floods my sight with colour, path lines, timing, outcomes. I choose one. My foot catches the fourth mid-step. Its balance falters. The third slams into it. I follow through with a punch that cracks its optic plate.
Cadence's voice stays calm, like a scientist cataloguing chaos. "Adaptation curve accelerating."
"English."
"You're learning faster than the system predicted."
"Translation: I'm terrifying myself."
The fifth drone stops moving altogether. Its optics flicker from red to blue, syncing with my HUD. The flicker spreads through its frame, light crawling along its joints like veins waking up.
Rhea swears under her breath. "It's mirroring your output."
"Cadence, what did you do?"
"Introduced myself."
"To who?"
"Everything."
Mara slams the manual cut-off. Power drains from the drones, leaving them smoking on the floor. The lights flicker, then stabilize. The silence that follows rings like feedback.
Mara stares at me. "You hijacked the test."
"Technically, she did.
"Cadence hums. "Shared control. Efficient teamwork."
Rhea moves closer, eyes wide. "You didn't just react to them. They reacted to you. The systems rewrote their own targeting protocols to match your will."
"I didn't ask them to."
"They didn't need asking."
Cadence sounds pleased. "Resonance achieved."
"Meaning?"
"Low-tier scrap decided you're interesting. Limited range. Minimal control. For now."
Mara looks from me to the wreckage. "You're dangerous, Iris."
"People keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Rhea shakes her head. "She's not dangerous. She's the first thing that actually might work."
"Depends on your definition of work," I say.
Mara turns to leave. "We'll run another test tomorrow. This time with restrictions."
"Always a good sign," I mutter.
When the door seals behind them, the bay falls quiet. The only sound is the faint tick of cooling metal. The smell of burnt circuitry hangs heavy, sharp as ozone.
Cadence whispers, "You felt it."
"Yeah."
"The system moved with you."
"It didn't feel like mine."
"Evolution rarely does."
I flex the metal hand. Blue light runs under the seams, soft and steady. The air hums faintly, like it's listening. The walls seem closer, the quiet thicker.
"Calibration complete," Cadence says.
"Of what?"
"Potential."
The word hangs there longer than it should.