His words dripped into the metal corridors like oil. I stayed crouched, knuckles whitening against the rag, fighting the pulse of light that wanted to climb up my arm again.
Then—
"Enough."
A voice cut through the hallway, smooth and melodic, carrying a weight that froze all three bullies mid‑movement. I looked up just long enough to see them—the ones everyone in the academy whispered about after the training mission .
The Three Goddesses
Lucy. Lily. Linder—each from the upper colonies.
Lucy stepped forward first, her academy uniform tailored sharp around her frame in a way you could see every curves in her body , eyes burning the same color as the moon. She grinned, an easy kind of danger. "Harassing janitors now? How noble of you boys."
The tallest of the bullies straightened instantly, face twitching. "We were just—uh—testing discipline ma'am."
"Testing?" Lucy tilted her head, that lazy smile sharpening. "Then let's test your running speed. Leave! ."
The three of them froze. Everyone knew Lucy didn't make empty threats; she delighted in watching careers implode.
Lily appeared beside her, all cool poise and silver hair tied in a warrior's knot. Her cyber‑arm clicked with faint hissing precision as she adjusted her gloves. "Lucy, leave them. You're wasting energy on disposable meat."
The three bullies took the cue and scrambled away, one tripping on his feet. Their boots pounded into silence, leaving behind only the tang of humiliation in the recycled air.
I didn't move. Didn't thank. Didn't look up for long either. Gratitude felt foreign after Doman—after murder. I'd learned that help was its own debt.
Lucy crouched, eyes looking straight at me openly. Ten seconds of silence—like she was trying to find something. Then she smiled, soft but dangerously alive.
"You look cute for a lower‑born," she said.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Don't play with it." Lily's voice, cool as a blade. She shot her sister a look. "Come on. I'm missing neural‑sync calibration."
Lucy's grin widened, but she stood. "Fine, fine. Let's go, miss combat freak."
The last of them—Linder—hadn't said a word. She just looked my way, eyes faintly glowing violet. A second later, she turned and silent‑walked after them.
And like a storm, they were gone.
I sat there awhile, water pooling around my boots, wondering if that ten‑second stare had burned a hole right through me.
---
One Day Before the Main Mission
We were summoned to the Cyber Bay.
Every cadet in the Academy was there, lined up in combat blacks, the room buzzing with anticipation and murmurs. The air was alive with ozone and hope.
Mounted along the steel walls were dozens of armored suits—sleek frames of cybernetic design, the academy's proudest creation: the Cyber Body.
A fusion of man and machine.
Each one offered enhanced strength, reflexes, synced weaponry, and in some cases, experimental kinetic shielding.
Every suit was ranked—from low‑grade Alpha shells to the monstrous Omega frames.
The lead technician, Dr. Nano, explained it like an executioner reciting ceremony.
"You will each be paired with a Cyber Body compatible with your physiological and psychic rating," she said. "However, you can choose to exceed it." She paused, lips curling faintly. "At your own risk."
Everyone knew what that meant.
Choosing too high meant compression overload—nerves burnt from the inside, lungs fried by the acceleration grid. A few deaths a year were considered "acceptable casualties."
The cadets didn't care. They wanted glory.
Names flickered on holo‑boards. One by one, the top ten stepped forward—the Academy icons. All nobles. All upper‑borns.
Lucy, Lily, and Linder among them.
Lucy stepped to her console, smiling that same rebellious grin, and selected Omega‑06—a high‑combat hybrid frame like a second skin of living light.
The machine hissed open around her, chromatic scales shifting red‑white as it synced. She barely flinched as energy filaments stitched across her spine.
Lily followed, choosing Omega‑07, her cybernetic arm clicking into alignment with its neural pathways like she'd done it since birth.
Linder didn't say a word, simply placed her hand on the glowing panel of Omega‑08. The machine responded with eerie silence, like it served her already.
Each activation drew gasps, applause from the watchers who adored the spectacle of the academy big 10.
Then came the rest—students picking mid‑grade suits, lower borns picking average strength, average safety.
When my name was called, the whisper began again, spreading like poison through the air.
"The rat?"
"Maybe he'll pick the cleaning model Keke."
"I wish he fry his brain now."
I ignored them, eyes drifting to the lower‑grade suits. Lightweight, reliable, low risk.
That was the logical choice. Stay alive. Stay hidden.
Then the voice in my skull flickered back—clearer than ever.
Pick a high‑combat suit
I froze.
Pick high!?
are you fucking kidding me .* I thought back, jaw tightening. I'll pick something safe.
Pick high!!
The tone didn't change. It wasn't persuasion—it was command. The static behind it crawled like electricity under my skull.
> Pick. High
I clenched my teeth until they ached.
"Move it, lower‑born," someone called. "Or need me to scrub your hands first?"
Laughter followed.
The voice spoke again, softer but loaded
> Needed for survival!!!
Before I even realized it, my feet were moving, crossing the walkway toward the far end of the chamber where the Omega units were sealed behind electric blue barriers.
Conversation stopped.
I entered the security gate, the scans humming as they identified my low clearance and screamed red alerts across the board.
"Invalid authorization," the technician barked. "Cadet, step back—those frames are upper‑tier restricted!"
But above the intercom, Commander Zack's voice came through, lazy yet amused.
"Let him ."
A hush fell. Commander Zack?
The gates flickered green.
I stood before the Omega‑011 frame—towering, black , surrounded in coils of crimson plasma. It looked alive, breathing in the dim light. Its eyes pulsed once, like death.
Whispers spat through the room.
"No way—he's going to die."
"Haha a trash touching an Omega frame?"
"Insane."
My hands trembled as I stepped closer.
" Rick of dearth 50/50%" the voice whispered again, almost intimate now, as if standing right beside me.
What the fuck 50 percent I die why the hell didn't it say this from the start I thought to my now there is no going back unless I want to look like a bigger fool so I placed my palm on the console. The machine hissed awake—fast, violent.
Red light wrapped around my wrist, flooding up my arm like veins of lightning. My pulse matched its rhythm, heartbeat syncing with something mechanical, ancient.
Pain lanced through my spine; reality folded.
And suddenly—I saw.
A storm of data, numbers blooming into constellations, systems aligning. The machine wasn't a weapon. It was something more—an interface to something vast, waiting.
The technicians shouted warnings.
"Stop synchronization!"
"His vitals are spiking!"
"Override sequence—now!"
Zack's voice cut through again. "Do nothing. A rat wishes to fly!?."