The slip-space corridor was a silent, streaking tunnel of violet and blue light. Inside the Vanguard stealth corvette, the only sound was the low, steady hum of the sub-light drive core cooling down after their violent escape from Command Prime.Cyrus sat in the rear cabin, his head resting back against the cold bulkhead. The adrenaline that had carried him through the communications spire was finally burning out, leaving behind a profound physical exhaustion. His fused ribs ached with a dull, persistent heat. His left arm, locked tightly against his chest in its bio-foam cast, felt heavier than it had on the surface.He didn't sleep. He kept his eighty-nine percent resonance engaged, using it as a mental anchor to maintain his focus. It offered no physical reprieve from the pain, but it kept his mind sharp, preventing the exhaustion from clouding his tactical judgment. He kept his right hand resting on the shaft of the Keres grav-glaive beside his seat.In the cockpit, Director Thorn

The fifty meters of open vacuum between the observation ring and the apex of the central core felt like a vast, insurmountable chasm. In standard gravity, the jump would have been impossible. In the hard vacuum of the mechanical host, it was an exercise in pure, unforgiving physics. Without air resistance to slow him down or an atmosphere to adjust his pitch, Cyrus’s initial launch angle would dictate his exact trajectory."Ninety seconds until the primary download completes," Sergeant Rael reported, his voice tight over the comms. "The exhaust port is already beginning its lockdown cycle."Cyrus didn't hesitate. He stepped to the very edge of the observation ring. He locked his left arm tightly against his chest, feeling the rigid support of the bio-foam cast. With his right hand, he secured the thermal breaching charge to his tactical belt, leaving his hand free to grip the Keres grav-glaive.He bent his knees. The motion compressed his fused ribs, sending a blinding, breathless spi

The silence inside the stealth corvette’s cockpit was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the sub-light engines and the soft, digital chimes of Sergeant Rael’s navigational console. Beyond the viewport, Sector Sigma-Twelve remained a vast, dark expanse. Thousands of compromised Vanguard dreadnoughts and cruisers drifted aimlessly in the void, their running lights dimmed to a passive, standby amber.They were statues in a silent graveyard of a war that had nearly ended humanity.Rael kept his hands moving across the communications array, his mirrored visor reflecting the complex routing algorithms required to punch a signal through the fragmented network."I'm bypassing the Command Prime orbital relay," Rael said, his voice hoarse from the adrenaline crash. "Routing the transmission through the deep-space buoys on the galactic perimeter. It’s a narrow-beam slip-space broadcast, aimed directly at the subterranean vault's closed-loop receiver.""Send it," Director Thorne ordered.R

The heavy magnetic doors of the triage center slid shut and locked with a resonant, metallic thud, cutting off the sterile light and the chaotic hum of the trauma ward.Director Silas Thorne and Sergeant Rael were left standing in the dim, flickering amber of the upper medical corridor. The air out here was cold and smelled of scorched polymer and ozone."Motion trackers are clear in the immediate sector," Rael said in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the small display of his wrist console. "But the lower we go, the denser the rogue mech patrols will be. The localized subroutines are drawing them toward the primary power junctions on the lower sublevels."Thorne checked the magazine of his kinetic pistol. He snapped it back into the grip, the sharp click echoing in the empty hall."Without the Contractor, we lack a heavy breaching asset for close-quarters engagement," Thorne observed clinically. "We avoid open corridors. We take the maintenance stairwells. If we are forced to engage, we