Project Echelon: The Debris Wars

Chapter 2- The Awakening Protocol

Adrian didn’t remember how long he’d been running.

Hours, maybe days. The forest never seemed to end — an endless blur of rain and shadow. The wound in his chest glowed faintly through the cracks in his armor, casting eerie light on the trees. He should’ve been dead from blood loss, infection, something. Instead, the Nanocore kept him moving.

“[Vital stabilization: 87%. Cellular degradation halted.]”

The voice again — mechanical, detached. It had been whispering in his mind ever since he escaped the facility.

“Stop talking,” he muttered, clutching his temple. “Get out of my head.”

“[Host synchronization incomplete. Disabling communication may compromise survival.]”

“I said—shut up!”

His shout echoed across the valley, followed by silence. The rain softened. Wind carried the faint hiss of static, like a radio trying to tune into a frequency that didn’t exist.

Adrian dropped to his knees, exhausted. His hands trembled. He stared at his reflection in a puddle — hollow eyes, weeks of grime, and that pulsing shard in his chest. It wasn’t human anymore. Neither was he.

“Where the hell am I?”

“[Proximity alert. Human settlement detected: 4.3 kilometers northwest.]”

He frowned. “You can scan?”

“[Affirmative. Environmental sensors online.]”

He hated how calm it sounded. Like it was proud of itself.

“Fine. You get me there, and you stay quiet.”

“[Acknowledged.]”

The settlement was barely more than a ghost town — shattered vehicles, burned homes, cracked pavement buried under moss. A rusted sign read “GRAYPOINT — Population 6,000.” That number was a lie now.

Adrian crept through the ruins, keeping low. His military instincts guided him — scanning windows, checking blind spots. No movement, no sound. Only the faint hum of distant power lines and the occasional flicker of blue light bleeding from under rubble.

He recognized that glow.

Echelon debris.

Pieces of the same alien metal that fused with him.

He crouched beside one fragment — the size of a dinner plate, half-buried in concrete. It pulsed faintly, mirroring the rhythm of the shard in his chest. For a moment, he felt drawn to it. His hand moved on its own.

“[Warning. Foreign fragment interaction may accelerate synchronization.]”

He hesitated. “Accelerate? You mean—make me more like you?”

“[Clarification: Increase integration efficiency.]”

“Yeah. Not helping.”

He stood, backing away. But the fragment pulsed brighter, responding to his movement — like it recognized him.

Then came the sound. A low, mechanical whir that sent shivers up his spine.

Drones.

Adrian ducked behind a collapsed wall as a formation of black orbs floated into view — three of them, scanning with red sensors. Division 9 patrol units. His former employers.

“Of course they’d find me,” he muttered. “Never leave loose ends.”

The drones paused above the glowing debris, emitted a beam of light, and began transmitting data.

“[Energy signature detected. Pattern: identical to host.]”

The voice whispered again, urgent now.

“[They are tracking you.]”

“No kidding.”

He peeked from cover, counting their movement. They were slow — predictable. He could take them out. The Nanocore pulsed in his veins again, feeding him possibilities, vectors, probabilities.

For the first time, he didn’t fight it.

He moved.

Three steps. Two shots. Three kills. The drones fell like black raindrops, hissing as their circuits fried.

Adrian exhaled — the old instincts coming back. He might’ve been hunted, but he wasn’t prey yet.

He approached the wreckage to salvage intel, when a voice cut through the static behind him.

“Don’t move.”

Female. Calm, steady, close.

He froze. “You planning to shoot or talk first?”

“Depends who you are,” she said. “Division 9 doesn’t usually waste ammo on their own.”

Adrian turned slowly.

The woman standing a few meters away wasn’t Division 9. Her clothes were scavenged — a reinforced jacket, armored boots, rifle slung low. A faint glow traced the edge of her gloves — tech-grade, modified. But what caught him off guard was her expression — analytical, not afraid.

“I’m not with them,” he said.

“Everyone says that,” she replied. “Then they shoot.”

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.”

Her eyebrow lifted slightly. “That supposed to impress me?”

“It’s supposed to stop you from pulling the trigger.”

They stared at each other for a tense few seconds before she lowered her weapon slightly. “Name.”

“Adrian Cross.”

That seemed to surprise her. “Cross? As in Commander Cross of Taskforce Echo?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not long enough,” she said, stepping closer. “You disappeared during the Arcadia blackout. Division 9 put your name on every wanted board from here to Titan Base.”

“Guess they really miss me.”

“Or they want what’s inside you.”

Adrian stiffened. “What do you know about that?”

She tapped the glowing glove on her hand. “Enough to see it.”

He realized she wasn’t bluffing — her gear wasn’t just tech scavenged for show. She had sensors, probably tuned to detect alien radiation.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Dr. Lyra Quinn,” she said. “Astrobiologist. Or I used to be, before the world fell apart.”

“Doctor?” he said skeptically. “You don’t look like one.”

“Lost my lab. Lost my team. Picked up a gun instead.” She glanced at the blue glow leaking from his armor. “Looks like you lost something too — your humanity.”

“Trying to get it back,” he said.

She studied him a moment longer, then holstered her weapon. “You need shelter. And if that thing inside you does what I think it does, you need containment.”

“[Rejection advised. Unknown human may compromise security.]”

Adrian ignored the voice. “You got a base?”

“Not far. But if I take you there, you do exactly what I say.”

He smirked faintly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Lyra’s base was hidden beneath an old subway terminal — metal doors disguised under collapsed concrete, camouflaged from scanners. Inside, it looked like a Frankenstein’s dream: computers powered by car batteries, holographic monitors flickering, debris fragments suspended in containment fields.

Adrian followed her through narrow corridors, his eyes catching on the strange mix of chaos and brilliance.

“You built all this yourself?” he asked.

“With a little help,” she said, glancing at a cracked monitor. “I used to work for Division 9. Until I realized they weren’t trying to contain the debris. They were trying to weaponize it.”

“That tracks.”

She motioned for him to sit on a metal bench near the center console. “Take off your chestplate.”

He hesitated. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Neither is glowing like a reactor core,” she shot back. “Do it.”

Reluctantly, he unlatched his armor. The shard embedded in his chest pulsed brighter, responding to the lab’s field generators. Lyra stepped closer, eyes wide.

“Incredible,” she whispered. “It’s integrated into your cellular matrix. The nanites are rewriting your DNA.”

“That’s what this thing keeps telling me,” he said.

“‘Thing?’”

“The voice. In my head.”

She looked sharply at him. “You’re hearing it?”

“All the time.”

Lyra typed rapidly on a console, bringing up a spectral readout. “That’s… impossible. The debris doesn’t communicate directly with organic hosts. It hijacks, consumes, but it doesn’t talk.”

“Well,” he said grimly, “I guess I’m special.”

“[Clarification: You are chosen.]”

The voice pulsed through his skull again, louder this time — and Lyra heard it. Her instruments flared in sync with the sound.

“What the hell was that?” she whispered.

“You heard it too?” Adrian asked.

“It wasn’t sound,” she said. “It was… data. It projected a signal through your neural frequency.”

“[Host neural link expanding.]”

The shard in his chest brightened violently. Consoles around them exploded in sparks.

“Kill the power!” Adrian shouted.

Lyra slammed her hand on a switch. The lights died. Silence fell — broken only by their ragged breathing.

When the hum finally faded, the shard dimmed.

Lyra stared at him, shaken. “It’s not just merging with you. It’s evolving.”

“What does that mean for me?”

“It means,” she said quietly, “if Division 9 finds you again, they won’t try to kill you. They’ll try to use you.”

They both turned as a soft beep echoed from the scanner near the entrance. Lyra’s expression changed instantly.

“They’ve found us,” she whispered.

On the monitor, red blips multiplied — dozens of heat signatures closing fast.

Division 9 strike team.

Adrian stood, strapping his armor back on. “Guess we move.”

Lyra grabbed her rifle. “You can’t fight them all.”

“Watch me.”

“[Combat adaptation ready.]”

He felt the Nanocore surge again — energy coiling through his muscles, burning with purpose. Lyra stared at the glow crawling up his arms.

“What are you becoming?” she asked.

Adrian looked toward the sealed doors, where the sound of boots and engines drew closer. His voice was low, grim.

“Something they should’ve never created.”