Aria’s eyes fluttered open, the world around her swimming in and out of focus. Dim, sterile light illuminated the unfamiliar room, and she became aware of the stiff sensation of lying on a firm bed. Her head throbbed faintly, but it was her surroundings that held her attention. The walls were plain, metallic gray, with faint hums of machinery in the background. A table with medical equipment sat nearby, and the faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air.

Her gaze dropped to her arm, where thin wires snaked from her skin to a small console. Instinctively, she yanked them off, her breath quickening as she stared at the blinking monitors.

What are you doing? she thought, questioning her own impulsiveness.

Her hand drifted to her neck, where she felt a cold, unfamiliar weight. A small device, a band like a necklace, was secured around her throat. She tugged at it, but it didn’t budge. The tiny latch at the back was sealed, locking it in place.

Before she could examine it further, the sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. The door slid open, revealing a woman with sharp, confident strides.

She was in her late twenties, with a lean, athletic build. Her dark hair was tied back, and her piercing gaze carried an intensity that immediately set Aria on edge. Her uniform, adorned with subtle insignias, marked her as a high-ranking officer.

Aria instinctively shifted back on the bed, her body tense. The woman stopped a few steps away, her tough expression unreadable as she extended her hand, not with a weapon, but with a small object.

It was a compote.

“Eat,” the woman said bluntly. “The machines may have stabilized your nutrient levels, but your body needs real sustenance to recover. Hunger won’t just vanish.”

Aria hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she warily reached for the small container. She held it in her hand but didn’t open it.

The woman raised an eyebrow, noticing her reluctance. “You’re safe,” she added, her tone softening slightly. “We wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of bringing you here if we wanted to harm you.”

Aria said nothing, her grip tightening on the compote.

The woman sighed and crossed her arms. “Fine. Let’s start with introductions. I’m Sergeant Lyla. Or S-29. But most people call me ‘Viper.’ You’re in Facility Theta-09, one of the Odyssey Division’s recovery and analysis sites.” She leaned against the wall, her expression softening ever so slightly. “We brought you here after E-107 reported your condition. He’s the one who stopped you from collapsing in that pit, by the way.”

Solen frowned, “E-107?”

Lyla chuckled, a light laugh that contrasted with her otherwise stern demeanor. “You don’t have to be serious. Don’t you remember him?" She studied Aria’s confused expression and shook her head slightly, "Oh, I guess it makes sense, given the state you were in.”

Aria stayed quiet, unsure how to respond.

Lyla gestured toward the compote. “Go on. Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

Reluctantly, Aria opened the container and took a cautious bite, the sweetness of the fruit filling her mouth. It wasn’t much, but it did calm the gnawing hunger she hadn’t noticed until now.

Lyla watched her for a moment before breaking the silence. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated. “Aria.”

She stopped there, the weight of her own name hanging in the air. She wanted to say more, to explain herself, but the words wouldn’t come. Why couldn’t she tell her more? She wondered. Was it fear? 

Lyla nodded, as if sensing her hesitation. “Well, Aria, here’s the situation.” She stepped closer, her tone shifting to something more serious. “When we brought you in, you were in bad shape. And I'm not talking about just exhaustion. One of our analysts said your neurons were fried- uh, I mean, damaged.”

Aria’s head shot up, her eyes wide. “What?”

Lyla raised her hand, “It sounds bad, but relax. Let me explain.” She gestured to a chair and sat down, meeting Aria’s gaze.

“From what we can tell, you’ve been exposed to a high-voltage electrical current. Multiple times, most likely. It’s not just surface damage, either. The shocks disrupted the electrical signals in your nervous system. Think of your body as a circuit. Normally, your neurons, the cells in your brain and nerves, fire in precise patterns to control your movement, thoughts, and reflexes. But in your case, some of those circuits have been scrambled.”

Aria stared at her, “What does that mean?” she asked quietly.

Lyla leaned forward, her expression softening. “It means your nervous system isn’t functioning at full capacity. Some of your reflexes might be slower. Your memory could be patchy. You might even experience muscle spasms or difficulty focusing. But as I said, no worries. It’s not permanent.”

Aria’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief, though the fear in her eyes hadn’t fully subsided.

“We’ve already started treatment,” Lyla continued. “That device around your neck is a stabilizer. It monitors your neural activity and regulates it when things go off balance. It’s not exactly a cure, but it’ll help you recover faster.”

Aria lowered her head, her hands gripping the edge of the bed. She felt small, fragile in a way she hadn’t experienced before. 

“Listen,” Lyla said softly, “You’re safe here, Aria. You are safe. We’re not going to leave you like this. We will help you get back on your feet.”

For a moment, Aria didn’t answer. She didn’t fully trust the woman in front of her. Saying over and over that she was safe only made her doubt it more.

Lyla stood, her tough demeanor returning as she straightened her uniform. “Alright, rest. I’ll check on you later.” She turned to leave but paused at the door. “And eat the rest of that compote. That’s an order.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Aria alone in the quiet room.

As the door slid shut, Aria stared at the compote in her hands. Now that it was an order, she felt reluctant to eat it, even though her stomach was begging for more.

Sergeant Lyla stepped out of the room, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss. 

She paused at the doorway.

 Aria’s composure lingered in her mind. The way her shoulders sagged, or how her fingers twitched faintly in her lap. Her gaze drifted instead of focusing, like it took effort just to stay present…

She felt a flicker of sympathy for the girl. Then she straightened her back, adjusted her blazer, and stepped forward. 

Her gaze then landed on Cove. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His sharp blue eyes lifted to meet hers. His expression was unreadable, but he was clearly waiting for her to speak.

“Well?” he asked.

She exhaled and ran a hand through her dark hair.
“My assumptions were right,” she said. “So were the analysts.” She glanced at the tablet mounted beside Aria’s room, “Sustained electrical exposure. Neural disruption. It all adds up. She’s slow, disoriented, and completely lost.”

Cove tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “And her memory?”

“Hard to say,” Lyla said. “She wasn’t very talkative. Barely there, honestly. But she did tell me her name. That counts for something.” She paused, then sighed. “She’ll recover, eventually. It’ll just take time. Neural repair’s slow, but the stabilizer should keep things steady until her brain sorts itself out.”

Cove stared at her for a long moment. Then, with deliberate slowness, he asked, “What do you think she’ll become when it’s all said and done?”

Lyla folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Uh, well, that depends,” she said. “On her recovery. On what she remembers. On us.”

Cove’s gaze dropped to the floor, thoughtful. After a pause, he asked, “What about her… skills? Did you see what she did in that pit? She wasn’t just capable, she was exceptional. Are you sure she wasn’t one of us?”

Lyla’s lips thinned at his question, “No. Can’t be. There’s no record of her in the VitalLink registry. No Operator, no trainee, no support staff. We ran a scan through the central database before I came here. There are absolutely no traces of her. Nothing.”

He frowned deeply, his arms dropping to his sides. “What about the civilian database? Could she be…” he trailed off, clearly unsure how to phrase it.

Lyla raised a hand, cutting him off. “Already on it,” she said briskly. “I contacted the Quarters to launch a cross-reference search. They’ll pull records from the civilian sector, including any anomalies, unregistered individuals, or rogue personnel. But that’s going to take time.”

Cove pushed off the wall, pacing a few steps before turning back to her. “And what if that turns up nothing?”

She smirked faintly, though there was no humor in her expression. “Then we’re left with a mystery. And you’ll have to learn to live with it.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, the dissatisfaction evident in his expression.

Lyla, noticing his reaction, tilted her head and crossed her arms, her smirk widening. “I see, you’re the type who can’t let go of an unanswered question, aren’t you?”

He didn’t respond to her provocation.

Lyla chuckled, stepping past him. “E-107,” she said over her shoulder, “go back to your unit. This is above your pay grade.” She paused briefly, glancing back at him with a teasing grin. “But since you’re so curious, and you did pull her out of that pit, I’ll make sure you’re one of the first to hear about any new developments.”

He nodded, gratitude clear in his eyes.

Lyla’s grin faded, replaced by a sterner expression. “That said,” she added, “you’re still not off the hook.”

“For what?”

“For addressing a superior without permission,” Lyla said, her tone mockingly formal, “and for poking your nose into things you shouldn’t,” She held his gaze. “If you hadn’t found her this morning, I wouldn’t have let it slide. Consider this a friendly warning, and a reminder of your status.” She stepped closer. “Go to the training deck and run a Sim-X sprint. Twice. If you’re going to stick your neck out, you’d better keep your skills sharp.”

Cove sighed, clearly unamused. Sim-X sprints were grueling virtual exercises designed to simulate high-pressure combat scenarios. They were used for endurance training, often leaving even the most seasoned Operators drenched in sweat and utterly drained.

“Understood,” he muttered, though his tone was laced with quiet exasperation.

Lyla smirked again, turning back toward the corridor. “Good. Now get moving, Operator. And stop staring at that door. It’s creepy.”

Cove cast one last glance at the door to Aria’s room before falling in step behind her.