The overhead lights buzzed in the Spine’s briefing room as chairs scraped against tile.
The hologram console whirred—Onyx text flashed—then stabilized.
Argos sat with Spine elites.
On the holo, Verran appeared. Neutral. Clean. Like this was routine.
“K-19—Karauro—is now under Onyx. No longer a prisoner.” A pause. “He joined willingly.”
Roy shot up so fast his chair barked against the floor. “Bullshit. You kidnapped him—”
Maverick’s hand clamped his shoulder.
“Not the time,” Maverick muttered.
Roy sank back down, jaw tight, eyes burning.
Argos gave Verran a nod and shot a quick look at Nera, who seemed frozen several feet away.
“To be clear,” Verran said, “we’re not negotiating custody. We’re negotiating reality.”
A video feed expanded over Verran’s face.
Helmet footage—Noose’s breathing loud in the mic—visor light cutting through fog.
A silhouette hunched over a massive Griever corpse.
“Ciro!” Noose called.
The figure lifted its head.
Bones jutted from its shoulders. Ichor vines twitched like a second pulse.
Nera’s jaw locked.
It was Karauro—only the shape was his.
Orange eyes, black slits. A skull-mask half-formed around his mouth.
Flesh dangled between elongated teeth.
He devoured it like a vulture finishing what the world left behind.
Nera didn’t move. But her nails dug into her palm.
Noose fired—no bullets. A tube-like device punched into him.
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Karauro’s face twitched with primal rage.
He slammed the device into the ground—audio warping as a growl tore through the mic.
The clip froze.
Verran reappeared.
“You can debate all you like,” he said, “but if it can’t be controlled by sheer will—then you need to witness it.”
Another clip played beside him.
Noose’s view whipped, blurred—then snapped into focus.
Karauro sprinted on all fours.
Black ichor hands hammered into Hollow-shade—
—and he dropkicked Holvok hard enough to launch him meters back.
The clip ended.
Verran folded his hands, like he’d just closed a file.
“So if you want to argue ideals,” he said, “that’s K-19 prioritizing hunting above all.” He didn’t rush the next part. “You will not see him during his one year of training.”
His gaze flicked to Roy. Then to Unit 7 and the others.
“There’s more,” Verran added, calm as cold water, “but it should be for leaders. Not grunts with unchecked emotions.”
Argos inhaled slowly. Stood.
“Unit 7 and non-elites—leave.” His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “That’s an order.”
His eyes cut to Nera.
Her lips twitched once.
“Yes, sir,” Nera snapped—anger packed tight.
Chairs scraped. Boots shifted. The room emptied.
---
Whren noticed Nera’s contained fury and caught up before the corridor split.
The briefing room door hissed shut behind them, muffling the noise.
Nera didn’t slow.
Whren matched her pace. “You’re walking like you want to break something.”
“Then don’t stand near me,” Nera said, eyes forward.
“You didn’t speak in there.”
“I didn’t need to.”
Whren let that hang a moment. “You never ‘need to’ when it’s personal.”
Nera stopped at a storage alcove—filters, trauma kits, spare masks. A place meant for function, not feelings.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Whren leaned on the frame, calm like a medic about to wash their hands. “The truth.”
“The truth is Verran’s playing games,” Nera said. “He wanted a reaction.”
“And you gave him one,” Whren replied.
Nera’s stare sharpened. “I didn’t move.”
Whren’s voice stayed level. “Your face didn’t. Your body did.”
Nera’s jaw flexed.
“You think I don’t recognize it?” Whren continued, quieter now. “You go quiet when you’re trying not to care.”
“I’m handling it,” Nera snapped.
Whren nodded once, like she accepted the report. “Then answer one thing.”
Nera took a long exhale.
“If he walks in here a year from now wearing Onyx colors—what’s the first thing you check?”
Nera answered instantly.
“His eyes.”
Whren’s expression didn’t change. That was the point.
Nera realized it too late. Her mouth tightened.
“That’s readiness,” Nera said, colder than before.
Whren stepped closer, just enough to make it feel like a vitals check. “That’s feelings disguised as procedure.”
Nera stayed silent.
Whren held her gaze—no anger, no pity. Just pressure.
“If you keep hiding behind doctrine, someone else will fill in the silence.”
She paused.
“Or the Ruins will.”
Nera’s eyes flicked away once—tiny, but loud.
Then she moved again.
“Back to work,” she said.
Whren didn’t chase. But her voice followed, quiet and final.
“Yeah. Go be fine somewhere else.”
---
A week later
Vibration from the aircraft’s rotors hummed in the background, offering a distraction from the silence and gum chewing of some Onyx soldiers.
Karauro sat silently at the rear, helmet on, his gaze fixed on an empty seat across from him—Noose.
Onyx had decided that if Noose could manage their asset, then anyone with high ranking could.
Her new role was to guide a platoon to another section of the hive cluster.
Karauro was assigned to a new unit with a different handler—a middle-aged man.
They treated Karauro like a ticking time bomb.
Even with rifles in the aircraft, their expressions conveyed everything.
He had learned to dim his emotions slightly through a week of training.
All his gear was destroyed or seized.
Just as Noose said, no improvisation.
The hardest part wasn't grasping their movements; it was breaking old muscle memory to adopt them.
One of the soldiers looked at him.
"Hey asset, just a reminder—when you go into monster crunch mode, remember this isn't a free-for-all buffet."
The soldier said while glancing at his comrades, who laughed. "We'd rather not gag inside our helmets."
"That sounds like a fun image. I can take the photo if you like," Karauro replied with a calm tone.
It bothered the Onyx soldiers.
"Shin, can't you just zap the thing?" a soldier asked the middle-aged man.
"You discipline a dog for a reason," Shin muttered, focused on his data-pad.
Shin tracked what Karauro was tracking.
"Emotion rots. Noose proved it.”
Karauro scoffed.
Shin launched a fierce glare at Karauro, who met it with equal intensity.
"Eyes on target. Belts. Fast rope in 5."
Their gaze shifted when the pilot's voice echoed through the cabin.
Onyx soldiers poured to the exits—boots thudding—doors hissing shut as seals engaged.
Someone fired a flare into the thick ash fog—revealing three biomass domes huddled together.
The flare curved and fell into a crater as Griever mites moved in a wave on the concrete.
"Civilians,” Shin muttered. “Walking themselves in."
Karauro leaned in, observing people mindlessly approaching the hive.
