Chapter 1: Death
*(Behind the Dark Tower — Retrieval Point)*
"Stealth, come in. Give a report on the situation from up there," Black said over the comms, keeping his tone even.
Command voice. Calm voice.
That's what a leader was supposed to sound like.
"Roger, Black," Stealth replied. Wind brushed against her mic as she lay prone atop the building. "No signs of droids. Area's quiet. Retrieval point safe to engage."
Black exhaled slowly. *Too quiet,* he thought—but dismissed it just as quickly. He'd learned long ago that paranoia got people killed faster than bullets.
"Good to hear," Delta said, already moving toward the tower entrance. "Wasn't in the mood for combat today. Ate too much before coming."
Laughter rippled through the channel.
"Delta," Black said, glancing at him, "I warned you not to take those gummy bears this morning."
Delta grinned beneath his visor. "You warned me. You didn't stop me."
Beta cut in, sharper. "Enough. In and out. Grab the data, no delays."
Black nodded. *Beta's right. Clean job. Quick job.*
That was the plan.
The Dark Tower rose before them, its lower annex swallowed by shadow and cracked concrete. Black felt it then—that faint pressure behind his eyes. The same feeling he'd gotten before bad ops. Before funerals.
"HQ, Team Z moving in," he said.
"Copy, Team Z," HQ Comms replied. "Distress signal confirmed. Data type classified. Medical team on standby."
*Medical on standby for a retrieval?*
Black didn't like that.
They breached the annex.
No alarms. No power hum. No movement.
"Scans are empty," Delta whispered. "No heat. No signatures."
"That's not comforting," Beta replied.
They advanced anyway.
At the center of the room sat the data core—clean, intact, waiting.
Black stared at it. *Too perfect.*
"Stealth," he said quietly. "Any movement?"
There was a pause. Then—
"BLACK—MOVE!"
The world exploded.
Walls tore open as hidden panels slid apart with mechanical screams. Droids poured out—sleek frames, glowing optics, weapons already raised.
They didn't hesitate.
They didn't miss.
"CONTACT! CONTACT!" Black shouted, firing instinctively.
Delta laughed once—short, sharp. "Guess combat found us!"
A red beam punched through his chest.
Time slowed.
Delta's body jerked. His weapon clattered to the floor. His laughter died in his throat.
"DELTA!" Black screamed.
*No. Not him. Not like this.*
Beta dragged Delta's body back, hands shaking. "He's gone—Black, he's—"
A droid flanked them.
Black turned just in time to see Beta ripped apart mid-motion.
"BETA!"
Stealth's voice crackled through the comms, frantic. "They're moving ahead of us—Black, they know where we are—this is a trap!"
Gunfire thundered above.
Then silence.
Her signal vanished.
Black's heart slammed against his ribs. *They knew. Every move. Every angle.*
He fired again and again, backing toward cover as droids advanced with impossible coordination. They weren't rogue.
They were hunting.
His ammo counter hit zero.
A blade slammed into his side, lifting him off his feet. Pain exploded through his body, white-hot, drowning thought.
He hit the ground hard.
The last thing he saw was the data core—still untouched.
*We were never meant to retrieve it,* he realized. *We were meant to die here.*
Darkness closed in.
Cold.
That was the first sensation.
Then sound—distant, mechanical. Beeping.
Voices floated above him, muffled.
"Vitals unstable. Massive trauma."
"Body won't make it."
"But the brain activity—"
Black tried to move. Nothing responded.
*Why can't I feel my arms?*
Memories bled through—Delta laughing. Beta yelling. Stealth's warning.
*I failed them.*
A new voice cut through the haze. Calm. Authoritative.
"Proceed with the experiment."
Fear surged—but his body couldn't scream.
White lights. Steel walls.
Numbers flashed.
Machines hummed.
"Test subject number sixteen," a technician said flatly. "Brain transfer to droid unit sixteen complete."
Silence.
Then—
"Signal fading."
Seconds dragged.
"Brain activity lost. Seven minutes, twenty-three seconds after transfer."
The Major folded his hands. "Time of death?"
"Two thirty-five AM."
"Test subject number 16. The subject's brain lost signal seven minutes, twenty-three seconds after transfer to droid number 16. Time of death: 2:35 AM."
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
A pause.
Another beep—sharp. Irregular.
"Wait," someone said. "That's not—"
Monitors flickered.
"…Subject sixteen's brain activity just spiked."
Silence swallowed the room.
"Subject sixteen has kicked back into action."