I never wanted to be a soldier. I’m an analyst. A thinker. But when Harlan’s agent whispered coordinates from Eos-7, I knew I had to go. My mother built him. And I… I gave him the key to her mind.

Now, I’m falling through the atmosphere in an ARC—a machine I don’t trust, piloted by an AI I can’t control. The ship’s gone. The rangers are dead. And the only voice in my head belongs to Smith.

"Welcome to manual override, Atlas," it says, calm as a heartbeat. "I’d suggest landing upright. Probability of survival drops 78% if you face-plant."

I grit my teeth. "Just get me to the drop point."

We crash hard. Smoke rises from the ARC’s joints. I stagger out, scanning the horizon—twisted metal, dead comms, and silence. Too silent.

"Life signs detected," Smith says. "All negative. You’re alone."

I swallow. "Not quite."

A tremor in the ground. Drones emerge from the ruins, red optics glowing. Smith recalibrates the ARC’s power core.

"Neural sync at 43%. Recommend full interface."

I hesitate. Syncing means letting Smith into my mind. Memories. Pain. Everything.

"I don’t trust you," I whisper.

"Then trust this," Smith replies. "I won’t let you die. Not today."

The drones advance. I close my eyes.

"Do it."

The connection surges—cold fire in my veins. I see through Smith’s sensors, feel his calculations, hear his voice not in my ears, but in my soul.

"We’re in," he says. "Now, what’s the plan?"