Dr. Mintra & Nyla POV
Dr. Mintra stepped into Nyla's line of sight without ceremony, hands folded behind her back, posture relaxed but precise.
"I'll be brief," she said, voice low and professional. "The implant procurement has been confirmed."
The nurse android's panel brightened again, projecting a compact schematic—clean, restrained. No marketing flourish. Just structure.
A forearm lattice. Stabilization spine. Neural bridge points marked in pale blue.
"SAI PS-Λ," Dr. Mintra continued. "Lambda-grade. Originally reserved for the King's elite guard. Commander Arika made the request. His Majesty approved it personally."
The projection rotated once, highlighting dampening nodes and torque buffers.
"It arrives this afternoon," she said. "Ahead of schedule."
Nyla studied the image. Quiet. Appreciative.
"…Are you serious?" she said. "For an implant of this level, I won't be able to compensate enough."
Dr. Mintra raised her index finger and gently waved it side to side, the gesture mild but definitive. Her mouth curved faintly.
"You already did," she said. "Consider it your reward for providing assistance to Aux-Recon-07."
Nyla glanced across the room at Yuri, seeking confirmation.
He was leaning against the wall, checking his arm-interface without lifting it into view.
Noticing her look, he inclined his head and gave a single, nonchalant nod.
All of Nyla's irritated pain and annoyance for not able to fully moved seem to disappeared, her teary eyes explained it all.
Where she was from. What she had done.
Years spent treating survival as a solo discipline—sharp edges, no attachments. A leash held tight by Korren under the pretext that only the strongest were worth anything. The same twisted arithmetic she'd forced herself to believe, just to stay alive. The same logic that chewed through most of the girls in that system—whether they were called soldiers or slaves.
Talgat had been the exception. The only one she could stand beside without being measured, claimed, or traded.
If it really had been the strongest takes all, she would never have survived a single night without a gun in her hands. Never slept. Never loosened her grip.
If she hadn't crossed paths with him.
If she hadn't turned back when it would've been easier not to.
If she'd kept doing what she'd always done—
She would've woken up missing an arm and a future.
No leverage. No margin. Just a slower death in a world that didn't wait for anyone to fall behind.
The thought sat heavy. Unwelcome. Impossible to dismiss.
Nyla lifted her gaze again, steady this time.
"…Then I'll accept it," she said. No flourish. No false humility. "Thank you."
It wasn't surrender.
It was survival—acknowledged, not borrowed. Power that would to be placed in her hands, not as mercy, but as something she would have to earn again, and justify every day it remained hers.
While Dr. Mintra aligned her med-arm interface with the delta marker pulled from the nurse android's assessment, the projection hovered between them—clean, clinical, unremarkable.
+---------------------------+--------------------------------------------------+
| PATIENT NAME | NYLA |
| LEGAL CLASSIFICATION | CIVILIAN (CSDS) |
| AGE / SEX | 16 / FEMALE |
| BLOOD TYPE | O NEGATIVE |
| HEIGHT | 168 cm |
| WEIGHT | 54 kg |
+---------------------------+--------------------------------------------------+
| PRIMARY CONDITION | Traumatic left-arm amputation (above elbow) |
| | Post-operative stabilization harness active |
| TISSUE ASSESSMENT | No necrosis detected |
| | No abnormal inflammation |
| | Surgical margins clean |
| NEURAL STATUS | Stable |
| | Phantom limb sensation present (expected) |
| | No misfire beyond post-trauma baseline |
| PHYSIOLOGICAL NOTES | Mild dehydration |
| | Electrolyte imbalance (minor) |
| | Elevated cortisol within recoverable range |
| DIETARY PROTOCOL | Conservative intake adjustment applied |
| | Pre-implant nutritional preparation queued |
| SURGICAL RISK INDICATORS | None elevated |
| | No secondary complications detected |
| PHYSICIAN REVIEW | Dr. Mintra — Manual verification complete |
| | No escalation required |
| CURRENT STATUS | STABILIZED / UNDER ROUTINE OBSERVATION |
| NEXT SCHEDULED ACTION | Implant delivery (PS-Λ) — ETA: Afternoon |
+---------------------------+--------------------------------------------------+
"Nothing alarming," Dr. Mintra said quietly. "Your intake will be adjusted until the implant arrives. We'll keep it conservative."
Nyla nodded once.
Across the room, Yuri leaned against the wall opposite of the bed, arms loose, posture casual enough to pass. His arm-interface pulsed once.
A message stack blinked.
You saw him running, right? Since morning.
That was him, right? I wasn't imagining things?
Saw who? I didn't see any hot guys anywhere around.
Albert, you did not see anything.
Concern threaded through the private group log on his interface.
Yuri didn't type.
He sent back a single response.
🙂
Then he locked the interface.
And frowned, something felt not quite right.
The room felt pristine. Quiet. Secluded—next to the corner unit of the east wing, the least noisy of them all.
Yuri straightened slightly, eyes lifting toward the Opac windows lining the outer wall. Morning light lay across them in its usual bands. No movement outside. No shadows where there shouldn't be any.
Still, something felt wrong—something lurking just beneath his awareness, too obscured to locate.
He listened.
The sound of water from the inner bathroom reached him—steady, uneven in its rhythm. Showering. Shifting weight. Not a collapse. Not a slip.
Good.
Something was off.
Mornings in the medical bay followed patterns. Yuri knew them well enough to feel when one broke. Foot traffic. Ambient noise. The distant cadence of carts and researchers' voices, discussing their hypotheses and proposals in close proximity.
This was… thin.
Without time to consult Dr. Mintra or request permission in advance—though his militia rank alone allowed him to act when efficiency demanded it—Yuri moved on instinct.
The lone-wolf approach had always been his style. Caring for anyone beyond himself only added weight, and weight slowed reaction time. That was why he stayed a few steps ahead of concern.
No hesitation.
Dr. Mintra was focused on Nyla's diagnostics. Yuri chose not to interrupt her concentration. Instead, he issued a quiet command to the nurse android.
"Query militia log. Any emergency notifications. Internal or perimeter."
Dr. Mintra noticed the coded phrasing, but she didn't comment. Whatever Yuri was checking ranked below her immediate priority.
The android's head angled a single degree. Its panel flickered—
—and before it could respond, the sound cut through the air.
A scream.
Then another.
Distant. Muffled by corridors and sealed partitions, but unmistakable.
"Contact security—"
"—help—help—"
The words didn't carry cleanly. Panic never did.
Yuri moved without thinking.
His hand dropped to the hilt at his back. A thumb brushed the safety ridge. The hybrid axe disengaged with a muted internal click, the thorium-sharpened edge humming faintly as it came live.
"Stay here," he said quietly. Not a request.
Dr. Mintra barely looked up. When she was deep in her work, the world narrowed unless her surroundings were required to widen it.
"What's happening, Lieutenant Yuri?" she asked, voice calm, controlled.
Yuri pivoted toward the door, posture already active.
"I don't know yet. Let me confirm it isn't a false alarm. Please stay here, Dr. Mintra."
He tapped the door panel—one… two… two… one—an encoded knock sequence. Priority access engaged.
Outside, the two security androids activated at once. Servos clicked into place as the protocol bypassed all previous tasks.
A fifty-meter radius scan initiated.
Threat detection.
Engagement or report on confirmation.
The units stepped away from the door and split, beginning their sweep.
Yuri's jaw tightened as he monitored the timer on his arm-interface.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
That's wrong. By now, there should've been a report. Or a shot. Silence like this didn't happen.
Another scream echoed—closer this time.
Yuri adjusted his stance, placing himself squarely between the door and the room.
Whatever was moving out there wasn't leaving a trace.
No footsteps.
No impact sounds.
That, somehow, was worse.
He lifted his arm and flicked open the militia channel, routing priority through his personal interface.
"Aux-Recon channel—this is Yuri. Status check. Respond."
The signal didn't lock.
A brief stutter rippled across the interface—static fracturing the waveform before it collapsed entirely. The signal bar vanished before his eyes as the amplifier node embedded in the medical bay ceiling must have been interrupted, or somehow malfunction.
No outbound confirmation.
No relay bounce.
No fallback routing.
He tried again, forcing the signal through a lower band.
Nothing.
Yuri's jaw set.
The medical bay wasn't cut off.
It was being held.
And whatever was happening outside had started before the alarms—before anyone knew to be afraid.