The transport struck with bone-jarring force, metal screaming as they skidded across uneven terrain before crashing into a stand of trees. The fuselage buckled with sounds of tortured metal, emergency systems deploying impact dampeners throughout the cabin in a last-ditch effort to preserve human cargo. For an instant, everything went black—enhancement systems momentarily overloaded by the catastrophic impact, the smell of soil and crushed vegetation flooding through ruptured seams.
Then Kasper's senses surged back online, assessing damage before his conscious mind could process the situation. Pain flared along his right side where the exoskeleton had absorbed the worst impact, a burning sensation that suggested cracked ribs beneath the reinforced plating. His spine burned with white-hot intensity, neural pathways struggling to compensate for system damage that threatened to cascade into complete failure.
"Status report," he called, voice rough with dust and pain as he freed himself from the securing harness. The exoskeleton whined in mechanical protest, servo-motors straining as they worked around damaged components. Each movement brought fresh pain, his enhanced systems working overtime to suppress it.
"Operational," Torres responded first, already scanning surroundings through a jagged tear in the fuselage. Blood ran from a cut above his eye, painting half his face crimson, but his ports maintained steady combat readiness despite the injury. "Hostiles approaching from northwest. Multiple signatures. Seven minutes, maybe less." His voice carried the clipped precision of battlefield assessment, emotions locked away behind professional focus.
"Functional," Vega confirmed, checking his weapon for damage with methodical care. His bulk had weathered the crash better than most, though a nasty gash across his forearm leaked blood into his amber ports, causing them to sputter and dim. "Transport's finished. Pilot wounded but stable." He nodded toward the cockpit where the pilot sat slumped but breathing, her enhancement ports cycling emergency medical protocols, bathing her unconscious face in soft green light.
Kasper turned to Diaz, concern rising as he noted her unnatural stillness. The youngest member of his team remained secured in her harness, enhancement ports cycling erratic patterns—blue light flickering like a faulty circuit rather than pulsing with her usual precision. Her face was pale, a contrast to the dark blood matting her hair.
"Diaz?" He moved toward her, each step sending jagged pain through damaged systems. The metal floor beneath him bent and groaned, structural integrity compromised beyond repair.
Her eyes opened, unfocused at first before recognition returned like a slowly dawning light. "Data transmission..." she began, voice uncharacteristically weak, her usual energetic cadence replaced by labored breathing. "Ninety-three percent complete when connection dropped." The admission seemed to pain her more than her physical injuries, professional pride wounded by technological failure.
The implications hit Kasper immediately, cold and sharp. If the remaining seven percent contained critical information about Operation Crucible, about the neural primer in the water supply, about the Director's ultimate plans... The knowledge would die with them in this metal coffin, leaving Rivera's forces blind to the full scope of the threat.
"ATA converging within minutes," Torres reported from his position at the ruptured hull, neural targeting continuing to track approaching signatures with mechanical precision. His weathered face showed no fear, only calculated assessment. "Gunships circling. Ground forces deploying from northern ridge. They're securing the perimeter before moving in." A veteran's analysis, born from decades of witnessing enemy tactics.
Kasper evaluated their options with enhanced calculation, running scenarios with cold efficiency. His exoskeleton's damage limited mobility, servos grinding against damaged plating with each movement, though his enhanced systems were already creating workarounds—silver adaptation flowing through neural pathways like quicksilver, finding alternatives where none should exist. But Diaz was injured, the pilot incapacitated, and their communications with Rivera's command center severed as completely as if they'd traveled back in time.
"We split up," he decided, calculating tactical necessity rather than personal preference. The words tasted like ash, each syllable weighted with potential sacrifice. "Torres, take point with conventional forces approaching from south. Create a diversion, loud and messy. Vega, get Diaz and the pilot to extraction at Sector Seven." His enhanced systems mapped each route, calculating survival probabilities with merciless precision.
Torres's enhancement ports cycled concern patterns, the scarred veteran's eyes narrowing with suspicion. "And you?" The question carried years of battlefield experience, recognizing the tactical calculations that often left commanders behind.
"The data needs to reach Rivera," Kasper explained, his silver adaptation pulsing with certainty beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. "I'll take the transmission device to the secondary relay at the eastern outpost. The ATA will focus on the transport crash site, not a single operative moving east." The plan tasted of desperation, metallic like blood, but carried the highest probability of success.
"Your exoskeleton's compromised," Vega observed, enhancement ports cycling assessment patterns as his experienced eyes noted the damage to Kasper's system. Hydraulic fluid leaked from the right leg assembly, pooling beneath him like black blood. "Mobility down at least forty percent. You'll be crawling before you cover half the distance." The big man's concern showed through his usually stoic facade, amber ports pulsing with unusual patterns.
"My condition will compensate," Kasper assured him, though his spine burned with every movement, neural pathways struggling to adapt to cascading system failures. "It always does." The words carried more conviction than he felt, but his enhanced systems were already creating alternatives, silver adaptation flowing into damaged areas like living mercury.
Silence fell over the team as the weight of the decision settled like a physical pressure. Splitting up multiplied their individual risk, but maximized the chance of mission success. Tactical necessity over personal safety—the calculation that Kasper had made countless times before, weighing lives against objectives with the cold mathematics of war.
But as they prepared to separate, a thought nagged at Kasper's enhanced perception. The crash, the timing, the prototype's words—none of it felt like coincidence. Something larger was unfolding, something that had been set in motion long before they'd boarded the transport.
And he was walking straight into it.