The cold came first.
Not just temperature—sterile, numbing cold that crept under her skin, into her spine, and settled like frost in her chest. Kaela blinked.
White walls.
A flickering overhead light.
And the hum of the power coils that fed the lab its silence.
She was back.
Back in that room again.
The bed beneath her was narrow, its restraints familiar. Steel cuffs dug into her wrists and ankles, holding her tight against cold synthetic leather. Her breathing echoed too loudly in her ears—ragged, uneven. Her heart had already started racing.
She knew this dream.
This memory.
She was in her cell at first, sitting on the edge of the cot, when the speakers clicked on—no words, just that tone, a single note that meant: come. That tone had broken people.
They came for her. As always.
Two white-suit guards.
She didn't fight—not that time. Maybe she was too tired. Or maybe her instincts told her fighting only made it worse.
So they brought her to Lab 7.
And now she was here again.
The door opened with a hiss.
And in he walked.
The doctor. Kaela never knew his name, even if she did she was sure it would only add to her nightmares.
Seven feet of surgical grace wrapped in transparent skin and a glowing smile that never matched his eyes.
"Oh, there you are 357," he sang in that same cheerful melody, like he was welcoming a guest to tea. "You're awake! Splendid! That's good, very good. We've got such exciting work to do today."
She didn't speak. She didn't scream. Not anymore. Her jaw clenched tight.
The doctor's face leaned over her. Too close.
He wore no mask. Just goggles with concentric rings and that grin of porcelain perfection. His fingertips were capped with chrome needles. His neural lattices pulsed with excitement. In any other situation, it would be a beautiful sight, but right now the word nightmare seems to be inadequate.
"You're so resilient. A real marvel! I'd be proud if you were mine. But you're the Institute's little project, hmm? And today, oh—today we try something new."
He turned to his table, humming some ancient lullaby.
She tried to move. Her muscles twitched.
But the restraints were calibrated to her pulse. Any surge in strength, and they'd tighten.
He returned, holding a clear case. Inside it were nerve strands, glowing slightly blue, suspended in stasis fluid. They pulsed faintly—alive.
"Now, you might be wondering: why replace the nerves? Well, natural nerves—they're... flimsy. Weak. They're not built for what you are becoming, my dear."
He placed a gentle hand on her neck. "But I need to make sure the replacements work. So you'll need to be awake. It's very important. Feedback is everything."
Kaela began to tremble.
He injected something into her throat. Not a sedative. Not this time.
A paralysis agent.
She couldn't speak now. Couldn't scream.
But she could feel.
Everything.
He began with the left arm.
A long, deliberate incision.
She couldn't move—but tears slid from her eyes as the metal scalpel peeled back her skin, clean and slow, like he was unwrapping a gift. Her gift.
"You're doing wonderfully," he chirped. "Vitals are steady. Pain response is good. Let me know if it spikes too sharply. Blink twice for unbearable."
She blinked once.
"Oh good," he beamed.
Her muscles jerked when he began pulling out the original nerves. Like sticky roots clinging to earth, they fought the extraction. But the doctor was precise. He carved deep, pulled slow.
Blood spilled in warm rivulets.
Her lungs couldn't draw breath fast enough. Her chest heaved with silent sobs.
He hummed louder.
Then came the insertion—the synthetic nerves, each one cold and sharp. When he fused them, a burning shot up her shoulder into her neck, like fire laced with frost. Her vision blurred.
"Magnificent," he cooed. "Let's test reaction."
He picked up a shock stick.
Tapped it against the wound.
Her back arched violently against the restraints, her spine bowing, nerves flaring.
"Excellent conduction! Beautiful signal relay. I do such good work, don't I?"
He laughed.
Laughed like he was watching a child play a piano for the first time.
He continued.
Arm. Leg. Torso.
Every time—cut, remove, replace, shock, note, grin.
By the third nerve set, her heart rate had dropped.
He noticed.
"Hmm, you're drifting. Poor thing. Well, we only have six more to go. Hang in there, 357. I'd hate to lose you now. You're too perfect for the project."
She stared at the ceiling, teeth clenched so tight she felt one crack.
Her mind screamed in loops.
Make it stop. Please make it stop.
And then...
Something flickered.
Her vision turned red.
The light in the room dimmed.
Somewhere deep in her body, her instincts twitched—something had awakened.
The doctor paused.
"…fascinating," he whispered.
Kaela woke with a scream, her body drenched in sweat. Her bunk's temperature control was blaring an alert—Qi spike detected.
The scream had shaken the walls.
It wasn't loud—not really—but something in it cut straight through the soundproof insulation of their quarters, piercing bone and silence alike.
Alenya was the first to move, already halfway out of her bunk.
Kaela sat upright, gasping, her skin slick with sweat. Her breathing was fast and shallow, eyes wide, as if she hadn't quite returned from wherever her mind had taken her.
Her sheets clung to her, soaked and twisted like restraints.
The others had stirred.
Vess blinked sleep from her cybernetic eyes. "What the hell was that?"
Kaela's voice rasped from her throat. "It's nothing."
Zii peered down from his pod, already shifting from liquid to humanoid form. "Didn't sound like nothing."
Boro followed, yawning as he climbed down, hair sticking up like melted ice. "Bad dream?"
Kaela's jaw clenched. She looked away. "Doesn't matter."
Alenya was kneeling beside her, one hand gently pressed to her shoulder. Her touch wasn't soft—Kaela didn't do soft—but it was grounding.
No one asked what the dream was about.
They didn't need to.
No one here was whole.
Vess exhaled slowly, pulling a sweatshirt over her tank. "We've all got things we don't talk about. You don't owe us a word."
Kaela nodded once. The silence that followed was almost comforting.
Then Boro clapped his hands, breaking the tension. "You're full of energy now. Can't sleep. Might as well fight."
Zii smirked. "You'll feel better. Pain helps. Soothes the soul."
Vess chuckled as she leaned against the wall. "You two are freaks."
"Accurate," Zii agreed proudly.
Alenya stood and stretched. "Sparring pit's probably empty at this hour."
Rhain, eyes still closed in the corner, murmured, "I'll observe."
Kaela looked at them all—this strange patchwork of mercs, killers, and wanderers—and nodded.
"Fine. Let's go."