The reinforced blast doors of Hangar Bay Six hissed open, spilling cold morning air across the landing strip as the jet's hydraulic ramp lowered. It was still dark, but the base was already alive—power nodes buzzing, drones flitting overhead, and data streams glowing across every wall inside the Operations Tower. The team had returned home, but not to rest. The storm had only begun.
Agent September powered down the controls from the cockpit and gave a nod to Agent December. The mission was complete, but the implications still weighed heavily across the cabin.
Agent April descended the ramp slowly, her breath forming a thin vapor in the air. The mask of Anne Ryker had been wiped from her face, but its echo remained in her posture—tense, alert, haunted.
She moved with purpose to December, who stood near the operations hub wearing his signature charcoal suit, not a crease out of place. His presence was less military and more monarch—cold, deliberate, and commanding.
He walked briskly through the corridors of their subterranean base. The lights above him cast sterile silver across the steel walls, and the occasional flicker of a red alarm bulb offered brief splashes of color. He wasn't headed toward the command chamber. Not yet. He was looking for someone.
February.
Phase Two was ready to move, and she was the key. She always was when the mission called for more than just brute force—when finesse, charm, and precision were paramount. But when he finally found her, she wasn't alone.
The training chamber's reinforced walls vibrated with impact. Inside, a blur of motion unfolded between two deadly figures.
Agent February, sleek in her jet-black flexible gear, moved with feline grace. Her suit shimmered faintly, embedded with micro-grapples and adaptive fabric panels. She flipped backwards from an aerial kick, landed in a crouch, and slid across the mat like silk over steel. Her eyes were sharp, and her lips curled in a grin of thrill.
Facing her was November—codename N.O.V.A.—the Neural Operative Vixen Android. Female-presenting, chrome-boned beneath synthetic skin, and terrifying in her cold elegance. N.O.V.A.'s combat form shimmered with micro-adjustments, her frame adapting in real time. Sensors embedded in her limbs lit up with every strike. She was not just learning—she was evolving.
February lunged forward, launching a trio of hooked blades attached to whisper-thin cables from her gauntlets. N.O.V.A. tilted sideways, letting the first pass, then caught the second mid-air with a palm. The third wrapped around her wrist, and February grinned.
With a flick, she reeled herself forward, twisting mid-flight and using her momentum to pivot into a spinning heel strike.
N.O.V.A.'s head snapped back slightly—but not enough to throw her off. Her left arm shifted, segments rotating until a bladed edge extended. She swung. February barely ducked, the edge slicing through a few strands of her hair.
"You've adapted your vertical defense protocol," February quipped as she backflipped, landing on the ledge above the mat.
"Correction," N.O.V.A. said coolly, "I have adapted to you."
She leapt, engine-assist launching her at February. The android's movements were too precise to seem human—every joint a perfectly timed machine, every dodge a calculation in real time.
February met her mid-air.
They collided like twin storms. February used N.O.V.A.'s own momentum against her, flipping over her shoulders, planting a device on her back as she soared past. It beeped once before discharging a short, concussive EMP pulse.
N.O.V.A. landed hard, sliding across the mat. Her systems flickered. But she laughed. A soft, digitized chuckle.
"Nice trick," she said, rolling to her feet. "You upgraded your pulse nodes."
February raised an eyebrow. "Had to keep things interesting."
They clashed again. This time, the fight went groundward. February slipped low, sweeping N.O.V.A.'s legs, then leapt atop her in a flurry of elbows and knees. N.O.V.A. absorbed the blows, switching combat mode mid-tumble. Her limbs retracted slightly, armor plating reinforcing over her joints.
She kicked February off, sending her hurtling toward the wall. February twisted, planted both feet against the vertical surface, and launched back like a bullet.
The next exchange was savage.
February's grappling hooks shot toward the ceiling, giving her aerial superiority. She swooped in and out of reach, striking from impossible angles. N.O.V.A. mirrored her, shifting her spine to accommodate new rotation angles. They were a blur—one organic, one artificial. But both are equally dangerous.
Then, just as N.O.V.A. prepared a disabling shoulder strike, February winked—and dropped a smoke flare between them.
The room is filled with white.
Sensors blinded. Visual feeds are useless. For a second, even N.O.V.A.'s targeting system was disrupted. She initiated her x-ray vision but it was already too late.
A voice whispered from the fog. "Gotcha."
February's silhouette descended like a shadow behind her, locking her limbs with grappling tethers, and slamming her to the ground with a precision pin.
The smoke cleared slowly, revealing February perched on N.O.V.A.'s back, panting slightly, grinning like a cat who had just caught a laser.
"Yield?" she asked.
N.O.V.A.'s synthetic eyes flickered. "Acknowledged. Tactical dominance achieved. Nicely played."
February flipped off her, letting her hand trail across the mat. "You're getting better every week."
"And you're adapting faster than my current predictive model accounts for," N.O.V.A. replied, sitting up, recalibrating her joints. "You are a statistical anomaly."
"I prefer 'mystery,'" February smirked.
A soft knock came from the chamber doors. Agent December entered, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Am I interrupting a date?" he asked dryly.
"Only if your definition of foreplay involves grappling and tactical analysis," February said, brushing a smear of blood from her lip.
N.O.V.A. stood, folding her arms neatly. "That would be inefficient."
December offered a thin smile. "Good. Because we're moving. Phase Two begins now."