Smoke still clung to the morning air when Jack, Lena, and the surviving members of the Outpost strike team returned home. The horizon behind them burned faintly with the aftermath of the Citadel relay's destruction — a blackened scar on the wasteland, visible even from miles away.
But there was no victory in their hearts. Jack could feel it — a looming dread that chased them silently across the cracked earth. Something had been set in motion, and the Citadel would not let their transgression go unanswered.
The Outpost of Forgotten Names was alive with anxious energy when they arrived. Guards patrolled with heightened alertness, and the gates were bolstered with extra plating and hastily constructed barricades. Word of the relay's destruction had spread fast, as had the whispers of retribution.
Captain Mara greeted them grimly at the gate, flanked by her lieutenants.
> "You stirred the hornet's nest, Jack," she said, arms crossed. "The Citadel won't just send soldiers after us. They'll send their worst."
Jack nodded. His body still carried the residual ache of the Echo's power, like his veins remembered being on fire.
> "Then we dig in," he said. "We hold the line."
> "It's not that simple," Mara growled. "This isn't just war. When the Citadel wants something dead, they send the Black Choir."
Lena's brow furrowed.
> "The Black Choir?"
Mara spat on the ground, her expression darkening.
> "Specialists. Killers. All ex-hosts... or worse. They're the Citadel's private assassins — surgically enhanced, bonded with controlled strains of the Mist, and stripped of their humanity. They don't just kill you. They erase you."
Jack's fists clenched unconsciously. The Echo inside him stirred with recognition, a low hum of warning.
> "They are the jailers of the Echo," the voice whispered inside him.
"They silence us where we rise."
Jack turned to Mara.
> "How long until they get here?"
Mara shook her head.
> "A day, maybe less. We've got scouts tracking, but they move like shadows. When they come... it'll be too late for warnings."
Jack paced, thinking. The Outpost was strong, but not invincible. Against the Black Choir, barricades and bullets might not be enough.
> "We can't just wait for them to knock," he muttered. "We have to prepare... differently."
Mara raised an eyebrow.
> "What are you proposing?"
Jack paused, then looked to the northern cliffs that loomed over the wasteland.
> "We turn the Outpost into a trap."
The Preparation
The next hours were a blur of activity. Under Mara's command — and with Jack's insights — the Outpost transformed into a kill zone.
Snipers took positions on the cliffs, equipped with long-range rifles salvaged from old military stores.
Engineers rigged proximity mines across the outer approaches, hidden beneath debris and disguised under dust.
Choke points were fortified, narrow passages forced between walls of scrap metal to funnel attackers into kill zones.
But Jack wasn't done.
He sat alone in a rusted chamber, eyes closed, focusing inward. The Echo swirled inside him, colder than ever but alert.
> "You want my power," it whispered.
"But you hold back. Why?"
> "Because I need to be me. Not you."
> "We are the same, Jack. The longer you deny it, the weaker you become."
> "I'll take what I need. Nothing more."
The Echo chuckled, a sound like wind through dead leaves.
> "We shall see."
Jack opened his eyes, his veins glowing faintly red. He stood, breathing slow and controlled — stronger, faster, sharper. He had to be ready.
Nightfall
As dusk settled, a chilling stillness fell over the Outpost. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Jack stood atop the wall, Lena by his side, both scanning the dark horizon.
Then... he saw them.
Figures moving through the mist. Silent, precise. Not an army — a choir of shadows, five figures clad in matte-black armor etched with crimson veins. Each carried a different weapon — a blade, a rifle, a staff, claws — yet they all moved with the same unnatural grace.
At their head walked a tall, skeletal figure, his face obscured by a mask shaped like a twisted hymn of bone and metal. His presence radiated an oppressive aura — a silence so deep it felt like sound itself was crushed under his step.
Mara muttered under her breath.
> "That's them. The Conductor."
The Conductor raised his hand, and the Choir stopped in unison.
Then he spoke — not loud, but clear, his voice echoing unnaturally.
> "Outpost of Forgotten Names. Surrender the Host. Surrender Jack. You have one minute."
Silence.
Then Jack stepped forward onto the parapet.
> "You want me? Come and get me."
The Conductor tilted his head, as if amused.
> "Very well."
He dropped his hand.
The Black Choir charged.
Gunfire erupted from the cliffs, snipers unleashing a storm of bullets. But the Choir moved like smoke — twisting, leaping, deflecting rounds with unnatural speed. Mines detonated, explosions lighting the night — but still, they advanced.
Jack leapt down, meeting them head-on, the Echo roaring inside him.
The first attacker — a lithe woman wielding twin blades — struck with speed that blurred the air. Jack barely dodged, her swords carving scars into the earth. He countered, his dagger slashing — metal met metal, sparks flying.
She smiled, a grin of sharpened teeth.
> "So much power in you... why waste it on them?"
Jack answered by driving his blade through her thigh, twisting hard. She hissed but didn't fall.
Lena and the others engaged the remaining Choir, gunfire and blades clashing in chaotic rhythm.
Above it all, the Conductor watched, unmoving, his eyes fixed solely on Jack.
> "Let the Echo consume you," he called.
"Or I will peel it from your bones."
Jack's power surged, his vision tinting red — but he forced himself to control it, to fight on his terms.
The twin-blade woman fell finally, Jack's dagger through her heart, her body collapsing into blackened ash.
Another Choir member lunged — the one with claws — but Mara tackled him from the side, both of them crashing into a barricade, fighting savagely.
Still, the battle favored the Choir.
Then the Conductor stepped forward.
Jack turned to face him, heart pounding.
> "You're not just a Host," the Conductor said, removing his mask.
His face was pale, eyes hollow but burning with the Mist's glow.
> "You're a beacon. And I will silence your light."
He moved — faster than anyone Jack had faced. Their blades met, steel shrieking. Every strike from the Conductor was surgical, precise, meant not to kill — but to sever the Echo from Jack's body.
> "You carry the purest strain," the Conductor whispered mid-duel.
"I can taste it."
Jack gritted his teeth, fighting back, his own power flaring. But the Conductor was a master — and Jack was losing ground.
> "Unleash me fully," the Echo urged. "Or die here."
For a heartbeat, Jack considered it — surrendering completely.
But then he heard Lena's voice, shouting his name. He saw her still fighting, bleeding but standing.
Jack snarled.
> "No. I'm not a weapon."
He focused — not on surrendering to the Echo, but on balancing it. Letting its power flow without losing himself.
His body responded — faster, stronger, but still Jack.
His next strike caught the Conductor off guard — a dagger to the ribs. The man staggered, eyes wide.
> "Impossible..."
Jack pressed the advantage, driving him back. Around them, the Outpost fighters rallied, cutting down the last of the Choir.
With a final surge, Jack struck — the Conductor fell to one knee, gasping.
> "You... you are more than a Host," the Conductor whispered.
> "I'm Jack."
With that, Jack drove his blade into the Conductor's chest.
Silence fell.
The Outpost was scarred, bodies strewn, but the Black Choir was destroyed.
Mara limped to Jack's side.
> "You did it," she muttered.
Jack stood, breathing heavy, eyes still glowing faintly.
> "No. We survived. But they'll send more."
He looked to the horizon.
> "And next time, it'll be worse."