The atmosphere inside the tactical node had shifted. The eyes on Neo were no longer merely suspicious or curious. They now carried something heavier—reverence, gratitude, the awed respect given to someone who had pulled them all back from the brink.
The soldier who had brought him here clapped him on the shoulder, voice rough with excitement. "You saved us, man. You saved everyone!"
Neo gave only a small nod. He knew better than to bask in glory. In this world, one victory could never erase deep-rooted suspicion. Not here, not now. The true test was just beginning.
Under escort, he was brought to the upper level, toward the temporary command post. The corridors were chaos in order's clothing—dust still raining from the ceiling, engineers hammering braces into battered supports, smoke and the acrid stench of mutant ichor tainting the air. Medics carried bloodied soldiers past, their faces grim but efficient. Prism Base endured—not through panic, but discipline.
The command post had been set up in a relatively intact armory. Evelyn Kane—Falcon, no longer masked—sat on an ammo crate, her left arm bared as the medic dressed a wound that bit deep into bone. Her helmet rested beside her, exposing a face Neo hadn't expected.
She looked to be twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight. Skin pale from a life beneath the surface, but her features sharp, clean—cheekbones cut by resolve, lips pressed in a line of iron. But it was her eyes that struck him most: storm-gray, vast and unyielding, with a weariness she could not quite mask. Now those eyes fixed on him with razor focus.
"You came," she said, her voice husky without the electronic filter, though still brisk and sharp. "Sit."
Neo lowered himself onto a crate opposite, silent, waiting.
The medic finished his work quickly and slipped away, leaving them alone.
Evelyn Kane studied him in silence, as if re-measuring a weapon she had underestimated.
"Neo," she said, using the name Prism had recorded.
Her voice was flat, but her words carried weight. "Your commands today—precise. Efficient. Not the work of someone who learned scraps of theory from some hermit. It was the judgment of a battlefield officer."
Her eyes locked on his, storm-gray beams that allowed no escape.
Neo felt the trap tighten. This was no praise—it was interrogation, stripped of any pretense. He steadied himself, answering with the composure of a man used to living lies.
"My teacher gave me more than theory," Neo said evenly. "He taught simulations—old war scenarios, tactics for facing mutated species. He always said knowledge that can't be applied to survival is just paper. Today's fight… it mirrored one of those drills. I only recalled and applied what I'd been taught."
Evelyn's fingers tapped lightly on her knee, eyes narrowing. "Your grasp of the Burrower's weaknesses surpasses our own records. That doesn't come from scraps. Your 'teacher'… he wasn't just some recluse."
Neo inclined his head slightly. "He rarely spoke of himself. I only know he was once tied to bioengineering or weapons assessment, before the Collapse. That's why he understood so much about aberrants."
Silence stretched between them. Evelyn absorbed the words, weighing truth against lies. Finally, she broke it.
"Regardless," she said, her voice firm, "your contribution today is undeniable. You saved the dome. You saved me, and my squad. Prism rewards and punishes in equal measure. From this moment, you are no longer merely a watched 'survivor.' You are a provisional resident of Prism Base. With rights. And obligations."
Neo bowed his head in measured thanks. "Thank you, Commander Kane. I'll follow the rules of the base."
"Don't thank me yet," she cut in sharply. "Rights come with responsibility. Your knowledge is valuable. Prism needs it. Dr. Dane's research division will evaluate your skills more thoroughly. And…" She paused, her eyes narrowing, "given your tactical instincts, I'm placing you in the militia training sequence. Here, every life must be defended. Especially lives that matter."
It was both gift and leash—protection through integration, but also control. A way to bind him tighter into their system.
"I understand. I'll comply—with the evaluation, with training," Neo said. Inside, he recognized the advantage. Training and integration meant access—access to Prism's true depth of technology and power.
For the first time, Evelyn's expression shifted—just slightly. The steel softened, an almost imperceptible easing of her jaw.
"Your quarters will be moved. You'll live among the technical staff. Your clearance will increase accordingly. For now… go. Get a full check-up. You've burned through much today."
Neo rose, giving a nod.
"Neo."
Her voice stopped him at the door, low and edged.
"In the Wastes, trust is a luxury. You've earned a fraction of mine. Don't waste it. Prism… is not as calm as it looks."
The weight in her tone froze him mid-step. He turned, meeting those storm-gray eyes again, and saw the truth behind them—respect, caution, and something else. A flicker of shared burden, as if she too fought chains he could not yet see.
"I won't forget, Commander," Neo answered solemnly, then left.
Walking back toward the medical wing, Neo felt no triumph. Only the gravity of Evelyn's warning. His suspicions were confirmed—Prism was not seamless. Beneath its walls ran currents of tension and hidden struggles.
He had gained safety. He had gained a place. But he had also stepped onto a chessboard far more complex than he had imagined.
His eyes drifted to the cracked remnants of Old World slogans still etched into the corridor walls, patched beside rough new reinforcements. A world rotting, yet stubbornly alive. And now, it was opening itself to him—piece by piece.