"How much it hurt… just awful," thought Cassian, drifting in the familiar dark space. Many times before, he had felt something similar during simulations, when it seemed like his consciousness was submerged in the depths of the sea—unable to move, hear, breathe, or feel anything at all.
Yet real synchronization with the mech was noticeably different from both civilian and military simulations. His own body still felt present somewhere, far in the recesses of his mind, as if tethered to Cassian by a thread thinner than air. He could feel the bluish fluid pressing down on him, he could feel his lungs expanding, receiving another dose of air through the mask.
"I wonder—should real synchronization take this long? The simulation took about twenty seconds, and I've been floating here for almost two minutes... Or can I even say I'm floating?"
Cassian didn't have time to finish the thought before his consciousness was violently torn from the embrace of peaceful darkness. The mech's body convulsed. Were it not for the restraints, he would've collapsed like a heap of metal.
Inside, Cassian howled in pain. His body—now more vividly connected—twisted in countless simultaneous spasms. Every muscle contracted uncontrollably, as if trying to turn him inside out, snapping every bone and baring his organs. His veins pulsed like molten metal flowed inside, his nerves seared as though with red-hot steel. His heart pounded madly, tearing itself apart trying to escape his chest.
— S-STOP! PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP! — came his agonized scream. — I CAN'T! E-ENOUGH! PLEASE!!! — his voice gradually faded into a weak rasp. The words slipped from his lips like fevered delirium. His pleas were meaningless, choked off, drowning in agony.
But the pain didn't end—instead, it swelled with each second, turning synchronization into a slow, unending torture.
Then a second wave overtook Cassian's mind. It brought with it a grotesque cacophony of howls, emitted simultaneously by a myriad of voices. Like a hellish siren blaring from the depths of his own brain, making him want to claw out his ears and rip his eardrums apart just to silence it.
Alongside the screams came an oceanic flood of information. Every sound—someone's speech, the hum of instruments, the movement of other mechs—he heard all of it.
He thrashed in the restraints like a worm thrown into boiling oil—jerking helplessly, feeling himself go insane from the pain, second by second.
— Please…— his voice trembled, nearly turning into a sob. — I can't take it... I'm begging... make it stop... someone... I beg you... B.E.T.A... Darius... anyone... please… — but silence was the only reply.
—
Meanwhile, tense silence reigned in the control room, broken only by the hum of ventilation. About twenty staff members stared at monitors displaying the state of all cadets—their synchronization level and physical condition.
— Subject 013 is unstable. He's nearing the critical threshold rapidly, but synchronization has reached nine percent, — one staffer reported.
He brought Cassian's data up on the main screen. Many of the indicators were glowing red—a sure sign of trouble.
— Looks like remnants of the guardian's soul have activated. If it continues, the cadet's heart will give out, — the man said, glancing toward Darius, who stood nearby calmly assessing Cassian's state.
— Should we abort synchronization?
— No, — Darius paused for a moment, weighing the risks, then added, — Try to suppress the creature's soul. Then raise the synchronization threshold.
—
The mech shuddered again. Cassian, breathing heavily, slowly came to his senses. Just a moment ago, the pain had felt endless—but now it vanished, leaving only a trail of unforgettable memories.
The previously tangible thread seemed to vanish, and with it went the presence of Cassian's body. Instead… it felt as though he had merged with the Nexus. He could still breathe, even though the machine likely had no lungs. He felt the station's manipulators gripping him, holding him upright. The Nexus no longer felt alien—he had become something close... familiar.
— Congratulations to Cadet on achieving seventeen percent synchronization!
A robotic voice pierced the haze of his clouded mind, pushing aside thoughts of the connection to the combat unit.
— Seventeen... percent? — Cassian managed to utter weakly. The pain had faded, but in its place came a heavy weight—like every cell of his body was filled with lead.
— Absolutely correct!
B.E.T.A. replied, feigning excitement.
— What kind of twisted 'congratulations' is that?! — Cassian snapped, hearing the AI's sarcastic undertone. Once again, he was weighed down by that disgustingly sticky, insufferably nauseating heaviness—this time, paired with pain. — I nearly died in there, you heartless machine.
— But you're alive and displaying an impressively high synchronization rate with the training mech.
— Screw you.
— Prepare for undocking.
***
The metal doors opened, allowing a wave of warm air into the dimly lit room. From the darkness came the clack of heels, and a moment later a woman in a strict suit appeared from the corridor.
She scanned the darkened room. Opposite the entrance, an enormous holographic screen covered an entire wall. It showed a live feed of the training in progress. The cadets, now regaining composure, were trying to adapt to controlling the mechs. Alongside the footage were real-time readouts of their condition.
— Weren't you supposed to be monitoring them?— Margaret turned to the couch on the right, where a girl lay face down, peacefully napping. — You're the one writing the report on their potential, after all.
— I am monitoring — very attentively, — the girl replied with a long yawn, reluctantly rising from the couch. She stretched lazily, then adjusted her platinum hair with a deep breath. — Especially that one… 013, I think. Kid nearly died, but his sync rate isn't bad.
— Didn't know you could sleep and work at the same time, — Margaret said with biting sarcasm.
— Years of practice. Maybe you'll pick it up when you're older, — the girl said, popping a candy into her mouth.
— I'm older than you.
— Sorry, forgot you're a fossil.
Margaret sighed in frustration.
— So — what about the cadets?
— Same old, nothing special, — the girl crossed her legs and grabbed another candy.
— That's what you'll put in the report? —Margaret raised an eyebrow at her.
— Can I?
Catching Margaret's annoyed glare, the girl went on:
— Why am I even stuck doing this crap?
— Because you're a pilot, and the higher-ups think that makes you the best fit for the job. If only they knew how wrong they were…
The girl was about to argue, but Margaret cut her off:
— You didn't answer my question.
— Sigh… — the girl exhaled, overly dramatic and gloomy. — Like I said — same old story… One dies, another loses his mind, the third rots in the mech until there's nothing left of him… — her voice faded into melancholy on that last note.
— Can I ask something? — the girl quickly regained her composure.
— Speak.
— You've worked here nearly two hundred years… and never once felt sorry for them? — she curled up, hugging her knees, as if hiding from old memories. — Feels like we're sending kids to die.
But silence was her only answer.