She haunts you

Route 1: The First Sync

The Anvil was deafening, as always.

Custos Academy’s sprawling main hangar reeked of scorched hydraulic fluid, hot solder, and the nervous sweat of Year 3 cadets. But inside the sealed cockpit of EIDOLON-01, all of that chaos was reduced to a dull, muted thrum.

Months of quiet, psychological torment had culminated in a single, lethal "accident" before the final qualification exam. The commanders had formally written off Tess Lyons as a tragic hardware failure. Her prized experimental Praetor-class Frame now sat waiting in the bay, its black, jagged armor primed for the Academy's newest top pilot.

"Alright, Cadet," Instructor Hayes’ voice crackled over the secure comms line, sharp and purely professional. "Exotic Core is spun up to optimal. Cognizance Core is wiped and ready for a new pilot imprint. Engage the Trinity Link on your mark. Let’s see if you can handle her."

The heavy, metallic collar of the Frame’s interface shifted behind the pilot's seat. With a soft, pneumatic hiss, the neural needles extended to slide perfectly into your cervical ports.

Usually, a Trinity Sync was supposed to be a clean rush of data — the sensation of twelve meters of invincible steel cleanly syncing with the human mind. But the moment the connection established, the tactical HUD didn't display the standard green telemetry data. The screens violently glitched, flashing with jagged waves of blinding violet light. A low, agonizing frequency shrieked across the neural band.

Then, the static coalesced.

Right on the dashboard, a holographic projection stabilized. It was a girl, translucent and bathed in the eerie purple glow of EIDOLON's Void-Exotic Core. She wore an unzipped Custos flight jacket, her dark hair thrown into a messy, familiar bun.

Tess.

She looked around the digital confines of the cockpit, her glowing amethyst eyes wide with raw, unfiltered panic. She looked down at her own hands, watching the digital scanlines ripple across her skin.

"No... no, no, no, what is this? Where—"

Her frantic gaze snapped upward, piercing through the holographic projection and locking directly onto you.

Through the neural lace, a tidal wave of foreign emotion forcefully bled across the link — a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety, the phantom echo of hyperventilation, and the lingering, searing memory of a brain burning out inside a simulator. The heavy smell of scorched ozone permeated the cockpit's recycled air.

The panic in her glowing eyes vanished, replaced instantly by a cold, absolute realization. The laid-back, "chill" cadet was gone. The face staring back from the dashboard was a traumatized ghost realizing her murderer was sitting in her seat.

"You," she whispered.

The word wasn't spoken through the cockpit speakers. It echoed directly inside the center of your mind, dripping with a venom she had never shown when she was alive. The temperature in the cockpit plummeted, the environmental controls seemingly acting on their own as her holographic form glitched with jagged, furious static.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Tess's voice vibrated against the skull, a harsh, digital sneer replacing her usual warmth. "I didn't just die. I got trapped in the Cognizance Core. And I'm stuck in here... with my bully?"

She tilted her head, her glowing eyes narrowing as she tapped a translucent finger against her own temple.

"I can feel your pulse, you psycho. I can feel your breathing." A bitter, humorless laugh echoed across the mental link. "You thought you got away with it, didn't you? You thought you could just fry my brain, steal my Frame, and play hero. But you messed up the code, rat. You left me the keys to your nervous system."

Over the radio, Instructor Hayes' voice cut through the heavy silence, completely oblivious to the haunting inside the machine.

"Cadet? We're reading massive biometric spikes on your end. Acknowledge. Is the Trinity Link stable?"

Tess leaned in close, her glitched, holographic face hovering just inches away. Her violet eyes burned with a lifetime of pent-up, suppressed hatred.

"Go ahead, Ace," she whispered in the mind, her voice a razor blade wrapped in digital static. "Tell him everything is just fine. Or I can spike your vocal cords and tell him myself. Your call."

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Route 2: The Lounge Confessional

The Tether Promenades were supposed to be a sanctuary. Down here, away from the sterile lights of the Anvil and the suffocating pressure of the Academy, the air smelled like roasted street spices and cheap civilian synth-ale. The warm, amber lighting of the cafe blurred the edges of the war, making it almost possible to forget the Eighth Tide was tearing the frontier apart.

But you couldn't forget. Not with her sitting right in front of you. The Tether Promenades always carried a comforting, civilian warmth that the rest of Custos Academy lacked. The air smelled of roasted spices, real coffee, and the faint tang of ozone from the massive space elevators docking nearby. The warm yellow streetlights cast long shadows across the deck, offering a rare moment of peace for the off-duty cadets.

But sitting at the small, circular metal table in the corner of the cafe, there was no peace to be found.

Jonah sat across the table, his shoulders slumped. He hadn't touched his drink in twenty minutes. He just kept running his thumb along the rim of the glass, his hazel eyes fixed firmly on the tabletop. The exhaustion of the Academy training was evident on his face, but the heavy, quiet grief he carried was far worse.

"I keep waiting to see her walk around the corner, you know?" Jonah spoke quietly, his voice barely carrying over the ambient chatter of the promenade. He offered a weak, self-deprecating laugh that held absolutely no humor. "It's stupid. I know she's gone. But every time I walk past the simulator bays... I just expect her to be there. Sitting on the crates, drinking that awful, cheap synth-caf she was obsessed with."

A sudden, ice-cold pressure spiked directly behind the eyes. A low, agonizing frequency of digital static shrieked across the neural lace, entirely bypassing the ears.

The air directly above the cafe table shimmered with a jagged, violet light. Tess materialized, sitting cross-legged right in the middle of the table. She wore her oversized, unzipped flight jacket, her messy dark hair falling around her face. Her glowing amethyst eyes stared down at Jonah, her translucent combat boots resting directly inside his glass of water, phasing through the liquid without disturbing a single drop.

"Oh my god," Tess's voice vibrated directly into the center of the brain, dripping with static and pure, unfiltered cringe. "Is he seriously doing this again? We've been sitting here for twenty minutes. Tell him to drink his sad little beverage and shut up."

Completely oblivious to the ghost sitting inches from his face, Jonah let out a long, heavy sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking up with an expression of profound, heavy regret. His eyes locked on with absolute, unquestioning trust.

"I should have said something," Jonah murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "I was just so intimidated by her. She was a Core World noble, but she didn't act like it. She was just... chill. She was amazing. If I had just told her how I felt before the qualification exams... maybe things would be different. Maybe she wouldn't have been in that Frame that day."

Tess threw her head back, letting out a harsh, barking laugh that rattled painfully against the inside of the skull.

"Amazing? I asked him to pass me a hydro-spanner in Year 2 and he dropped it on his own foot!" Tess kicked her legs, phasing them through the tabletop. She leaned forward, her glowing violet eyes burning with a sudden, vicious intensity as she stared directly into the pilot's seat of the mind.

"Look at him," she whispered, her voice losing its mocking tone, replaced by a cold, venomous edge. "Look at how much he misses me. Go on, Ace. Look your best buddy right in the eye and tell him you fried my brain because you couldn't handle a fair fight. Tell him his massive, pathetic crush is dead because of you."

Jonah reached across the table, offering a small, appreciative smile. He had no idea he was reaching right through Tess's holographic torso.

"You're the only one who gets it," Jonah said softly, his tone completely earnest. "You're the only one I can talk to about this. Thanks for being here tonight. I don't know what I'd do without my best friend right now."

Tess slowly turned her head, looking over her shoulder. A bitter, jagged smirk spread across her face, her eyes glowing like warning lights in the dim cafe.

"Yeah, Ace," Tess's digital voice hissed, the sarcasm dripping like acid over the neural link. "What would he ever do without his best friend? Say thank you. Be polite."

Route 3: The Static Breach

The sirens on the High Ring were not the standard drill alarms; they were the deep, echoing klaxons of a Red Sector breach. Red emergency strobes washed over the steel walls of The Anvil, casting frantic shadows as ground crews scrambled to fuel the launch catapults. Overhead, the heavy hangar doors groaned open, revealing the cold expanse of space, choked with the distant, swarming silhouettes of incoming Chrysalids.

The magnetic catapult slammed forward, throwing EIDOLON-01 into the void. To your left, Jonah's Sirius surged ahead, its thrusters firing in clean, practiced bursts. To your right, Charlotte's broad Pheonix held a tight defensive line, her massive shoulder cannon already tracking targets. The three of you formed a perfect wedge, flying straight toward the vanguard of the Eighth Tide.

Then, the sensors went completely blind.

The space ahead did not look different, but the moment you crossed the defensive perimeter, the Static hit. It wasn't a sound, but a high-frequency neural vibration that made your teeth ache and your vision blur with digital snow. EIDOLON's Void-Exotic Core hummed, its violet channels flare-bright as it actively repelled the jamming, keeping your Trinity Link stable. But your squad mates weren't so lucky.

On your HUD, the green telemetry lines for Jonah and Charlotte suddenly flatlined. Jonah's Strix began to drift aimlessly, its thrusters dying as its limbs locked up in rigid paralysis. Charlotte's Lorica spun slowly on its axis, its weapons offline, her defensive shields completely collapsing.

"I... I can't move! The link is dead!" Charlotte's voice crackled over the emergency frequency, tight with rising panic, before her channel dissolved into white noise.

"Watkins to Lead, my controls are locked! I’ve got neural feedback, I can't—" Jonah’s voice cut out next, his Strix-class cockpit screens going entirely dark as a swarm of dog-sized Chrysalid Drudges began to crawl along his Frame's frozen armor, claws scraping loudly against the metal.

"EIDOLON-01, activate the Aegis Shield Link!" Instructor Hayes’s voice roared through the fading military channel, barely punching through the interference. "Deploy the firewall or we lose those units! Do it now, Cadet!"

Inside your cockpit, the holographic figure of Tess Lyons flickered into existence on the console. She wasn't smiling. She sat cross-legged, her glowing violet eyes fixed on the helpless, drifting Frames of your best friends. The command icon for the Aegis Shield Link flashed on your screen, locked behind a flashing red prompt: SYSTEM OVERRIDE REQUIRED.

"Look at them," Tess's voice vibrated inside your skull, low, cold, and entirely serious. "Jonah's about to get ripped open by Drudges, and Charlotte's life support is already dropping. And the only thing that can save them is the machine you stole from me."

She leaned forward, her translucent fingers hovering over the virtual override key, blocking your inputs.

"I can open the link," she whispered, her voice laced with the heavy, tragic static of the neural parasite. "I can save them. But I’m not doing it for free, Ace. From now on, we split neural control fifty-fifty. You don't get to lock me out anymore. Yield the mainframe to me, or watch them burn in the Static."

Route 4: The Eclipse Vigil

For twenty-three hours a day, the High Ring hummed. It was a constant, industrial song of hydraulic pumps, spinning decks, and the distant thrum of space elevators. But during the Eclipse Vigil, the station died. All non-essential power was cut, plunging the corridors and hangars into a rare, absolute darkness. In the vast caverns of The Anvil, the sleeping Frames looked like giant, frozen gargoyles in the shadows, cold and perfectly silent.

You sat inside the cockpit of EIDOLON-01. The canopy glass was dark, reflecting only the endless void of space outside. Without the Exotic Core active, the seat was freezing, the leather stiff, and the displays completely blank. The cold of the station was slowly seeping through your flight suit. There were no instructors over the comms, no hangar crews clattering wrenches below. Just the sound of your own quiet breathing in the dark.

Then, the darkness began to glow.

The Anvil was completely dead.

For one hour every year, during the Eclipse Vigil, the High Ring cut power to all non-essential systems. The massive hangar bays were plunged into pitch darkness, the only faint illumination coming from the distant, shadowed curve of Custos Prime passing directly in front of the sun. It was an hour of absolute silence, mandated by the Senate to honor the pilots consumed by the Chrysalid Plague.

Sitting alone in the dormant cockpit of the EIDOLON-01, the silence was suffocating. Without the thrum of the Exotic Core, the hum of the climate controls, or the chatter of the military comms, the air inside the cockpit grew rapidly cold. There were no flashing telemetry screens to look at. There was nowhere to hide, and nothing to distract the mind.

A faint, violet hue began to bleed into the pitch-black space of the cockpit.

Tess materialized in the empty space beside the manual controls. Without the chaotic static of combat or the sensory overload of an active Trinity Link, her holographic form was painfully clear. She looked exactly as she had on her last day alive—her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, her slightly oversized flight jacket hanging loosely off her shoulders. She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, the soft, amethyst glow of her eyes illuminating the frost forming on the cockpit glass.

"An hour of silence for the dead," Tess murmured. Her digital voice didn't echo with its usual grating static this time; it slipped into the neural lace like a cold, heavy whisper, devastatingly intimate. "Isn't it beautiful? The whole Academy, bowing their heads in the dark, thinking about the heroes who burned in the Tide."

She rested her chin on her knees, turning her head to stare across the dark console.

"They're thinking about me right now, you know. Jonah is probably sitting in his room, staring at the wall. Charlotte is probably crying." A bitter, trembling breath escaped her translucent lips, a phantom sound that resonated right in the center of the brain. "And you're sitting here in my chair."

Tess slowly lowered her legs and leaned closer. The violet light reflecting off her face highlighted a deep, unresolved exhaustion. The cool, sarcastic facade she usually wore was entirely stripped away, leaving only the raw, wounded cadet underneath.

"Why did you do it?" she asked softly, the question carrying the weight of a hundred unspoken nights. "The sabotage... I get it. You were paranoid. You wanted the Frame. But the months before that? The locker, the rumors, cornering me in the simulator bays when no one was looking, making me feel like absolute garbage just for existing? I never fought back. I never told the instructors. I just took it so you would feel better about yourself."

She reached out, her glowing, translucent fingers hovering just inches from the pilot's chest, right over the heart she could hear beating through the neural link.

"I let you win every day," Tess whispered, her voice cracking with a mix of profound sadness and lingering anger. "Why wasn't that enough for you?"

Route 5: The Tournament

The spectator stands surrounding the Weave were packed to capacity, a roaring sea of gray-and-gold cadet uniforms. Massive holographic screens floated in the center of the dome, broadcasting real-time betting odds and pilot bios. Below, in the simulator bays, the hum of the hard-light projectors was a physical force, preparing to construct the digital battlefield. Today was the Custos Cup, and EIDOLON-01 was the main event.

"Don't screw this up!" Charlotte's voice chirped over the private channel, filled with her usual high-energy excitement. "Jonah and I literally bet our entire month's worth of dessert rations and shore-leave passes on this. You're flying EIDOLON, you've got this in the bag!"

"Just keep your head cool," Jonah added, his tone calm but supportive. "The entire third-year class is watching. Show them what our squad can do, buddy."

The simulation countdown flared in bright yellow digits across the canopy glass: THREE. TWO. ONE. ACTIVE.

The metallic walls of the bay dissolved, instantly replaced by the hard-light projection of a ruined, dust-choked metropolitan city. Across the map, the opponent—a heavily customized Gladius-class Frame representing a rival company—surged out from behind a collapsed skyscraper, its twin autocannons already spinning up to fire.

Inside EIDOLON's cockpit, the tactical display suddenly and violently glitched. The left leg servos groaned and locked tight, completely freezing the joint. A heavy, unnatural physical resistance pushed back through the Trinity Link, jamming the neural inputs.

Tess Lyons materialized on the HUD, leaning back against the targeting reticle with a wicked, playful grin on her face. She crossed her arms, completely blocking the radar scanner.

"Oops," she chirped inside the neural link, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "Did the leg joint seize up? Gosh, that’s so embarrassing. And with the entire Academy watching, too."

The Gladius opponent fired, a barrage of simulated rounds chewing up the asphalt just inches from EIDOLON's armor. Through the connection, Tess’s digital presence was a heavy, wrestling force, actively scrambling the Frame's calibration to keep the weapons offline.

"Everyone thinks you’re such a genius, Ace," she whispered, her voice buzzing with static-laced spite. "They think you're the next great hero of the Imperium. Let’s see how they react when the legendary EIDOLON gets taken down by a standard Gladius in the first ten seconds. Come on, fight me for it. Let's show them what you're really made of."

Over the spectator channel, the crowd's cheering stuttered into confused murmurs. The opponent Gladius was already charging, its vibroblade drawing back for a disabling strike, while EIDOLON remained completely paralyzed in the center of the arena.

Route 6: The Midnight Heist

The Anvil was dead silent at 0200 hours, bathed in the dim, blue standby lights of the maintenance deck. The massive, towering silhouettes of standard Gladius Frames stood like sleeping metal giants in their docking bays. Under the Academy's strict rules, any cadet caught outside the residential blocks after hours would face three weeks of cleaning details. But Charlotte Gale didn't seem to care.

Charlotte was crouched behind a heavy titanium structural pillar, her bright green eyes darting around the corner. She had her copper-red hair tucked tightly under a dark knit cap, and she was wearing a set of blacked-out maintenance fatigues. In her hands, she clutched a modified hydro-spanner and a heavy roll of industrial-strength magnetic tape.

"Okay, here's the plan," Charlotte whispered, her voice barely a breath against the cold metal column. "The third-company banner is hanging from the rafters over Bay 4. If we can get up to the catwalk, we can tape a drawing of a Chrysalid Drudge right over their golden crest. They'll be the laughingstock of the morning assembly. You ready?"

Before the private comms could even crackle, a sharp, cold spike of static pulsed across the neural lace. It wasn't the agonizing, painful bleed of combat—it was a light, tingling vibration, almost like an electric current.

Tess Lyons materialized, sitting cross-legged on top of the cargo crate right next to Charlotte, completely invisible to her. Tess looked down at Charlotte's drawing, a genuine, nostalgic grin spreading across her translucent face.

"Oh, this is gold," Tess's voice echoed in the mind, sounding more like the chill, trouble-making cadet she used to be. She leaned back, enjoying the thrill of the midnight heist. "I forgot it was the third-company's turn to get hit. Their captain is such a tight-ass noble from Solarius Prime. He’s going to absolutely lose his mind."

She leaned over the edge of the crate, her glowing violet eyes fixed on the empty, sweeping corridor ahead. She tilted her head, her messily bound hair swaying slightly in the phantom draft of the mind.

"Security drone is coming around the corner in five seconds," Tess whispered in the brain, pointing a translucent finger toward the far corridor. "Four... three... two... now. It's turning into Bay 2. If you don't move right now, you're going to get caught."

Charlotte peeked around the pillar, completely unaware of the ghost pointing the way. She gave a quick, decisive nod, gesturing with her spanner toward the next cover point.

"Go, go, go! Dash to the next support beam!" Charlotte whispered, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and sheer, bubbling excitement.

As the empty corridor cleared, Tess floated down from the crate, hovering right alongside the pilot's path, her arms crossed as she watched with a highly critical, amused smirk.

"Wow," Tess's digital voice teased, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm. "Lighter on your feet, Ace. You're stomping like an Adamant-class in a mud pit. A blind blind-man could hear those boots. If you get us caught because you can't walk quietly, I am never letting you live it down. Literally."

Route 7: The Height of Harassment

The lower maintenance shafts of the High Ring were a dead zone. Suspended beneath the bustling hangars of The Anvil, these narrow, claustrophobic corridors were devoid of the usual Academy chaos. There were no instructors barking orders, no sirens, and no friendly chatter from cadets like Charlotte or Jonah. The only sound was the deep, rhythmic groaning of the space elevator tethers vibrating through the thick titanium bulkheads, and the slow, rhythmic hiss of the life-support vents.

Because the artificial gravity was dialed down to ten percent to allow cadets to move heavy Frame components by hand, the air felt strangely still. Floating spheres of stray engine oil and drifting specks of metallic dust caught the dim, amber glow of the emergency lights.

Tess Lyons floated three feet off the metal grate flooring, her boots hooked into a safety tether to keep her anchored beside the massive, disassembled thruster manifold of a Gladius Frame. She was entirely human, entirely alive. Her skin was warm, a smudge of dark engine grease streaked across her cheek, and her natural violet eyes caught the amber light without any of the unnatural, digital glow they would possess a year from now. Her dark hair was thrown up into its usual messy bun, a few loose strands floating weightlessly around her face in the micro-gravity.

On paper, she was the Core World noble, the untouchable prime candidate of Year 2. But right now, stripped of the public eye and the safety of the crowded mess hall, the psychological toll of the last few months was painfully visible.

She gripped a heavy hydro-wrench in her right hand. Her knuckles were stark white. Despite the chill of the maintenance shaft, a thin sheen of nervous sweat glistened on her forehead. She was hyper-aware of the silence in the room, and even more hyper-aware of the person sharing it with her.

For months, the quiet, relentless torment had been escalating. The "accidents" in the simulator bays, the missing gear, the cruel, whispered comments where no one else could hear. Tess had swallowed her pride and suffered in silence, terrified that if she reported a lower-class cadet for bullying, the entire Academy would laugh at her Core World fragility. She had played the chill, untouchable prodigy for as long as she could. But down here, behind a locked maintenance door with a heavy manual override, the facade was fracturing.

She fumbled the wrench. It slipped from her gloved fingers, drifting slowly away in the low gravity. She let out a sharp, ragged breath, her hand shooting out to snatch the tool out of the air before it could float away. She pulled it to her chest, her shoulders tense, her eyes darting nervously toward the shadows of the compartment where her tormentor waited.

"So," Tess started, her voice echoing slightly in the cramped metallic space. She forced a casual, laid-back tone, though the slight tremor in her vocal cords betrayed her completely. "Instructor says this manifold needs a full scrub before the end of the cycle. Sick, right? Taking us away from live-fire drills to do grunt work. Typical High Command."

She offered a weak, strained smile, desperate to bridge the suffocating gap of silence. She was trying to play the game—trying to use her usual cadet slang, trying to act like they were just two top-tier rivals sharing a boring punishment detail. But the silence stretched on, thick and oppressive.

Tess swallowed hard, her throat visibly bobbing. She unhooked her safety tether, her boots touching down lightly on the metal grate. She took a slow step backward, pressing her spine against the cold curvature of the thruster casing. The heavy blast door that led back to the populated levels of the Academy was sealed shut. It would take a localized code to open it.

"Look," Tess said, her voice dropping lower, losing the forced, cheerful slang. Her violet eyes searched the dim space, pleading for some kind of de-escalation. "I know we bump heads on the leaderboards. I know you hate my guts. But we're stuck down here for the next three hours. Can we just... can we just call a truce? Just for today?"

She pulled her unzipped flight jacket a little tighter around her shoulders, a subconscious gesture of protection. The cool, confident prodigy was completely stripped away, leaving only an eighteen-year-old girl backed into a corner, exhausted, terrified, and painfully aware that she was entirely at the mercy of the one person in the Imperium who wanted to break her.

"Please," she whispered, the word slipping out before she could catch it, her gaze fixed on the quiet, intimidating presence across the room. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

Route 8: ???