1. The Nth Flight

I’m drowning in a sea of copper.

The swarm of Buggers moved in a perfect Fibonacci spiral as they descended towards me—predictable, boring, but at least pretty.

I sat waiting; my pod an ocean of neon-green pathing indicators and firing lanes for “optimised engagement strategies” that only blocked my view.

[DANGER. DANGER. DANGER.]

Crosshairs jittered as they aligned with the Buggers’ projected flight paths, pre-calculating the perfect lead angle for my auto-cannon. All I had to do was hold the trigger and watch Buggers fall.

[TARGETING LOCK CONFIRMED]

[ENGAGE FOR 99.8% EFFICIENCY]

I bared my teeth at the display. “You’re blocking my sight lines, you damned toaster!”

My eyes fell to the console, to my favourite switch: an old-fashioned flip toggle beneath the central controls. I flipped it.

[WARNING: MANUAL OVERRIDE ACTIVE]

[SYSTEM COHESION DEGRADING]

[AEGIS-ASSIST OFFLINE]

The green lines vanished, replaced by swaths of raw data and output that threatened to overwhelm my senses. Every hum and vibration from the mech’s core, the heat of the engines, the stabilisers straining to keep up. The mech no longer felt like an extension of myself. It felt like what it was: a hundred tons of stubborn alloy and firepower.

I grinned.

With a sharp kick of my left foot, the thruster roared, pushing my mech onto its left flank. The entire machine glided laterally, skimming centimetres above the ground as bright bio-plasma screamed through the air where I’d been a heartbeat earlier.

The mech dodged and weaved as a wave of suppressive fire threatened to melt my chassis into slag. The Buggers were beginning to adapt to my patterns, finally leading their shots.

Something tugged at the back of my mind. I hauled the controls backwards and punched the auxiliary thrusters. The Seraph pitched upwards, tearing from its lateral slide into a climb.

A wide range attack plunged just below me, a wave of fire and plasma.

[EFFICIENCY HAS DROPPED BELOW 60%]

[RE-ENGAGING SAFETY LIMITERS TO PREVENT FRAME LOSS]

“Like hell you are,” I snapped, slapping the console to bypass the lock.

The stabilisers wavered as the frame began to overheat. I gritted my teeth and fought through the neural overload, clipping the mech’s shoulder on a pylon as the mech reached the apex of its ascent. Sparks burst inside the cockpit, and the console flashed red.

[STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY DEGRADED]

[HYDRAULIC LEAK DETECTED — RIGHT ACTUATOR]

Shit.

I used the impact’s momentum to pivot the mech. The force whipped the torso around, almost sending me into an uncontrolled spin. With little time to spare, I hauled the auto-cannon toward the centre of their spiral formation and squeezed the trigger.

The cannon roared, flames licking from the barrel as rounds pounded through the formation’s centre. Each shot tore through the weaker bio-mechs screening their artillery line.

The hot lead tore apart the plasma-cannons before they could land a clean strike. Their formation broke into chaos. It took less than a minute to gut their damage dealers and another to finish the stragglers as they tried to scatter.

The simulation went dark, and silence flooded the cockpit.

Fresh text blinked across the HUD.

[SIMULATION COMPLETE]

[TIME: 02:48 — NEW RECORD]

For a moment, I sat there, practically vibrating. The persistent green glow of the HUD was living proof of my performance.

I ran my tongue across my teeth, searching for the source the way I always did. Nothing. No cut, no bleed, no explanation. Just the taste. It had been getting stronger lately. I’d even mentioned it to Mother months ago. She told me, ‘Just drink more water’.

I leaned back in the seat and pushed the release button.

The simulation pod hissed open, venting fresh air into the sweltering pod, quickly cooling my overheated body. Steam curled off my skin, my muscles still twitching from the neural feedback.

Across the training chamber, my family was waiting.

Grandfather stood at the front in his dark officer’s coat, hands clasped behind his back. Father stood to his right, beaming with pride. My uncles lingered near the tactical displays, half-hidden behind moving screens of data.

“Zero cohesion, Marcus,” Uncle David announced, his voice thin and sharp.

He tapped his datapad, and a wall of performance metrics bloomed between us.

“You cleared the spiral in record time, yes. But your Yield was awful. No designated rotations, no synchronised kill chain, and no secondary skill experience. In a live operation, you would have wasted the encounter.”

“Wasted?” I wiped sweat from my jaw and forced myself to keep smiling. “I broke the record and only have a scratch to show for it.”

“Speed is a vanity metric, boy,” Uncle Michael added, swirling amber liquor in a glass he definitely wasn’t supposed to have inside the training wing.

“Yeah, but if I’d followed the assist, I’d have a bonus and a simulated hole through my chest. I’d take being alive over a few extra levels.” I retorted.

“You disobeyed the System,” David snapped, his nasal voice setting my teeth on edge.

“Then maybe the System should stop recommending bad turns on the left pivot.” I spat, restraining myself from yelling.

Father let out a hearty guffaw at the statement, my frustration slowly melting away as a smiled formed across my face.

Grandfather quickly wiped it off as he descended the metal stairs toward me. His boots rang against the steel in slow, measured strides. The chamber quieted. Even Michael had the sense to shut up.

Eventually, he stopped just an arm’s length away.

“The System drew the optimal path,” he said. “You ignored it. And shaved twelve seconds off a century-old record.”

His gaze sharpened.

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“Interesting.”

My brow twitched involuntarily.

“Go clean yourself up,” he said. “Tonight we celebrate. Tomorrow, the Moirai will see something worth noting.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, his heavy boots fading down the corridor. I watched as he went, my twitching eyebrows forming into a furrow.

Interesting… I’m starting to hate that word.

The training chamber emptied quickly once Grandfather left; they filed out behind him. An empty simulation chamber and I were all that was left. I prepared myself to leave, but a figure emerged through the doorway. It was Mother.

“How do you feel?” she asked from the doorway.

“Fine,” I said, stepping towards her.

She studied my face the way she always did. After a moment, she reached up and brushed a strand of damp hair from my forehead.

“Go get cleaned up. Dinner’s in an hour.”

“I know.”

“And Marcus?” She paused at the door. “Try to eat something tonight. Even if you’re not hungry.”

I nodded, a genuine smile spread across my face.

The walk to my room took me through the quieter wing of the house. Cream walls, dark wood floors, framed commendations from three generations of Tiernans lining the hallway like a timeline of obligation. I passed them without looking.

Sara’s door was closed. The lights behind it were off.

[Thirty-eight days since last message]

I tore myself from the display and entered my room,

I tossed my sweat-soaked training kit into the hamper and stepped into the shower. The water was cold—I needed it cold. The heat from the simulation pod still clung to my skin, and the copper taste still sat in my mouth.

I stood under the water and let my mind empty. Tried anyway, tomorrow kept pushing back in. The Moirai. The grade. Grandfather’s eyes. That word—interesting—still rattling around like a coin in a tin.

The water ran clear, but I kept scrubbing.

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