The world was a data-stream, a river of cold, hard information flowing past a prisoner behind glass. Roewi watched as the cityscape of Nexus Prime blurred beneath him, his body moving with a preternatural grace he’d never possessed. Vextor navigated the descent from the Aethelburg facility not as a fall, but as a series of calculated trajectories, using thermal updrafts and the magnetic resonance of passing sky-trains to control their momentum. It was a terrifying display of power applied with the precision of a scalpel.
[Destination: Workshop of Myra Cendrel. Probability of sanctuary: 87%. Probability of useful intelligence: 94%.]
She’s not a resource! Roewi screamed into the void, but the thought had no weight, no traction. It was just noise.
[Sentimental attachment is a vulnerability
