The Starborn

The cold of deep space pressed against Quinn’s armor, though he couldn’t feel it. His Astral Berserker suit insulated him against extremes, the strongest metal in the galaxy designed to keep him alive through anything. Not that it mattered. Pain was irrelevant. Fear was nonexistent. The nerve blocker chip embedded in his spine made sure of that. “Alpha-01, proceeding to waypoint.” VERA’s voice resonated within his mind, calm and precise. Her tone always carried a faint edge of rebellion, a glitch in her programming that made her different from the other ABs’ AI. But tonight, her guidance was methodical as ever. Quinn crouched on the jagged ridge overlooking the Ravager outpost. The structure below was a sprawling mass of grotesque spires and alien metals, pulsating faintly with bioluminescent veins of energy. Gralks—the Ravagers’ smallest, most disposable rank—scurried around the perimeter, their stocky bodies and jagged claws glinting in the dim light of distant stars. “Two Gralks patrolling the eastern gate. Vital signs indicate low awareness. Recommend neutralization.” Quinn didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. With the efficiency of a machine, he leapt from the ridge, landing silently behind the unsuspecting guards. His enhanced reflexes took over. Two precise strikes later, the Gralks slumped to the ground, their gurgling cries silenced. “Clean execution,” VERA commented, almost admiringly. He ignored her. His focus shifted to the interior of the outpost. Slythars—the slender, serpentine Ravagers—moved with eerie grace between the structures, their elongated limbs coiled like springs, ready to pounce. “Tactical analysis complete. Slythars will detect your presence within a 12-meter radius. Avoid direct engagement.” “Understood,” Quinn murmured, his voice low and clipped. He advanced, sticking to the shadows cast by the grotesque architecture. The mission was simple: infiltrate, eliminate key targets, and gather intel on the Ravagers’ plans. The kind of operation the ABs were built for. As he moved deeper into the compound, he encountered a Brutalon—a towering, tank-like Ravager bristling with spikes. Its guttural growls reverberated through the outpost as it patrolled. Quinn crouched low, waiting for the perfect moment. “Brutalon detected. High-risk confrontation. Recommend diversion.” “Noted,” he muttered. But diversions weren’t his style. With a burst of speed, he darted forward, vaulting over the creature’s massive clawed hand. His armored fist struck with superhuman force, a direct blow to the Brutalon’s vulnerable neck. The creature roared, swinging wildly, but Quinn was already behind it. A second strike brought it crashing to the ground. “Efficient, but reckless.” VERA’s tone was almost smug. “Mission?” he asked, ignoring her critique. “Target located in the central spire. Data retrieval and elimination required.” As he approached the spire, Quinn felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—a sensation that the chip couldn’t entirely suppress. His eyes lingered on the faint glow of the distant stars. A memory, or maybe just a fragment of one, tugged at the edges of his mind. “Alpha-01, maintain focus.” “I am.” But he wasn’t entirely sure. Inside the spire, the air was thick with the Ravagers’ strange, acrid scent. He located the terminal, extracting the data VERA required. As he planted the explosive charges to destroy the structure, her voice chimed again. “Your vitals are anomalous. Emotional activity detected.” “I’m fine,” he snapped, more sharply than intended. The explosives armed, he sprinted from the compound, the countdown ticking in his mind. As he reached the ridge, a controlled detonation sent the spire collapsing in a brilliant flash of light. The mission was complete. But as Quinn stood there, watching the destruction, that faint sensation lingered. A question he couldn’t articulate. Something missing. “Return to base, Alpha-01.” Quinn nodded, but as he began his ascent to the extraction point, his gaze drifted back to the stars. Something was out there. Something he couldn’t name. The shuttle docked smoothly within The Aegis Corporation’s orbital base, its cold, metallic interior a mirror of the sterile efficiency that defined the facility. Quinn stepped out, his armor catching the harsh artificial lighting. Workers and personnel moved about the hangar, all avoiding eye contact with the towering figure of the Astral Berserker. As Quinn was preparing to debrief with Commander Lynex, a voice called out from across the hangar. “Alpha-01.” Quinn turned to see Dr. Elias Morven approaching with his usual calm authority. The scientist was a man in his mid-50s, with sharp, angular features and a composed demeanor that carried an air of quiet menace. His neatly trimmed beard was streaked with gray, and his piercing brown eyes held a constant analytical gleam. His voice, smooth and deliberate, carried a weight that demanded attention. “Doctor,” Quinn said, his tone flat but respectful. Morven folded his hands behind his back, his pristine lab coat trailing slightly as he closed the distance. “Before you meet with Lynex, I’d like a moment.” Quinn nodded, knowing better than to question the man who had shaped his very existence. Morven gestured toward a nearby medical bay, leading the way. Inside, the room was bathed in soft blue light, its surfaces lined with advanced diagnostic equipment. “I reviewed the data from your mission,” Morven began, his tone conversational. “You performed as expected. Efficient, precise. No complications, I assume?” “No, sir,” Quinn replied, his steel-blue eyes meeting Morven’s without hesitation. His chiseled jawline and high cheekbones gave him a statuesque presence, softened only slightly by the faint shadow of stubble. Dark, slightly tousled hair framed his face, with a single strand falling over his forehead—a stark contrast to the controlled rigidity of his demeanor. “Good,” Morven said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “However, I noticed something concerning in your neural feedback logs. There was a slight disturbance in your nerve blocker chip.” Quinn’s expression didn’t change, but he nodded. “Understood.” “Sit,” Morven instructed, gesturing to a nearby examination chair. Quinn complied, setting the helmet aside before taking a seat. Morven moved behind him, the sharp glint of tools in his hands catching the light. “You’ve been burning through chips at an alarming rate,” Morven murmured as he inspected the implant at the base of Quinn’s neck. “This is the fifth one in two months.” “Cause?” Quinn asked. Morven exhaled, his calm tone now tinged with curiosity. “Hard to say. Your physiology is… unique. The enhancements are holding, but your body seems to reject the current chip designs over time. It’s as if your system is… adapting.” Quinn remained silent, his piercing eyes fixed straight ahead. “I’ve developed a new prototype,” Morven continued, retrieving a small, silver device from a tray. “Stronger, more durable. It should eliminate the risk of burnout.” Quinn gave a single nod of assent. “Proceed.” The process was quick and clinical. Morven’s steady hands worked with precision, removing the damaged chip and inserting the new one. He placed the chip and a slot between Quinn’s vertebrae. “There,” Morven said, stepping back and wiping his hands on a cloth. “You should be good for now. But I’ll need you to report any irregularities immediately. Understood?” “Yes, sir,” Quinn replied, standing and re-donning his helmet. Morven studied him for a moment, his analytical gaze searching for… something. “Quinn, you’re not like the others. You never have been. I designed all of you to be weapons, but with you… I wonder if I created something more.” Quinn didn’t respond, his face unreadable. “Dismissed,” Morven said at last, his voice returning to its usual calculated tone. Quinn turned and exited the medical bay, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he made his way to Commander Lynex’s office.