The emergency pod shuddered as it burst from the ruins of the rig, flinging Elara and Lucien into the black Atlantic night. Water sluiced around them, icy and unforgiving, as the pod bobbed amid the spray. Above, Helix gunships screamed through the storm clouds, tracer rounds arcing toward the small refuge like malevolent fireflies.
Lucien lay slumped against the pod's bulkhead, chest rising and falling in ragged spasms. His neural implant glowed erratically beneath his skin, each pulse a flicker of interrupted life. Elara scrambled over the wet floor, ripping exposed wiring from his harness. Her fingers worked with mechanical precision—desperation fusing with training.
“Hold on," she whispered, jury‑rigging a defibrillator from the pod's emergency power bus and the implant's auxiliary l
