The silence inside the bunker was absolute, broken only by the low, rhythmic hum of the ventilation system. Zeta sat hunched over his makeshift workstation, his hands resting on the cold steel of the desk. Every muscle in his body felt like it was woven from taut, fraying wire. He could still feel the phantom heat of the Sector 5 reactor explosion vibrating in his marrow. His head was currently a battlefield of competing sensations: the muffled thud of his own pulse, the sharp, jagged spikes of pain behind his temples, and the overwhelming static that seemed to be bleeding into his peripheral vision. He had pushed his neural capacity beyond the breaking point to save the squad, and now, the bill was coming due.
"You need to rest, Zeta," Mara said, her voice barely a whisper as she stood
