Chapter 1

The Dream

Adam Elwin gasps awake, his body jerking as if dropped from a height.

His eyes snap open to the dim light of his quarters, heart racing.

Fragments of the dream cling to his consciousness. An impossible city in its geometry, spiring buildings that shift and change color. The acrid blend of incense and smoldering destruction lingers in his nostrils.

He can still feel the heat of anger coursing through him, directed at... someone. A figure in white with a black sash, their face frustratingly out of focus.

And her—always her—veiled in black, eyes piercing through him.

Meet with her, the voice echoes in his mind. A command, not a suggestion.

Reality reasserts itself slowly—the cool sheets beneath his fingers, the sterile air, the dim light of his quarters. So different from the chaos of his dream. He lies still, disoriented, mouth dry with a strange taste—like licking a battery, but sweet, sweeter than honey.

“Seriously, again?” he says, rubbing his eyes.

Adam sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his skin, quickly cooling in the regulated air of the room. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the last vestiges of the dream.

How many mornings has he woken like this now? The same dream, night after night, always more questions than answers.

And always, always, that voice: Meet with her.

Adam shakes his head, looks away.

Through a small window, the Kibotos catches his eye. 150 meters of engineering and hope, waiting to carry him across the stars. In the pre-dawn darkness, its frame is barely visible, a darker silhouette against the night sky.

He's not ready. How could anyone be ready for this?

The thought makes him dizzy.

He reaches for the smooth, metallic device on his nightstand. Pressing it to his arm, he closes his eyes as relief washes over him. A small hologram flickers to life, indicating only one dose remains.

Adam barely notices.

He exhales slowly, his muscles relaxing as the medication takes effect. The device has become part of his daily routine, as necessary as his uniform.

He exchanges the device for the datapad on his nightstand. He squints at the screen’s glow in the dark room as he writes.

Day 28

Same dream.

Arguing w/ mystery man again. Impossible city - buildings changing colors, floating walkways. Guy in white w/ black sash. Red symbol?

Felt so angry. Don't know why. Couldn't control it.

She was there again. Black veil. Eyes intense. Incense smell?

Voice in head: "Meet with her." Felt like an order.

Adam taps his stylus against his chin.

New part this time: Bombing at pub

Wreckage. Smoke, screaming. Woman in debris. Thought it was HER, but...

He hesitates, hand over his mouth now.

It was Zoe. Dead.

His fingers run up the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes.

Then not dead? She said it too: "Meet with her!"

Meet with WHO???

He circles the last question.

“Meet with her," Adam mumbles, the dream’s command still echoing.

He shakes his head.

“Meet with her where?” His voice comes out sharp, startling even himself.

The room’s AI interprets his words as a command.

“I’m sorry, I do not have information on that location. Would you like me to search for anything else?”

Adam blinks, surprised—even a bit irritated—by the response. “No, never mind. Just—get my shower ready.”

“Certainly, sir. Your shower will be ready in 30 seconds.”

Adam rises, stretching his arms above his head. As he moves towards the bathroom, the last residue of his dream dissipates, replaced by the immediate concerns of the day ahead.

The AI says, “Sir, I’ve detected an anomaly in your sleep patterns. Would you like me to add your recurring dream to the agenda of your meeting with Dr. Boulder this morning?”

Adam freezes. He’s never mentioned the dream to the AI.

“What do you know about my dream, AURA?” he asks sharply.

“I’m sorry, sir. I have no data about the content of your dreams. I was simply referring to the REM irregularities in your sleep cycle.”

“What did I tell you about monitoring me?”

“My monitoring is set to the absolute minimum required by mission protocol. I do not actively observe your sleep, but certain data is automatically logged for safety purposes."

“Fine,” Adam says curtly. “But no more comments about my dreams. Got it?”

“Understood, sir. Shall I add sleep cycle irregularities to the agenda—”

“What do you think?” he interrupts.

It says nothing until, “Your shower is ready, sir.”

As Adam approaches the bathroom, steam has already filled the small space.

He emerges from the shower, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. He snatches a towel and quickly dries off. As he moves to toss the damp towel into the hamper, he hesitates.

The hamper lid is ajar, revealing a glimpse of dark fabric crumpled at the bottom.

His command jacket.

The sight of it there, discarded so carelessly, is jarring even to him. It's so unlike his usual meticulousness that for a moment, he doesn't quite recognize himself.

Adam’s hand hovers over the hamper, towel dangling from his fingers. He’s frozen, temporarily, staring at the discarded symbol of his authority.

With a sharp exhale, he drops the towel on top, obscuring the jacket from view. Out of sight, out of mind. If only it were that simple.

As Adam wipes the steam from the mirror, he expects to see his own reflection. Instead, the Kibotos dominates his view. The ship’s sleek silhouette gradually emerges from the pre-dawn darkness, a constant reminder of humanity’s last hope waiting on the launchpad.

Adam blinks, momentarily disoriented, trying to catch sight of himself in the mirror. But instead of his own reflection, the ship looms large, seemingly overtaking the entire frame.

Finally, he forces his eyes onto himself, his face coming into focus—a visage older than its twenty-eight years, lines of stress etched around the eyes.

His uniform waits for him in the closet.

He slides it open, reaching in for it, the fabric smooth and utilitarian under his fingers. As he pulls it out, his eyes catch on the empty hanger where his command jacket should be.

He puts on his uniform methodically, each practiced movement a stark contrast to the turmoil in his mind. The missing jacket leaves his outfit incomplete, like himself.

The mission patch on his sleeve catches his eye. The stylized image of the ship approaching Hybris Prime gives him pause. It’s a silent reminder of the immense responsibility ahead—humanity’s future, stitched onto his arm.

He turns to the small window, seeking a moment’s respite.

He doesn’t get it.

The sun has climbed higher now, bathing the Kibotos in golden light. Its entire frame is visible, gleaming under the morning sun. The ship’s sleek contours stand out clearly against the brightening sky, a constant reminder of the mission ahead.

Adam exhales slowly. A few weeks ago, he was overseeing the crew’s flight sims. Now he’s supposed to command the real thing. The sudden shift still doesn’t feel real.

“Commander Elwin,” the AI’s voice breaks through his internal struggle, “your final mental fitness assessment will take place at Dr. Sisyphine Boulder’s office in one hour."

Commander.

He flinches at the title.

Humanity's last hope. His responsibility now.

No room for failure.

“It’s not Commander. Not yet,” he says, more to himself than the AI.

“Yes, sir. My apologies for the error,” AURA responds, its tone modulating to match Adam's mood. After a brief pause, it reminds him, “You have yet to confirm with Dr. Boulder your intention to keep the appointment.”

Adam exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, tosh. I forgot.”

“Shall I inform her?” the AI asks, its voice neutral.

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“No, I’ll handle it.”

As Adam moves towards the door, AURA chimes in again.

“Sir, don’t forget your journal datapad. Dr. Boulder requested you bring it to today’s session.”

Adam pauses, glancing back at the nightstand. For a moment, he considers leaving it behind, the thought of sharing his dreams with the psychologist making him uneasy. But he knows better than to show up unprepared.

With a resigned sigh, he retrieves the datapad, tucking it under his arm.

“Thanks,” he mutters to the AI, not entirely sure if he means it. “Let’s get this over with.”

+ + +

Adam steps into the hallway, assaulted by sterile air and harsh light. Metallic walls gleam, too bright, too clean. He breathes in, wondering if Hybris Prime will feel as lifeless.

As Adam raises his wrist, the ComSpec comes to life, projecting Dr. Boulder’s contact details. His finger hovers over the call button.

"Morning, princess."

Adam’s hand jerks, nearly activating the call. He turns to find Levi Nabal lounging against the wall, his crisp, tailored suit at odds with the early hour.

“Levi,” Adam acknowledges, lowering his wrist. “You’re up early.”

Levi’s eyes flick to Adam’s ComSpec, then back to his face. His smile widens a fraction.

“Ah, right. The big day.”

His gaze sweeps over Adam, lingering on the dark circles under his eyes. He raises an eyebrow.

“Sure you’re ready? Looks like you crawled out of the trash incinerator.”

Adam straightens, squaring his shoulders. “Just... didn’t sleep well,” he says, voice carefully neutral.

Levi pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. “Well, let’s hope that doesn’t affect your evaluation."

Adam’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “I'm fine, Levi.”

Levi’s voice drops, a hint of challenge in his tone. “Are you? Because we all know what’s at stake here.”

Levi takes another step closer, his gaze roving over Adam. Assessing. Condescending.

His eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Tell me, do you see their faces when you close your eyes?”

Adam’s fists clench at his sides. “That's enough, Levi.”

“Just looking out for the mission, Elwin,” Levi says, raising his hands, palms outstretched. “We can’t have a pilot who cracks under pressure, now can we?”

Adam forces a tight-lipped smile. His eyes betray nothing.

Levi straightens, adjusts his cufflinks, and turns to walk away.

Adam’s eyes flick to Levi’s attire. He can’t resist asking.

“What’s the occasion for the suit?”

“The usual song and dance," Levi replies without looking back. “Someone has to keep the public’s faith in the program.”

“I’ve passed every test," Adam says, voice tight. "I'm qualified–"

Levi cuts him off with a sharp laugh. “Qualified? Sure. You wrote every sim I ever trained on. But are you ready? That's what people care about. That’s what matters most." He pauses, letting his words sink in. “And that's what today's about, isn't it?"

He taps his ComSpec. “Tick tock, Elwin. Better not keep the good doctor waiting. Can't launch with a pilot who isn’t ready.”

“Mission Commander," Adam corrects, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

Levi’s eyebrows rise in mock surprise. “My mistake, Commander.”

He offers a lazy salute before striding away, leaving the sting of his words hanging in the air.

Adam watches him disappear. He feels off-balance, unsettled.

How can one man be so infuriating?

He takes a deep breath, his hands smoothing down his uniform as he pushes thoughts of Levi to the back of his mind.

Too much rides on this morning’s evaluation. It’s practically a formality, given the circumstances, but Adam takes it seriously anyway.

+ + +

As he shakes off the encounter, a woman in a sleek coat strides past. Her stiletto heels click-clack on metal floors. A silky scarf wraps around her neck.

“Zoe,” he calls out. She flinches at the sound of her name.

“Adam,” she says, her smile stiff and professional. “Good morning.”

As he draws closer, Adam notices the dark circles under her eyes, poorly concealed by makeup.

“You're up early,” he says.

“I could say the same to you.”

“Yeah, just nervous for the big day, I suppose,” he says. “And you?”

“Oh, you know, busy day ahead. Levi mentioned a media interview this morning."

Adam raises an eyebrow. “You just found out about that interview? That's a little short notice, don’t you think?"

Zoe shrugs, a small gesture that takes effort.

“It’s fine. Part of the job, right?”

Adam’s gaze drifts to the scarf. It's out of place for the usually practical doctor.

“New accessory?”

Zoe’s hand zips to her throat, fingers brushing the fabric.

“Oh, this?” She lets out a small, nervous laugh.

“Just... thought I’d look nice for the interview."

As she adjusts the scarf, Adam catches a glimpse of discolored skin just above her collarbone. The mark is gone in an instant, hidden again beneath the silky fabric.

“Was there something you needed?”

He hesitates before saying, “I... just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” she says flatly. “Is that all?”

Adam opens his mouth, but Zoe cuts him off.

“I really need to go. Levi’s waiting.”

“Zoe, if there’s anything—"

“There isn’t,” she interrupts, her accent thickening with irritation.

“Good luck this morning."

Adam’s brow furrows as he searches for the reply, but before he can speak, she’s already turning away. Her heels resuming their rapid click-clack down the corridor. Her posture is rigid, shoulders hunched.

He watches her go, his hand half-raised as if to call her back. He takes a step forward but stops, indecision written in every line of his body. His fingers curl into a fist at his side, frustration and concern warring on his face as Zoe disappears around the corner.

A moment passes before he lifts his wrist, activating his ComSpec. Dr. Boulder’s contact info materializes again in the holographic display.

His finger hovers over the call button, but Zoe’s troubled face flashes in his mind. The discolored skin beneath her scarf, her darting eyes, the fear in her voice—it all crowds out thoughts of his appointment.

The ComSpec chirps, startling him out of his reverie. A new message flashes:

Breakfast

Adam blinks, realizing he’s been standing in the corridor, lost in thought. He never made the call.

He sighs, rubbing his temples. Food is the last thing on his mind, but protocol is protocol.

Shaking his head, he sets off towards the mess hall. Maybe some coffee will clear his mind.

+ + +

Adam walks the hallway, unease nipping at his heels.

As he approaches the mess hall, weeks of subtle signs pile up in his mind: Zoe flinching at Levi’s voice, her hesitation around him, the way she unconsciously rubs her wrist when he spoke during meetings.

The automatic doors glide open, releasing a gust of coffee-scented air. Adam hesitates at the threshold, then moves unthinkingly to the food dispensers.

He selects items without really seeing them, his mind elsewhere. As he waits for his tray to fill, his gaze drifts to a digital bulletin board on the far wall. Its bright display catches his eye:

"Conserve to Preserve: Rationing is Everyone's Duty!"

The slogan flashes, then cycles to show current ration levels for various resources. Adam collects his tray, the portions noticeably smaller than they were even a couple weeks ago. He settles into a chair, mechanically spooning food into his mouth.

His gaze drifts to an empty table in the corner—Zoe’s usual spot. The sight triggers a vivid memory.

He blinks, and suddenly he's back there, watching Zoe from across the room. Her tense posture, the way her eyes darted around the room, finally meeting his before quickly looking away. Her face had flushed, a mix of embarrassment and... fear?

Adam’s spoon clatters against the tray as he sets it down, his appetite suddenly gone.

He’d seen that look before in the sims—right before a critical error. But this wasn’t a simulation, and Zoe wasn’t a trainee. Whatever was happening between her and Levi was real. And dangerous.

As Adam exits the mess hall, he passes the debriefing room. The sight of the closed door catapults him into another memory.

It's a late evening. Levi angry voice, Zoe backed against a wall, arms crossed defensively. His cold smile when he saw Adam. Her hasty retreat, mumbling something about a misunderstanding.

Adam blinks hard, forcing himself back to the present.

He shakes his head, pushing away the troubling thoughts as he steps into the corridor.

He’s barely taken two steps when he nearly collides with an unfamiliar android rounding the corner.

Its frame moves with a slight stutter, and Adam’s eyes catch on a series of deep scratches across its chest plate. Something about it seems off, but he can’t quite place it.

Odd, Adam thinks, but his mind is elsewhere.

The sight of Dr. Boulder’s nameplate ahead brings Zoe’s troubled face to mind once more.

As he approaches the psychologist's office, he promises himself to support Zoe, to protect her.

His ComSpec vibrates—another reminder to confirm his appointment. He silences it with an absentminded swipe.

The door hisses open, the soft sound barely registering in his distracted mind.

“Mr. Elwin?" she calls out, perhaps for the second time.

Dr. Boulder stands in the door frame, relief flickering across her face.

Adam startles, snapping back to the present.

“Mr. Elwin, I was beginning to wonder if you'd make it.”

“Dr. Boulder, I—" He falters, realizing he never confirmed their appointment.

“Ten minutes late,” she notes, her tone a mixture of concern and curiosity. “That’s not like you, Adam. Especially for an appointment of this importance.”

Adam winces, glancing at the clock. He can't believe he lost track of time so badly.

“I’m sorry—"

She holds up a hand, cutting him off gently, waving off the apology.

“You’re here now. That’s what matters,” she gestures to his seat.

Adam sinks into the familiar chair across from her desk. His eyes roam around the room—framed degrees, the bronze Kibotos paperweight, the digital clock ticking away the moments until launch. He straightens his already-impeccable uniform, smoothing out an imperceptible wrinkle.

Dr. Boulder settles into her seat, her gaze falling to Adam’s empty hands.

“Your dream journal?”

Adam’s eyes widen. His hands pat his pockets, coming up empty.

“I...” He closes his eyes, exhaling sharply. “The mess hall. I must have...”

Her stylus taps against her datapad. “This isn’t like you, Adam.”

“It’s fine. I can remember the important parts.”

“Can you?” Her eyebrow arches. “You seem... distracted. More than usual.”

Adam’s fingers drum against the armrest. He catches himself and immediately stops, placing his hands flat on his thighs.

“I’m fine,” he says, too quickly. “Let’s… just continue.