Later, in the debriefing chamber, the air hung heavy with the acrid tang of burnt synth-nicotine and the faint hum of malfunctioning circuitry. The room was cramped, its metallic walls streaked with condensation from the facility’s fluctuating temperatures. Hrafn stood at attention, his muscles taut and his fur still matted with soot and grime from the simulation.

  Rykhar loomed before him, his imposing frame casting a long shadow under the flickering fluorescent lights. His cybernetic eye flickered erratically, the red glow dimming and flaring in sync with the sharpness of his sneer, as though it shared his scorn. He leaned forward, his breath reeking of synthetic nicotine, and sneered."You handled that... like a miner," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. But there was something else beneath the surface—an edge that made the insult feel less cutting and more calculated.

  Behind him, a holoscreen flared to life, bathing the room in cold, sterile light. Footage from the simulation played on a loop: Hrafn’s augments overheating during the collapse, their joints hissing and sparking under the strain. The heat of the holoscreen seared the serial numbers into his mind like a brand. Bright orange text glared across the screen: GAMMA-4-CORP.

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  Rykhar’s claws tapped against the edge of the holoscreen as he studied the footage, his cyber-eye narrowing."Turns out your family's creditors have taken an interest in your progress," he said, his tone almost conversational in a slight sing-song drawl, though the words carried a weight that made Hrafn’s stomach churn. "Seems they’re curious how much stress those cheap implants in your back can take."

  Hrafn’s jaw tightened, his ears flicking back as the words sank in. The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing closer with every breath.

  The weight of Gamma 4's shadow loomed over him, but he refused to let it crush him. Not here. Not now.

  Rykhar leaned in further, his voice dropping to a low growl."Tomorrow," he said, his breath hot and bitter, "we push harder."

  The cybernetic eye dimmed slightly, as if processing the weight of his next words, before flaring back to life. The holoscreen flickered, the footage looping again, and Hrafn’s reflection stared back at him from the polished surface—tired, battered, but unbroken.

  He didn’t flinch under Rykhar’s gaze, though his claws dug into his palms behind his back. The sharp pain grounded him—an anchor against the weight pressing in from a past that refused to stay buried.