Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Drifting in the soft golden glow of your kelku (home), the familiar folds of the marui cradled you like a newborn, the fabric warm against your skin and the scent of resin and smoke wrapping around you like a memory. Your father knelt nearby, the sunlight catching the edges of his hair, his smile steady and calm. “You’ll make sure your sa’nok (mother) doesn’t do anything naughty while I’m gone, right?”

At the far corner, your mother crouched with a radio in her hands. Her fingers brushed the dials with delicate care, like threads of sunlight slipping through the canopy, humming a tune that carried a weight you couldn’t name.

Grinning, heart light, you replied, “I’ll call out to you if she tries.”

A gentle kiss pressed to his cheek, the warmth of it lingering in the space between you, shimmering in the air like golden dust.

Then the walls rippled, folding and stretching as if the world itself had melted. The sunlight dimmed and warmth drained from your skin, leaving the air thin and trembling. Your mother appeared again, trembling, her face half-shadowed, tears catching the light and glowing faintly, whispering the same words over and over.

“Your father… your father…”

Hands reached out, first to her, then to the radio, but met nothing. The air held your wrists, suspended as if invisible threads of wind and light were holding them back. Pressure bloomed in your throat as the air thickened, twisting words into silence while the edges of your vision darkened.

The echo of your father’s smile, your mother’s whisper, floated around like they were about to drift away.

Forever.

Then, with a sudden jolt, you awoke, sweat soaking your skin, the memory of warmth and sorrow lingering as if the past had never fully left.

One year later…

The operations table glowed beneath the low ceiling of a trailer in High Camp, its light casting long shadows across the stone walls. The projections shimmered over the table’s surface, rivers and ridges traced in red, marking paths that stretched from the eastern frontier toward the western valleys.

Jake stood at the center, hands braced against the edge of the table, shoulders squared, jaw set. His eyes didn’t leave the creeping red lines that pushed slowly west, as if testing the strength of the defenses in its path. Around him, captains and vice-captains murmured, shifting in their seats, the subtle hum of tension threading through the room.

Neteyam’s hand hovered over the projection, tracing a thin line eastward before he lifted his fingers and let them hover just above the glowing terrain. His eyes didn’t leave the map.

“They crossed the eastern boundary at first light,” he said, voice careful, measured. “Small units. Engineering crews.”

Jake didn’t lift his gaze. He tapped twice on the table’s surface, a faint rhythm that punctuated the warning, as if each tap counted the moments the enemy had gained. 

“Say it straight,” he said. “Are they settling or passing through?”

“Settling,” a strategist answered. “Slow enough to build. Fast enough to matter.”

A murmur ran through the table. Not disagreement. Calculated concern.

“If they establish themselves there,” another voice said, leaning closer, “they split our movement corridors. Air coverage follows. We lose the canopy passes.”

Jake dragged a finger across the projection, stopping the red line short of the river. “They don’t get this far.”

“But if they push anyway?” Keyra asked, tone sharp.

“They won’t.” Lo’ak said quietly from Jake’s right.

Jake’s gaze flicked to Lo’ak, catching him leaning over the projection with a casual tilt, fingers skimming the glowing terrain as if it were a game board rather than the frontier itself. There was a spark in his eyes, sharp and unrestrained, a restless energy Jake had seen since Lo’ak’s first flights.

He looked confident, too confident perhaps, moving like he owned the space. Even here, where stakes were measured in lives, not bravado. And Jake had no doubt he could pull it off. But instincts whispered caution; Lo’ak had a habit of pushing limits, of trusting the roll of his own wings more than the plans of anyone else.

Jake let his eyes linger for a beat, a silent check, measuring impulse against experience. 

Lo’ak met it, steady. “Not if we slow them before they realize what they’re doing.”

Jake’s jaw tightened slightly as he crossed his arms to face his son. “How?”

Lo’ak didn’t pause, tracing a narrow stretch of projected terrain with a finger. “Cut their supply. Force a turn back east. Make them think twice before moving further. Quick and messy if we have to. I’ll cover the pullout. It’s Support’s job, anyway. My job.”

Neteyam’s eyes followed the line of Lo’ak’s finger, flicking up briefly to the boy’s face. His lips twitched just enough to form a silent curve, the barest movement that said it all. 

“Okay… Good, that’s— that’s quite smart actually.” Jake cleared his throat, subtly surprised. Meanwhile, Lo’ak smiled to himself softly, like he’d earned a nod he’d been chasing for this moment his whole life. 

Yet, among the crowd, a few faces were missing. It caught the eye, not because they were oversighted but because some of the most important eyes and ears from Intelligence were elsewhere, moving unseen through the eastern frontier.

“They’re still in the field,” Strategy’s captain spoke. “Undercover. Getting eyes on the expedition before it solidifies. That’s why they’re not here.”

A vice-captain leaned forward. “So whatever intel comes back, we don’t have it yet.”

“No,” Jake said, his eyes scanning the table. “And that’s why every decision we make now has to account for the unknown. They’re the only ones close enough to confirm movement or intent inside the corridor. No one else is seeing what they see, no one else knows what they know unless Comms comes through.”

The other captains and vice-captains shifted, exchanging subtle glances, their expressions a mixture of unease and calculation, the weight of unseen eyes pressing on them from where their absent teammates should have been. Jake’s eyes flicked toward the empty spaces at the table, ghostly gaps that made the room feel hollow, then returned to the map, his jaw tightening as he traced the thin red lines creeping across the terrain.

“We move without them. For now, I don’t want anybody near Bridgehead, except One. They’ll slow down the operations at the frontier remotely from the inside. Do we copy?”

The room absorbed the command as one, tension taut in the air as if even the smallest hesitation could cost lives.

“Yes, sir!”

The forest thinned, then dropped, as if something enormous had pressed its fist into Pandora and never let go. What stretched ahead of you was not just cleared ground but a vast depression carved into the earth, a basin of dead space so wide it felt unreal from the air. The sun sat at your ten o’clock, its dying light pouring straight into the basin, catching the glow and turning the clearing into a wide, smouldering canvas of rusted orange and dull gold. 

Ahead of you, Bridgehead City rose.

The city’s stone walls cut through like a blunt answer to the barren land itself, vertical and absolute. The scale stole your sense of proportion; aircraft that should have looked imposing were reduced to moving flecks, and ground vehicles crawled like insects, too open to hide anything that still dared to move. 

Every line of fire funnelled outward from those walls, every silent weapon already aligned.

This was the kill zone.

Three point two kilometres in diameter, in every direction, measured not just in distance but in vulnerability. No cover. No height advantage. No shadows that lasted longer than a breath.

Anything that entered this bowl was visible, trackable, and already accounted for. 

Your hand closed around the RDA dog tag.

Recom units passed beneath you, tiny against the scale of the pit, their formations rigid and rehearsed. You slotted in above them, another sanctioned shape crossing an expanse designed to erase anything unsanctioned. 

You were not remarkable.

You were just another dot moving across too much empty space to matter.

“[Y/N].”

Static crackled through your jaw, a thin vibration that crept up into your eardrums before resolving into a voice you had not expected to hear. Instinct snapped your hand to the throat mic, fingers pressing hard as if that might keep anyone on the other side hearing the tremor in your voice.

“Mä’ko?”

“Make a one-eighty. Right. Now.” His tone cut in cleanly, sharp enough to override the crescendo hum of wind. “I am not asking.”

“How are you in range—?!” You whipped your head behind you to see beyond the thinning treeline, a familiar ikran breaking from the forest’s shadow. It glided out into the open air, wings catching light as it entered the basin.

Your eyes widened.

Shit. 

“Mä’ko! You’re gonna die—!”

You were already bracing for it. For the flare of weapons. For the sudden violence of anti-air fire from the city lines, for the slightest misstep that would turn him into a falling shape against too much sky.

But, nothing happened.

No alarms. No targeting shifts. No break in formation.

He, too, flew the pattern.

He, too, wore an RDA dog tag.

“Remember. You die, I die.”

You turned forward and exhaled, unable to look at him any longer. 

Damn.

“Capt-to-Vice,” you said, voice clipped, sarcastically professional. “That’s a negative. That won’t be happening today.”

With a subtle shift of weight, you peeled back from formation, drifting just enough to be absorbed into the stream of recon units veering away from the city, their silhouettes shrinking as they exited the basin. 

Mä’ko appeared ahead, weaving smoothly through the thinning light, wings steady, his ikran moving as if the basin below did not exist. You closed the distance, muscles taut, every adjustment of your reins deliberate, keeping pace with him without drawing attention. 

The basin below was then now a shadowed scar on the land, the kill zone now silent, empty, but still echoing with the danger you’d skirted only minutes ago. The wind whipped against your face, carrying the tang of smoke and metal from Bridgehead, biting your lungs and rattling your fingers on the reins.

Once it was safe enough, the words tore out of you. “What the hell are you doing here!?” 

“I could ask you the same thing!” Mä’ko glided just above the treeline, his ikran’s wings catching the last amber light as he turned his head back sharply. 

“You weren’t cleared for that airspace!”

“And you weren’t ordered to be in it, either!” he shot back. No humor. No edge. Just flat, controlled anger. “You broke command. Why?”

“I had to adjust,” you said, immediately.

Too immediately.

“No!” he said. “You went dark. You altered trajectory. You crossed into a kill zone without clearance and without backup. You could have died!”

You stared forward, fingers tight around the reins. “Trust me, I had it handled.”

“That’s not the point!” he snapped. “You don’t get to decide that alone.”

You flew faster to reach beside him, eyes sharp. “I’m your captain.”

“And I’m your vice,” he said. “Which means when you disappear into RDA airspace, I don’t sit back and hope you come back in one piece.”

You swallowed, forcing your voice steady. The wind rushed past, harsh against your face as Mä’ko stayed beside you, precise and controlled — his ikran wings cutting through the air with perfect rhythm. The forested ridges of kelku grew closer, shadows stretching long and dark beneath your ikran as you passed through Hallelujah mountains.

Ahead, a jagged rock broke the skyline, dusted with moss and catching the dying light like a beacon. Mä’ko’s gaze lingered for a heartbeat, then he banked sharply, spiraling down with a controlled dive before rising up again. You registered it instantly, the angle, the size of the ledge, the way the wind would curl around it. 

AndWithout hesitation, you guided your ikran to follow, riding the turbulent currents with measured care before the two of you eased your ikrans onto the same rock. Claws scraped the stone with soft, grounding thuds, and the floating mountain, small yet stable, welcomed you both. 

Mä’ko tugged the comm frustratedly from around his neck, the metal cool against his fingers, and took it off. The static hissed to life for a moment before he shut it off again, clipping it to his belt and letting it hang loosely. The sun ahead of you had dipped lower, the last amber streaks bleeding into deep indigo, while the first pale stars began to prick through the darkening sky.

Mä’ko’s eyes flickered to you.

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

You avoided his gaze, the rock beneath you suddenly seeming interesting. Mä’ko shifted slightly, tail flicking once. He didn’t move closer, didn’t push, but the stare was enough. 

He was waiting. 

Expecting.

“You went in alone,” he said finally, voice low but tight with tension. “Why?”

Your fingers tightened, knuckles whitening. The question was simple, but loaded. Every instinct screamed at you to explain, to justify, to let him see reason. But at first, you stayed still, letting the quiet stretch, letting the air between you carry the weight of the choice.

“I had to,” you said, voice tight, clipped.

“That’s not an answer,” he said, tone flat, almost eerily calm. He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, each movement calm but carrying weight. The wind tugged at his cloak, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes fixed on you, unblinking. 

“I…” You started.

He tilted his head slightly, like he was waiting, patient, predatory. But then, he pursed his lips in a straight line at your silence, about to leave. “Okay, explain it to Jake, then.”

“Wait!” you blurted, breath catching. Mä’ko turned his head back slowly and slightly, hairless eyebrows raising in anticipation for your response.

With a certain kind of heedfulness, you reached into your side-pouch and pulled out your data pad before he could say anything. The glass screen lit beneath your thumb, smooth and cool, and with a practiced motion you expanded a saved file. Light unfolded upward from the surface, a translucent projection hovering between you. 

Mä’ko’s eyes dropped to it. He stayed where he was, studying the projection like it might shift if he blinked. 

The first beeps came immediately. Short bursts. Long bursts. Precise. Methodical. Unmistakable.

Not interference. Not static.

A recording.

Morse code.

You held your breath, grabbing a small radio from your back pouch. The beeps repeated, steady and measured, looping back to the beginning. “This radio… it only has one transmitter for one frequency. Everytime it nears Bridgehead, it picks this up.’

He then closed his eyes. “L…”

“O…” He traced the rhythm aloud, slowly, each letter forming. 

He murmured. “R…”

The boy opened his eyes, stepping back slightly. “I don’t understand… Lor? What’s Lor— Whose— Whose frequency is this?”

You stared at him, the sound of the beeps still echoing in your chest, a rhythm that matched your own ragged pulse. Your hands hovered uselessly at your sides, fingers twitching, itching to do something. Anything. But nothing could bridge the distance between thought and action. 

The words pressed against your tongue, demanding release as your throat went raw.

“Lor’itan is my father’s last name.”

“Wait, Neteyam.” 

A smaller Hallelujah mountain hovered just ahead of them, its underside veiled in trailing vines and mist. It was far enough from the others that the sounds of wings and voices faded into nothing. Just wind, stone, and the low hum of Pandoran air.

Keyra landed on its narrow ledge, roots curling along the rock like fingers holding the mountain in place. Her fingers fumbled at the wrap around her calf. The fabric had loosened, darkened where it pressed too close to skin that had not finished bleeding beneath it.

She swung down and Neteyam was already there, hands catching her waist, steadying her before her leg could give. 

“Easy. Easy,” he said, hands catching her arms before she could steady herself. His grip was firm but careful, thumbs braced like he was afraid she might tip over if he let go. “You sure you’re okay to still fly?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. Then, quieter, “But I think I can handle it.”

He did not let go.

His grip stayed firm on her arms, thumbs pressing lightly as if he could feel the tremor running through her body before she admitted to it. His eyes dropped to her leg first, tracking the uneven way she was keeping her weight off it, the way her stance favoured one side without her meaning to. Then his gaze lifted back to her face, searching for the strain she was trying to smooth over.

“Which part hurts?” he asked.

Keyra inhaled, sharp and measured. For half a second, Neteyam thought she would brush him off, the way it had always gone before. A familiar instinct. A half-smile, a deflection, a careless joke meant to soften the truth. Pain turned into something manageable if it was never spoken aloud.

But instead, she reached down and tapped just below her knee, fingers lingering where the wrap was tightest. Plain and honest and tired, without dressing it up as something smaller than it was. Without pretending she could outrun it.

“Here,” she said. Her hand drifted higher, pressing briefly against her side, just under her ribs, where her breathing had been shallow since they landed. “And here.”

The difference landed quietly in his chest. Just the strange, aching sense of being opened up to. For once, someone had not turned away from his concern.

She dropped her arm with a small, tired huff of a laugh. “And kind of everything, if I’m honest.”

Neteyam let out a slow breath, not frustrated, just worried. “Come on,” he murmured. “Sit.” His hands stayed gentle as he guided her down onto the woven edge of the platform, leaving no room for protest.

She obeyed, leaning back on her hands while he knelt. He waited, watching her carefully, then paused.

“Can I?”

She nodded.

He loosened the wrap slowly, unbinding it layer by layer. The bruise underneath had spread wider than before, a deep blue blooming into green at the edges. His jaw tightened.

“That’s worse than earlier,” he said.

“It’s been a long day.”

He glanced up at her. “We can still turn back to High Camp, it’s not far back.”

She smiled faintly, tired. “It’s fine, Neteyam.”

He reached for the salve pouch at his hip anyway, pressing the paste into his fingers before applying it gently. When she flinched, his hand stilled.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“I will,” she said, and she meant it.

They stayed like that for a while. Neteyam working carefully, Keyra letting him. The air felt muted, like the world had pulled back to give them space.

“You don’t have to keep pushing through it,” he said quietly as he looked up at her. “You know that, right?”

She looked toward the darkening sky. “I know.”

He did not argue. He just nodded once, accepting it the way he always did, even when he hated it. When he finished, he rewrapped her leg tighter, more secure. His fingers lingered for a moment, then pulled away. Neteyam stood and offered her his arm without comment. She took it, leaning just slightly into him as they walked toward the ikran roosts.

Bridgehead lay far beyond, unseen but waiting.

As they mounted up, Neteyam glanced at her once more. “If it gets worse, you tell me.”

She met his eyes. “I promise.”

Their ikrans lifted into the air, the Hallelujah mountains falling away beneath them. The forest stretched endlessly below, shadows pooling between the trees.

They flew side by side, close enough that Neteyam could still see the tension in her posture, the way she held herself together through pain. He adjusted his pace to match hers without saying a word.

“What?”

Shock crossed Mä’ko’s face so fast it was almost ugly. Disbelief twisted through him, raw and unfiltered, before he could rein it in. 

“That’s impossible, Lor could mean anything,” he said, flat and certain, like stating a law of nature.

You shook your head. “A week ago,” you said, the words scraping painfully on the way out, “I found out, in the forest— I found out from Sky People that he was experimented on.” 

“Experimented?!”

Your eyes never left his. “That’s what his status says. It’s what it’s always said.”

Mä’ko shot a sharp look, “So what, you’re saying he’s alive? [Y/N], you can’t risk knowing that. We have to find out with the others—”

“—No!” You stepped closer, almost reaching for him as he turned away, as though ready to leave. “We can’t involve more people! Our people are handling enough missions already!”

“It is our job! To tell!” He spun back, frustration flaring hot across his face. “We could save more people this way, including yourself. We plan it properly. We bring everyone in.”

You stopped.

Really stopped.

You let him turn to face you fully, shoulders tense, chest heaving slightly. You looked at him properly, the way one looks at someone who does not yet understand the weight of the ground they are standing on. 

“What?” He blinked. Once. Just once.

A reflex. Confusion before fear.

“You… you need to be within Bridgehead walls to pick this up…” you said quietly, looking away as you took a breath that did not quite reach your lungs. The words were measured, almost careful, as though speaking too quickly might shatter what little control you still had. “Inside the perimeter. Past patrol lines.”

Mä’ko took a slow step back, as if the space between you might help him sort what was real.

“I broke command,” you went on, your voice lowering, flattening. “Over and over. For months. Just for this.”

His eyes widened, unfocused, caught somewhere between the meaning of your words and the person saying them. You could see it happening, the recalculation, the quiet what-ifs adding up in his head.

How did no one know?

How did you survive the Kill Zone alone? 

“I was sixteen,” you continued, forcing the memory from the edges of your mind. “I— I…”

Sixteen? 

“—[Y/N].” Mä’ko’s face fell as if he had seen a ghost. He suddenly gripped your shoulders, firm and grounding, before bending his knees slightly and lowering himself to be eye-level with you now. “Do you know what this means?”

You nodded, because you knew. You always knew this whole time.

Every rule you had bent came back to you in pieces.

Not as neat infractions or cleanly justified decisions, but as moments. Split seconds. Choices made in the dark, with no witnesses except your own heartbeat.

Every command you had ignored replayed itself in flashes. Turning your comms down. Altering routes after orders had already been given. Flying lower than sanctioned, closer than allowed, trusting instinct over protocol because instinct had kept you alive when protocol never would have.

Every risk you had carried alone cut sharper now, because you had carried them knowing exactly what they would cost if exposed.

It was not just punishment you feared.

Anyone finding out meant losing everything you had built, piece by careful piece.

Rank.

Faction.

Trust.

And beneath all of it sat the knowledge you never said aloud.

You had not broken the rules because you were reckless.

You had broken them because you were necessary.

And necessity was never a defense that survived daylight.

Mä’ko knew that. 

“The beeping gets slower every time I go back. Like a countdown. I don’t think we have much time.” You pressed on before he could interrupt, breath hitching. “I was going to—”

“—If you’re going,” He caught your wrist before you could step back, firm and unyielding. 

His eyes locked on yours, unflinching. “You’re not going in there alone.”

Recom units weaved in and out of the city like careful shadows, while a few Mang’kwan lumbered in the air across the open ground. Helicopters roared past in tight formations, their searchlights cutting sharp streaks through the deepening dusk. Darkness was pooling fast, swallowing details and edges

Keyra’s sharp voice broke through the tension, alerting headquarters. “We’ve entered enemy airspace.”

Neteyam’s chest tightened at the words, a cold knot settling low. He forced his breath even, counting it out, letting the hum of the city and the thrum of helicopters fill the silence.

For a moment, his mind lingered on the units of Two and he refused to name why. His hand shot up to his throat microphone, “Is all of Intelligence back yet?”

A crackle responded. “All of Two is back.”

Relief flickered in him for a heartbeat, shoulders easing, before the next words cut through the moment like ice.

“Except… Mä’ko and [Y/N].”

His stomach dropped. 

Fuck.

“Where are they?” he asked, jaw tight as heart hammered against his ribs; each beat loud enough to echo in the spaces between the hum of helicopters and the distant clang of the city. 

“Some of Two say they got held up somewhere. Some… don’t know,” came the reply.

Keyra’s eyes widened, shock mirrored in her sharp intake of breath. 

Neteyam ran a hand over his face, teeth clenched. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Should we go looking for them?”

“Two will look for them,” the voice said firmly.

He exhaled sharply, eyes snapping shut for just a moment, as if the darkness behind his lids could block the chaos pressing in from all sides. Keyra glanced at him, unease flickering across her face, but he barely registered it. Every instinct screamed at him to abandon the mission, to tear through the streets and find them himself.

The warrior finally said at last, a final call before entering the city’s cold stone walls. “If they’re not back next signal…”

Neteyam guided his ikran in a sharp swoop, hand steady on its throat strap, soothing the beast as it folded its wings and touched down on the stone. With a controlled shift of weight, he swung a leg over, landing solidly on the wall, boots scraping the rough stone. He straightened, eyes sweeping the darkening city below, jaw set, every muscle coiled, ready to kill anything that was in his way.

“All orders would be on finding them.”

The laboratory was quiet at this hour, its usual hum of activity reduced to the faint whirring of machinery and the occasional beep from one of the monitors. The space smelled faintly of antiseptic and earth, a strange blend of human sterility and the natural world outside its walls. Outside, the faint whispers of the forest echoed with an eerie sense of continuity, yet it was more alive than this metallic space could ever be.

In your hand was a keycard Mä’ko had swiped from one of the military during a raid earlier that day. Like the RDA dog tags you’d taken before, it granted the two of you instant authority. Everyone here assumed you belonged. Everyone assumed you were one of them. 

You two were wearing the full kit: reinforced bulletproof suits beneath crisp white lab coats, the heavy texture of Kevlar pressing against your chest and shoulders, the lab helmet tight against your jaw and temples, black tinted visor fogging slightly with each breath which made it hard for your faces to be seen. Underneath it all, you had a mask which recombinant Na’vi use to breathe in human air, otherwise known as oxygen.

Mä’ko crouched beside a terminal, fingertips brushing across the smooth glass of a data pad. Even through the helmet, the tension in his shoulders was visible. “You sure about this?”

From your past infiltrations, you felt sure of this.

Rows of glass terrariums cradled glowing fungi and spindly plants that pulsed faintly with light. Bioluminescent vines coiled around steel frames, leaves shimmering with unnatural iridescence, water dripping from delicate tendrils into shallow trays below. Some plants seemed engineered, hybridised with a careful hand; others twisted unnaturally, their tendrils curling in ways that no natural seed should have produced. You weren’t sure what they were looking for — whether Na’vi DNA had been introduced here, or if this was purely recombinant botany — but the smell of wet soil mixed with antiseptic and ozone was heavy, almost dizzying.

Your eyes traced the lab, noting how the terrariums were arranged like they were being watched, each plant labelled with a barcode and a handwritten notation in a neat, clinical hand. Outside the reinforced windows, a convoy moved along the road. Armoured skel units, APCs, and transport vehicles gliding in formation, some carrying crates of unknown materials, others personnel. The convoy made sense in context: if this lab was truly recombinant, these were the people and tools that kept it running.

“The signal was strongest here,” you murmured, pointing at your HUD, a faint spike pulsing steadily. “This is it. If there’s intel on my father… or on what they’ve done… It might be here.”

Mä’ko didn’t move immediately. He shifted his weight in the suit, plates clicking softly under the lab coat, fingertips grazing the edge of his helmet as though he could feel the room through it. “Okay. But once we’re in, stick to the shadows. Eyes on the convoy. Don’t do anything more reckless.”

You nodded, gripping the keycard tighter. Swallowing nervously, you stared at the bold red letters on the door: ‘AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.’ Your gloved fingers curled around the cold metal frame, pressing your ear against it for any hint of movement beyond. Silence answered, flat and unyielding, and a flicker of relief ran through you.

“Let’s move.”

With a quick tap of the keycard, a red laser flickered to life, scanning the card’s flat surface from top to bottom with meticulous precision. Almost immediately, the door let out a mechanical whir, panels sliding apart with a hiss that seemed louder than it should be in the thick silence of the lab. A faint cloud of smoke drifted from the hinges, curling upward in the dim light.

You and Mä’ko froze, eyes narrowing through the haze, squinting toward the shadows beyond the doorway. Every muscle tensed, every instinct screaming that something could be waiting on the other side.

Mä’ko sighed. “More doors.”

The corridors of Bridgehead cut through the city like veins of steel and concrete, harsh lights reflecting off grated floors and slick walls. The smell of machinery and ozone hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint tang of coolant and scorched metal from distant fires. Every step echoed sharply, boots clanging against metal catwalks, the sound bouncing off walls that had long ceased to be friendly. Shadows pooled in corners where sparks from exposed wiring danced across walls, painting flickering shapes that threatened to move of their own accord.

“We need to get to the west wing,” Neteyam said, voice low but firm, cutting through the mechanical hum. “Short-circuit their electrical supply. That’ll slow down their expansion. You have the knife?”

Keyra limped slightly, her bulletproof vest digging into her shoulders with every step. She pressed a hand against the railing for balance, forcing her gaze ahead even as her breathing hit shallow and sharp with each uneven stride. 

Neteyam noticed immediately the subtle hitch of her hip, the way her weight shifted, the faint tremor in her forearms. Each motion screamed exhaustion, each faltering step a reminder of how little margin they had left.

How did it get this bad, this quickly?

Keyra’s jaw tightened, teeth catching briefly on her lower lip as she grimaced, dragging her good leg with effort. “Yup… I have the knife.”

No time for questions, a side passage caught his eye, the faint glow of emergency lights spilling from a dented doorway. A med bay — partially intact, not destroyed, not yet claimed by fire or collapse.

Without hesitation, he made the decision. She comes first.

“Stay close,” he muttered, guiding her toward the side corridor. Keyra’s boot caught on a stray cable, and she stumbled. Neteyam’s hand shot out instantly, brushing against the fabric of her vest, the clink of armour plates rising with the motion as he steadied her.

“I haven’t heard anything from comms,” Keyra admitted, voice rough around the edges.

“Me neither,” he said, scanning the corridor ahead, noting the occasional flicker of hazard lights and the distant metallic crashes. 

Every decision, every move, was filtered through the pulse he could feel thumping beneath his fingers, a faint, irregular rhythm that threatened to falter at any moment. He shifted her weight, brushing a strand of damp hair from her temple. He could feel every shallow breath rattling her chest, every tremor of exhaustion threatening to pull her to the floor.

“We should have stayed back…” She murmured.

Ahead, the med bay flickered with dim green emergency lights, dented doors half-hanging on their hinges. They could not simply leave. Every corridor behind them led deeper into the city, and the alarms had already drawn patrols closer. The slightest delay, the smallest falter, could trap them in a dead end, cut off from any safe exit.

The west wing, their objective, their mission, it could wait.

Not now. 

Not while her legs dragged like they were made of lead, her vest pressing harshly against her shoulders with every uneven step. 

You and Mä’ko moved quickly down the lab’s narrow corridor, the reinforced soles of your boots clanging softly against metal grates. The hum of the ventilation system mingled with the faint hiss of coolant, and every shadow seemed to flicker in the dim overhead lights. Your gloved fingers brushed along the slick wall, textured with condensation that made the metal almost cold enough to bite.

“Wait— Never mind,” you muttered, tapping your radio. “We’re losing the signal. It’s fading too fast.”

Mä’ko glanced back, eyes sharp behind his lab helmet, reading the weakening spike. “Then we recirculate?”

You nodded, every muscle alert. “Yup.”

The corridor twisted into a narrow service shaft, and your transmitter suddenly flared. A strong signal pulsed from an overhead vent. You and Mä’ko shared a quick glance, then reached up, pressing into the shadows. The metal grate above shimmered faintly, the mesh vibrating from the ventilation.

“This has to be it,” you whispered. The edges of the panel were slick and cold under your fingertips, the small screws biting against your gloves as you pried it loose. Mä’ko’s eyes hovered near yours, ready, the servos of his suit humming softly as he helped you carry it down.

Then, a steel barrel kissed your helmet’s back.

“Don’t move,” a voice hissed, flat, mechanical, from directly behind you. 

The second barrel pressed against Mä’ko’s spine, and you felt his breath tighten as he ground his jaw, stabilising himself.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you froze, chest tight, eyes darting in panic. Mä’ko’s shoulder pressed just behind yours, his weight a silent anchor, his hand twitching toward his own concealed sidearm, servos whirring faintly.

“Hands where I can see them.” The barrel doesn’t move, only pressing harder, pressing closer. 

Then it happened. A sudden, coordinated shift in the attackers’ stance, metal clanking, boots scraping. Your heart jumped. The first shot of a stun round, or maybe a warning spark, ricocheted off the far wall, vibrating the metal beneath your gloves.

“Now!” you hissed, ducking low and rolling to the side, dragging Mä’ko with you. Sparks flew as the attackers reacted, firing blindly into the smoke curling from the vents. Your hands closed over your weapons, tactile feedback crisp against your gloves.

The first RDA soldier swung at you with a baton; you sidestepped, pressing your weight into the motion, elbowing back, sending him sprawling. Mä’ko moved like a mirror, precise, calculated, cutting the space between you and the next threat.

Every shot, every impact, every vibration of gunmetal on metal pressed into your senses as the corridor shrank with every movement, the smoky haze making shapes flicker and jump.

You and Mä’ko sprinted back to the door you swiped open, the way you came, boots clanging against the long corridor where smoke swirled around your ankles, curling like living shadows.

The laboratory doors you had passed moments ago glimmered faintly in the haze, a promise of safety. Or at least, temporary refuge. You reached the intersection and spun around, expecting the attackers to trail close behind.

Nothing.

The corridor behind you was empty, swallowed by smoke. The RDA soldiers who had been pressing in, who had moved with the precision of a single unit, had vanished. Their boots, their metal, their weapons.

Gone.

Your mind tried to reconcile it. You had been firing, diving, ducking — hadn’t you taken most of them out? Yet now the space seemed untouched, unbroken, as if the fight had been a dream.

“Mä’ko?” Your voice cut through the fog, tense and sharp.

No answer.

Then the smoke shifted, curling low along the walls, thickening into shapes that seemed to stretch and condense with every pulse of your heartbeat. 

A movement at the edge of your vision.

Tall. Controlled. Silent.

A figure stepped out of the haze.

Neteyam.

You backed instinctively, lab boots sliding against the metal floor, pulse roaring so loudly it drowned out everything else. Your grip tightened around nothing, you had no weapons on you, after letting your gloves drop. 

He did not speak. 

Did not hesitate.

He did not recognise you.

You barely blocked the first strike.

Metal screamed as your forearm caught his blade, the vibration ripping straight through bone and tendon. Your fingers went numb instantly and in the same breath, the memory hit. Dirt under your palms. The same jolt. The same failure to absorb the impact properly.

Again, Jake’s voice had barked.

The second strike came before you could reset. It slammed into your shoulder, snapping your body sideways. Pain bloomed hot and deep, your arm buckling as you crashed into the wall, your helmet ringing against steel. 

His forearm drove into your chest, pinning you there for a heartbeat, the impact rattling straight through your ribs as the air tore from your lungs. Your back scraped down the wall, boots skidding uselessly for purchase.

He had always hit like this. Clean. Economical. No wasted movement.

His elbow drove deep into your ribs. The impact punched the air from your lungs in a raw, choking sound. You folded instinctively, hands dropping for half a second too long.

Half a second had always been more than enough for him.

Then you rolled, barely avoiding the next strike as it shattered sparks from the glass cabinet where your head had been. You came up on one knee, muscles screaming, arm trembling as you raised your hands to square up again.

“Fist fight?” You had offered.

You ducked under the next punch, the rush of air brushing the top of your helmet as his fist cut past. You twisted with the motion and drove your elbow back. It clipped his side, hard enough that you felt the impact jolt up your arm.

For a heartbeat, satisfaction flared.

Then his knee slammed into your thigh.

Pain detonated, sharp and immediate. Your leg folded beneath you, balance gone in an instant as your fingers scraped blindly for purchase, catching the edge of a steel table and spilling its contents on the floor, fragile glass breaking. 

His fists then came in relentless succession, each strike precise, economical, forcing you to give ground. Your counters grew smaller now. Short, desperate motions meant only to create space.

To breathe. To stay upright.

Your chest burned with every breath, lungs scraping raw as pain stacked upon pain.

You were not trying to take him down.

And yet beneath the chaos, beneath the blur of movement and half-remembered training, the truth settled cold and heavy in your chest.

You had never beaten him before.

Then, before you could react, his knee swept your legs out from under you.

Reset.

Your boots left the floor and then you were down, spine slamming against metal so hard your vision flashed white.

Sweat on your neck. Dust in your mouth. You remembered Neteyam standing over you, breathing steady, offering you his hand.

You never took it.

His hand slid down to your throat.

Fingers locked in with ruthless precision, thumb pressing beneath your jaw as his palm sealed your windpipe and pressed you down to the cold laboratory floor. His grip was crushing, unrelenting as you twisted and kicked, your heel slamming into his side with a dull thud. It barely slowed him as the edges of your vision began to darken and blur.

Neteyam, It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, it’s me, it’s me, it’s m—

The words screamed in your head, clawing to get out. You could end it. One syllable. Your name on his tongue and everything would shatter to his horror.

But you stayed silent.

You closed your eyes and let a single, hot tear fall alongside your cheek. Because you had realised then, that you were going to die.

Here, on the floor, in the hands of the person who had always known exactly how to take you down. 

Your training partner.

Your childhood friend.

Someone you love used to love.

A sudden wet, brutal sound cut the air.

Neteyam’s body jerked above you. His breath punched out of him in a sharp, involuntary sound as a blade drove into his abdomen from the side. The blade disappeared through his body as it was wrenched free just as fast, blood darkening the front of Neteyam’s vest.

His grip on your throat loosened.

Air rushed back into your lungs in a violent gasp as his weight shifted, his hand slipping from your throat. You rolled instinctively, coughing hard, vision swimming, throat burning as you sucked in breath after breath.

Neteyam staggered, one hand flying to his side, fingers coming away slick and red as he reached for the edge of the table above.

The Mangkwan raised his weapon again.

You did not think.

Your body moved on instinct older than fear. You surged to your feet and threw yourself between them, catching the next strike on your grip and driving your shoulder forward. The impact sent pain screaming through you, but you held, twisting, forcing the Mangkwan back just long enough to knock his aim wide.

Neteyam was hunched now, breathing shallow, teeth clenched as he fought to stay upright. His eyes flicked to you, sharp even through the pain, confusion flashing across his face.

Another step. Another shove.

What the hell?

You shoved him toward the doorway, your hands slick with sweat and faint blood from the mangkwan’s blade, heart hammering so violently it made your head swim. 

Through the blur of the fight, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Neteyam. His armoured form shifted smoothly through the smoke, careful, deliberate. Even now, in the chaos, he was making his way toward the lab’s exit. Feet clanging softly against grated floors, hands brushing walls to steady himself, body twisting past overturned tables and shattered equipment.

And then, with a final shove against the mangkwan, you slammed the door button. The hiss of steel filled your ears, reverberating through your chest, cutting the lab in two.

Your eyes did not leave Neteyam’s. His gaze was searching, questioning, scanning for what he couldn’t understand.

Then finally, the door slammed shut.

The lab fell into muffled chaos behind you, smoke curling like ghostly fingers. Your chest heaved as you pivoted, boots clanging against metal floors, adrenaline and guilt squeezing your lungs. The door between you and the one person you could never let know the truth was now a wall of steel.

Mä’ko.

The thought cut through the haze, urgent and sharp. You ran to find him, vision blurring and tears prickling under your eyelids leaving blood and questions behind, suspended like smoke that might never settle.

Mats and blankets were stacked in corners, makeshift supplies lined along the Marui’s edges, and a faint metallic tang of blood hung in the air. The murmurs of the rest of the clan drifting past and some praying outside found themselves through the thin walls, low and rhythmic, punctuated by the occasional shuffle of someone kneeling or adjusting a mat.

Inside, the medics had finished stitching and bandaging Mä’ko’s roadmap of wounds. The vest had been cut away, revealing long, ragged gashes across his ribs, some deep enough to catch the light, the edges raw and red. One cut ran diagonally across his shoulder, partially hidden beneath the bandages, a thin trickle of dark blood still seeping through. Gauze straps and crude splints held him in position; he was stabilised, but the rise and fall of his chest was slow, uneven, like a fragile rhythm that could falter at any moment.

The weight of guilt pressed down on you heavier than any armour ever could. Every failure, every misstep, every choice that had led you here — it coiled around your ribs and tightened with each shallow breath. 

Every pulse under your fingers felt like a hammering reminder that he had been on the edge, and you had been powerless to stop it.

The tent flap swished open and Neteyam stepped in, supported by two healers. His eyes hit the mat instantly, and the world seemed to narrow to a single, unbearable point. 

He froze at the entrance.

Your head was pressed to Mä’ko’s chest, ears picking up the faint, uneven thrum of his heartbeat. Each pulse was small but insistent, a fragile life force that demanded attention, and it made your guilt twist tighter in your stomach. His eyes were closed, lips parted slightly, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was unconscious, slumped against the mat, yet pulsing with a presence that felt impossibly real, impossibly fragile in your hands.

Tears streamed freely, soaking your hair and the front of your chest, slipping between your fingers as you clutched him, shuddering violently. Your breath came in sharp, wet bursts, muffled against the fabric of his chest. You whispered apologies you couldn’t even make audible, soft, broken fragments that dissolved into more sobs.

It was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you in years. All the careful armour, the sharp edges you wore around the clan, the walls you built between yourself and everyone — you had let them crumble here, in the dim light of the tent, pressed to Mä’ko’s side. You were unravelling, each sob, each shudder, every ragged breath a thread pulled from the fabric of control you had spent so long weaving.

For a moment, he wondered if the roles were reversed, if it had been him lying here, wounded and fragile, would you have ever let yourself feel for him like that? Would he ever see those cracks in your armour, those tears you so carefully hid from everyone else?

And yet, even in that moment, as he watched, something lodged inside him. An understanding, a fear, a longing. Seeing you like this, so breakable, it was proof of how fiercely you carried the people you loved, how much you had survived in silence.

And yet, as Neteyam stood there in the doorway, watching you collapse over Mä’ko’s battered body, he realised something that hollowed him out.

You would bleed for him. You would die for him.

The question was not whether he would ever be privileged enough to deserve your pain.

But if you would ever break for him the same way you were breaking for another man now.

Neteyam stayed where he was, silent and unmoving, letting your cries swallow the sound of his shaky breaths.