A Nightmare Resistance
I n the dim corridor, the bioluminescent moss cast a blue glow over the stone walls and the face of the woman leaning against the door jamb.
The soft rhythm of her children’s breathing filtered to her as her eyes loved on them.
The sight tugged at her soul: her son and daughter curled under handmade quilts, their small faces serene in the cavern’s radiance.
She knelt by them, brushing a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads.
‘Goodbye, my loves,’ she whispered. ‘Be brave.’
Her heart ached as she straightened and turned away.
In her room, Samira grabbed her jacket and gear from the chair by her bedroll.
She slipped out of the room past Misandra’s quarters, which were dark as she passed. The older woman was still sleeping.
Samira paused at the doorway, murmuring a hushed thanks for the care and love her aunt gave her children and her family.
Then she exited her home and took almost silent steps toward the meeting point through Thalassi’s cavern corridors.
The air in the grotto warmed as she neared the assembly area.
Her unit was already present, suited up and checking their weapons. The glow of headlamps and torchlight cast shadows on the walls.
Samira approached the group and received chin raises in acknowledgment.
She waved away their salutes, for she was not a trained soldier but rather a rebel who’d stumbled into the role of their leader by pure necessity. Her imposter syndrome was real.
However, she owed these fighters her best, so she set aside her self-doubt and powered on.
They were her people—warriors she had come to know and trust, many of them veterans of Ryen’s division. She greeted them with a nod, her gaze scanning their faces.
Garner, the sniper with unerring aim, his dark eyes steady and serious as he adjusted the scope of his rifle.
Jessa, whose fiery drive burned as bright as her shock-red hair, tightened the straps on her combat vest.
Talin, the quiet strategist, loaded clips into his bandoleer.
‘Commander,’ Garner growled. ‘We’re almost ready.’
Samira nodded, stepping into their circle. ‘Good. Check everything twice. We only get one shot at this.’
The tension was palpable, their usual camaraderie replaced by the heavy silence of pre-battle focus. The sound of boots scuffing against stone and the metallic clicks of weapons being prepped filled the cavern.
The air stirred as Sharin arrived, her engineering kit slung over her shoulder.
The wiry woman walked to Samira, holding up a compact device.
‘These are the kinetic disruptors,’ Sharin said.
She handed one to her Commander, who turned it over in her hands.
The small attachment was sleek, and its matte finish was designed to blend seamlessly with their firearms.
‘They’ll scramble the neural connections in the cyborgs’ control systems, but only at close range. Clip them here,’ Sharin demonstrated on her rifle, the disruptor clicking into place with a soft hiss.
Samira nodded, motioning for the crew to gather.
Sharin repeated the demonstration, her tone brisk but patient as the fighters equipped their shooters with the disruptors.
‘Stay sharp,’ Sharin said, her tone rising as she gazed at her friends. ‘These things will give us an edge, but they’re not foolproof. Aim true.’
Samira stepped forward, her long gun slung over her shoulder, its mass familiar against her back. ‘You heard her,’ she said, her inflection calm but assertive. ‘We’ve trained for this. We know the risks. Stay close, remain focused, and we’ll make it back.’
The group nodded in unison and moved out in silence, their boots crunching over the stone-covered ground.
The narrow passage twisted and climbed, the air growing thinner and colder as they ascended.
Samira led the way, eyes sweeping and alert.
The only sounds were the subtle shifts of gear, the soft breaths of exertion, and the occasional drip of water from the tunnel ceiling.
Hours passed as they wound their way upward, the journey grueling but necessary. Each step brought them closer to the outer world—and proximate to danger.
Samira motioned for the group to halt, her hand raised as she scrutinized the area. The terrain beyond was still, the charred remains of trees casting skeletal silhouettes over the cracked ground.
‘This is where we wait,’ she murmured. ‘Til after sundown.’
The crew settled into the shadows, weapons at the ready.
Samira crouched near a boulder, her firearm resting on her knees.
Her eyes scanned the horizon, her body tense, eyes alert.
The drone of Corilian patrols drifted on the wind, a reminder of the enemy’s constant presence.
She inhaled, the acrid atmosphere stinging her lungs.
The battle to come was the culmination of weeks of planning and training.
Samira’s fingers tightened around the grip of her rifle, willing herself to believe that they would not falter.
The day stretched as the Rider moved through the rugged terrain surrounding the cyborg camp.
His suit adjusted to the temperatures on the scorched planet that shifted depending on the winds blowing over the stark, desolate expanse.
He crouched behind a blackened outcrop, his eyes scanning the base below while his mind cataloged every detail of his surroundings.
The land was a harsh mosaic of cracked terra firma, jagged cliffs, and scattered remnants of forests burned to their skeletal frames.
The sky was a sickly gray-brown, veined with streaks of amber and crimson as the day star struggled to penetrate the polluted atmosphere.
Zephyrs occasionally stirred the ash clouds, shifting them like restless phantoms in the vault above.
Despite the devastation, life persisted.
Kisan spotted small forms darting between the rocks—slim, scaled insects and lizards with lengthened limbs and eyes glinted like polished stones.
Their movements were quick and fluid, their exoskeletons blending with the cracked earth and charred trees.
Overhead, eagle-like avians with leathery wings circled warily, their cries sharp and echoing like distant whistles.
Near a rare patch of water—a shallow, muddy pool that reflected the dim heavens—Kisan tagged a group of quadrupedal animals drinking.
Their elongated snouts dipped into the moisture before they raised their heads, their ears twitching as they surveyed for danger.
He turned to scan the cyborg camp below.
The androids moved in precise, mechanical formations, their luminous optics sweeping the area in synchronized arcs. Massive capital ships loomed overhead, their scarred hulls blotting the horizon like spectral behemoths.
‘Still no sign of her or any Vaelorii,’ the Rider muttered, frustration lacing his tone.
‘Whatever’s down there is scrambling my scans,’ Mirage groused through his neural node, her voice tinged with annoyance. ‘The rock is dense with conductive minerals. It’s acting like a natural shield.’
‘ Fokk .’
‘I’ll keep looking, but these Vaelorii can hide well.’
Evening fell as Kisan kept moving to stay hidden.
He used Orilia’s terrain to his advantage, his black gear blending with the shadows cast by the jagged cliffs.
Mirage sent a location marker to his neural node.
It was marked up with a pulse point.
‘I sense something interesting about a tunnel I’ve found that seems to disappear deep into the mountains,’ Mirage reported. ‘I’m detecting high nitrogen levels in the air from its entrance.’
Kisan’s emerald eyes flicked toward the outline of a passageway.
It was obscured by jagged rocks and the remnants of machinery, but he tagged the shimmer of a shield wrapping the entrance in an impenetrable veil. ‘Nitrogen? That’s unusual for this atmosphere.’
‘Very,’ Mirage agreed. ‘This planet’s surface has been stripped bare, and what remains is laced with ash, sulfur, and carbon residue. Nitrogen in this concentration can only mean one thing—life. Not just flora or fauna. We’re talking about many people, breathing, exhaling, and existing somewhere below.’
Kisan’s brow furrowed as he scanned the tunnel portal through his enhanced visor. The shimmer of the shield rippled, its energy humming just out of audible range. ‘If a settlement exists underground, that would explain how Samira’s people have managed to stay hidden.’
Mirage huffed. ‘The barrier is layered to block scanning and tracking systems—like mine. I can’t get a read on what’s beyond the shield. The frequency it’s emitting is designed to deflect any intrusive scans.’
Kisan leaned back, his jaw tightening as he considered the implications. ‘That takes more than just strategy. It demands a hella lot of infrastructure.’
‘Exactly,’ Mirage said. ‘Whatever they’ve built below ground must be extensive. Air circulation systems, food production, housing. They’re not just hiding; they’re surviving.’
Kisan studied the shielded entrance again, his thoughts racing. The invisible screen shimmered, a barrier as much psychological as physical.
‘So how do we get through it?’ he asked.
Mirage was silent for a moment, her presence flitting in his mind. ‘You don’t. Not yet. That shield is a fortress. You’d need specific access codes or a disruptor strong enough to affect the field without alerting everyone inside. I’ll get working on it. For now, we focus on observation.’
Kisan exhaled, the frustration simmering just below his calm exterior. ‘Observation’s not going to bring me answers.’
‘ Nada ,’ Mirage admitted. ‘It might provide you an opportunity. If Samira’s people are using this tunnel, they’ll surface, and when they do, you’ll be waiting.’
He turned his attention back to the cyborgs.
So far, he’d made note of troop movements, supply lines, and the positions of the enemy’s bases.
The cyborg camp was a mechanical hive, its inhabitants moving with unsettling precision. He noted their patrol routes, the locations of their power nodes, and the positioning of their aging ships.
He couldn’t get used to their horrifying appearance. The hulking figures with metal limbs and glowing optics that pierced the haze gave him the jitters. Their movements were unnervingly synchronized, controlled by a single, malevolent consciousness.
When he was close enough, Kisan used a cloud of metanoids to tap into their neural signatures.
He growled as he glimpsed fragmented memories and flashes of their trapped humanity, a painful reminder of his encounters and torture by the crats.
The sensation was cold and invasive, like stepping into a void. He tagged instances of recollections—glimpses of a family, a farm, a life on Orilia XIV before it was torched.
Their intellects were still alive, buried deep beneath layers of control software, confined and screaming for freedom.
Kisan pulled back, his chest tightening with rage. ‘They’re all caged,’ he hissed, his utterance hoarse and ravaged. ‘The Crat components aren’t just commanding them—they’re enslaving their minds. They’re imprisoned.’
‘That explains the malice we detected,’ Mirage said. ‘Their controllers didn’t just rebuild them; they hollowed them out and forced them to obey.’
The realization hit the Rider like a physical blow.
His fists clenched, his entire body icing over. The horror of it—the absolute violation of humanity—ignited a fury deep within him.
‘The fokkers , whoever they are, need to pay for this,’ he growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. ‘It’s worse than slavery and torture.’
His rage surged outward in a sudden, uncontrolled kinetic pulse.
The wave rippled across the encampment, a shimmer that passed unnoticed by the cyborgs at first.
Without warning, they faltered. Their movements stuttered, and the eerie precision of their formation broke down as though its strings had been cut.
Sparks flared at their joints, and some collapsed, their systems overloaded and disrupted.
Kisan froze, stunned by his might, as the camp descended into chaos.
The terrain trembled in the wake of Kisan’s pulse throughout the base.
From the shadows of the same tunnel he’d been observing, figures emerged—rebels armed with disruptors and weapons fashioned from salvaged cyborg tech.
He arched a brow as they moved with disciplined purpose, their steps sure and silent as they dropped on the outpost.
Kisan observed, his keen vision picking out every detail of the attack.
The insurgents struck with precision, their firearms emitting bursts of energy that sent the weakened cyborgs toppling.
Explosions tore through the site as supply caches ignited, their flames licking the darkening sky.
At the forefront of the charge was a figure Kisan recognized at once—the woman who had haunted his thoughts since Eden II.
The fokk? Samira?
She moved with deadly grace, her disruptor rifle flashing as she cut through the cyborg ranks like a scythe through wheat.
It was like she was a ghost conjured by his torment.
Seeing her twisted his craw and churned emotion deep inside him, raw and jagged. His world shifted.
Anger surged through him, white-hot and unrelenting, as if the betrayal was fresh again.
His breath quickened, and the heat of his rage clashed with the icy chill of disappointment pooling in his chest.
It wasn’t just anger—it twas also the bitter sting of hope dashed against the rocks. He had trusted her.
Despite the fury churning inside him, there was no denying the pull she still had on him.
The woman had left her mark on him, and no amount of fury could obliterate it.
That realization, more than anything else, was what made him burn.
War cries broke through his brooding.
She wasn’t just leading the attack—she was commanding it, her voice sharp and decisive as she called out orders.
The rebels followed her lead without hesitation, their coordinated assault dismantling the camp ruthlessly.
‘Is that who I think it is?’ Mirage intoned.
‘ Naam , tis her,’ Kisan confirmed through a gritted jaw.
‘Impressive,’ Mirage remarked. ‘Not just a petty thief, then.’
Kisan ignored the jab, sucking his teeth, eyes on the battle unfolding below. ‘Problem is, what she necessitates my mask tech for. If she’s planning to use it somehow to wage a war, she must repurpose it but at what cost for her and her people’s fight? It may be more devastating than she knows.’
He saw the rebels push the cyborgs back, their disruptors scrambling the Crat components with every burst.
His pulse had weakened the enemy, giving the dissenters the needed edge.
The combat was over quickly, and the camp was reduced to smoldering ruins. Piles of mechanical beings lay inert, their systems fried.
The Vaelorian insurgents triumphed victorious, their cheers echoing across the valley.
Samira stood at the center of the wreckage, her chest heaving as she surveyed the destruction.
He zeroed his neural vision on her, and his lips twisted as her eyes glinted with a mix of elation and exhaustion.
Her fellow fighters clapped her on the back.
Kisan felt a wince pass through him as they shared weary smiles as if the suffocating weight of countless losses had lifted for a momentary beat.
From his vantage point, the Rider was hit with a surge of conflicting emotions—freakin’ relief, admiration, anger.
‘Are you going to glare at her, or will you say hello?’ Mirage’s voice broke through his thoughts, dry and sardonic.
Kisan’s lips curled. ‘Oh, I intend to get in her face. Found a way for me to past that barrier yet?’
‘Patience, in good time, Rider.’
He stayed hidden high above the battlefield, in the shadows of the mountainous crags. His aqua eyes locked on Samira until she and her unit disappeared back into the bowels of Orilia XIV.
He didn’t trust her, not yet, but he couldn’t deny the magnetic pull she had on him. Whatever her reasons, she was here, leading a resistance against a nightmare neither of them could ignore.
For now, he would monitor and wait. The time to confront her would come soon enough.