The storm was an unwelcome guest pounding on the motel room door, while the wind found tiny cracks to slip through, howling through the gaps in the window. The smell of dampness had started to overpower the vanilla air freshener.

  “I’m going to infiltrate Bellatrix Base,” Juzo said. “I need to access the hidden hardware on that computer.”

  Vicky raised her hands in surrender; she wasn’t going to try to talk him out of his plan anymore. Arguing with Juzo was pointless—a bigger waste of time than reasoning with furniture or the old junker rotting in the shed outside.

  “And what will you do with whatever you find in that machine?”

  “I’ll send the information to Rigel, like I promised, and then I’ll go to Proxima to find my brother.”

  At the mention of Proxima, Vicky let out a disbelieving ‘What?’

  “Why would you do that? To reunite with a twin you didn’t even remember existed? Since when did you activate your brotherly sentimentality chip?”

  “Vicky, White O22 has as much right as I do to know about the project.”

  “What right, Juzo? The right to lose his mind? Leave him alone. Do you have any idea what kind of impact this will have on his life? That’s assuming he even believes you.”

  “What choice do I have, Vicky? Sit back and pretend this project never existed?”

  “Why not, Juzo? Infiltrating Bellatrix is an insanely risky move, not to mention leaving the continent. And for what? The project’s been suspended for years! Look, I can imagine how much learning about this must mean to you, I get that, but why dig deeper into something everyone’s already forgotten?”

  “Because I need to know,” Juzo replied. “Wouldn’t you do the same if you were in my place? What happens if one day the people behind this project recover those missing doses and decide to restart it? I’m not going to spend the rest of my life waiting for that to happen. No one knows I’m aware of this, so now is the time to act.” He stuffed the files into his backpack. “Bellatrix isn’t far from here. I’m leaving now.”

  “How are you going to cross the ocean?” she asked. “They’re not going to sell you a plane ticket just because you’re wearing a nice uniform.”

  “There’s an Auriga at Bellatrix,” he said.

  Damn it, Vicky hissed. Did he have an answer for everything?

  “Fine, but I know entering a Kappa Point is far from being a pleasant experience, you know that? And who’s to say you don’t have a heart condition? What if you have a heart attack when you reach the other side?”

  “Vicky, I’m going—whether you like it or not.”

  “I know.” She pressed her lips together, her heart pounding. There was so much to think about and so little time to act. It was obvious he wasn’t going to ask her, so she had to say it herself, “I’m going with you.”

  Juzo took a step back, his expression conflicted and slightly soft.

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  Vicky took his hands in hers. “Juzo, if you called me to come all the way here, it was so I’d go with you.”

  “It’s going to be dangerous,” he warned. “What will you do if the imperialists catch us sneaking in?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll tell them I regretted deserting and you’re my offering to get back into their good graces.”

  But Juzo’s phone rang, interrupting the one exchange that might have drawn a smile out of him.

  “Tell me you shut down Seven-Frequency and that’s just the motel clerk letting you know your time’s up,” she said, holding her breath.

  But the look on her partner’s face said the opposite.

  Juzo pulled the phone from his pocket, and Colonel Detective Pablo Rigel’s voice burst out through the speaker:

  “We just got an urgent report. A hostile Cyclops is trying to breach Bellatrix. We’ve lost communication with the base. It’s dangerous to move now.”

  A rush of heat shot through Juzo. “The android’s eye,” he said. “What model is it from?”

  “Juzo, you’d better keep—”

  “Rigel, the eye—what model is it?”

  “According to the report… it’s an A60-R8.”

  That was all Juzo needed to hear. He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  “The android… it’s after the computer,” he said, grabbing his backpack.

  “How do you know?”

  “What else could it be after?” he replied.

  Vicky didn’t push further. She knew Juzo wouldn’t listen to her or follow Rigel’s advice to stay put, especially not when he was so close. She even suspected Rigel knew it as well as she did.

  Juzo slung his backpack over his shoulder, paused for a moment to brush Vicky’s cheek in a brief goodbye—perhaps because he sensed they wouldn’t have time for an intimate gesture like this again—and then left the room. The door slammed against the wall, dragged by the icy wind outside.

  Vicky stepped onto the porch and saw Juzo running through the storm toward the road. She ran after him. She wouldn’t abandon him now, no matter how much her instincts screamed they were making a mistake.

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  “I left my bike hidden by those trees!” he shouted.

  “With this weather, my car will be safer!” she yelled back, her voice rising over the roar of the storm. “Come on!”

  

  Bellatrix served, among other things, as a massive storage hub for the Military.

  Its facilities were underground, leaving only the airstrips, hangars, and entry hatches on the surface, all encased within a square concrete wall. The wall was fortified with four watchtowers at each corner, giving the place the appearance of a medieval castle fused with advanced technology.

  Laser cannons crowned the peaks of the towers, and outside the walls, a network of antennas—metal posts forming a spiral half a mile in diameter—encircled the fort.

  On this stormy night, the antennae array had failed, and one of the wall’s towers had been reduced to rubble, with fire and smoke so thick that even the rain couldn’t pierce it.

  Atop the tower’s ruins, an overturned tank lay ablaze, its cannon bent, its tracks torn off. It was as though someone had calculated the precise force needed to send the massive vehicle flying through the air and smash it against the brick column.

  The scarlet crest of the Markabian Imperial Army, once displayed atop the tower, now lay in pieces on the ground, soaked by the rain. The image of the white Pegasus with wings spread above the laurel wreath was so shattered it was no longer recognizable.

  And above the pile of rubble, the one responsible for the chaos appeared—a silhouette with unnatural movements stepping forward to place a foot on the burning tank. His black boots beside the flames; sparks scorching the hems of his dark jumpsuit. His open, purple trench coat, flattened under the weight of the rain; the hood pulled up, turning his face into a shadowy mystery…

  A mystery that quickly unraveled when that large red eye pulsed with light.

  The A60-R8 had arrived, and from that mound, he surveyed the glowing trails of destruction.

  The Cyclops looked around with the poise of a conqueror, as if ready to plant a flag and claim the place as his own. The devil himself, risen straight from hell.

  Using chunks of concrete like stairs, he descended into the inner courtyard of the fortress as the alarm blared like a battle horn.

  Suddenly, a chorus of clicks and clacks—the sound of weapons being cocked. And for the first time, the trench-coated A60 stopped.

  Fifteen Cyclops androids, model D02, had surrounded him, all clad in their work overalls and armed with rifles. The rain snapped against their bald metal heads and ran down their flat, featureless faces. A cluster of glowing red circular visors, like brake lights, all locked onto an outdated unit.

  “Unidentified Cyclops,” one of them addressed the intruder in its synthetic voice. “Report your registration code or surrender for dismantling.”

  Silence.

  The hooded invader took a step forward.

  “Unidentified Cyclops, proceed and you will be terminated.”

  The A60 stepped again.

  The D02 Cyclops raised their rifles and opened fire. Muzzle flashes illuminated the stormy night as bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the intruder’s silicone-metal frame or dropped to the ground, repelled by some invisible shielding mechanism, like hornets swatted mid-flight.

  A thunderclap roared overhead, and an arc of energy surged from the A60. The attacking androids sparked violently as if hit by a mass short-circuit, then exploded one by one. Shards of metal, fragments of silicone resembling transparent human flesh, fabric scraps, oil sprays, and plumes of smoke scattered everywhere.

  Reinforcements arrived—more Cyclops androids. But this time, they didn’t even get a chance to aim. Simply stepping within the A60’s invisible electromagnetic field caused them to suffer the same fate as their predecessors.

  Finally, flesh-and-blood soldiers entered the fray, armed with rifles far more imposing than those carried by the androids.

  The Cyclops stopped again, as though waiting for them to step aside.

  “Remember the Forensics report! This thing might be malfunctioning, with its Directive 001 disabled,” one soldier warned the others.

  “What’s the matter, you devil machine?” another taunted. “Running out of juice?”

  Then they opened fire. The shots flashed once again through the downpour and the night—this time, they were laser blasts.

  The A60 glided through the wind, dodging every beam of light. As agile as an acrobat, he spun through the air, flipping over the guards and taking them out one by one with flashes of energy—dropping them in a sinister domino effect.

  When his feet touched the ground again, the hood of his trench coat fell back, revealing his smooth chrome head under the rain. The soldiers’ only success had been barely brushing his appearance.

  With the arrogance of a king, the intruder moved toward the nearest hatch of the base. Behind him, the storm washed the blood from the fallen.

  A soldier sprinted up the stairs of one of the fort’s towers, heading for the massive cannon perched at the top. The weapon itself looked intact, but it had stopped firing. When he reached the peak, he found the android operator with a hole in its chest and its head missing. Shoving the lifeless machine aside, he dropped into the seat at the cannon’s controls, locked onto the enemy nearing Hatch C, and fired.

  The cannon unleashed a projectile that streaked toward its target, trailing smoke rings and emitting a high-pitched whistle as it accelerated.

  The A60 detected it approaching from behind. He turned, his single eye locking onto the missile mid-air. The projectile detonated halfway to his mark, seemingly untouched by any visible force.

  Amid the screams and chaos, the Cyclops reached Hatch C, shoved it open, and stepped into a corridor bathed in red light—a warning to all that an intruder had entered.

  “Intruder. Intruder. Intruder,” a synthetic voice repeated over and over.

  “Battalions fifty-two and fifty-three, report to Corridor C,” a woman’s voice ordered over the loudspeakers.

  New squads of green-clad soldiers charged through the halls. When they encountered the intruder, they froze in place.

  The Cyclops advanced as if they didn’t exist. Soon, they wouldn’t.

  The soldiers raised their weapons, unleashing a storm of annihilation discs at their enemy. Not a single shot landed—each laser’s radiant essence dissolved before reaching him.

  “I’m here for what’s mine,” the A60 declared. “Stand aside, and no one else will perish.”

  “This is Commander Dubhe,” a voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “Cyclops A60-R8, identify yourself. Report your registration code and—”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have time,” the A60 interrupted, emitting a sharp tone that caused the rifles to sputter and short-circuit.

  With their weapons disabled, the soldiers shifted to brute force. Five charged at the intruder, followed by another, and another. Two grabbed his arms, two more his legs, while a pair locked him from behind. A seventh soldier lunged for his head.

  “Hurry up, García!” one of them shouted. The android’s solid mass strained against their grip; they wouldn’t hold him for long.

  “The emergency kill switch, García! Hit it!”

  With a sharp tug, García yanked back the fallen hood of the trench coat to clear his target: the android’s nape. One push of the switch would be enough to shut off its controls and—

  There was no switch. Beneath the trench coat’s collar lay nothing but the Cyclops’ chrome-plated nape.

  “García!” his comrades yelled.

  “It doesn’t have one!” García shouted back.

  The A60 jerked, shaking the soldiers like ticks clinging to a dog. They were no longer elite, trained men—just desperate bodies trying to hang on.

  The force of their struggle tore pieces of his purple trench coat—sleeves and collar ripped away with a sound more chilling than any explosion. One by one, he flung them against the walls and ceiling like sacks of sand. Some struck the overhead lights, causing short-circuits and bursts that rained sparks onto those already lying motionless on the ground.

  The red corridor lights went dark, extinguished for good.

  Corridor C was left in shadows, with only the faint glow of embers flickering like dying fireflies.

  Before the intruder, everything screamed or collapsed, burned or disintegrated. Nothing could stop him. Desperation, blaring alarms, and explosions filled the air, contrasting with the android’s deathly calm.

  Within minutes, the A60 had reached the inner levels of a fortress thought to be impenetrable.