I’m in the workshop, toying with some pieces on the workbench.

  I assemble and disassemble them again and again. The same parts form different things depending on how I put them together. I put something together, check it, then take it apart again.

  “Rob, knock it off already. Your polyfix won’t withstand that much use. I know you’re off-shift, but if you’ve got time, go get some sleep,” the department chief scolds me, with that tone of resigned frustration only I seem able to draw out of my superiors.

  Polyfix are the main tool used for manual work by mechanics.

  They can change shape depending on what’s needed at the moment: twisting, pulling, striking, or cutting.

  They are an engineer’s best friends.

  Thanks to their small size and shape—like a handle from which whatever you need sprouts—we always carry one in our pocket in case we run into some wild repair job along the way.

  It is the engineer’s weapon, and with it we defeat every craftsman’s greatest enemy: having to stop working to go look for another tool.

  That horrible ordeal is now a thing of the past.

  Now we can do everything without ever cking a single wrench or pair of pliers.

  At st we have achieved the long-awaited dream of generations of grumpy mechanics: working in peace.

  “You expect me to go back to sleep calmly with everything that’s happening?” I answer him as my hands keep moving.

  The drone I prepared vanished, and they sent Alex’s team to look for it; honestly, I’m a bit worried about what they might find.

  The chief looks at me for a few moments before deciding to sit across from me.

  “Do you know the legend of the Ether?” he suddenly asks.

  “What are you talking about, Chief? Have you gone senile? Of course I know it, it’s like asking a chef if he knows about pasta,” I reply, not understanding why he’d bring that up now.

  “Be quiet and listen,” he forces me to shut up and listen. “The ether. The universal miracle that powers every ship, armor, and device on the Rim, once considered only a myth in ancient times; until we reached a technological level that finally allowed us to detect an energy that had always been there, but one we could never perceive.”

  Such energy was almost miraculous, capable of making our wildest dreams a reality. And so, after years of research and dedication, we finally managed to create the first ether engines, which allowed us to travel among the stars as their new conquerors.

  Reality struck us quickly. Our confidence vanished when we realized that countless races were already using it, and that it was the main universal energy source. In fact, almost every race could perceive it from birth; some didn’t even need technology to manipute it at will, with humanity being the only one denied that miracle.

  But we wouldn’t give up. If our bodies could not adapt to it, we would create machines whose heart and blood pumped it, fighting against our destiny.

  I listen carefully to the captain’s story, still not understanding his point. It would’ve been more interesting if a cute red dog were telling it, just saying.

  “We’re engineers. When things get tough, we invent something. When everything is against us, we trust in the machines we build. That is the way of humanity. Believe in the armors we prepare for them and in the strength of the Lynx team pilots,” he finishes as he stands up.

  “The Lynx team?” That knocks me off rhythm. “I’m talking about drone number 68.”

  “What about the missing drone?” he asks.

  “What do you mean ‘what about it’? I prepped that drone, and I did a magnificent job. But if the Lynx team comes back without finding anything, they’ll think it was a drone malfunction, and all arrows will point to its mechanic. They’ll bme me for the possible failure! Do you understand what that implies?”

  “Don’t worry about the consequences. Your work was checked before unch. The entire department will back you up in case of an investigation,” he replies in an encouraging tone.

  “Consequences, investigation? My reputation! I’m admired as one of the best engineers in the department. A hero in the eyes of many young mechanics! The poor kids won’t be able to handle seeing their idol fall,” I answer, a bit worked up.

  The room falls silent. After a moment, the chief speaks to me:

  “I don’t know if you’re being serious or joking, but I can assure you that your reputation can’t fall any lower in our eyes. You’ve made a… very memorable impression,” he says, while all the staff nod in agreement.

  “Oh, guys, how I appreciate your words. You almost make me forgive your past offenses against me,” I say, moved.

  “Because, to begin with, it’s already at rock bottom,” the Chief adds.

  …Wait, what?

  “Yes, Rob, you’re like a bankrupt company. Your stock can’t go any lower,” another engineer says, trying to cheer me up.

  What kind of idiocy are they spouting?

  “But look on the bright side: no matter what you do, our opinion of you won’t get worse. So from here on, the only way is up,” says another of my so-called “coworkers.”

  “Scoundrels! And to think I was about to forgive you. That’s it! From now on, you’re no longer my colleagues. You’ll be begging when you need someone to work overtime!” I shout at them, furious.

  “All right, all right, Rob. We’re just teasing you, we don’t mean it seriously,” the Chief calms me down.

  I look at my coworkers. They look confused by what the Chief said. Then, after a brief silence, they all chime in:

  “Y-yeah, of course we were joking, Rob. Everyone knows you’re the heart of the department.”

  “Yeah, sure. You’re… the one who brings the fun around here.”

  “We couldn’t go on without your… projections… they’re very… informative?”

  They all shower me with praise. I wonder why the st one ended like a question… but well, I guess I can forgive them.

  Just as I’m about to absolve them, an announcement suddenly interrupts our conversation:

  “To all personnel, prepare for an emergency stelr jump. I repeat: all personnel, prepare for an emergency stelr jump.”

  I look at the others; they all have the same expression on their faces.

  “The jump will commence in thirty minutes. I repeat: the jump will commence in thirty minutes.”

  “Looks like something happened with the mission,” says the Chief. “Well, you heard it. Shut everything down and get ready for the jump. I want you in your pods in twenty minutes,” he shouts.

  It seems something did happen with Team Lynx and Alex.

  An unscheduled and rushed jump like this is not normal.

  We all drop what we’re doing and start shutting down machines and storing equipment.

  We need to hurry: the jump will begin in less than an hour.

  We finish preparing everything in about fifteen minutes and start heading to our pods.

  The hallway is chaos: personnel from all departments running everywhere, trying to wrap things up before the jump.

  As I cross the doorway to the engineering staff quarters, a mechanic rushing out sms into me.

  Before I can get up and yell at him to watch where he’s going, he vanishes into the crowd.

  “Damn it, this is turning into a mess!” I mutter as I stand up.

  “Everyone has things to finish. You can’t bme him for being in a hurry,” a coworker tells me.

  “I know. At least we’re ready,” I reply.

  I reach my pod and bring my handheld device close to unlock it. It takes its time reading my credentials.

  “Come on, don’t fail me now,” I urge it.

  “Your old handheld device is giving you trouble again? We’ve told you so many times to use a sensory connector like everyone else,” says the occupant of the neighboring pod, pointing at the small device behind his ear.

  “So they can track me, read my thoughts or—worse—control them? No, thanks. I prefer my old device,” I say while gently tapping the pod.

  “And what are they going to hear? ‘I’m not sure whether to put a hat or a tie on Clifford, I’ll run a poll…’” he says, imitating my voice.

  “That’s a very important decision, because the hat would give him style, but the tie would give him css,” I reply.

  While we argue, the pod screen turns green and opens.

  “Aha! I knew you wouldn’t fail me,” I say to my device.

  “Quit fooling around and get into your pods. The bridge is ordering us into stasis. Since it’s an emergency situation, they don’t want any kind of disturbance during the jump,” the Chief shouts.

  “Hey, boss, do you know where we’re headed?” I ask him.

  “We’re going to quadrant 87. That’s all I know. Now get in,” he answers, rather curtly. We’re going near Team Lynx’s st known location.

  I thank the Chief and step into my capsule.

  I hope Alex is okay.

  If we’re heading near them, it must be to help, and the rush for the jump means the situation is urgent.

  With those thoughts circling in my mind, I activate stasis.

  The capsule begins to fill with gas, which slowly puts my body into hibernation. I don’t feel cold, since they don’t freeze us in the traditional way.

  It feels more like being wrapped in something warm.

  Slowly, I drift to sleep until I’m awakened at our destination.

  ***

  I’m lying face down on the rooftop of a building. The rain hits me hard, but I hold my position, covered by a bck tarp. In my hands, I have a Sefirot rifle. It isn’t the newest model of impulse rifle, but it’s a reliable weapon that has proven its worth on the battlefield over the years.

  “So cold,” I murmur, flexing my fingers to keep the blood flowing so they won’t fail me when the time comes.

  My eye doesn’t leave the scope. Even though the rain grows heavy and blocks part of my vision, I can still see the route clearly thanks to the integrated scanner, which shows me a real-time projection without obstacles.

  “Where the hell is the convoy?”

  “Bat 1, stay focused. The convoy is entering the zone.”

  “Copy.”

  I quickly refocus on the scope. Sure enough, several bck ships are flying above the buildings. At the center, a particurly rge and luxurious vessel stands out, surrounded by the others.

  “There you are, bastard.”

  I center my aim on the vehicle’s topmost window, where a man in elegant attire is sitting. After analyzing the scanner’s data, I need to change my ammunition.

  “Armor of at least fourth level… the kind used by war cruisers. And a force field worthy of nobility. You can smell the corruption from here.”

  With everything ready, I adjust the scope, steady my breathing, and pull the trigger.

  The bullet fires out at impossible-to-counter speeds, leaving a trail of light behind it. It strikes the shield with a loud thundercp, halting for only a brief instant before the powerful interference field opens a hole. The bullet continues its path, pierces the window—unable to withstand its speed or the spiraling of the armor-piercing round—and finally reaches the target. The impact is devastating: the man is vaporized on the spot.

  “Bat 1 here, confirmed takedown,” I report confidently.

  “Negative, Bat 1. Target’s energy signature still detected.”

  “What?!”

  I scan the convoy through the scope, but despite the alert, the ships haven’t broken formation. I see half of the convoy splitting off, escorting one of the bck ships at its center, while the other half heads straight toward my exposed position.

  “Damn it, it was a decoy.”

  Wasting no time, I leap off the side of the rooftop. I soar over the street and reach the building behind me. The moment my feet touch the ground, I sprint through the alleyways at full speed in a desperate attempt to lose them, all while making moves that would embarrass any movie superhero.

  “Come on, Night Bat, you can do this,” I speak to my MechFrame, a sleek bck model specialized in urban combat, known for its agility. “Hahaha, looks like I lost them…” I say as I catch my breath, hidden in an alley.

  My happiness is short-lived. Suddenly, from the building on the left, a gigantic bck armor bursts out, demolishing everything in its path.

  “Seriously? A damn armor in the middle of the city?”

  I can only stare in horror as its main cannon vaporizes me completely.

  “Simution failed.”

  “Don’t you think that was a bit much, Instructor? What did you expect me to do against an armor?” I ask as I remove my helmet, feeling the sweat on my forehead.

  She keeps watching the projection without looking away. When she finally responds, her voice is as cold as her expression.

  “I expected you to give everything you had and complete your mission,” she says firmly.

  I look at her, feeling small in front of her. She’s incredibly intimidating despite her beauty. There’s something about her presence that dominates the space. Maybe it’s her height, or those sharp, cold eyes that seem to notice everything. Her bck hair, falling straight and smooth around her face, only emphasizes that sense of perfection, almost like a painting brought to life. Perhaps it’s all of it together: her posture, her serious demeanor, and that relentless expression.

  You don’t need her to say it, you feel it in every word and gesture. You do not want to anger this woman.

  Are all shooting instructors like this? Honestly, I doubt it.

  “I gave it my best, Instructor. Did you see that shot? It was perfect.”

  “What good is a perfect shot if it doesn’t finish the target?”

  Damn, she’s a tough woman.

  “Be realistic. No one could have gotten past that,” I try to defend myself.

  Without saying a word, the instructor pys another projection on the screen.

  In the scene, a marksman is positioned on the rooftop just like I was. He fires and takes out the decoy, but once he’s compromised, he abandons the rooftop. He is immediately ambushed by the enemy armor. Instead of freezing up, he dives straight into their pursuers. The armor, unable to use its more powerful weapons for fear of friendly fire, is forced into close combat.

  A frantic chase through the alleyways begins. The pursuers fall one by one until only the armor remains, and, frustrated, it resorts to heavy weaponry. Just then, the marksman and the armor cross paths with the real target, who had fled earlier. Everything falls into pce: the marksman had been steering the chase toward the target from the very beginning. Without realizing it, the target steps into the line of fire and is destroyed by the armor’s powerful weapons.

  Finally, the marksman disappears into the smoke, having completed his mission. I have to admit, it was an impressive dispy.

  “Whose simution is that?” I ask.

  “It’s not a simution. It’s the projection of the mission your exercise is based on. I carried it out when I was about your age,” the instructor replies.

  That leaves me speechless. Was that a real mission? Did the instructor complete it? Was she ever my age? Everything sounds unbelievable.

  “You didn’t give enough. You gave up the moment you felt overwhelmed. Remember: as long as you’re alive and your mission isn’t complete, you must find a way.”

  Those words echo inside me.

  ***

  A loud crash wakes me from stasis and from old memories.

  “What’s going on? Are we there already?”

  Still disoriented, I try to get up, but the pod door is still shut. I try to push it, but it won’t budge.

  “Come on, pod, is this because of the hits I gave you earlier?” I joke. “Is anyone out there? The door on my pod is malfunctioning and I can’t get out!” I shout, but no one answers.

  I realize I’m finding it harder and harder to breathe; I’m running out of air. The capsules are airtight to keep the user in stasis, and they can even withstand the vacuum of space.

  Damn it, I need to act fast.

  I quickly calm myself and analyze the situation. Forcing the pod open isn’t possible; they’re far too strong.

  “Think, think… why don’t they put an emergency lever? Wait—they do.”

  I start fiddling with the panel and enter one of my projections.

  “Hello there, truth seekers. Clifford here, your favorite red space dog, welcoming you to a new projection of our segment ‘How to Survive in Space.’ Today we’ll learn how to escape from a stasis pod.”

  “Fast, fast, skip to the important part!” I say as I fast-forward the projection.

  “If the door doesn’t want to cooperate, look for a groove on the right side. Slide it back and a panel will open.”

  I run my hand along the capsule’s right edge until I find a small groove. I slide it back and, sure enough, a panel opens with some buttons and a lever.

  “Inside, you’ll find a lever. You must pull it toward you with force.”

  Without dey, I pull the lever with all my strength. It triggers, and I hear a mechanical sound.

  “The lever will release the door’s anchors, but it will still stay in pce. You must strike it hard until it opens. Hit it like your life depends on it!”

  “It does depend on it, damn it! Now I’m starting to understand my haters.”

  I start pounding on the door with my fists, but it doesn’t move. I can feel the air thinning; I’m starting to suffocate.

  “Cough, cough…” I hit harder, my knuckles screaming in pain. “Open up, damn you!!!” With that st scream, I throw a punch that finally lifts the lid.

  Air starts flooding in again.

  “Cough, cough, cough… Yes, I’m alive! Cough, cough…” I wheeze as I catch my breath. “Damn pod, I almost suffocated. I’m going to file a formal compint with the manufacturer…”

  I remove the door and stand up. I just want to get out of that capsule. I take a moment to enjoy being alive and breathing freely. They’re things you don’t appreciate until you’ve nearly suffocated.

  Unfortunately, my relief was short-lived. I realized something was wrong with the ship. The arms were bring, yet I seemed to be the only one awake. All the pods in the department were still sealed.

  “Maybe they’re suffocating too…”

  Staggering, I rushed to the nearest pod, ready to force it open. Inside, I found someone sleeping peacefully in stasis. I leaned toward the panel and checked that everything was in order.

  One by one, I inspected the team’s pods: everyone was still sleeping without any issues.

  “Looks like it was just me… lucky me.”

  After making sure everyone was safe, I approached the ship’s panel to contact the bridge and figure out what the hell was going on.

  “Bridge, this is Rob, engineer on board. I woke up from stasis because of a pod malfunction; I almost suffocated in there. What’s the ship’s status? Do you need help from engineering?”

  “……”

  No response.

  “Bridge, engineering department here. Do you copy?”

  “……”

  There seemed to be communication issues, and the tremors were growing stronger.

  “Aaaalright… I’ll go there myself.”