Chapter 21: Loadout
The cafeteria stayed still.
No clicks in the walls.
No sudden cold pull from the vents.
Just a low hum that never turned into anything.
Tetley dragged the knapsack to Isaac’s boots again.
He let go.
He sat.
He stared up at Isaac like the answer was obvious.
Zoya glanced at the vents once.
Then she forced her eyes away.
Nothing was playing with them anymore.
Isaac kept his wings tight.
He kept his hands loose.
He looked down at the bag.
It looked like a normal thing trying to pretend it was normal.
He nudged it with the edge of his boot.
It did not move like it was empty.
Tetley’s tail flicked once.
Impatient.
Isaac crouched.
He did it slow.
He wanted to see the strap, the seams, the latch.
He wanted to see what would bite first.
He pinched the flap.
He lifted it just enough to see inside.
The inside did not match the outside.
The lining was deeper than the bag.
Not by a little.
It looked like a dim hallway that kept going after it should have hit cloth.
Isaac held it open.
He waited.
Nothing snapped.
Nothing hissed.
Zoya shifted her weight.
She reached a hand toward the opening.
Then she stopped herself.
Her fingers hovered.
She drew them back and set them on her knee.
Tetley stood.
He stepped onto the strap.
He hooked a claw under it and tugged upward.
Once.
Then again.
Like he was trying to dress Isaac.
Zoya made a sound through her nose.
It almost became a laugh.
She swallowed it like the room might charge her for it.
Isaac looked at Tetley.
Then at the strap in the cat’s claw.
“You’re kidding,” Isaac said.
Tetley stared back.
No blink.
No softness.
Zoya’s mouth twitched.
It got a fraction closer to a smile than it had been all day.
Isaac lifted the strap off Tetley’s claw.
He fed it over his shoulder.
He did not like putting unknown things on his body.
He liked it less when the unknown thing wanted him to.
The strap settled.
It did not feel like leather.
It felt like something that had learned how to be leather.
The stitching along the edge shifted.
Not like it moved.
Like it aligned.
The threads pulled into straighter lines that matched the angles of his wing plates.
Isaac held still.
He waited for the bite.
A faint pulse ran through the seams.
Not clean light.
Bruised light.
Uneven.
It flared in patches and then dropped, like it had to fight to stay lit.
Isaac’s wing plates vibrated.
His teeth buzzed.
His stomach dropped, hard, like a bad step on a ladder.
He sucked in a breath and stopped.
Zoya’s hand went to her handle.
Isaac looked down at the strap.
The bag was gone.
Not fallen.
Not slid behind him.
Gone.
Zoya straightened fast.
Her shoulders went tight.
“Where,” she started.
Isaac’s hand came up on instinct.
Empty.
He turned his palm over like he expected to see it stuck there.
He did not.
He looked at Tetley.
Tetley sat.
He slow-blinked.
He looked away, like the question was boring.
Isaac tried to make his thoughts line up.
The strap had weight.
The strap had settled.
The seamlight had pulsed.
Then nothing.
He did not like not knowing where something was when it had just been on his shoulder.
He did not like not knowing what it could do next.
He kept his breathing steady.
He forced himself to do it in order.
First, check the obvious.
He patted his side where it should hang.
Nothing.
He reached behind his hip.
Nothing.
He turned a little, careful with the wings.
The benches did not have it.
The floor did not have it.
The bag had not dropped.
That meant it chose.
Isaac swallowed once.
He watched his hand again.
He let the question form clearly.
Where did it go.
The bag appeared in his palm.
Full weight.
Closed.
As if it had been there the whole time and his eyes had been the problem.
Isaac froze.
He did not flinch away.
He did not throw it.
He held it.
He looked at his fingers around the strap.
He tightened his grip once.
The bag did not fight him.
Zoya stared.
Then she looked at Isaac’s shoulder.
Then at his hand.
“Do that again,” she said.
Isaac did not answer right away.
He did not want it to hear a command and decide it hated being ordered.
He lowered the bag.
He set it on the bench beside him.
Closed.
He kept his eyes on it.
He did not blink for a beat.
Half a breath later, it was not there.
No sound.
No shift.
Just absence.
Isaac’s jaw tightened.
He did not move fast.
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He looked down at his empty palm.
He let the thought happen again.
The bag landed back in his hand.
Steady.
Closed.
As if it had never touched the bench.
Zoya’s eyebrows lifted.
Then she turned her head toward Tetley.
Her look said it without words.
You knew.
Tetley’s ears flicked once.
Yes.
Zoya held still for a second.
Then she laughed, once, out loud.
It came out sharp and surprised, like it escaped her.
Tetley’s head snapped toward her.
His ears pulled back.
His stare went flat.
Offended.
Zoya clamped her mouth shut, still smiling in her eyes.
Isaac kept his eyes on the bag.
He forced himself through the next test.
He needed to know if it was tied to him or tied to the strap or tied to the room.
He held it out.
Zoya hesitated.
Then she took it.
Careful.
Like it might be hot.
The bag went still in her hands.
Then the seams pulsed once.
A dull bruised blink of light.
The bag slipped away.
Not yanked.
Not ripped.
Gone.
Zoya’s fingers closed on air.
She stared at her empty hands.
Isaac blinked.
The bag was back against his wrist.
He had not reached for it.
It was simply there.
Zoya stared.
Then she laughed again.
Short.
One beat.
More real this time.
Tetley flicked his tail.
Finally.
Isaac held the bag close.
He kept it closed.
He looked at Zoya.
“It doesn’t want you holding it,” Isaac said.
Zoya rubbed her thumb along the knot at her wrist.
She kept her eyes on the bag.
“It wants you,” she said.
Isaac did not like that phrasing.
He did not correct it.
He looked at Tetley.
Tetley stood and pressed a paw onto the bag’s flap.
Once.
Then he looked at Isaac.
Open it.
Isaac shifted his stance.
He opened it slow.
He did it while holding the body of the bag in his lap, like he could slam it shut if something moved.
The inside was bigger than it should be.
Not just deep.
Wide.
Dim.
Like a closet with no back wall.
The seamlight did not brighten the inside.
It made the edges look worse.
Soot-dark around the brighter threads.
As if whatever ran through it burned the cloth.
Zoya leaned in.
She did it without moving her feet.
She didn’t want to step wrong and have the floor decide she had.
Isaac reached in.
He did it like he was putting his hand into cold water.
He expected pressure.
He expected the lining to tighten.
He felt none of that, at first.
His fingers brushed something firm.
Plastic.
No.
Not plastic.
Something like it.
He pulled.
A sealed pack came out.
Pristine.
No rot.
No damp.
No swelling.
A printed mark across the front.
UNEG.
Under it, smaller.
Elite Field Rations.
Isaac stared at the letters.
He did not know why the acronym hit his head like a familiar shape.
But it did.
He said the first thing his brain gave him.
“UNEG,” Isaac said.
Zoya’s head tilted.
Isaac kept his eyes on the pack.
“Expedition supply,” he added.
Zoya stared at him like she was trying to decide whether he was lying or remembering.
Then she looked back at the pack.
“Two thousand… what,” she said.
Isaac didn’t answer.
Not because he was hiding.
Because he didn’t have a clean answer that wouldn’t turn into a lecture he couldn’t support.
He reached into the bag again.
He pulled out another pack.
Then another.
Then something wrapped in foil with a bar shape.
He set them on the bench.
One by one.
The bench started to look like a table someone had prepared.
It didn’t fit the room.
It didn’t fit the Core.
It fit a world that had rules on paper.
Zoya touched the corner of a packet.
Her fingertip dragged across the print like it might smear.
It didn’t.
She looked up.
“What is it,” she asked.
Isaac held up the bar.
He turned it in his hands.
The wrapper was dark.
Letters.
A brand name that meant nothing to him until it did.
Chocolate.
He knew the word.
He didn’t know why.
“It’s food,” he said.
Zoya’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s not helpful.”
Isaac set the bar down.
He picked up a flat pack with a picture on it.
A triangle of bread with red and pale shapes.
He stared at it for a second.
A label hit his head.
Pizza.
He did not like that his brain could hand him labels without the memories that should come with them.
He used the label anyway.
“This one’s pizza,” he said.
Zoya stared.
“Pitza,” she repeated, wrong.
Isaac didn’t correct her.
He tore the seal.
The pack opened with a clean rip.
No stale smell.
No mold.
Just heatless food scent, faint but there.
Bread.
Something sharp and sweet.
Something that tugged saliva out of his mouth before he could decide he wanted it.
The slice inside looked unreal.
Soft crust.
Red sauce.
Pale melted layer that had held its shape for too long.
Zoya leaned closer.
Her eyes moved across it like she was looking for hidden bones.
“That’s bread,” Isaac said.
Zoya looked at him.
Then back at the slice.
“You call that bread,” she said.
Isaac nodded once.
He pulled it apart.
It did not crumble.
It stretched.
Thin strands held and then snapped.
Zoya stared harder.
Isaac took the first bite.
He did it because he wanted to know if it would hurt.
If it would poison.
If the room would punish.
His teeth sank in.
Soft.
Warmth did not exist in it, but the texture did.
Salt.
Fat.
A sharp tang.
His throat moved before he told it to.
He chewed.
He swallowed.
Nothing happened.
No cough.
No burn.
No pressure shift.
Zoya watched him like she expected him to fall over.
He didn’t.
He took another bite.
Zoya took the slice from his hand.
She didn’t ask.
She bit.
Her eyes went wider.
She chewed fast.
Then she stopped chewing for a beat like her mouth didn’t know whether to keep going.
She swallowed.
She looked at the slice like it had betrayed her whole life.
“What,” she said.
Not a question.
A complaint.
Isaac’s mouth twitched.
It didn’t become a smile.
“It’s preserved,” he said.
Zoya stared at him again.
“That word means nothing to me,” she said.
Isaac set the next pack down.
Butter chicken.
Flatbread.
He didn’t know why he knew what butter chicken was.
But the words aligned to the picture the way UNEG had.
He opened it.
The smell hit harder than the pizza.
Spice.
Richness.
Something that made his stomach tighten like it had been waiting for this since he woke in the mud.
Zoya leaned in and flinched back like the scent had slapped her.
“Is it supposed to smell like that,” she asked.
Isaac tore open the flatbread pack.
He handed her a piece first.
She took it like it might cut her.
Then she watched him scoop sauce onto it.
He did it clumsy.
Not practiced.
But his hands knew the motion.
He passed it to her.
Zoya took a bite.
She froze.
One beat.
Her eyes didn’t move.
Her throat worked.
She swallowed.
Then she took another bite, faster.
Her shoulders dropped a fraction like something inside her had unclenched without permission.
Isaac ate too.
He realized he was eating too fast.
He forced himself to slow.
He forced himself to breathe between bites.
He didn’t want to choke on the first good thing he’d found.
Zoya chewed, then laughed.
It came out mid-bite.
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and tried to kill it.
It still escaped her eyes.
Isaac watched her.
It hit him that he hadn’t heard that sound from her.
Not since he met her.
Not in the corridor.
Not in the drop.
Not in the mud.
He felt something in his chest that he couldn’t name.
It wasn’t comfort.
It wasn’t safety.
It was just a moment where the world stopped trying to take.
Tetley hopped onto the bench.
He put his front paws near the food like he owned the table.
He sniffed the lasagna pack.
He looked at Isaac.
His stare said: open.
Isaac tore it open.
Dense slabs inside.
Layers.
Meat.
Sauce.
Something pale and soft.
Tetley took one careful bite.
Then another.
He chewed with his whole jaw like he was testing for poison.
Then he ate faster.
Like the verdict was made.
Zoya pointed with her bread.
“He eats like he’s been here before,” she said.
Isaac watched Tetley’s collar node.
It stayed calm.
Translucent.
No pulse.
No wrongness in the air.
The room didn’t smooth.
It didn’t tug.
It just stayed still.
Isaac took that as permission to keep eating.
For a few minutes they did.
Not talking much.
Just opening packs.
Eating.
Passing pieces back and forth without asking.
At some point Isaac realized he had sauce on his fingers.
He stared at it like it was evidence.
Zoya saw him looking and laughed again.
This time she didn’t try to hide it.
“It’s on your face,” she said.
Isaac wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He smeared it worse.
Zoya shook her head.
“Here,” she said.
She tore off a corner of flatbread and shoved it at him.
Isaac took it.
He wiped his face.
It worked better.
Zoya looked like she wanted to say something and didn’t.
Then she broke off a small piece of the dark bar.
Chocolate.
She held it out toward Tetley.
Tetley’s head turned.
His nose twitched.
His ears angled forward.
Isaac’s hand shot out.
He stopped her wrist mid-motion.
Fast.
Harder than he meant.
Zoya jerked.
Her eyes went sharp.
Isaac let go immediately.
He raised his palm once, open.
“Sorry,” he said.
He took a breath.
He didn’t know why the word came with certainty.
He only knew it did.
“Chocolate hurts cats,” he said.
Zoya stared at him.
Then she looked at Tetley.
Then she looked at the chocolate in her fingers.
“How do you know that,” she asked.
Isaac shook his head once.
“I don’t,” he said.
He forced himself to be precise.
“I mean… I don’t know where I learned it. I just know it.”
Zoya held the chocolate for a second longer.
Then she put it down.
Tetley stared at Isaac.
His slow blink returned.
Approval.
Or maybe annoyance that humans needed help with obvious things.
Zoya sat back.
She took a piece of chocolate and put it in her mouth.
She bit down.
She closed her eyes.
Just for a beat.
Then she opened them again like she had caught herself doing something too soft.
She took another bite.
Slower.
She swallowed.
She stared at the wrapper.
“Save half,” she said.
“For my mother.”
Isaac nodded.
He didn’t ask why.
He didn’t say anything that tried to make it bigger.
He broke the bar clean.
He wrapped half back into the foil like it mattered.
He slid it into the bag.
The inside took it without complaint.
He closed the flap.
The seams dimmed.
The bruised light went quieter.
Zoya kept eating the rest.
Pizza.
Bread.
Butter chicken.
She tried lasagna and made a face at the texture and then ate it anyway.
Isaac watched her try to place each new taste.
Her reactions were fast.
Honest.
It made the food feel real again, not like a magic trick.
When the packs were mostly gone, Isaac wiped his hands on his pants.
He took a breath and looked back into the bag.
He needed to know the rest of it.
He needed to know if it could keep them alive or just feed them once.
He opened the flap again.
He reached in.
This time, as his hand pushed deeper, the lining tightened a fraction around his wrist.
Not painful.
Not yet.
Like a gentle clamp.
Like the bag wanted to keep his hand.
Isaac stopped.
He did not yank away.
He tested it.
He pulled back a little.
The pressure eased.
He pushed in again.
The lining tightened again.
Like a tourniquet remembering its job.
Isaac breathed out through his nose.
He adjusted.
He moved faster, in and out, like quick checks instead of reaching and searching.
He touched something hard.
Not a food pack.
He pulled.
A kit came out.
White casing.
Hard corners.
Sealed compartments.
Symbols on it that meant nothing until they did.
Medical.
Not the word.
The shape of the thing.
It was too organized to be anything else.
Isaac flipped the latch.
Inside were items in tight slots.
Bandage seals.
Foam injectors.
Splints that folded.
Small antiseptic packs.
Stitch-clamps that looked like metal insects.
Zoya leaned over.
Her eyes tracked each slot.
“That’s medicine,” she said.
Not wonder.
Not fear.
Need.
Isaac picked up a bandage seal.
He turned it in his fingers.
He watched how it flexed and returned.
He didn’t know how to use it.
He also didn’t like that his body wanted to pretend it did.
He took a breath and did the next thing in order.
He found an instruction strip.
Tiny print.
He could read it.
That made him angry.
He read it anyway.
“Clean,” he said.
He picked up an antiseptic pack.
He looked at his left wing brace.
The resin bind.
The crack under it that he kept protecting without thinking.
He didn’t want to open that brace fully.
He didn’t want to lose stability.
He chose a small edge.
He exposed just enough skin and resin seam to test.
He tore the antiseptic pack.
He dabbed.
Cold sting.
Real.
Then he placed the seal.
It adhered instantly.
Not like tape.
Like it fused.
A faint heat spread through the area.
Not pleasant.
Not horrible.
Just pressure easing.
The brace sat more stable.
The ache under it dropped a notch.
Isaac exhaled once.
Zoya watched his face.
Then she looked at the kit again.
“This changes everything,” she said.
Isaac nodded.
He did not let himself get excited.
Excited meant careless.
But the math was simple.
He could take hits.
He could block angles.
If he could also patch fast, then the next fight didn’t have to end because one of them bled out in the mud.
Tetley hopped down.
He padded to the corridor.
He paused at the threshold and looked back.
Zoya followed his gaze.
“He wants us moving,” she said.
Isaac closed the kit.
He placed it back into the bag.
He did it slow.
He waited for the bag to refuse.
It didn’t.
He tried another item.
A stitch-clamp.
He tossed it inside.
The bag accepted it.
He looked at the rations spread across the bench.
He needed to pack, not just eat.
He picked up the half chocolate, already wrapped, already saved.
He checked it once.
Seal tight.
Then he put it back inside.
Zoya watched him do it.
She didn’t say anything.
Then he finished packing in plain order.
Medical kit.
Bandage seals and foam injectors kept in their slots.
Splints.
Antiseptic.
Stitch-clamps.
Two unopened ration packs for later.
He closed the flap.
The bruised seamlight dimmed again.
Isaac held the bag up.
He wanted it closed.
He wanted it predictable.
He set it against his chest.
He held it there.
Then he let it hang on the strap again.
It stayed this time.
No pulse.
No vanish.
Maybe it only needed the first link.
Or maybe it had decided the test was done.
Isaac didn’t assume.
He stayed careful.
Zoya tightened her grip on her linehook.
Then she loosened it.
She rolled her shoulders once like she was trying to remember she still had them.
“Alright,” she said.
Her voice was steadier now.
Food did that.
A plan did that.
Tetley walked into the corridor.
Isaac followed.
Zoya followed him.
The corridor toward the air lock felt different from the others.
Colder.
Cleaner.
More industrial.
The walls were less rootstone and more old metal plates stitched into the rock.
Warning marks showed up on the floor, half-scrubbed by time.
Not words he recognized.
Shapes.
Pressure.
Do not open.
Do not linger.
Isaac’s resonance sense tightened as they walked.
Not a trap warning.
More like a boundary line his body could feel before his mind could name it.
His wing plates vibrated faintly.
His teeth buzzed in small pulses.
He kept his breathing shallow.
Zoya walked closer to his left side.
Not touching.
Just close enough that if something happened, he could cover her without thinking.
The air lock door came into view.
A heavy wheel in the center.
Old seals around the frame.
Thick bolts.
Marks scraped into the metal like people had tried to force it when the mechanisms died.
Isaac stopped a step away.
He looked at the wheel.
He looked at the seam of the door.
He listened.
The hum stayed steady.
No clicks in the walls.
No answer.
Just a machine waiting.
He set the closed bag down beside his boot.
It vanished.
Instant.
No sound.
Isaac stared at the empty spot.
One breath.
Then he let the question form.
Where.
The bag landed back in his right hand.
Full weight.
Closed.
Steady.
Like a system acknowledging the owner.
Isaac nodded once.
He didn’t look at Zoya when he did it.
He didn’t need to.
He let the bag go.
It vanished again.
He stepped forward.
He gripped the air lock wheel with both hands.
His claws clicked on the metal.
He set his feet.
He tested the wheel.
It resisted.
He adjusted.
He pulled harder.
The wheel moved.
A fraction.
Then more.
Metal groaned through the frame like it hadn’t moved in a long time and hated admitting it still could.
Zoya leaned in.
Her breath was tight.
Tetley sat beside the wall.
Watching.
Unimpressed.
Isaac kept turning.
Slow.
Controlled.
He listened for changes.
He watched the seal line.
He felt the vibration in his wing plates rise and then steady.
Something inside the door shifted.
A long sigh escaped the frame.
Not air.
Not yet.
Just pressure equalizing through dead channels.
The seal broke.
A thin line of darkness appeared at the edge.
The door began to open.
