They were still falling. The pod spun like a busted theme park ride, and Hayate's brain? Yeah, someone threw that thing into a shredder.
He tried to speak, but his mouth lagged behind his brain like bad Wi-Fi.
"Yo! What's with that face? You on mute mode or what? We're literally spiraling into a starstorm here! Blink or panic—just pick one!"
No answer.
Rin floated there. Dead still. Like the air itself wasn't sure if it should move around her.
Then her left arm lit up. Not that cute-glow kind. More like the 'call-the-electrician-before-you-die' kind. A crackling pulse—white and blue—raced from her shoulder down to her fingertips like someone set her blood vessels on fire.
Hayate blinked, ready to toss another wisecrack—
And she spoke.
"I'm not human. I'm... an experiment."
Static. Not silence—worse.
The kind of brain-stabbing buzz that makes it feel like someone's scrubbing glass inside your skull with a wet rag full of bees.
His mind short-circuited. Jaw flapping open. Shut. Open again. He looked like a speaker that forgot how to speaker. Finally, something squeaked out:
"Uhh… so you're like, what? A limited-edition emotional bomb unit? Comes with a free breakdown guarantee?"
She didn't laugh. Of course she didn't.
Instead, she raised her right hand.
Something about the way it moved—it was wrong. Like her bones were piloting without asking her nerves for permission.
Her finger tapped her left arm.
The blade didn't come out.
It grew.
Crystal burst from beneath her skin, unfolding like a monster unlocking its claws. The blade shimmered, half-transparent and jagged, refracting the light into glitchy, cracked patterns—like the air itself was being hacked.
The pressure dropped. Hard.
The pod shuddered. Mist hissed from the corners. The temperature nose-dived so fast Hayate could see his own breath.
The warning light blinked twice—just enough time to scream out "W-A-R—" before going full brain-dead.
He stared at the flickering lamp, jaw tight. Only one thought in his head:
"If the AI just gave up... guess I'm next in line."
He scooted back, not like retreating in style—more like scrunching up like a kid dodging cold AC water drips.
He tried to bluff his way through. "Hey—uh—wasn't looking, I swear. Your sword is... really elegant. Okay? Super classy."
She didn't answer.
And then... the pod started to freeze.
Not slowly. Like someone shoved the whole room into a meat locker and snapped the thermostat in half.
The walls groaned. A sound like metal teeth chewing glass echoed all around. His spine locked up just hearing it.
And her eyes?
She wasn't looking at him.
She was targeting him.
That cold, silent, "I've marked you and I'm just waiting to press execute" kind of stare.
Hayate froze.
That wasn't a sword anymore. That was an order waiting to happen.
He couldn't look directly at her. He was pretty sure one more second of eye contact and she'd cut open his memories like files in a hard drive.
"She's not looking at me. She's locking on. Stare too long and she's gonna ask me if I remember the last time I got sliced."
Then she moved.
The blade came down.
It didn't slice. It tore.
The air itself screamed like paper being ripped in half.
Everything stopped. Even time hesitated like, "Uhh... do I follow that up?"
The pod held its breath for half a second.
Just her. The sword. And Hayate's soul trying to rewrite a will in real-time.
Then—
The blade hit.
It wasn't a cut. It was a system crash. The sound popped like the pod's atmosphere got torn open by a cosmic paper shredder.
The air froze solid in the blade's wake. Frost raced across the walls. The floor cracked. Ice bloomed outward like it was alive and hungry.
Even Hayate's boots started to stick.
"What the hell—this isn't a sword. She's slicing into another freaking dimension!"
The lights flickered. The AI coughed one last error: "Connecting—error—repeat—repea——"
Its voice broke, glitched, then died sounding like an old dog trying to sing opera.
Hayate muttered, "Man… even the HVAC's more reliable than her right now."
Then came the pain.
His right eye flared. Sharp and sudden—like a warning shot inside his skull.
"Oh, great. Right eye's doing the whole 'special effect' thing again. Who's streaming previews into my brain this time?! I didn't subscribe to this show!"
He tried to shut his eyes. Too late.
The flashbacks rolled in. Scrambled video. Static-laced memory. A woman's voice—distorted, echoing.
"Subject E-Ω777… has gone off protocol… Repeat: subject has gone rogue… prepare for retrieval."
That wasn't a heads-up.
That was a verdict.
The frost hit fast.
First came the creaking. Sharp. Like metal teeth chewing glass. One crunch at a time, the sound crawled up Hayate's spine and locked every vertebra in place.
And her eyes?
She wasn't just looking at him.
She was aiming.
That look? It said one thing loud and clear: "You've been marked. Wanna do something about it?"
He froze. No way he was making eye contact again. That stare wasn't human. It was a trigger, cocked and ready. One more second, and she'd be slicing through his memories like a digital executioner.
Then—
She drew the blade.
One sound.
Not a whoosh. Not a clash.
A tear.
The kind that makes the whole room forget how air is supposed to work. Like she'd just sliced the atmosphere in half with a "screw your physics" sword.
Time paused. Gravity had second thoughts. Even reality went, "Should I keep going?"
Everything held its breath for 0.3 seconds.
Just her.
The sword.
And Hayate's heart, pounding out a last-minute regret that he hadn't left a will.
Then—
The strike landed.
It wasn't a slash. It was a system crash. A pop echoed as pressure dropped like an elevator with cut cables. Fog exploded across the pod like someone blew open a freezer in the middle of a volcano.
The blade's path left frost tattoos in the air. The walls iced over like the pod was turning into a cryo prison. Even the floor cracked under Hayate's boots—this thing wasn't done freezing them alive.
"This ain't a sword," he muttered. "She's slicing through freaking dimensions."
The cockpit lights had a seizure. The AI's voice broke into shreds.
"Connecting—error—signal corrupt—repeat... repea—rrrgh…"
It choked. Glitched. Died with a whimper like an old dog trying to sing jazz.
Hayate blinked. "Awesome. Even the smart fridge gave up."
Then pain hit.
Right eye. Sharp. Sudden.
Like someone punched a USB drive into his brain and hit "auto-play."
"Right eye's flaring up again. Who the hell keeps dropping trailers in my retinas? I didn't ask for spoilers!"
He tried to clamp his eyelids shut, but it was too late.
Flashes.
Distorted images cut through his mind like bad reception. Static. Flickering. And then a voice—female, robotic, cracked with static:
"Subject E-Ω777 has deviated from parameters… repeat: rogue instance detected… initiate retrieval."
That wasn't a warning.
That was a verdict.
Rin's eyes changed.
She didn't move, but something inside her did. Like a shiver from the soul outward. Her shoulder twitched. Her hand lifted slightly. Then froze in mid-air.
She didn't know what to do.
And that was the scariest part.
It wasn't cold.
It was blank.
Like someone just erased her name from existence.
The pod shuddered violently.
Warning lights went full apocalypse red:
[Course deviation detected – Entering Core Zone: Paradox Sea]
[Navigation corrupted × Spatial coordinates destabilized]
Rin looked down at her hand. At the blade she'd just unleashed. The one that had torn through space itself like a file being deleted.
She stared at it like it didn't belong to her.
And she didn't say a word.
Because even she had no idea what that code meant.
Not anymore.
Her eyes were still stuck on that one word.
"E-Ω777."
Not frozen.
Just... cracked.
Like her entire system was quietly splitting apart, line by line, from deep inside her nerves.
One of her fingers twitched.
Not a fight twitch. It was like she was trying to push something away—something she didn't recognize—only to realize her hand was touching her own shoulder.
She flinched. A tiny jolt. And then—
That face reset.
Not human calm. System reboot calm. The kind of stillness that only kicks in after a hard crash and forced restart.
Hayate didn't even breathe.
He actually paused his own inhale.
But the pod? Yeah, the pod didn't give a crap about his coping process.
CRACK!
The sound tore through the floor.
Like a frozen thunderclap.
Ice shot across the ground first, then slithered up the walls like it was alive. Mist followed, oozing out in pulses. System lights blinked like a slot machine with a seizure. Error codes flashed so fast it looked like the monitors were in a fistfight.
Then it got worse.
A starshard drifted in.
No whoosh. No flutter. It just... floated. Like gravity and air resistance didn't apply. Like it knew exactly where it wanted to go.
Right past Hayate's nose.
Close enough to smell.
And yeah, it smelled nothing like magic or stardust.
More like... someone microwaved a dead battery and shoved it in a mini fridge for three days.
Hayate gagged.
"Dude… that thing's got more personality than my last leftovers."
The shard sailed over to Rin.
Then came the rest.
More shards. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
All spiraling toward her, slow and smooth, circling like they were part of some bizarre cosmic ritual.
Hayate stared.
"Wait... wait wait wait—are they worshipping her? Is she their space goddess? I'm out, man. I'm not dying as a cult offering."
The cockpit AI tried to pipe up again.
Didn't go great.
"War—warn—coorrrruu—"
Its voice stretched like someone pulling an audio rubber band. The sentence didn't even finish. It just melted.
Like someone tossed an oil painting into a blender.
Then came the thud.
Not from an impact.
From reality shifting.
The pod jolted sideways like someone shoved the whole damn thing off course.
Hayate had a joke ready.
Didn't matter.
Because gravity bailed.
He floated instantly. Legs off the ground. Oxygen tanks spinning past his head. Then—
WHACK.
Right to the back of his skull.
"Oww—what the hell, man! Is this place trying to eat me or feed me to something?! Who wrote this nightmare?! I want a refund!"
His brain defaulted to internal scream-mode. Three lines blinked across his mental dashboard:
"This is a misunderstanding.""Please reboot your experience.""Are you sure you wanna keep playing this character?"
Before he could choose, the pod went full blender.
Everything spun.
Ceiling turned into wall. Floor became ceiling. Gravity got drunk and quit.
Hayate tumbled, arms flailing, bouncing off a metal panel that might've been a wall or a weapon rack. He reached out—grabbed something—pulled—
It was a loose shelf. Not helpful.
"What is this?! A paradox zone or some twisted theme park?!"
Nothing answered.
Except the spinning.
He reached out—thing's supposed to be on the left.
But his hand grabbed something in the upper right.
What the—?
Everything was scrambled. His touch felt like someone slipped the wrong gloves on his brain. Space itself was one big misaligned puzzle.
BZZZZZT.
A hum cut through the pod. Hayate whipped his head toward the sound.
The audio arrived late.
Like someone unplugged his ears and plugged them back in two seconds too slow.
He was still trying to recalibrate his senses when Rin's hand started moving.
Slow. Janky.
Like animation lag on a budget.
Her shoulder twitched like she was shaking off something stuck to her skin. Something even she didn't recognize.
"Hey—uh—what's that? Not saying you're broken or anything! You look super functional! Real shiny!"
His voice cracked. His brain panicked. His throat betrayed him.
"I-I mean—this isn't an insult, okay? It's… praise? Compliment? ...Okay fine maybe it sounds like a last will."
She didn't answer.
Just breathed.
But that breath? It wasn't right.
It had the rhythm of a machine running diagnostics. Cold. Clockwork. Reformatted.
Hayate stared. Like he was watching a device power up for the first time. Not a person. A mechanism.
His thoughts scrambled into panic confetti.
"If she's about to unlock some monster mode, please—please—don't make the first slash go for my face. I haven't taken a decent ID photo in years."
Then the control screens lost their minds.
Warning flashes blinked faster than his thoughts. The display flickered like a possessed PowerPoint slideshow on fast-forward.
"Whoa! Slow the hell down! My eyes are still stuck on the last frame!"
Rin still didn't turn.
But her eyes sparked.
A flicker. Like some buried memory just short-circuited its way into the wrong mental folder.
Her lips moved. Barely.
"E-Ω... I don't know what that is... but... it moves."
She didn't say it to anyone.
She said it to whatever was waking up inside her.
That voice didn't sound human anymore.
It sounded like corrupted code learning to whisper.
Then—
Her body moved.
Not by walking.
More like being… hijacked.
Shoulders. Elbows. Knees. Joints clicking into motion like a mechanical marionette getting pulled by some invisible puppet master.
Hayate backed off.
"Wait wait wait—are you running some kind of built-in combat tutorial? This is not the place for upgrades! Or demos! Or fatal boss intros!"
Still no reply.
But beneath her skin—something shimmered.
A pale silver light pulsed beneath the surface, spreading like circuitry coming online. Her flesh trembled, layer by layer, like she was getting skinned and reinstalled at the same time.
"If she really is some E-code abomination... I'd rather she just be left-handed!"
Then—BOOM.
His right eye lit up like a dying star.
Not sparkly. Not cool.
Just full-screen retinal hijack.
Someone hit play on a horror memory slideshow he didn't subscribe to.
And it wasn't his memory.
He saw crying.
A steel door.
And a voice.
Calling his name.
It sounded like his mom.
But... not quite.
Like someone pretending to be her.
"Hey—guys—uh... little help? I think my right eye just auto-launched Netflix... and it won't let me skip episodes!"
Then the space around them changed.
Got sticky. Viscous.
Not gravity this time. The actual air was warping.
From inside his skull, THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
His heartbeat.
But echoing. Lagging. Off-beat.
"Feels like someone's behind me... acting out my life half a second late."
Below him, Vela shouted something.
He couldn't hear it. Her voice was all waterlogged, like yelling from the bottom of a swimming pool.
He curled up. Instinct. Head slammed the ceiling again.
"If this ain't a dream, then I swear—I need life insurance. Right now. Also, who's getting my stuff? Rin? She cool with that?"
Then it happened.
A voice—not from outside.
From inside his head.
"Do you remember what your mother's voice sounded like?"
He froze.
Couldn't answer.
Then came his reply.
Quiet.
Almost ashamed.
"…My right eye does."