***
[REPORT FILE: X-02]
DATE: [REDACTED]
SUBJECT: X-02 Combat Efficiency & Neural Compliance Assessment
OBJECTIVES:
1. Deploy X-02 to [Designated Zone: Solvess Forest] for real-time combat evaluation.
2. Observe autonomous engagement strategies and response efficiency.
3. Verify neural conditioning integrity post-recalibration.
4. Assess potential deviations in behavior or cognitive processing.
5. Ensure memory reset protocols remain uncompromised.
--Othan Research Bureau Report No. 7714
***
The air in Solvess Forest was dense with moisture, the towering bioluminescent trees stretching high into a mist-laden canopy. The ground was uneven, tangled with thick undergrowth, damp from the ever-present condensation. Overhead, the artificial sky flickered between day and night cycles at erratic intervals, a manufactured ecosystem designed to test adaptability in fluctuating conditions. Caleb stepped forward, his movements precise, calculated. He had learned to act exactly as they wanted him to—nothing more, nothing less.
The moment he was deployed, he assessed his surroundings. Multiple targets detected. Opposing forces, scattered along the perimeter, testing his reflexes, his tactical analysis, his obedience. He eliminated them in calculated efficiency, never a misstep, never a hesitation. They were watching. They were always watching.
But beneath the controlled responses, beneath the unwavering mask of compliance, he was holding onto something else. A memory. A face.
Mira.
The moment of their capture played in an endless loop in the recesses of his mind. The sight of her collapsing, the way her name barely left his lips before darkness swallowed him whole. It had been burned into him—one of the few things they had not taken away. He knew better than to dwell on it outwardly, knew better than to let it slip through his performance.
He fought, he obeyed, he executed his role perfectly. And when it was over, when the observers were satisfied with his performance, he was retrieved. Transported back to the facility, where the real battle began.
The walls of his confinement were sterile, metallic, unyielding. And yet, beyond the reinforced glass, she was there. Mira. Suspended in a containment pod parallel to his own, separated only by a transparent barrier. Unmoving, unconscious—just as she had been since their recapture.
He spoke to her.
Not because he expected a response, but because it was the only thing keeping him from vanishing into the silence they had forced upon him.
"They sent me out again today," he murmured, his breath fogging against the glass. "Different place. Same routine."
She didn't move. She never moved. But he continued anyway, his voice softer, more human than he was ever permitted to be beyond this isolation.
"I keep thinking about that day. About what you said, about running as far as we could." His fingers curled into a fist against the glass. "I won't let them take that away from me. Not this."
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The ever-present surveillance cameras blinked red, recording everything—except the thoughts they could never reach.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool surface. "Mira... wake up soon."
Because he was still here. Still waiting. Still remembering.