Silas set down his soldering iron and finally looked at the commander. Vaelen’s face was a map of scars and cybernetic implants, his eyes glowing a faint, menacing crimson. "Bleeding data is dangerous, Commander. You know what happens to Conduits who take on too much corruption. Their brains fry, or worse, they become part of the machine."
Silence filled the chamber, broken only by the steady beep of the backup drives signaling a successful transfer. The Conduit
Vaelen looked at him, his red cybernetic eyes devoid of sympathy. He dropped a small, metal cred-chip onto the floor next to Silas. "This will cover your medical expenses and your shop rent for a year. You did a good job, Silas. But look at your hands. The filaments are burned out. You aren't a Conduit anymore." Silas set down his soldering iron and finally
The heavy iron door of his workshop groaned open, admitting a blast of the metallic air and a tall figure wrapped in a dark, synth-leather duster. Silas didn’t look up. The rhythm of the visitor's boots on the metal grating told him everything he needed to know. It was Commander Vaelen of the Core Guard. You know what happens to Conduits who take
He felt his own memories slipping away to make room for the torrent. He saw his mother's face, a childhood memory of a green field—and then it was overwritten by the blueprints of a railgun. He cried out, blood beginning to trickle from his nose beneath the goggles.
The commander turned and walked away, his guards following him. The heavy doors of the archive sealed shut with a hollow boom.
"You’re the best we have," Vaelen countered, stepping closer. "And the Core will pay handsomely. Enough credits to get you out of this rust bucket of a sector and into the Upper Spires."