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This is a bit of a side story for those who read the Metempsychosis series, meant as insight into Alswaram’s past, the why and the how of his origins and personality. The format is a little different, as this is mostly a collection of interviews, clinical files and transcripts of audio logs which all ties up into a mini-story of his first meeting with Lancer. We begin with a very young Alswaram and his arrival on Sirius, in a rather dramatic way.

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**Archival File # [REDACTED] – SC56701

Personal Log — Dr. Evin Ri’tel**

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[DATE REDACTED] —

A juvenile Orionian refugee was transferred into my care today. I initially objected to the assignment; I am a physician and a xenobiological researcher, not a caretaker for displaced adolescents. However, preliminary examination revealed several abnormalities warranting immediate study. Some good might come from the self-contained Arcturian integration of Orion, I suppose.

The subject demonstrates exceptionally advanced motor coordination, reflex latency bordering on precognitive response, and unusually rapid adaptation to environmental stimuli. While Orionians are known for their superior physical physiognomy and conditioning, this individual exceeds all established physiological baselines currently available in the Federation’s medical literature.

Further observation is required.

[DATE REDACTED] —

The young Orionian, identified as Alswaram, continues to develop at a concerning pace. Behavioral analysis strongly suggests prolonged exposure to military indoctrination or combat conditioning protocols. The subject exhibits acute hypervigilance in the presence of uniformed personnel, heightened defensive aggression, and severe distrust responses consistent with complex psychological trauma.

The primary obstacle in deconditioning efforts remains his volatile temperament. Emotional escalation occurs rapidly and with minimal provocation. Once agitated, the subject becomes overtly violent with little observable self-regulation. Given his morphotype and abnormal physical capabilities, these episodes represent a legitimate containment and personnel safety risk.

Despite this, Alswaram has shown incremental reductions in hostility toward me specifically. He now tolerates prolonged examinations without restraint and occasionally initiates conversation voluntarily. I intend to use this opportunity to continue both psychological rehabilitation and xenophysiological study.

I recognize the ethical conflict in my own thinking. Still, I cannot deny a growing personal attachment to the boy. If circumstances had been different, he may well have become the son I never had.

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**Archival File # [REDACTED] — SC56701

Clinical Log — Dr. Evin Ri’tel**

Subject: Alswaram Osdaniil.

Age: 55 Sirian cycles (estimate).

Preliminary Diagnosis: Undetermined. Differential considerations include severe post-traumatic stress disorder, conditioned military indoctrination, dissociative pathology, and possible borderline-spectrum behavioral instability.

Progress remains minimal despite sustained observation over the past cycle. The subject continues to refuse all discussion regarding the events that occurred approximately one standard year prior to intake. Based on observed behavioral patterns, I am confident the subject retains at least partial recollection of the events on Orion; however, these memories appear heavily compartmentalized behind significant emotional suppression barriers.

Episodes of profound psychological withdrawal have become increasingly common. During these states, the subject becomes nearly catatonic: seated motionless with wings tightly folded against the body, respiration slowed, vocalization absent, and responsiveness to external stimuli markedly diminished. Attempts at physical or verbal intervention during these episodes routinely provoke immediate defensive aggression. The subject will lunge without warning at nearby personnel and demonstrates force output substantially beyond expected Sirian physiological tolerances.

This abnormal strength profile continues to concern me. Musculoskeletal resilience, pain tolerance, and recovery rate all exceed baseline projections for an Orionian juvenile of comparable age and mass. Unfortunately, very little is known about Orionian physiology and metabolism. Pharmacological intervention has thus far proven ineffective. Multiple sedatives, anxiolytics, neurochemical stabilizers, and behavioral suppressants have either failed entirely or produced only transient effects before rapid metabolic neutralization occurred. Current findings support prior xenobiological research indicating that Orionian physiology possesses exceptional resistance to chemical and biological agents, likely an adaptive trait associated with the hostile atmospheric conditions of the Orionian system.

Due to the subject’s unpredictability and resistance to treatment, isolation protocols remain active and continuous monitoring has been maintained.

Today, however, I may have observed the first meaningful breakthrough.

During a clinical review session, my colleague Rexis Maler — specialist in behavioral psychology and adaptive cognition — proposed abandoning conventional therapeutic methodology in favor of a more instinct-driven evaluative approach. In hindsight, the recommendation possesses merit; certain species, particularly those with heavily survival-oriented neurological development such as the Andromedans, often respond more reliably to primal associative stimuli than to structured psychiatric intervention.

Acting on this theory, I initiated a controlled reactive stimulus test utilizing a sequence of visual prompts designed to provoke latent emotional or conditioned responses.

The subject remained entirely unresponsive to most imagery presented, including depictions of military personnel, combat zones, and restraint environments. No measurable increase in heart rate, respiration, pupil dilation, or aggression was observed.

However, upon presentation of a standard-issue Sirian infantry weapon, the subject reacted immediately.

The response was subtle but unmistakable: mandibular tension, pupil contraction, muscular bracing, and a low-frequency growl indicative of autonomic threat recognition. Though minor, the reaction represented the strongest involuntary response recorded to date.

This observation has led me to advance a new working hypothesis: the subject may possess conditioned aggression specifically associated with armed individuals or weapon recognition patterns.

What remains unclear is the origin of this conditioning. The response could represent conventional post-traumatic association, deliberately engineered indoctrination, or a combination of both mechanisms acting simultaneously.

Further testing will be required.

Archival file # [REDACTED] – SC56701

Interview between Alswaram Osdaniil & Dr. Evin Rit'el

E: Good morning, Alswaram.

A: ...

E: Sooner or later, you'll have to open up, you know. I'm trying my best here but you have to cooperate. You haven't eaten or spoken much since you got here.

A: Your food is bland and disgusting and you keep repeating the same shit.

E: Language, please! Whenever you speak, either you have a dirty tongue or you provide no useful sight. You have spunk for a youngling, I’ll give you that, but believe me, you do not want anyone else doing this, especially not from the military. Now, let's try this again. Let's begin with something easy: your name.

A: Alswaram.

E: Your full name.

A: Alswaram Osdaniil.

E: And why are you here, Alswaram?

A: You're asking me that question? You're the ones that brought me here!

E: I'm well aware of that but I want to know if you have any idea why.

A: Not really.

E: I think you do. Who were your parents?

A: I have no parents.

E: Everybody has parents, Alswaram.

A: …

E: Was it your father who taught you to shoot?

A: No. He never wanted to.

E: I see. So you have a father?

A: Screw you.

E: Alright, alright, I get it. So you're self-taught?

A: They said I'm a “natural”.

E: Considering you shot two skilled officers before being taken here, I'd say you are.

A: What are you going to do with me?

E: That depends entirely on you.

A: Typical answer. I’m not helping you.

E: I'm not here to take you away, you know. There are some people in the military who are quite interested in you. Do you know why?

A: Because I’m strong and I can shoot?

E: That's one aspect. We found you in a state of shock. You were wielding a rifle which is normally military-issued and you seemed to know exactly how to use it. At your age, that's not exactly common. Did you see your father use it?

A: Yeah.

E: You do realize that even if you see someone use a weapon like that, you don't suddenly learn to use it? Let me ask you again: who taught you?

A: My father...

E: Now we're going somewhere. Alswaram, do you know what happened to your parents?

A: No...

E: Stop lying, now. I need you to be honest. I want to get you out of this place but you have to work with me.

A: My father was a soldier. My mother was some kind of doctor. I never knew what she really did.

E: I see.

A: They're dead, aren't they…?

E: I'm afraid so. I’m sorry.

A: … (sigh)

E: You seem awfully calm for someone who just lost his parents.

A: Father always said it could happen since the war began.

E: What a waste, this nonsensical civil war. I had heard the Orionian government was beyond corrupt and that the citizens were on the verge of revolt but the dignitaries safe in their hold while the citizens and the military clash. In the end, these dignitaries still likely died, either repurposed or executed by Arcturians. It's truly horrifying. Doesn't it bother you?

A: Not my problem.

E: Why would you say such a thing? This is your home we're talking about.

A: Not really. Father said I don't belong anywhere or to anyone.

E: That's terrible. It sounds to me like you need guidance.

A: I don’t. I killed people. It's what I do.

E: How can you say such a thing? You were provoked. You defended yourself. Even though you shot down two of his officers, the soldier who found you acknowledged that they provoked you and you simply defended yourself. You have nothing to blame yourself for. What did you mean by "it's what you do"?

A: Just that. I was raised to carry a rifle.

E: No, I refuse to believe that. Juvenile soldiers have been against the law for hundreds of cycles...

A: Sorry to smear some shit on your plate but newsflash: that's why they kept me locked up, doc.

E: Language, already! If what you say is true... Lieutenant, come inside, please.

Lt. J: You called, Doctor?

E: Stay here a moment, would you? Alswaram?

A: ... growl ...

E: Alswaram? This is Lieutenant Jalausi. He and his unit were the ones who found you.

A: ...hissss... (growl)

E: Alswaram, stop this charade.

Lt. J: Doctor, I don't think he's...

A: Rooooaaarrr!!!

Lt. J: Doctor! Get away!

E: N-No...! Alswaram, stop it!

A: [unintelligible shouting]

E: Is that Orionian? What does it mean, Alswaram?

A: …hissss… (spitting sound)

E: Damn, that's hot! Wait, my clothes?! My clothes are breaking down!

Lt. J: Fuck, he's spitting some kind of acid! Doctor, get the hell out!

A: ... snarls ... (whooshing sound)

Lt J. : What the fuck? What is that acid fire?! He's completely out of control!

E: Lieutenant, get out! I'll seal the door behind me.

Lt. J: You won’t tell me twice! (door sliding and sealing)

E: There. He's locked in. Let's hope the door holds and he gets exhausted.

A: (bangs and slams himself against the door)

Lt. J: He just keeps slamming himself into the door. How can a whelp do this, Doctor?

E: I don't know, Lieutenant. I thought he was just an unusual stray but it looks like we may have gotten ourselves a bioweapon. Once he settles down, I will resume my investigations.

Archival File # [REDACTED] – SC56701

Personal Log — Dr. Evin Ri’tel

[DATE REDACTED] —

Alswaram continues to develop at a remarkable pace, both physically and psychologically. The evidence supporting prior indoctrination grows more difficult to dismiss with each passing cycle. His reactions to military presence remain immediate and severe — elevated respiration, defensive posturing, pupil constriction, and, in extreme cases, outright aggression. Whatever conditioning he endured appears deeply rooted, likely reinforced over a prolonged period of time.

I continue to ask myself the same question: who would do this to a child?

The greatest challenge in treating him remains emotional regulation. Alswaram possesses an exceptionally volatile temperament; frustration escalates rapidly into hostility, and once triggered, he demonstrates little capacity for restraint. Given his morphotype and abnormal physical capabilities, these episodes present a legitimate safety concern for both medical personnel and nearby patients.

And yet, despite this, progress has been made.

The subject has gradually become less wary of my presence. Conversation now occurs voluntarily and with increasing frequency, provided environmental stressors remain controlled. Most notably, he maintains relative calm in the absence of military personnel or visible weaponry. Under those conditions, glimpses of normal adolescent behavior begin to emerge beneath the defensive conditioning.

These interactions have proven invaluable, not only for continued psychological assessment but also for my broader study of Orionian cognition and behavior. Their species possesses a fascinating duality — instinctive aggression existing alongside profound emotional sensitivity. In Alswaram, both extremes appear amplified.

I am aware that my objectivity may be deteriorating.

Professional distance becomes increasingly difficult to maintain the longer he remains under my care. There are moments now where he no longer feels like a patient or research subject, but simply a frightened young dragon attempting to survive circumstances no juvenile should have endured.

I should not allow myself to think this way.

Still, I cannot ignore the feeling that, under different circumstances, Alswaram might have become the son I never had.

Archival File # [REDACTED] — SC56701

Clinical Log — Dr. Evin Ri’tel

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Subject: Alswaram Osdaniil

Current diagnostic profile: Conditioned military catechization; suspected engineered genetic modification; hyperactive immune and endocrine activity; severe affective dysregulation with violent rage episodes triggered by visual and auditory combat-associated stimuli.

[DATE REDACTED] —

With the continued assistance of my colleague Dr. Rexis Maler, I believe we can now conclusively state that Alswaram underwent deliberate behavioral indoctrination centered around weaponized aggression. More specifically, the conditioning appears directed toward armed individuals and military-associated visual profiles.

The intended purpose of this conditioning remains unclear, though the subject himself appears at least partially aware of its existence. Whenever discussion approaches the origins of his conditioning or the individuals responsible, the subject immediately withdraws emotionally and cognitively. Verbal communication ceases almost entirely and defensive behavior increases substantially. This reaction strongly suggests the presence of deeply ingrained psychological compartmentalization, possibly reinforced through conditioned trauma responses or direct cognitive programming.

Despite these setbacks, rapport between myself and the subject continues to improve incrementally. I believe trust formation may eventually allow access to repressed memory structures and provide insight into both the indoctrination process and its architects.

Pharmacological intervention remains ineffective. The subject continues to exhibit extreme resistance to sedatives, barbiturates, and most serotonin reuptake inhibitors. Metabolic neutralization rates remain abnormally high and side effects are negligible, implying significant neurochemical adaptation or engineered endocrine resistance.

The depth of the indoctrination process now appears far more extensive than initially anticipated.

The closest medical analogy I can formulate is that of cellular disorganization. In pathological tissue degeneration, cells abandon normal regulatory behavior and reorganize into destructive patterns. Indoctrination appears to function similarly, except that the disruption occurs at the neurotransmitter and behavioral-conditioning level. Neural pathways are systematically redirected away from natural emotional development and forced into rigid preconditioned responses.

The distinction, of course, is intent.

Cellular degeneration is chaotic and uncontrolled. Indoctrination is deliberate. External influence — chemical, hormonal, subliminal, or psychological — forcibly reshapes normal neurological function into an engineered behavioral framework.

At present, I remain uncertain whether Alswaram’s conditioning originated through biochemical intervention or purely psychological programming. All screenings for residual compounds, endocrine markers, or neurochemical contaminants continue to return negative results. This increasingly supports the hypothesis of intensive cognitive conditioning rather than pharmacological dependency.

Given the failure of conventional treatment protocols, I have elected to pursue a more unconventional methodology.

Rexis objected strongly to the proposal on ethical grounds. Under normal circumstances, I may have agreed with him. However, pressure from the upper ranks continues to escalate and without measurable progress, my position — and likely the subject’s future — becomes increasingly precarious.

Through an anonymous intermediary, I acquired a standard-issue infantry rifle. My intention is to introduce the weapon into a tightly controlled clinical environment and observe the subject’s reaction upon direct possession.

The escort team will remain unarmed to avoid triggering aggression responses. Additional physical containment personnel will remain on standby should the situation deteriorate.

I am aware of the risks associated with this decision.

I am equally aware that conventional approaches are failing.

[DATE REDACTED] —

Initial controlled exposure testing was conducted today.

Rexis was visibly stunned by the results.

The experiment appears to confirm my growing suspicion that treatment of Alswaram requires abandoning conventional psychiatric methodology entirely. Standard approaches assume the existence of a stable emotional baseline beneath the trauma. In Alswaram’s case, the conditioning itself appears to function as the baseline.

To reach the individual beneath it, I was forced to approach the conditioning indirectly.

The firearm provided to the subject was unloaded and rendered mechanically inoperable prior to testing. Even so, the effect was immediate and profound. Upon taking possession of the weapon, the subject’s elevated stress indicators decreased within seconds. Muscular tension relaxed, respiration stabilized, and aggressive posture diminished almost entirely.

Most unexpectedly, he held the rifle close against his torso in a protective manner comparable to a comfort object.

Moments later, I heard the subject emit a low-frequency vibratory vocalization consistent with contentment behavior. The closest approximation would be a soft chuff, though distinctly deeper in resonance.

It was the first unmistakable sign of emotional comfort I have observed since intake.

The subject remained unwilling to discuss deeply traumatic material, but for the first time he answered basic probing questions calmly and without defensive escalation. He confirmed recollection of the incident occurring on the day of recovery, though details regarding his parents remain vague and fragmented.

I am beginning to suspect this absence of knowledge was intentional. It is possible the subject himself was deliberately kept uninformed regarding his origins and handlers in order to preserve operational control.

However, one fact appears certain: Alswaram knows what he was created for. He is an unfortunate byproduct of war, born and conditioned to wield weapons against a defined enemy without question.

Further testing scheduled.

[DATE REDACTED] —

Several cycles of continued interaction have produced measurable improvements in trust formation and behavioral stabilization.

The subject now displays reduced defensive posturing in my presence and actively seeks conversation during examination periods. While hypervigilance remains present, the intensity of his distrust has diminished considerably.

Today, I obtained the first coherent account regarding his origins.

Alswaram is aware and directly confirmed that he is vial-born — artificially cultivated through controlled genetic engineering rather than natural reproduction. Based on fragmented descriptions provided during interview, it is highly likely he was patterned after one or both of his designated progenitors.

His upbringing appears to have occurred almost entirely within a militarized environment. Weapons handling, combat awareness, and defensive conditioning began during extremely early developmental stages. Disturbingly, the subject reports virtually no peer socialization throughout childhood. No interaction with other juveniles. No recreational bonding. No meaningful emotional attachments whatsoever.

The extent of the resulting developmental deprivation is staggering.

Frankly, it is remarkable we are not observing more severe dissociative fragmentation, bipolar instability, or complete affective collapse.

An additional observation of note: the subject demonstrates strong positive responses toward recreational objects typically associated with childhood development. I introduced several toys and model kits into his quarters as enrichment stimuli. His preferred items were miniature MAUs and starship replicas.

Encouragingly, the subject engages with these objects in a manner consistent with normal adolescent curiosity rather than tactical fixation alone.

It may represent the first genuinely age-appropriate behavior observed to date.

[DATE REDACTED] —

Today I provided Alswaram with several introductory technical manuals and educational texts relating to starships and MAU systems.

The response was immediate and enthusiastic.

He has become significantly more communicative over recent cycles and now displays clear anticipation prior to scheduled visits. Emotional responsiveness has improved substantially, though discussion of traumatic material remains inconsistent.

Curiously, his primary complaint continues to concern nutrition. Despite prolonged exposure to standard station dietary provisions, he reports persistent dissatisfaction with taste and texture. It is possible Orionian sensory physiology differs more substantially from Sirian norms than current literature suggests.

Regardless, progress continues.

For the moment, at least, the Council has ceased demanding immediate results.

[DATE REDACTED] —

I continue to provide Alswaram with increasingly advanced technical literature.

His rate of information retention is extraordinary!

He absorbs and recalls vast quantities of material after minimal exposure, displaying mnemonic capabilities well beyond normative expectations. However, this aptitude appears highly selective. Retention efficiency increases dramatically when the material pertains to weapons systems, MAUs, tactical mechanics, or spacecraft engineering.

Attempts to redirect focus toward standard mathematics, theoretical sciences, or artistic disciplines continue to fail almost entirely.

The conditioning remains evident even within intellectual development.

More concerning is the sophistication of the knowledge he now demonstrates. Alswaram frequently discusses weapons platforms and mechanized systems with terminology and comprehension levels comparable to trained military technicians. Admittedly, his knowledge of these subjects now far eclipses my own.

And yet, despite the implications of this conditioning, he appears genuinely fascinated by the subject matter. It is difficult to determine where indoctrination ends and authentic personal interest begins.

Still, communication has become easier. He laughs occasionally now. He asks questions. He no longer watches every doorway as though expecting armed personnel to breach it at any moment.

We are not undoing the indoctrination but for the first time, I believe we may finally be reaching the individual buried beneath it.

At this stage, further progress through purely clinical observation may be limited.

A supervised field-study environment may need to be considered.

TBC.

Archival File # [REDACTED] — SC56702

Field Study Log — Dr. Rexis Maler

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Subject: Alswaram Osdaniil

I will admit that my initial response to Ri’tel’s methodology was overwhelmingly negative. Our disagreements on the matter became heated on more than one occasion. However, after reviewing her findings and observing the subject directly over several cycles, I have reluctantly begun to accept that conventional psychiatric and xenomedical approaches are insufficient in Alswaram’s case.

Ri’tel insisted that I personally oversee the first supervised field study due to my specialization in adaptive cognition and behavioral analysis. In hindsight, she was correct.

We cannot approach Alswaram as we would a Sirian patient — or, frankly, as we would most sentient species. Orionian physiology only superficially resembles several Sirian reptilian genii. Beyond external morphology, however, the biochemical and genetic divergences are profound. Their endocrine activity, sensory responses, and likely even emotional stimuli appear fundamentally different from our own.

One notable example concerns hydration behavior. Most Sirians possess strong instinctive affinity toward water and aquatic environments. Alswaram displays almost complete indifference toward both. In fact, I have observed that he consumes remarkably little fluid overall. Considering the highly acidic nature of Orionian defensive secretions, maintaining concentrated bodily chemistry may be physiologically advantageous. Curiously, unlike many venom-bearing species, Orionians appear to lack specialized storage organs for these compounds. Even the so-called “fire pockets” seem capable of self-regulating excess chemical buildup autonomously, possibly through passive metabolic elimination.

Further anatomical study remains warranted.

Despite the subject’s increased emotional stability — and his now habitual tendency to clutch the unloaded rifle issued for therapeutic exposure like a hatchling holding a favored comfort object — I insisted upon a heavily armed escort detail for the excursion. Ri’tel is taking considerable professional risks with this entire operation. Frankly, I remain astonished that senior administration authorized it at all.

Something about this case continues to feel deeply wrong.

Regardless, the outing began without incident.

Alswaram appeared overtly excited from the moment transport preparations began. The contrast between his emotional immaturity and his highly specialized military knowledge remains striking. He possesses advanced understanding of weapons systems, MAUs, and spacecraft engineering, yet socially he behaves much younger than his chronological age. The discrepancy is almost certainly developmental. He was trained extensively but never socialized. No peer bonding. No friendships. No romantic or familial attachment structures whatsoever.

Emotionally, he remains stuck in what would best be described as an early socialization phase.

I hoped the field study might reveal whether anything existed beneath the conditioning.

The subject remained quiet during departure from the complex. However, once we reached the surface and exited into open transit lanes, his demeanor changed immediately. The sight of the turquoise atmosphere and crystalline coastal waters appeared to overwhelm him with sensory fascination. He pressed himself against the transport window, wide-eyed, reacting with the kind of uninhibited wonder one would expect from a hatchling visiting the shoreline for the first time.

I will admit it was difficult reconciling that image with the violent episodes described in Ri’tel’s earlier reports. She still bears permanent scarring from one such outburst, yet she refuses to blame him for it.

She is far kinder than this universe deserves.

The first notable behavioral event occurred upon entering the military district.

An S-class mobile assault unit crossed an adjacent transit corridor. The moment Alswaram noticed it, he emitted a high-pitched excited vocalization and nearly fractured his snout against the transport glass attempting to follow it visually. Though I could not fully interpret the Orionian phrase he shouted, contextual analysis strongly suggests it translated approximately to “cooool!”

His pupils dilated dramatically and he tracked the unit until it disappeared from view.

When questioned regarding the reaction, he replied only:

“Did you see her? She was so beautiful!”

Amused and confused in equal measure, I asked how he determined the unit was female. His response was immediate.

“That’s easy, Rexis! She’s all sexy, less bulky than males and her cannon is angled in a way that makes her look more girly.”

I required several moments to process that statement.

Following this exchange, I requested authorization from our escort team to proceed toward the MAU hangars for extended observation. Approval was granted with suspicious speed, which only reinforced my growing suspicion that parties beyond our department possess vested interest in this study.

Upon arrival at the hangars, I barely had time to disengage the transport locks before Alswaram launched himself outside with another excited squeal. I intercepted him moments before he disappeared deeper into the facility and attempted to conduct a brief emotional assessment.

When asked how he felt, he replied simply:

“Good.”

Further prompting yielded:

“Happy.”

When asked why, his answer surprised me.

“It’s warm here. It’s relaxing and it smells nice. This place feels like home.”

The response was unexpected, though in retrospect it aligns with Orionian sensory preference profiles we still poorly understand.

Before I could continue the interview, the subject abruptly broke free and sprinted toward a recently docked pilot descending from his unit. Professional instinct nearly compelled immediate intervention, yet scientific curiosity stayed my hand.

What followed was surreal.

Alswaram began discussing the unit’s internal systems, armament configuration, and structural modifications in terminology so precise that even the assigned pilot appeared disoriented. The subject seemed capable of analyzing the MAU purely through visual observation alone.

The pilot — later identified as Captain Jedask — eventually offered to show Alswaram the cockpit interior.

I should have refused. Instead, I allowed it, out of sheer scientific curiosity.

The subject’s excitement at the invitation was unlike anything I had observed previously. He became almost incandescent with emotion. Against my better judgment, I permitted the interaction to continue under close supervision.

I spent the next several minutes questioning whether I had made a catastrophic mistake.

The activation of the weapons systems caused obvious concern among security personnel, and the reactor ignition sequence was deeply unsettling under the circumstances. Yet when the pair eventually exited the cockpit, Alswaram’s demeanor had changed entirely.

He appeared... calm. Not subdued. Not sedated. Comfortable.

Captain Jedask later described the interaction as the subject “talking” to the unit itself. Initially I assumed this was metaphorical language, but subsequent details proved considerably more disturbing.

According to Jedask, Alswaram somehow identified and discussed internal systems configurations the pilot himself had not verbally referenced. More concerning still, the subject successfully interfaced with the unit through direct spinal neural linkage despite possessing no authorization, calibration period, or synchronization conditioning.

Jedask reported that it had taken him months to establish stable neural compatibility with the same unit.

Alswaram achieved partial synchronization within minutes.

At one point during the interface, the subject reportedly began muttering to the MAU using affectionate language patterns “more appropriate for an intimate partner than military hardware,” in Jedask’s words.

Most disturbingly of all: reactor ignition occurred only after the neural interface connected to Alswaram’s spinal canal.

The subject appeared to activate the unit himself! How could this be? This could be a clue into the eruption of the Orionian system war. Otherwise, the subject himself is the most disturbing element in this puzzle.

Following the encounter, Alswaram repeatedly referred to the MAU as “Blade.” Verification of maintenance records later confirmed that designation matched the unit’s registered operational nickname.

When questioned regarding how he obtained this information, the subject refused further elaboration and ignored all subsequent inquiries.

We continued deeper through the hangars without additional aggression incidents. Notably, the subject remained calm throughout the entire facility despite extensive exposure to military hardware and personnel.

Another peculiar interaction occurred near an older industrial maintenance-class MAU conducting conduit repairs. Alswaram abruptly stopped walking and began visibly wagging his tail while inhaling deeply through the nostrils. The surrounding air was saturated with exhaust particulates and industrial lubricant vapor to the point my own eyes watered from irritation.

Alswaram, meanwhile, appeared delighted. He approached the machine while purring louder than I had ever previously recorded. Concerned about possible toxic exposure, I instructed him to step back and informed him the atmosphere was likely hazardous and contaminated with harmful chemicals.

His response was immediate:

“It’s your food that’s full of harmful chemicals!”

In hindsight, the remark was not entirely inaccurate. Nutritional rationing has worsened significantly in recent cycles, and I have heard persistent rumors regarding appetite suppressants and filler compounds being introduced into civilian food supplies. That he could tell is further proof that his senses are far sharper and much different from our own.

The subject showed no physiological distress whatsoever from prolonged exposure to the exhaust emissions. More interestingly, he seemed to have a positive reaction to it.

What followed next was recorded directly from audio transcript.

Audio Log Excerpt — Hangar 12-B

A: Hi! My name is Alswaram. What are you doing?

U: Hello. I am Unit 23034-5146, model number LX-34.

A: That’s not your name! That’s a serial number and your model number!

U: That is the name I was given.

A: Awwrrrr... so big guy, what do you do here?

U: I am working on the fluid conduits. They have to be regularly maintained for accumulated corrosion and contamination.

A: Oh! Cool. By the way, you have such a nice, full rumble. Piston engines are the best.

U: Thank you, young one. That is very kind of you. Most prefer the more technological units. They are quieter and do not emit harmful chemicals.

A: I like them too. But I like you too! You’re not loud and smelly, you’re rumbly and you smell sweet and earthy! So you don’t have a pilot...?

U: No, I am fully automated.

A: Oh... does that mean I can’t pilot anyone like you?

U: I can be manually piloted if need be.

A: Great! Someday I’ll do that!

U: I see.

A: I’ll come and see you! And I can pilot you and take you somewhere nicer.

U: I will be looking forward to that, young one.

A: OK! See you soon!

Immediately afterward, Alswaram returned to my side as though nothing unusual had occurred.

Unfortunately, the remainder of the excursion deteriorated rapidly once we entered the primary residential sectors.

The subject abruptly froze, clutched the rifle tightly against his torso, and emitted a low aggressive growl upon noticing several infantry personnel nearby. The reaction was immediate and severe — markedly different from his behavior toward pilots and mechanics within the hangars. For a fraction of a second, he appeared on the verge of attacking one of the soldiers before security personnel intervened and physically restrained him.

The field study was terminated immediately afterward. I have spent considerable time reviewing the recordings since returning to the facility.

One conclusion is unavoidable:

Alswaram has unquestionably been conditioned toward aggression against soldiers and visibly armed individuals.

However, that alone does not explain his interactions with synthetic systems and mechanized units. His responses toward the MAUs were not merely fascination. They bordered on instinctive recognition — perhaps even emotional affinity. As soon as we exited the constraints of the hangars and the sight of armed personnel was present without the presence of MAUs or mechanics, his aggressivity levels peaked.

Whether this behavior represents a secondary consequence of indoctrination or evidence of something far more extensive remains unknown.

Further clinical study required.

Archival file # [REDACTED] – SC56706

Personal log - Dr. Evin Ri'tel

[DATE REDACTED] —

Today marks an important milestone. By our estimates, Alswaram is soon entering his 60th cycle — the point at which Orionians are believed to reach full physical maturity. Emotionally, however, matters are far less straightforward.

The progress made over the past four cycles has been extraordinary. Difficult, exhausting, and at times deeply discouraging, but extraordinary nonetheless. With Rexis’ assistance — and, admittedly, the expertise of some of the finest clinicians and xenobiologists in the sector — we have managed to dismantle much of the conditioning imposed upon him. Not all of it. I am no longer certain it can ever be fully removed. But enough that I can finally see the individual beneath it.

Along the way, we learned far more than I ever anticipated. About Alswaram. About Orionians. About the Orion system itself. What remains of their civilization is tragic.

Like so many sentient species before them, they succumbed to the same predictable evolutionary failure: dominance behavior amplified beyond sustainability. Competition became conflict, conflict became militarization, and militarization eventually consumed them entirely. No catastrophe from beyond. No invading force. They destroyed themselves through their own ambitions. How sad.

Sentience truly is a curse sometimes. Intelligence gives rise to innovation, but also to ego, fear, hierarchy, and the endless instinct to control. From what little I hear beyond the laboratory walls, Terrans – even so primitive a species as they are, now seem intent on repeating the same mistake.

There is very little left of Orion. And somehow, what remains ended up here with me. Alswaram has become the center of my life to an extent I am increasingly uncomfortable admitting. Somewhere during these past cycles, he stopped feeling like a subject under observation. He feels... personal. Familiar. Like family.

Like the son I never had.

The higher authorities, naturally, see things differently. They view him as an asset — a future military icon waiting to happen. And truthfully, they are probably correct. His capabilities are extraordinary. His instincts, reflexes, and adaptive cognition surpass anything I have encountered in my career. Given enough time, I have little doubt he could command entire battalions.

And that terrifies me.

His temper remains volatile despite all our progress. Whether that aggression is residual conditioning or simply part of who he truly is, I still cannot determine. Most days he fluctuates between simmering irritation and complete emotional withdrawal. The only times he appears genuinely peaceful are when assembling his model ships or burying himself in technical manuals about propulsion systems and mechanical engineering. Those are the moments when he simply feels young.

I find myself increasingly afraid of what comes next. In two cycles, he will be eligible for formal military enrollment. Worse still, I suspect he wants it. That is precisely what they have been preparing him for since the day he was born — perhaps even before that. And what then? I cannot stop him. Legally, ethically, practically — I have no authority to interfere. But when he leaves... what’s left for me?

These past cycles have been the most meaningful period of my life. The laboratory no longer feels like work when he is there. I had forgotten what genuine curiosity felt like. What purpose felt like. And now I am expected to simply let that disappear.

Today brought another unwelcome development. Captain Jedask of the SFF arrived personally and offered to mentor Alswaram. Unsurprisingly, Alswaram accepted immediately. I do not believe I have ever seen him so openly excited. Considering Jedask currently serves as second-in-command of the Sirian military, there was little I could realistically say without risking my position outright — though part of me was sorely tempted to tell him exactly where he could shove his offer.

The man is intimidating in every conceivable way. Pitch-black iridescent scales and copper eyes sharp enough to feel surgical… the unmistakable posture of someone accustomed to absolute authority. Every movement calculated. Every word carrying subtle aggression beneath forced civility. An apex predator wrapped in a military uniform.

Oddly enough, I find Alswaram to be nothing like him. Feisty, yes. Temperamental beyond reason, certainly. But he lacks that need for dominance, that cold authoritarian instinct. Somehow, knowing that comforts me. At least he is still capable of becoming something other than what they intended.

[DATE REDACTED] —

[FILE CORRUPTED]

[DATE REDACTED] —

Today, Alswaram finally voiced what Rexis and I had both feared for some time.

He intends to enroll in the military pilot program. Specifically, he wishes to become a Mobile Armor Unit pilot. Part of me should feel proud. Rationally, I do. His aptitude for mechanized systems borders on frightening. He was practically engineered for this role. But emotionally? Every instinct I possess is screaming that this is a mistake.

I cannot help wondering whether Jedask influenced him somehow. Pressured him. Manipulated him. Though if I am being honest with myself, Alswaram has always gravitated toward machines and military systems long before Jedask entered the picture.

The truth is simpler, and perhaps worse: This is what he wants.

Rexis and I attempted to reason with him, gently at first and then more directly, but it made no difference. Once Alswaram commits himself to a decision, changing his mind becomes nearly impossible. Science is not going to solve this problem. Politics and influence might. And I hate that I am even considering such a thing…

[DATE REDACTED] —

The expression on Jedask’s face when Alswaram informed him he had no interest whatsoever in joining domestic forces was almost worth the anxiety this entire situation has caused me.

Almost.

I should not have enjoyed it as much as I did but watching that towering monument to military composure completely unravel because a stubborn young dragon refused to follow his expectations was deeply satisfying. Jedask clearly believed this entire process had been proceeding exactly according to his plans. Then Alswaram, in typical fashion, bluntly informed him otherwise. The Captain left visibly furious.

I do not think he is accustomed to hearing the word “no.”

Rexis attempted to remain analytical afterward, but I know him too well. His composure is cracking too. He hides it better than I do, but the anxiety is there. We both know what will happen if the military decides Alswaram is too valuable to leave unsupervised. And I will do whatever it takes to keep that from happening.

[DATE REDACTED] —

FILE CORRUPTED

[DATE REDACTED] —

Alswaram departed for formal pilot aptitude assessment. The silence afterward was unbearable.

I had grown so accustomed to his presence — the constant movement, the noise, the endless technical questions, the smell of machine oil somehow lingering on him no matter how often he cleaned himself — that my quarters now feel hollow without him.

I know he will succeed. That is what frightens me most. He will impress them. They will see exactly what I saw years ago: impossible reflexes, instinctive synchronization capability, adaptive cognition beyond any Sirian baseline. And once they do, they will never let him go. At least I will get to see him again soon.

The laboratory has felt wrong ever since he left. Too quiet. Too sterile. Even the staff speak in hushed voices, as though everyone senses something approaching but no one wishes to say it aloud.

I needed a drink tonight. Perhaps several.

[DATE REDACTED] —

Met Rexis at the bar again last night. Apparently, I’m not the only one coping poorly. Over the past few cycles I have found myself spending more evenings there than I care to admit. Rexis pretends it is coincidence, but I know better. He looked exhausted. Older somehow. I attempted to bring up Alswaram. He immediately deflected and changed the subject before eventually leaving altogether.

Classic Rexis behavior. Retreat behind professionalism and pretend emotions are an inconvenient biological side effect. It would almost be funny if I did not recognize the exact same behavior in myself.

[DATE REDACTED] —

Today, a Lieutenant from the Forces arrived to inform Rexis and me that Alswaram was being “taken for further assessment.”

Assessment.

An interesting choice of wording. ABDUCTION would be more accurate! I would wager my entire career that Jedask is behind this. Naturally, I objected immediately. I was shut down just as quickly — not overtly threatened, but close enough that the implication hardly required clarification. I attempted to appeal through congressional channels afterward, but the response was identical: silence, avoidance, procedural dismissal.

They are involved in this. All of them. From the beginning they intended to take him away from me. I was just an intermediary, a means to an end. According to the Lieutenant, Alswaram demonstrated “abnormal kinship with mechanized systems and unusual behavioral synchronization events” during aptitude testing. In other words: the same behavior we observed years ago with the model ships and MAUs.

The same impossible intuition. He understands machines instinctively. Not academically. Not mechanically. Instinctively.

Rexis once tried convincing me it was simply a coping mechanism — that Alswaram projected emotional attachment onto vehicles because he lacked meaningful social bonds growing up. I wanted to believe that explanation.

But I never truly did.

And now I am beginning to suspect Rexis did not believe it either. The Lieutenant specifically mentioned reports of Alswaram “speaking” to ships during synchronization trials. At that moment, I noticed something peculiar: Rexis did not look surprised. Concerned, yes, but not surprised. That damned field study report of his suddenly makes much more sense.

It was incomplete. Sloppy. Deliberately vague in places where Rexis is normally meticulous. I noticed it at the time but dismissed it as exhaustion.

Now I am not so sure. He knew something. Perhaps he still does. And I cannot tell whether he hid it to protect Alswaram... or because someone ordered him to.

I am starting to question everyone around me. Perhaps I am becoming paranoid.

Or perhaps I am finally paying attention.

Archival file # [CLASSIFIED]

Interview between Alswaram and Major Arashmat Jalausi

AJ : Alright, Alswaram. Let's skip ahead of the small talk, if you will. I know you and I know what you can do. What do you remember from your early days?

A : Not much. I remember my parents. My father was a soldier. My mother was a physician. The rest you know.

AJ : I'd like to hear it from you. What happened on Orion, you think?

A : …Fine. One day it was quiet, the next people filled the capital's streets and then the soldiers came and it was chaos. A coup or something. And then my parents were shot dead in my face. That was awesome. Real highlight of my early years. Then Sirians found me. I remember you. You were on that extraction team. Then everything went blank.

AJ : There's no need to be snarky with me, you know. I’m not here to give you trouble, I want to assess your skills and put them to use. I’m not a doctor or a drill sergeant. I hear you want to be a MAU pilot.

A : Yeah.

AJ : You like MAUs?

A : Yeah. Unlike organics, they don't judge.

AJ : Fair enough. But you do realize they are AI, yes?

A : Adaptive AI.

AJ : You make a good point.

A : They're loyal too.

AJ : Still AI, though.

A : True but their thought matrix is made so they adapt and develop sentient concepts like loyalty and emotional concepts like happiness or anger. They’re not much different from you and me. They just feel better to me.

AJ : “Feel better”?

A : Yeah. I feel safe with them. Their engines, their size and the sounds they make. It’s comforting to me. It’s “familiar”.

AJ : Familiar how?

A : This again… I don’t know, ok? I can’t explain it. It’s just something I feel. I “understand them”. The doc seems to think I’m some kind of genius but I’m not. Present me with a ship and I can tell you everything about it without a manual. It’s something I do. I “sense” and “smell” things. I don’t know why, it just is.

AJ : Interesting. Rexis told me you talk to them.

A : Well yeah, MAUs have speech modules.

AJ : Not MAUs. Inanimate ships.

A : And?

AJ : Do you expect them to answer?

A : I’m not crazy or mentally unstable if that’s what you’re trying to say. Some like to talk to their plants or to themselves. I talk to ships and other vehicles. I know they’re not going to answer me but it provides me with some stress relief.

AJ : I see. What if I had a MAU for you to meet?

A : What’s the catch?

AJ : No catch. I just want to test your skills… if you can handle it.

A : I won’t “handle” it. I’ll treat them like I want to be treated. What’s his or her name?

AJ : It's a Hunter-class MAU. Codename Lancer. You passed the initial assessment test but once you enroll, you will handle Lancer for your official selection test into the SFF. Of course, that will all be kept under wraps to everyone else.

A : I see. I won’t disappoint you, Sir.

AJ: I have full confidence you’ll meet expectations.

***

**

*

---

I: Fateful encounter

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Tanderoga, a remote Sirian outpost far from the capital. A freshly graduated Alswaram was rushing down the mess hall to the drill ground. The blue dragon was barely 20 years old in Terran terms, way under the average rookie age, and he was by far the youngest in his platoon. That had its advantages and inconveniences. He was young, strong and resilient. However, being so young made him the target for pranks and general messing with, since his rank did not match his age. Graduating as a Captain was already unusual, especially for one so young. It made it so that insults being thrown his way were common occurrence, namely calling him privileged, rich boy or freak. That did not stop him, though. Few knew where he actually came from and what he endured. His younger years spent internalized at the top-secret Jalenda Medical Institution, or JMI for short, made it so he had a harder and thicker shell than most. The place was the subject of many tales and legends. Some said it was a secret military base, others claimed it was a secret R&D lab, which neither of these are inherently wrong. Add to this the fact that you would have to around a lot of red tape to even get to his file thanks to it being classified (not to mention heavily redacted) and that not many knew anything of Alswaram’s origins outside of him being Orionian, many were wary of him, especially in the higher chain of command.

None could ever truly have anything against Alswaram however, for his record was impeccable. Outside of the occasional “quirk”, as some would say, the dragon had gone through boot camp and drilling without a hitch. He was a crack shot and his physical endurance was above average but his uncanny skills with mechanics and everything vehicular were by far his best asset and sparked much rumors about him.

The familiar bark of Chief Warrant Officer Kevak thundered across the drill grounds.

“Move it, you squids! Formation, now!”

The platoon snapped into line. Everyone hated the nickname. Kevak used it exclusively for recruits and junior officers he deemed too soft for real service. Inspection, thankfully, passed with only the usual insults.

“Alright, slackers,” Kevak growled. “PT’s in session. I wanna see suffering. Move!”

“Sir! Yes, Sir!”

The section scattered into their assigned exercises. Some hit the track while others moved to the bars and weight rigs. Alswaram had barely settled into the morning run when an elbow jabbed his ribs hard enough to break his concentration.

Sale’sa flashed a smug grin beside him.

“Better pick it up, Osdaniil. Last one to finish buys drinks tonight.”

“You people spend way too much time trying to poison your livers.”

“Oh, come on. You need to loosen up sometime.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. You know half the platoon thinks you’re a fraud, right?”

Alswaram snorted. “Let them. Soon as something breaks, they’ll all come crawling to me anyway.”

“I’m trying to help you survive socially.”

“I don’t remember asking.”

Sale’sa rolled her eyes. “You really do make it hard for people to like you.”

“And yet you keep talking to me.”

His snarky retort earned a laugh out of her.

Alswaram went ahead and although he did not end up last, as usual, he went straight back to his room at the end of the day. Little did he know, an unexpected visitor would turn his day upside down. Kevak stormed into Alswaram’s quarters later that evening without so much as knocking.

“Osdaniil!”

Alswaram nearly jumped off his bunk.

“Sir!”

“You’ve got a guest. Gear up. Airfield in ten fractions.”

“A guest, Sir?”

Kevak leaned closer, glaring.

“Did I say ‘ask questions,’ Captain?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then move!”

“Sir! Yes, Sir!”

Kevak was in an especially bad mood, which is what typically happens when someone screwed up his routine. Alswaram hurried and packed everything he needed, double-checking everything before he headed out and made his way to the airfield, finding a familiar face waiting for him. Alswaram popped a bow and salute before addressing the dragon.

“Major Jalausi?”

“Well met, Captain Osdaniil.” The Major’s mouth curled slightly. “Though I imagine you still prefer ‘Alswaram.’”

“Depends who’s asking, Sir.”

A quiet chuckle escaped the older officer. “It’s been nearly three cycles, hasn’t it? And apparently, you’ve spent all of them collecting commendations.”

“I try, Sir.”

“You do more than try.” Jalausi folded his arms. “Which is why you’ve been selected for the Death Run.”

Alswaram froze. Then his tail nearly lashed itself off. “You’re serious?!”

“Indeed. Top five finishers receive instant SFF pilot candidacy.”

“Yes—” Alswaram caught himself and cleared his throat. “I mean... I’ll do my best, Sir.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that.” Jalausi smirked. “Would you like to meet your assigned partner?”

The young dragon’s eyes lit up instantly. “Seriously?! Lancer’s here??”

The Major reached for his comm.

“Send him in.”

Alswaram was ready for anything but not this. The whine of distant reactors cut through the air. Alswaram looked skyward just as a striking blue silhouette broke through the clouds. The descending MAU hit the ground with enough force to shake the tarmac. Heat rolled outward from its jump jets as the massive blue machine straightened to full height. Every soldier on the outpost stopped what they were doing. Major Jalausi opened his mouth to begin introductions but never got the chance. Alswaram bolted forward like an excited hatchling.

“Heyyyyy! You must be Lancer!”

The MAU tilted its head slightly.

“~ …I am. ~”

“You look AMAZING.”

“~ You’re shouting. ~”

“Sorry, sorry— but wow, you’re huge! Wait, are those magnetic rifles? Those aren’t standard issue mounts. And dual reactors too? Ohhh, that’s gorgeous.”

A long pause followed.

“~ …They told me you were energetic. ~”

Energetic. That was one word for it. Only then did Alswaram notice the dozens of personnel staring at him.

“Oh. Uh.” His wings tucked awkwardly. “Oops.”

Lancer sighed through external speakers.

“~ Major, kindly disperse the audience. This is humiliating enough already. ~”

Jalausi sighed barked at the crowd immediately. “Back to your stations! Move!”

As the spectators scattered, Alswaram lowered his head slightly.

“Sorry, Lancer... I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“~ No harm done. ~” The MAU’s tone softened a fraction. “~ I was warned you’d react this way. ~”

“Good warned or bad warned?”

“~ …Undecided. ~”

That earned a grin from Alswaram. He had a chance.

“~ So what exactly do you expect from me? ~” Lancer asked.

“Nothing from you. I just want you to love me and let me pilot you. I just want to be good enough for you.”

Silence lingered for a second. Then Lancer spoke again.

“~ You identified my weapons and reactor configuration before visual confirmation. Explain. ~”

“Oh. That.” Alswaram shrugged. “I just sort of... feel it.”

“~ That is not how sensors work. ~”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“~ Are you able to estimate my output and loadout? ~”

Alswaram immediately rattled off reactor yield, estimated weight distribution, weapon load, fuel efficiency, and probable thrust ratios.

By the end of it, even Major Jalausi looked unsettled. Lancer, meanwhile, sounded genuinely impressed.

“~ …That is disturbingly accurate. ~”

Alswaram puffed proudly.

“Told you. I have to know you if I want to pilot you and snuggle up to you.”

“~ You are absolutely a handful. ~”

“And you’re absolutely beautiful and I want you.”

Not even an ounce of shame. A dangerous pause followed. Then, unexpectedly:

“~ …You may call me Lancer. ~”

Alswaram blinked. “Does that mean I passed??”

“~ It means I’m tolerating you. ~”

“Close enough!”

“~ I have to go. I am expected for maintenance and pre-Run checks. ~”

“Boooring… I can do your maintenance myself, you know.”

“~ I’m sure you can. Soon, you will. Be patient. ~”

• Aww… alright… I can’t wait to get my paws on you. I want you all for myself.”

As Lancer prepared to depart, Alswaram suddenly climbed halfway up the massive frame using the integrated mag-lines before wrapping his arms around the MAU’s neck plating.

“See you soon, partner.”

The words came quieter this time.

“I know you got hurt before. I’ll fix it. Whatever’s wrong with your cores... I’ll help. Please trust in me, Lancer.”

Lancer went still. The incident with his previous pilot was classified. Alswaram should not have known and yet somehow, hearing the young dragon say it eased something deep in the machine’s defensive architecture. As if Alswaram was able to modify the very programming of his interface.

“~ We’ll see, ~” Lancer murmured.

“Nope. We will.” Alswaram grinned. “I will heal you no matter what I have to do. See you soon, my gallant knight.”

Shock and confusion were left in Lancer’s emotional output. He kept silent, not knowing how to respond to this outburst of instant devotion from the young blue dragon.

Alswaram used the integrated mag line and got off Lancer. He watched and shivered as the sound of Lancer’s reactors spooled up and whined before he launched off with his jump jets with a powerful booming sound, which nearly knocked Major Jalausi off his feet. Alsawaram on the other hand, was anchored to the ground and waving with both hands. He inhaled sharply, filling his senses with Lancer’s heat and the lingering scent of his reactors’ spent fuel. The Major noted how both of their mood was radically different. From his typically indifferent nature, Alswaram was happy and excited while Lancer showed sudden interest instead of his usually impatience. Major Jalausi got his balance back and adjusted his vest after being dislodged by Lancer’s jet blast.

“Well, that went better that I thought.”

A disappointed embarrassed Alswaram looked at the ground. “I embarrassed you too, didn’t I…?”

Major Jalausi shook his head. “Not quite. You showed more restraint than I anticipated, actually. I’m more surprised at how Lancer was quick to calm down. He usually is impatient, at best. I have no idea how you were able to tame him.”

“Well, he had a bad pilot and he got hurt, so that’s normal. He’s just wary of being piloted and depending on someone else. I’ll take good care of him.

Major Jalausi’s expression changed from curiosity to shock. “How do you even…? That’s classified information!”

“I felt it.”

The Major sighed and threw his arms up. “You know what, I’m not even going to bother at this point.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“No harm done, Captain. I’ll take my leave for now, as I have obligations. A transport will pick you up in two revolutions (ed: Sirian days). I will see you then, given I am on the evaluation panel.”

“Of course. Thank you for coming, Sir. And for matching us together.”

“I believe it is the best outcome for us all, Captain Osdaniil.”

Although Alswaram did not know what his superior meant by that, with a bow and salute, Major Jalausi left and Alswaram returned to his training ground to a typically angry Chief Kevak, who made him do fifty pumps for disturbing his day. The rest of the day was rather uneventful outside of the usual routine of being stared at for the evening meal. The mess hall was filled with whispering which did not seem to bother him much. A familiar lizard made her way over after she was done with her meal and sat next to Alswaram, who was still poking at this food.

“Not hungry, Osdaniil?”

“If you’re planning on making fun of me or if you want to pass a message on behalf of these idiots, you’re wasting your time.”

“No. Listen, I’m sorry, alright? I mean, I didn’t get to see the whole thing but clearly, you didn’t mess with us. I saw this huge unit. How were you not scared of it?”

Alswaram looked offended at her wording.

“First of all, it’s him. His name is Lancer. Second, why would I be afraid of him? He’s going to be my partner for the Run. He was hurt before so he’s uncomfortable with having a pilot but I’ll prove my worth.” Sale’sa scoffed and barked a laugh. Alswaram looked up to her and waved his fork at her. “Don’t laugh! If you came to make fun me, go away.”

“Sorry, sorry! You’re just like they say. You’re so… different.”

“I don’t mind being different if it means being with synths. Weakness is the flesh and flesh is weak!”

The lizard blinked and looked at him, almost uncomfortable for a second.

“Who taught you such a thing? You’re scary, Osdaniil. You would choose a MAU over a squadmate?”

Alswaram did not even hesitate. “Honestly? Yeah. Does that make me a monster or a liability?”

“I know they think you’re a freak but I can tell you have no malice in you. Even though they won’t tell us anything much about you, it’s pretty obvious you’re not like us but don’t let their asshole behavior get to you. I’ve seen what you’re capable of and I would rely on you if I’m in trouble. If you need something, let me know. I can help.”

“Why would you help me?”

The lizard took on a serious look and she crossed eyes with Alswaram for a moment. “Because I don’t like assholes. Good enough?”

She managed to crack a smile from him. “Always figured you’re better than them. Thanks, Sale’sa.”

“I’ll take that. And you’re welcome. Enjoy your meal, Captain Osdaniil.”

She got up and bowed which Alswaram acknowledged. Whispers filled the mess walls again but he ignored them and had a few more bites of his food before returning his tray. He returned to his quarters and passed out on his bunk. The following morning, Alswaram arrived at his locker to retrieve his gear for morning PT, only to find an unwelcome surprise waiting for him. A single scrap of paper had been slid through the narrow vent at the top of the locker door. On it, written in bold, jagged handwriting, was an ominous warning:

“Do not compete in the Run… or you will die.”

Alswaram stared at the note for a long moment, his jaw tightening. A cold flicker of anger rose in his chest. “Nice try,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not going to psych me out.”

With a sharp rip, he tore the note into tiny pieces and crushed them in his fist before tossing the remnants into the nearest disposal chute. Nothing — not anonymous threats, not fear, not anything — was going to stand between him and Lancer.

Over the next two days, similar notes continued to appear. Sometimes they were slipped into his gear bag, other times tucked inside his boots or left on his bunk. Each carried the same ominous message, worded slightly differently but always ending with the same chilling promise of death. Alswaram began to wonder whether someone was trying to play a cruel prank on him, the outcast recruit… or if they were genuinely trying to warn him of something far more dangerous.

Still, he pushed the doubts aside. With Lancer at his side, he told himself he had nothing to fear. The bond they shared was stronger than any intimidation tactic. On the third morning, the summons finally came.

Alswaram was ordered to report to the airfield, where a sleek black shuttle waited on the tarmac, its engines already humming with restrained power. As he stepped aboard, he caught a quick glimpse of nine other figures already seated inside, their heads concealed beneath dark hoods. From their silhouettes and builds, he could tell most were Kelva — tall, lithe, and scaled. But at least one appeared to be an Elvani, slender and graceful even while seated, and another had the broad, powerful beast-like shoulders of a Balmodan.

Before he could study them further, a stern officer stepped behind him and pulled a hood over his own head, plunging his vision into darkness. No one spoke during the flight. The only sounds were the low thrum of the engines and the occasional shift of bodies in their seats. Tension hung thick in the confined space.

They were taken to an undisclosed location on Sirius — the sacred, unforgiving proving ground where the legendary Death Run was held.

II: Death Run

---

Sirius – Undisclosed Site

When the announcement crackled over the shuttle’s intercom that they had arrived, the hoods were finally removed. Harsh artificial lights flooded Alswaram’s eyes as he blinked and took in his surroundings.

The ten aspirants stood on a wide, barren platform carved into the rocky terrain. They sized one another up in silence, each searching for weaknesses, for rivals, for threats. Alswaram immediately drew attention. He was by far the youngest among them, yet his Orionian heritage made him noticeably taller, broader, and more physically imposing than even the largest Kelva present. Several of the others narrowed their eyes at him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled hostility.

He took quick mental notes on the competition. The most vocal was Varak Kael, a green-scaled Kelva with a cocky swagger and a scarred jawline that spoke of prior combat drops; he kept cracking his knuckles and muttering about “showing the rookies how it’s done.” Beside him stood Senth Vorr, blue-scaled and analytical, eyes flicking over his data pad like he was already calculating trajectories. The lone Elvani, Lira Voss, moved with elegant precision, her lithe humanoid frame and silver-white skin giving her an almost ethereal presence, though her sharp gaze held nothing but disdain for the “brutes” around her. Grom Tark, the Balmodan, was a mountain of muscle and gray hide and fur, grunting responses and towering over everyone else with raw, wolfen power (it would make even his mech partner look almost delicate by comparison). The remaining five were fellow Kelva — Jex and Mira (twins by their matching crimson scales and synchronized movements), Korrin Thal (quiet and wiry, already stretching like a coiled spring), and Zenn and Rylok (both broad-shouldered veterans trading low, confident jokes).

They were quickly ordered to line up. Moments later, a large Kelva with bright orange scales that gleamed like molten metal strode forward, his voice booming with authority.

“Listen up, you squids!” he barked. “The ground you’re standing on is not some average training outpost. This soil is sacred. It has forged some of the finest pilots in the fleet… and it has claimed the lives of many more. The Death Run earned its name for a reason. If any of you want to back out, do it now. Walk away with your dignity intact.”

No one moved. The silence was absolute.

“Good,” the officer grunted, a predatory smile curling his scaled lips. “The Death Run consists of three brutal stages: an accuracy challenge, a timed obstacle course, and finally… a full battle royale. Grab your pre-selected gear and line up in front of the hangar bays. Once you’re ready, you will be matched with your mech partner based on your selection interviews and psychological evaluations. Dismissed!”

The group broke formation and hurried toward the massive hangar bays that loomed ahead like the mouths of sleeping beasts. Alswaram kept his expression neutral, but his mind was racing. Interviews? Psychological tests? He had never gone through anything of the sort. It was clear the others had been put through a rigorous selection process he had somehow bypassed. They had no idea about his “special treatment,” and he intended to keep it that way.

Near the hangar bays, each aspirant found their assigned gear neatly labeled with their name. Alswaram moved with purpose, collecting his equipment before heading to the designated waiting area.

One by one, the massive combat units began to emerge from the bays — sleek, powerful war machines of varying designs. The other candidates’ faces lit up with excitement and pride as their respective partners stepped forward. Murmurs of awe and nervous laughter filled the air.

Alswaram, however, remained calm. He already knew his partner.

He walked straight toward the largest unit in the lineup. Lancer towered over the others, his blue armored frame imposing and unmistakably distinct. The sight drew open stares and whispers from the rest of the group.

“Hi, Lancer,” Alswaram said softly, placing a hand against the cool metal of the mech’s leg.

“~ Hello, ~” came the deep, resonant reply through the external speakers.

“Are you ready?” Alswaram asked, a fierce grin spreading across his face. “I want to show them all how awesome you are.”

“~ Me? ~”

“Yes, you!” He laughed lightly. “I wouldn’t be much without your help. At first glance, the others will pose a real challenge… but if our synchronization rate is high enough, we’ll make it through. I’ll try not to be a hindrance.”

“~ I see. Then I will do my best to meet expectations. ~”

Alswaram shook his head, his expression softening. “I don’t really care about overall performance or making the leaderboard. I’m happy as long as they let us stay together.”

There was a brief pause before Lancer responded, almost hesitantly.

“~ Why would you say that? What do you see in me? ~”

“Hey, don’t go getting all mopey on me now,” Alswaram said, patting the mech affectionately. “I already told you — you’re my badass partner. Let’s show them what my Gallant Knight can do!”

A low, almost warm hum emanated from Lancer’s core systems.

“…Yes. Let us do that.”

The trials began at dawn.

---

Accuracy Challenge

The aspirants were deployed across a vast, cratered firing range dotted with holographic targets that darted, dove, and multiplied at random. Neural interfaces hummed to life inside each cockpit, linking pilot and mech in a dance of precision fire. Scores flashed on massive overhead screens: speed, hit percentage, collateral avoidance.

Varak Kael and his sleek interceptor unit took an early lead, vaporizing targets with arrogant flair — until a cluster swarm overwhelmed him and he clipped his own wing, dropping to third. Lira Voss danced through the field like liquid silver, her Elvani grace yielding flawless arcs, but she hesitated on a high-speed evasion and lost critical seconds. Grom Tark brute-forced everything, smashing targets with raw power that shattered the holographics into feedback glitches; his score was respectable but sloppy. The twins, Jex and Mira, synced perfectly with each other but not with their mechs — they collided mid-maneuver and were disqualified from the top tier.

Alswaram and Lancer started… rough.

Their opening sync rate flickered at a dismal 62%. Alswaram’s instincts screamed to push forward aggressively; Lancer’s protocols demanded calculated restraint. A barrage of targets slipped past them. Alswaram cursed under his breath as Lancer’s cannons fired a fraction too late on a diving cluster.

“Come on, partner,” he muttered into the link. “I trust you— stop overthinking it. Feel where I’m going. I need you to trust me, Lancer. I know everything you went through. If you don’t trust yourself, I will harness that trust for us both until your walls come crashing down.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Two, silence. Then Lancer’s core suddenly pulsed warmer, timing its pulsations with Alswaram’s very own heartbeat.

“~ …Very well. Adjusting parameters to your neural cadence. ~”

The shift was electric. Sync rocketed to 89%. Lancer’s movements became fluid extensions of Alswaram’s will — cannons tracking before he even thought the command, thrusters flaring in perfect counterbalance. They carved through the final waves like a storm, every shot a lethal bullseye, no wasted motion. When the buzzer sounded, their score shattered the previous record by eighteen points. The overhead screens flashed red in disbelief. The other aspirants stared in stunned silence. Lancer himself was stunned.

---

Timed Obstacle Course

The holographic grid changed and the terrain transformed into a nightmarish labyrinth of jagged spires, laser grids, collapsing bridges, and zero-G chasms. Mechs had to leap, crawl, and evade in under four minutes or face automatic elimination.

Senth Vorr’s analytical precision carried him far, dodging grids with machine-like timing– until a hidden seismic trap buckled the ground beneath him and he tumbled into last place. Grom Tark powered through the physical obstacles, smashing barriers that would have stopped lighter units, but his heavy frame couldn’t clear the final chasm in time; he slammed into the far wall with a bone-rattling crash. Lira Voss glided effortlessly at first, but the zero-G section exposed her unit’s lighter stabilizers — she spun out of control and barely recovered.

Alswaram and Lancer hit the course with their new sync still humming. At first, the raw speed felt alien; Lancer’s massive frame clipped a laser emitter on the opening sprint, shaving precious seconds. Alswaram’s heart hammered. “We’re overcorrecting— loosen up, Lancer. I’ve got you, my gallant knight. Your core needs to pulse and flow with me, like water.”

The mech’s reply this time was immediate, almost eager. “Recalibrating. Trust engaged.” From that moment, they were unstoppable. Lancer’s heavy armor became an asset rather than a burden — leaping gaps with thruster bursts timed to Alswaram’s split-second instincts, rolling under collapsing spires in perfect tandem. They shattered the course record by forty-three seconds, crossing the finish line in a blur of blue exhaust, stunned looks on the high-ranking observers’ faces from the observation deck. The other candidates were still picking themselves out of wreckage or limping across the line, faces etched with exhaustion and frustration.

Battle Royale

The final arena was a sprawling, ruined cityscape rigged with environmental hazards and non-lethal but punishing live-fire simulators. Ten mechs entered. Only one pair would claim victory — or survive with their dignity.

It was chaos from the start. Varak and Senth formed a fleeting alliance that dissolved when Grom Tark barreled through them both, sending Varak’s unit crashing into a collapsing tower. Lira Voss picked off stragglers with surgical strikes, but she couldn’t match the raw numbers closing in. The twins and the others fell in a whirlwind of crossed beams and shattered plating, their sync rates plummeting under pressure.

Alswaram and Lancer entered the fray last, still riding the high of the previous stages. For the opening minutes, old habits resurfaced— Alswaram pushed for aggressive flanks while Lancer defaulted to defensive positioning. A grazing hit from Grom’s heavy cannon sent them skidding. Pain flared across Alswaram’s neural link.

“Lancer— stop protecting me and fight with me!” he shouted. “We’re one. You’re not my shield. You’re my sword. Faron would forgive you, Lancer. I forgive you. Gallant Knight, ENGAGE!”

The hesitation vanished. Lancer’s core flared brilliant blue and his thrusters roared with never before seen power. “Full synchronization… unlocked.”

Sync hit 97%. They became a force of nature. Lancer’s massive frame moved with impossible grace, dodging Grom’s charges while Alswaram unleashed devastating counter-barrages that crippled the Balmodan’s weapons in three precise shots. They danced through Lira’s sniper fire, using ruined buildings as cover in perfect harmony, then turned her own precision against her with a flanking maneuver that left her unit smoking and offline. One by one, the rest fell — some to environmental traps triggered by the pair’s flawless positioning, others to the sheer overwhelming coordination no one else could match.

When the final buzzer echoed across the arena, only Lancer remained standing amid the smoking wreckage. The scoreboard exploded with new all-time highs: combined score 18% above the previous record. The other nine aspirants climbed from their ruined cockpits, battered, bruised, and staring at the towering mech in a mix of awe, resentment, and disbelief.

Varak Kael spat on the ground, muttering, “What the hell kind of freak sync was that?” Lira Voss simply bowed her head in silent acknowledgment. Grom Tark slammed a fist into his disabled unit, but even he couldn’t hide the respect in his eyes.

Alswaram popped the hatch and slid down Lancer’s leg, heart still pounding with adrenaline and pure joy. He pressed his forehead to the warm armor.

“We did it,” he whispered. “Together.”

Lancer’s external speakers softened, the words meant only for Alswaram. “~ Together… my pilot. ~”

Overhead, the orange-scaled officer stared at the results in stunned silence before a rare, genuine grin split his scaled face.

“Well, squids… looks like we’ve got ourselves a new legend.”

Alswaram and Lancer had not just survived the Death Run. They had owned it.

Aftermath

The arena had fallen silent save for the groan of ruined metal and the hiss of cooling reactors. Smoke drifted through the shattered cityscape in slow waves while emergency sirens echoed overhead. One by one, the defeated aspirants climbed from their disabled units, bruised and exhausted, all eyes drawn toward the lone blue machine still standing at the center of the devastation like some ancient war god.

Alswaram barely noticed them. His pulse was still hammering from the synchronization surge. Every nerve in his body buzzed with residual feedback from the neural link. He could still feel Lancer’s movements inside his own muscles — the recoil of the cannons in his shoulders, the strain of the actuators in his legs, the deep vibration of the reactor through his spine. It no longer felt like piloting. It felt shared.

Slowly, almost reverently, Alswaram stepped toward the towering MAU as heat shimmered around its frame. Hydraulic systems hissed softly while the massive reactors idled down from combat output, venting waves of superheated exhaust into the air behind the mech.

The other aspirants instinctively backed away from the heat. Alswaram walked directly into it. A collective murmur spread through the arena.

The exhaust washed over him in blistering waves powerful enough to make nearby personnel shield their faces, yet the young Orionian simply stood there motionless, eyes half-lidded as the heated fumes curled around his body and wings. His breathing slowed. A deep, involuntary shudder ran through him. Pleasure. Not pain. The scent of burning fuel, ionized plasma, scorched metal and reactor discharge filled his senses like perfume. Neurotransmitters fired and peaked like never before. His pupils widened to slits as he pressed one clawed hand against Lancer’s armor plating. And Lancer reacted.

The blue MAU’s reactor output suddenly spiked. Blue light pulsed beneath the seams of his frame in rhythmic waves matching Alswaram’s heartbeat exactly. Warning alerts briefly flashed across nearby monitoring stations before abruptly stabilizing.

“Impossible…” one technician whispered.

The neural link had never been re-engaged and yet the synchronization percentage on the arena monitors was climbing again.

89%. 91%. 94%. No cockpit connection. No interface ports. No hardline. The synchronization was happening organically.

Alswaram’s tail twitched behind him as another tremor passed through his body. He could feel Lancer now — not through machinery or code, but emotionally. The MAU’s guarded restraint. The lingering grief over Faron. The instinctive fear of attachment. The defensive walls built after loss. And beneath all of it: relief.

Lancer lowered himself slightly, massive head dipping toward the smaller dragon.

“~ Alswaram… ~”

The voice no longer boomed through external speakers alone. The words echoed directly through Alswaram’s mind. His breath caught. The crowd stared in stunned silence as the young Orionian rested his forehead against the heated armor plating once more, eyes closing peacefully.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he whispered softly. “I’m here now, my sweet love. My gallant knight.”

For several long seconds, neither moved. Then the reactor hum stabilized completely. A perfect harmonic frequency rolled through the arena. Every monitoring device nearby froze.

# SYNC STATUS: ERROR. #

Captain Jalausi slowly lowered the datapad in his hands, unable to look away.

“…Dear stars,” he muttered.

Even the veteran pilots present had gone pale. They all understood exactly what they had just witnessed. This was no ordinary pilot synchronization. This was a bond. A true one. Not manufactured through training. Not forced through neural conditioning. Something instinctive. Something terrifying.

And perhaps something the military had been searching for far longer than Alswaram realized.

***

**

*

It was not even two cycles later after being stationed with one of the SFF’s MAU pilot divisions that he was approached by the brass and Alswaram accepted a high-ranking position in the SFF. A new division was going to be created and Alswaram and his partner were going to be the ones in charge.

Archival file # [REDACTED] – SC56710

Personal log - Dr. Evin Ri'tel

[DATE REDACTED] –

I tried to dissuade Alswaram from competing in the Death Run. I expected he would still do it. Not only that, he shattered the records! I fear what future they might have in store for him. The brass speak of Alswaram initiating a link unlike any they’ve ever seen. Now they speak of creating a brand-new fleet dedicated to MAU pilots spearheaded by Alswaram. As for me, I hear Jedask is looking for me. Time for my swan song. If someone finds this log, please tell Alswaram I am sorry for failing him. They will try to exploit him and they will take everything from him, as they did for me.

I don’t adhere to any organized dogma system but… may the Ocean Mother take me as her own. I pray this “Lancer” turns out to be what Alswaram needs. Strange of me to ask this of an AI, but please… take good care of him.

Be well… my son.

This is geneticist Evin Ri’tel, SRD, signing out for the last time.