The briefing room felt different than the simulation preparation spaces Valoris had spent three years inhabiting. Real equipment lined the walls: survival packs, medical supplies, dimensional exposure monitors that hummed with active sensing arrays, live weapons in secured racks. Not training simulators or practice rounds. Real ammunition designed to kill real threats in real corruption zones where reality itself didn't function correctly.

  Commander Thrace stood at the tactical display, her dimensional exposure scars catching the harsh overhead light in ways that reminded everyone exactly what long-term deployment meant. She surveyed Chimera Squad with the kind of assessment that suggested she was calculating their survival probability and finding the numbers barely acceptable.

  "Corruption Zone 12-Gamma," she said, and the tactical display shifted to show a three-dimensional map that hurt to look at directly. "Minimal entity activity. Patrol and observation. Perfect first deployment for top-tier squads."

  Perfect. The word sat wrong in Valoris's awareness, carrying undertones that suggested nothing about corruption zones was ever actually perfect.

  Through Paragon's nascent bond, still present even without active connection, awareness bleeding through neural pathways that had grown around her port interfaces, Valoris sensed something like anticipation. Acknowledgment that simulation was ending and real deployment beginning.

  We are adequate for this, Paragon's presence offered. And Valoris wanted to believe it.

  "Zone 12-Gamma is a secondary rift scar," Thrace continued, manipulating the display to show geological data that made dimensional physics visible as colored overlays. "Reality disruption moderate. Entity manifestation rate averages two to four per week. You'll patrol grid sectors Alpha through Delta, maintain observation posts, report any anomalies, and engage only if directly threatened or if entities approach civilian-adjacent zones."

  She paused, and her voice dropped into a register that made every pilot snap to fuller attention.

  "You'll be accompanied by Talon Squad for your initial deployment rotation. Learn from them. Follow their lead during entity encounters until you've demonstrated adequate judgment. They won't coddle you, but they will keep you alive long enough to learn what simulation can't teach."

  Valoris felt her squad tense at the implication that they needed shepherding. Three years of training, top rankings, tournament championship, and they were still being handed off to babysitters. But she understood the logic. Simulation metrics didn't capture everything. The gap between training and reality had killed better pilots than them.

  "Corruption zones are different from simulations," Thrace continued. "Reality doesn't work right there. Physics becomes suggestions instead of laws. Your instruments will malfunction. Your senses will lie to you. Time will feel wrong. Space won't make sense. Trust your instruments anyway. Trust your squad absolutely. And come back alive."

  That last part, the way her voice went hard and quiet simultaneously, made it clear this wasn't the standard instructor warning they'd heard hundreds of times. This was personal. This was Thrace speaking from fifteen years of deployment experience, from dimensional exposure that had left half her face silvered with corruption scars, from watching pilots die in zones where reality bent wrong.

  This was real.

  "One more thing," Thrace added. "Inside the corruption zone, your mechs aren't just weapons. They're environment suits. An unprotected human exposed to Zone 12-Gamma's dimensional interference would begin decohering within minutes. Seconds, if you’re lucky. Cellular structure breaks down. Neural pathways fragment. Reality stops recognizing you as a coherent entity. Your mechs' dimensional substrate provides insulation, keeps you anchored to baseline physics even when everything around you suggests physics has stopped applying. Never leave your mech inside the corruption perimeter. Never."

  The warning landed with visceral weight. They'd learned about dimensional exposure in academic terms, discussed decoherence as a theoretical risk. Hearing it stated as practical survival protocol felt different.

  "Equipment check in thirty minutes," Thrace said. "Transport departs in ninety. Dismissed."

  Chimera Squad moved together toward the equipment bay, maintaining their instinctive formation even when regulations didn't require it. Three years of proximity had taught them to exist as a unit, to flow around each other without conscious coordination, to communicate through glances and small movements that outsiders never quite understood.

  The equipment bay was organized chaos, with multiple squads preparing for summer deployments, checking gear with varying levels of nervous energy. Upper-year squads moved with practiced efficiency, having done this before, understanding exactly what they needed and where everything should be. Chimera moved more slowly, double-checking everything because this was their first real deployment and mistakes in corruption zones weren't just academic failures.

  Mistakes killed you. Or worse, mistakes unmade you.

  "Survival pack," Zee announced, hefting hers to test weight distribution. "Rations for five days, water purification, emergency shelter, thermal regulation, basic medical supplies. Standard loadout."

  "Dimensional exposure monitor," Saren added, clipping the device to her equipment harness with precise movements. "Continuous passive scanning. Alerts at threshold exposure levels. Required equipment for all corruption zone operations."

  "Medical kit, expanded," Quinn said, their flat voice somehow conveying focus despite the monotone. "Trauma response supplies. Chemical exposure treatment. Dimensional contamination protocols. Optimized for field conditions."

  "Communications array," Milo contributed, adjusting his equipment with the kind of fidgeting that suggested nervous energy seeking outlet. "Hardened against dimensional interference. Multiple redundancies. Should maintain squad connectivity even if primary systems glitch." He paused. "I added some modifications that might help with signal stability in high-interference zones."

  "Those are definitely unauthorized," Zee finished. "But probably useful. We'll pretend we didn't notice."

  Valoris checked her own equipment methodically: survival pack, monitor, medical supplies, communications gear, weapons. The rifle felt wrong under her hands as she touched Paragon. Not unfamiliar; they'd trained with live weapons during third year, learning to shoot while connected to their mechs, managing the disconnect between human-scale targeting and forty-foot combat awareness. But holding it now, knowing it would fire actual rounds at actual targets, made it feel heavier than its physical weight suggested.

  "Live ammunition," she said quietly, and the rest of Chimera paused their preparations. "They're giving us live ammunition."

  "We're pilots," Saren said, but her voice carried uncertainty beneath the confident assertion. "We've trained for three years. We've proven ourselves competent in simulation. Of course they're giving us live ammunition."

  "Simulation is different," Valoris countered. "We've never killed anything real."

  Silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and necessary, acknowledging truth they'd all been avoiding since deployment assignments were posted.

  They were about to fight entities. Real entities. Not simulation constructs, not training projections, not hypothetical threats discussed in academic courses. Actual dimensional beings that existed and moved and, according to every briefing they'd ever received, posed existential threats to human civilization that required immediate lethal response.

  "First kill is hard," a voice said from behind them, and Valoris turned to find Sable approaching. Apex Squad's tactical coordinator looked different somehow, older than her seventeen years, moving with the kind of wary competence that came from actual deployment experience rather than just training. "Harder than they tell you. Harder than you expect. Just be ready for that."

  "You've deployed before," Valoris said. Statement, not question.

  "Last summer. Top squad got to go out and watch from base. Zone 8-Beta. Three deployments over eight weeks." Sable's expression was carefully neutral, but something in her eyes suggested those deployments had cost more than just time. "Entities are different up close. Simulation doesn't capture it. Can't capture it. They're wrong in ways that don't translate to training environments."

  "Wrong how?" Milo asked, his genius curiosity overriding tactical discretion.

  Sable hesitated, glancing around the equipment bay to confirm no instructors were in immediate listening range. "They move wrong. Sound wrong. Die wrong. And they..." She stopped herself, shook her head. "You'll see. Just trust your squad. Don't try to process everything alone. And write down what you observe. Not for reports. For yourself. Because you'll want to remember accurately later, and memories get strange after dimensional exposure."

  She walked away before anyone could ask follow-up questions, leaving Chimera Squad standing in the equipment bay with new anxieties they hadn't anticipated.

  "Encouraging," Zee muttered.

  "Realistic," Saren corrected. "She's warning us because she cares about deployment success rates. Standard mentorship behavior."

  "Or she's warning us because something about deployment doesn't match what they told us in briefings," Quinn said. "And she wants us prepared for that discrepancy."

  They finished equipment checks in silence, each processing Sable's warning through their individual filters of anxiety and anticipation.

  Talon Squad was waiting at the transport staging area.

  Five veterans stood in loose formation near the transport's loading ramp, their equipment already stowed, postures suggesting the relaxed alertness of pilots who'd done this enough times that pre-deployment nerves had worn into familiar routine. They looked older than their seniority should account for. Dimensional exposure did that, accelerating the distance between who you were and who you became.

  Their squad leader stepped forward as Chimera approached. Carmen Reyes was tall and lean, with the kind of economical movement that suggested extensive combat experience. A thin scar traced from her left temple to her jaw, probably from impact against her cradle during a close engagement. Her dimensional exposure showed as faint silver threading in the skin of her hands, early-stage corruption that would spread over years of continued service.

  "Chimera Squad," she said, her voice carrying command authority without aggression. "I'm Reyes. Talon's lead. We'll be your shepherds for this rotation." She gestured to her squadmates. "Ortiz, close assault. Vasquez, heavy support. Chen, reconnaissance. Mbeki, tactical coordination. We've had four years in the zones. Eight hundred plus hours of active deployment. One hundred and eighty confirmed entity kills."

  The numbers landed with intended weight. One hundred and eighty kills between five pilots meant regular combat, meant experience that simulation couldn't replicate.

  "First deployment rules," Reyes continued. "You follow our lead during patrols. You don't engage entities without explicit clearance from me or Mbeki. You maintain formation discipline even when your instincts tell you to break. And you remember that your mechs are the only thing keeping you from becoming a cautionary tale about cellular decoherence."

  "We understand the environmental hazards," Saren said, her voice carrying the subtle edge she used when she felt condescended to.

  "You understand them academically," Reyes replied without offense. "You'll understand them viscerally after you watch the reality outside your cockpit try to decide whether you're solid or not. Different kind of knowing." She looked at Valoris directly. "You're the tournament champions. Good tactical coordination from what I've seen in the recordings. That'll serve you well if you can translate simulation instincts into field application. Some squads can't. The gap between training and reality breaks something in their coordination. We'll see which kind you are."

  Valoris met her gaze steadily. "We'll adapt."

  "Good answer." Reyes almost smiled. "Let's load up. Transport departs in ten."

  The transport was military-grade and uncomfortable, designed for function rather than comfort, equipped with dimensional shielding that hummed at frequencies that made Valoris's teeth ache. Ten pilots total, Chimera and Talon, all of them strapped into crash seats that felt simultaneously too constraining and inadequately protective.

  Through the reinforced viewports, Valoris watched the academy shrink behind them as the transport climbed altitude and headed toward the corruption zone coordinates. The dimensional rift's main scar was visible in the distance, a massive tear in reality that dominated the horizon, shimmering like heat waves but wrong, making her eyes slide away from direct observation, making her brain rebel against acknowledging what she was seeing.

  They'd grown up seeing that rift. It was a permanent backdrop to academy life, a distant presence that everyone learned to not-quite-look-at because looking directly at dimensional damage hurt in ways that had nothing to do with eyes.

  But now they were flying toward a secondary rift scar. Toward corruption zone 12-Gamma where reality had been damaged and never healed correctly.

  Toward their first deployment.

  The transport flew for ninety minutes, and reality changed gradually around them.

  It started subtle: colors shifting slightly wrong, shadows falling at angles that didn't match the sun's position. Then more obvious: gravity fluctuations that made Valoris's stomach drop randomly, time feeling elastic in ways that made her unsure if minutes were passing or hours. Finally undeniable: space itself bending, the horizon curving wrong, distance becoming deceptive so she couldn't trust her judgment about how far anything was.

  "Dimensional boundary ahead," the pilot announced over the intercom. "Entering Zone 12-Gamma perimeter in two minutes. Secure all equipment. Prepare for reality discontinuity."

  Valoris tightened her crash harness and touched the ports at her skull base, warm and wet with connection fluid that wept continuously now even without active piloting, a permanent reminder that she was changed forever. Through the nascent bond with Paragon, she felt the mech waiting in the transport's cargo bay. Forty-two feet of cobalt and silver perfection concealing hairline cracks that only she could sense. Ready. Adequate. Theirs.

  We face this together, she thought toward Paragon.

  We are adequate together, the response came. And Valoris chose to believe it.

  The transport crossed the dimensional boundary, and Valoris's awareness lurched sickeningly. For one eternal-brief moment, she existed everywhere and nowhere simultaneously, consciousness scattered across dimensional substrates, perceiving reality from too many angles, understanding too much while comprehending nothing.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Then they were through, and the corruption zone resolved around them.

  Beautiful. Horrifying. Both simultaneously and neither adequately.

  The sky was purple-green, colors that shouldn't exist together but did here where physics was broken. Shadows fell upward from some objects, creating inverted darkness that hurt to look at. The ground looked solid but reflected light wrong, suggesting it was simultaneously earth and water and something else entirely. Vegetation grew in impossible configurations: trees with too many branches, grass that moved against the wind, flowers that bloomed and wilted in rapid cycles visible to normal perception.

  And the rift scar itself, visible in the middle distance, was a tear in reality approximately two hundred meters long and varying height. Looking at it directly made Valoris's vision slide away, made her brain refuse to process what her eyes reported, made her awareness rebel against acknowledging dimensional damage that fundamental.

  "Zone 12-Gamma perimeter base," the pilot announced as the transport descended toward a cleared area well outside the corruption zone's border. "Final stop before the wrongness. Everybody out."

  The base was positioned deliberately at the edge of dimensional instability, close enough for rapid deployment access, far enough that unprotected humans could exist without immediate risk of decoherence. Prefabricated structures suggested semi-permanent military presence: command center, barracks, medical facility, mech maintenance bays, supply depot. All of it surrounded by sensor arrays and defensive emplacements oriented toward the corruption zone rather than away from it.

  "This is home for the next five weeks," Reyes said as both squads disembarked. "Living quarters are assigned by squad. Mess hall operates 0600 to 2200. Medical is staffed continuously. And the line you see marked in yellow paint about three hundred meters out?" She pointed toward a visible boundary demarcating where normal-colored ground gave way to the purple-green wrongness of the corruption zone. "That's the contamination threshold. Human exposure beyond that line without mech protection is fatal within six to eight minutes. Less if reality's having a bad day."

  Valoris studied the yellow line with new appreciation for how close safety and death existed to each other here. Three hundred meters. Walking distance. The kind of boundary a person could cross by accident if they weren't paying attention.

  "Get settled," Reyes continued. "Stow your gear, grab food, rest if you can. First patrol deploys at 1400 hours. That gives you four hours to process the reality that you're about to walk into something your bodies weren't designed to survive."

  The barracks were functional and impersonal: five bunks per room, lockers for gear storage, shared bathroom facilities, walls painted the same institutional gray as every military installation Valoris had ever seen. The only concession to the base's unusual location was the constant low hum of dimensional stabilizers built into the structure, technology designed to keep baseline physics consistent even this close to corrupted space.

  Chimera Squad claimed their assigned room and began the familiar ritual of making temporary space feel like home. Zee sprawled across her bunk immediately, testing the mattress quality with critical assessment. Saren organized her gear with obsessive precision, everything positioned at exact angles. Quinn sat motionless on their bunk, staring at nothing, possibly meditating or possibly dissociating; hard to tell with Quinn sometimes. Milo immediately started examining the room's electronics, fingers twitching toward components that probably shouldn't be modified.

  "We should rest," Valoris said, claiming the bunk nearest the door by habit, squad leader positioning that kept her between her people and potential threats. "Four hours isn't long, and we don't know how exhausting patrol will be."

  "Can't sleep," Zee said. "Too wired. You?"

  "Same." Valoris lay back on her bunk and stared at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened since morning. The briefing. The equipment check. Sable's warning. Meeting Talon Squad. Crossing the dimensional boundary. Seeing the corruption zone from inside rather than as distant backdrop.

  "The entities," Milo said eventually, abandoning his examination of the room's wiring. "Has anyone thought about what it'll be like to actually see one? Not in simulation. Not in training footage. Actually see one existing in front of us?"

  "Sable said they're wrong," Quinn offered. "That simulation doesn't capture how wrong they are."

  "Everything's wrong here," Saren said. "The sky is wrong. The ground is wrong. Physics is wrong. Why should entities be different?"

  "Because they're alive," Valoris said quietly. "Or something like alive. The corruption zone is just damaged space. The entities are beings that exist in that damage. That's different."

  Silence answered her. None of them wanted to think too hard about entities being alive in any meaningful sense. Easier to think of them as threats, as targets, as dangers requiring neutralization. Thinking of them as beings complicated everything.

  "We should review patrol protocols," Saren said eventually, breaking the uncomfortable quiet. "Ensure we understand Talon's command structure and our role within combined squad operations."

  "Saren," Zee said with exaggerated patience, "we've been reviewing protocols for three years. We know the protocols. What we don't know is what it actually feels like to be out there."

  "Which is why reviewing provides psychological comfort through familiar structure."

  "Fair point," Zee admitted. "Fine. Walk us through combined squad formation protocols. At least it'll kill time until we're allowed to be terrified in our mechs instead of just in our bunks."

  At 1400 hours, both squads assembled in the mech bay.

  Ten mechs stood in launch configuration, five pairs of bonded machines waiting for pilots who would extend consciousness into their massive frames. Talon's mechs showed the wear of experience: scoring and repair patches on armor plates, replacement components that didn't quite match original specifications, the accumulated damage of two summers fighting entities in corrupted space. Their machines looked veteran in ways that Chimera's pristine mechs didn't.

  Reyes's mech was called Bulwark, a defensive-class platform built around shield generation and area denial, perfect for a squad leader who needed to coordinate while providing cover. Ortiz piloted Rend, a close-assault configuration bristling with blade systems and impact generators. Vasquez commanded Siege, heavy support bristling with weapons arrays that could level structures. Chen's machine was Echo, reconnaissance-class like Quinn's Specter but configured for different operational parameters. Mbeki coordinated from Beacon, a tactical support platform designed to enhance squad communication and sensor integration.

  "Connection sequence in five," Reyes announced. "Standard patrol, Route Alpha. Chimera maintains formation behind Talon. Observe, learn, follow commands. We encounter entities, you stay back unless and until I clear you for engagement. Clear?"

  "Clear," Valoris confirmed, and her squad echoed the acknowledgment.

  She climbed Paragon's access ladder, the movements familiar after nine months of daily practice. Entered the cockpit with its organic interior that pulsed slightly with dimensional energy. Settled into the neural link chair. Pressed her twelve connection ports against the interface points that would complete the circuit between human consciousness and dimensional entity.

  The connection established with the fever-bright wrongness that had become routine: consciousness stretching across dimensional substrates, awareness extending into space where Paragon existed, self becoming distributed between flesh and forty-foot machine. The usual vertigo, the usual nausea, the usual moment of panic before adaptation protocols engaged and made distributed consciousness manageable.

  Valoris opened Paragon's eyes and saw through sensors that captured spectrums beyond human perception. Stood with mechanical grace that felt natural despite the impossibility. Felt connection fluid begin its steady weep from the ports at her skull base, a warm trickle that would continue for hours after disconnection.

  Around her, Chimera Squad connected and rose. Five mechs moving with coordinated precision despite existing in a corruption zone where reality disagreed with their sensor readings.

  Talon was already in formation, five veteran machines waiting with the patient stillness of pilots who'd learned that rushing deployment wasted energy better conserved for actual combat.

  "Chimera Squad connected and ready," Valoris reported, subvocalizing into her headset.

  "Good," Reyes replied through Bulwark's comms. "Stay close. Stay alert. And whatever you see out there, remember: the zone lies. Trust your instruments, trust your squad, trust your training. The wrongness will try to convince you of things that aren't true. Don't let it."

  They moved into the corruption zone, ten mechs crossing the yellow contamination threshold into reality that bent around their presence.

  The ground felt unstable beneath Paragon's feet: solid but yielding, resistant but slippery, simultaneously too heavy and too light as gravity fluctuated randomly. Colors shifted as Valoris moved, the purple-green sky darkening to bruised purple in some areas while brightening to sickly green in others. Shadows continued their impossible upward fall, creating inverted darkness that confused distance perception.

  "Dimensional interference increasing," Quinn reported from Specter's position in the formation, their mech flickering at the edges of visibility even to Valoris's enhanced sensors. "Sensor reliability degrading. Electromagnetic readings are unreliable. Gravitational measurements are contradictory. We're operating essentially blind except for visual confirmation."

  "Welcome to the zones," Chen replied from Echo. "You get used to it. Sort of. Your brain eventually stops trying to make sense of input that doesn't make sense. Acceptance is easier than understanding."

  "Stay in visual contact," Reyes ordered, keeping the combined formation tight. "Route Alpha takes us along the zone perimeter, through sectors where entity activity has been minimal. Today is about orientation. Learning how the zone feels. Combat only if absolutely necessary."

  They patrolled in tense silence, ten mechs moving through the corruption zone landscape that seemed to resist their presence. The zone felt empty: no entities visible, no threats apparent, just broken reality extending in all directions and that pulsing rift scar in the middle distance that drew Valoris's attention despite her attempts to ignore it.

  Too quiet. Too empty. Like the zone was holding its breath.

  "Contact," Mbeki announced from Beacon, her mech's enhanced sensors cutting through dimensional interference better than standard equipment. "Three entities, bearing two-seven-zero, approximately eight hundred meters. Moving slowly. Trajectory suggests they're heading toward the rift scar."

  Valoris's awareness sharpened. First entity sighting. Her hands, both flesh and mechanical, tightened reflexively.

  "Chimera, maintain position," Reyes ordered. "Talon, standard approach. We're going to give our rookies their first real look at what we're fighting. Observe formation, positioning, engagement protocols. This is a teaching moment."

  Talon moved forward while Chimera held back, five veteran mechs flowing into combat formation with practiced ease while Valoris and her squad watched from observation distance.

  And there they were. Entities.

  Valoris's first real entity sighting. Not simulation or training construct. Not academic discussion.

  Real.

  Three of them moved slowly through the corruption zone, their geometries wrong in ways that made her brain hurt to process. The largest was perhaps fifty feet tall, its surface both smooth as glass and fractured like broken crystal, movement suggesting multiple dimensions of motion compressed into three-dimensional space. The other two were smaller, thirty feet or so, their forms shifting constantly as if they couldn't decide what shape to maintain.

  Beautiful in an alien way. Horrifying in a fundamental way.

  "That's..." Milo's voice caught. "Those are actually entities. Real entities. I knew they existed, obviously we knew they existed, but seeing them is..."

  "Different," Saren finished. "Yes. It's different."

  The entities moved slowly through the broken landscape, struggling against something invisible, drifting toward the rift scar with apparent difficulty.

  "Watch Talon's approach," Valoris said, forcing her voice steady, forcing her tactical awareness to function despite the visceral wrongness of what she was seeing. "Study their formation. This is what real engagement looks like.”

  Talon gave Chimera a moment to absorb what they were looking at, and then moved with coordinated precision. Bulwark took point, shield systems activating to provide cover for the squad's advance. Rend flanked left, blade systems humming with readiness. Siege positioned for fire support, weapons arrays tracking the entities with mechanical accuracy. Echo disappeared into dimensional overlap, reconnaissance positioning that would provide tactical awareness throughout the engagement. Beacon maintained central position, sensor arrays feeding real-time data to every squad member.

  The entities noticed them. The largest one turned, its wrong geometry shifting to orient toward the approaching mechs.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Entities and mechs regarding each other across corrupted space.

  Then Reyes gave the order. "Engage."

  Siege fired first, heavy weapons tearing through dimensional interference to impact the largest entity's surface. The entity shuddered, its geometry distorting around the point of impact. Rend closed distance with aggressive speed, blade systems carving through impossible angles with force that should have been immediately lethal.

  The entity screamed.

  It wasn’t the mechanical shrieking that sometimes came across camera footage. It screamed, with a sound that suggested pain and confusion and fear. Sound that was almost human in its emotional content despite emerging from a being that wasn't remotely human.

  It bled fluid that was the wrong color, too dark, too thick, catching light in ways that made it look simultaneously liquid and solid. The fluid evaporated quickly, dissolving into sparkles of dimensional energy that scattered like dying embers.

  Valoris watched it die. Watched all three of them die as Talon Squad executed with practiced efficiency. The smaller entities tried to flee toward the rift scar but didn't get far before weapons fire caught them, tore through them, reduced them to dissolving geometry and fading screams.

  Thirty seconds. Maybe less. Three entities that had been existing one moment, gone the next.

  "Contacts eliminated," Reyes reported, voice calm and professional. "Area secure. Chimera, advance to our position. Observe the residue patterns. This is what entity dissolution looks like up close."

  Chimera moved forward, and Valoris felt her squad's tension through the vague awareness that three years of proximity had created. They'd just watched their first real kills. Watched beings that existed and moved and apparently felt something like pain get destroyed with mechanical efficiency.

  The dissolution site was marked by scorched ground and fading energy traces. Where the entities had existed, reality seemed slightly more damaged than surrounding space, as if their deaths had wounded dimensional coherence further.

  "They were trying to reach the rift," Quinn said quietly. "Their trajectory was consistent. Movement toward the dimensional tear. Not toward us. Not aggressive. Just trying to get somewhere."

  "Doesn't matter where they were going," Ortiz replied from Rend, blade systems still humming with residual energy. "Entity presence in the zone constitutes a threat. If they get too near the perimeter, they’ll spread the corruption. Elimination is standard protocol. You learn not to think about it too hard."

  "Resume patrol," Reyes ordered. "Two more hours on Route Alpha. Stay alert. That cluster was small. Larger groups present a greater threat."

  They moved on, leaving the dissolution site behind, but Valoris couldn't stop thinking about the scream. About the way the entities had been trying to reach the rift. About how "threat" and "existing in the zone" had been conflated into the same justification.

  The rest of the patrol passed without incident. Two more hours of walking through broken reality, sensors screaming intermittent warnings, awareness stretched across boundaries that humans weren't designed to perceive. No additional entity contacts. Just the zone and its wrongness and the questions that Valoris couldn't quite articulate even to herself.

  The disconnection process after four hours of existing inside a dimensional rift was harder than usual. Valoris emerged from Paragon's cockpit disoriented and nauseous, connection fluid soaking through her pilot suit collar in warm streams that would continue for hours.

  The squad regrouped in their barracks, all five of them struggling with disconnection trauma while trying to process what they'd observed.

  "That wasn't what I expected," Zee said, sprawled on her bunk with obvious exhaustion. Hair had escaped from its usual arrangement, falling everywhere, making her look younger and more vulnerable than usual. "The entities were just there. Existing."

  "They hadn’t noticed us yet,” Saren said. “If they’d seen us, they probably would have moved to attack.”

  "Maybe those entities were anomalies," Milo offered.

  "The sample size is inadequate for definitive conclusions," Quinn countered.

  "We'll see more tomorrow," Valoris said, trying to organize her thoughts despite disconnection making her awareness feel fragmented. "Different route, different sector. We'll have more data to analyze."

  "And more kills to observe," Saren added quietly.

  Nobody responded to that. They were all thinking the same thing, all processing the same uncomfortable observations through their individual filters of doubt and duty.

  Valoris filed her report that evening, writing observations with clinical precision while her hands shook slightly from exhaustion and emotional overload:

  Entity cluster observed during patrol. Three entities, varying sizes. Movement pattern consistent with approach toward dimensional rift scar. Non-aggressive behavior noted prior to engagement. Elimination by Talon Squad executed per standard protocols. Recommend continued observation of entity behavioral patterns.

  The response came back within an hour:

  Entity behavior noted. Threat neutralized. Patrol successful. Well done, Chimera Lead.

  Just "noted." Like it didn't matter. Like observations about entity behavior were irrelevant curiosities.

  That night, Chimera Squad couldn't sleep.

  They sat together in their barracks room, exhausted but too wired for actual rest, processing their first deployment through conversation that circled the same uncomfortable questions. They'd completed their first deployment patrol. No casualties. Mission parameters achieved. Every checkbox marked green on official reports. Summer deployment would continue for weeks. More patrols, more observations, more entity encounters that would either confirm their doubts or contradict them.

  Valoris suspected she already knew which outcome was more likely.

  And that terrified her more than any entity ever could.