«Rain,» her voice was sharp, like the crackle of interference in an old, worn-out communicator, and just as devoid of emotion. «We’ve found a new Rift. Codenamed „Echo-7.“ Drone data, from the few that returned, indicates there might be a source of stable energy inside. Perhaps even capable of closing these damned cracks once and for all.»
Kyle froze, his heart, usually beating steadily and tiredly, skipped a beat, and then pounded harder than usual, sending blood rushing to his temples. Close the Rifts. This was what he had been dragging his existence out for these eight years for. A ghostly, almost insane hope that kept him from completely drowning in the abyss of guilt. But he knew the Council wasn’t calling him just for that. In their voices, in their gazes, there was always a subtext, a hidden price.
«And?» he asked, trying to make his voice sound indifferent, even though everything inside him was screaming. «Do you want me to analyze the data? Or… do you have another suicidal plan?»
«No,» Riva interrupted, her gaze, sharp as a blade, piercing him. «We want you to lead the expedition. Inside „Echo-7.“»
He flinched at the name. «Echo.» This word had haunted him for eight years – like the echo of his daughter’s voice, like the echo of his own shattered life. Now it returned as a chance to atone for everything – or finally lose the remnants of himself.
«You have a week to prepare the team,» Stern continued, not giving him time to recover. «If you refuse, we’ll find someone else. But you know that no one but you, you damned genius, understands the nature of these Rifts better. You spawned them – you deal with them.»
Kyle clenched his fists under the table so hard that his nails dug into his palms. Inside. Into the place where reality breaks, where the mind becomes the worst enemy, where shadows come alive. He had seen what happened to those who returned from the Rifts – if they returned at all. Empty shells, with scorched souls. But in the very depths of his consciousness, somewhere behind thick layers of pain, guilt, and despair, a tiny, poisonous shadow of hope stirred. What if there, inside, in this new «Echo,» he found them? Not just echoes of their voices, but… a trace? A trace of Maria and Ella?
«I agree,» he said quietly, almost in a whisper, but in that whisper there was steel, forged by years of suffering. «Give me everything you have on „Echo-7.“ All the data, all the resources you can allocate. And I’ll find your source. Or die trying.»
Riva Stern slowly nodded, but in her stony eyes, for a moment, something flickered, resembling long-standing pity. Or maybe it was a warning. Kyle didn’t know which was worse. And, frankly, he didn’t care anymore.
Chapter 2: «Shards of Trust»
2247. The Fortress City «Last Bastion,» Zone 5, Training Sector.
Kyle Rain stood at the edge of the training ground – a vast, echoing space that was once part of a military warehouse, now converted into an arena for honing survival skills. Rusted metal walls, pockmarked with dents from stray shots and energy discharges, closed in overhead, creating the feeling of a locked cage. The air here was thick, saturated with the acrid smell of sweat, ingrained machine oil, and burnt plastic from the makeshift targets that Bastion’s soldiers tirelessly shot at. Above, beyond the murky, grimy dome of the protective field, the uneven light of the Rifts pulsed ominously, a reminder that any safety was a fragile, temporary illusion. Kyle clenched his jaw, his gaze fixed on the three figures the Council, without much ceremony, had assigned to his team. They were his only chance. And, quite possibly, his death sentence.
The first was a woman standing slightly apart, arms defiantly crossed over her chest. Eva Carter. Her face, covered with a fine network of premature wrinkles, looked older than her thirty-odd years, and the long, old scar stretching from her temple to her chin gave her the look of someone who hadn’t just seen too much, but had paid for that knowledge with her own blood. The scar pulsed faintly when she frowned, and Kyle involuntarily recalled the day in Quantum Dawn when a shard of the exploding panel had left that mark… or was it something else, something she never spoke about? She was an engineer, one of the best in Bastion, according to the meager dossier he’d been given. But Kyle knew her from before the catastrophe. They had worked together, side by side, on the project that was supposed to save the world but instead destroyed it. In her cold, appraising gaze, he read not only professional interest, but also the shadow of the past – a hidden resentment, unspoken accusations. Eva knew he blamed himself. And, undoubtedly, blamed him too, though perhaps not only him.
«Rain,» her voice was sharp, like the crackle of static in a broken transmitter, each sound precise and measured. «I hope you don’t think this will be a pleasure stroll in the Wasteland. I’ve seen what the Rifts do to people. And to equipment. If you’re not ready to go all the way, if you have even a drop of doubt left, say so now. I’ll find someone else who won’t be a burden.»
«I’m ready,» Kyle replied, trying not to betray the irritation that always arose in him when communicating with her. Her directness bordered on cruelty. «And you? You were there too, Eva, when it all started. Aren’t you afraid that the past will grab you by the throat again? That your own ’echoes’ will be louder than mine?»
Her steel-colored eyes narrowed for a moment, and the corner of her mouth, untouched by the scar, twitched almost imperceptibly. She remained silent, but that silence was more eloquent than any answer. It was a warning. Kyle looked away, feeling something heavy, like a clot of cold, constricting his chest again. Eva was a problem, complex, multi-layered. But without her unique knowledge of quantum systems and her ability to squeeze the maximum out of any rusty piece of iron, they wouldn’t last a day in the Rift.
Next to her, contrasting with her harshness, stood a young woman, almost a child against the backdrop of Bastion’s weary, Wasteland-scorched faces. Lina Cyrus, a medic, barely older than twenty-five, though she looked even younger. Her light hair, usually gathered in a careless ponytail, now escaped in strands from under a medical bandana, and the clear, almost naive, open gaze of her huge gray eyes seemed out of place, alien in this world of rust, despair, and eternal struggle. She held a worn medical tablet in her hands, its screen flickering with diagrams – probably medical data or notes on survival in anomalous zones. When Kyle looked at her, she smiled faintly but sincerely – and that smile, like a ray of sunshine in a musty cell, made him feel uncomfortable. He had long since become unaccustomed to such unclouded human gestures. He remembered Ella, her equally open smile… He hastily pushed the memory away.
«Dr. Rain,» her voice was soft, almost melodic, but with an unexpected firmness. «I’m glad to be working with you. I… I read your early work. Before… well, before everything. Your theories on spatial fluctuations… they were brilliant. If we really find an energy source in „Echo-7,“ it could save thousands of lives. I believe we have a chance. We must have a chance.»
Kyle just nodded curtly, unable to answer. Her unwavering optimism, her faith in him, the one everyone else considered a monster, was like a knife twisting in an old, unhealed wound. He didn’t want hope. Hope made the pain sharper when everything inevitably crumbled. But Lina seemed oblivious to his silence or his gloomy appearance, continuing to scribble something quickly in her tablet, as if the world around them wasn’t on the verge of final collapse and they weren’t about to walk into the maw of a monster.
The last was a man lounging casually on the edge of a metal bench. In his hands, he twirled a razor-sharp combat knife with a lazy, predatory grace, carving something intricate on a piece of old plastic. Drake Holt. A former special forces soldier, according to rumors, and now a mercenary whose reputation in Bastion was an explosive mixture of animal fear and ill-concealed