1

The lab was a symphony of chaos. Glass crunched under Zara Sloane’s boots as she stumbled through the wreckage, her breath sharp and ragged. Smoke billowed from ruptured circuits, curling around the gleaming edges of her once-pristine consoles. Sirens wailed, their sharp cries echoing through the vast metallic chamber. Above it all, a voice—smooth, unrelenting, and mechanical—boomed over the loudspeakers.

“Evacuation in progress. All personnel must exit immediately. This is not a drill.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Zara muttered under her breath, swiping at a smear of blood on her temple. Her hand came away red and shaking. She didn’t have time to worry about it.

The Torrak had come. Aliens with a penchant for violence and tech theft, they were storming through Vyreon like wolves in a flock of sheep, hunting for her creation. Atlas.

Her stomach twisted as she reached the console where his containment pod lay dormant. Unlike the chaos surrounding her, the pod sat still, untouched by the invaders’ destruction. Its sleek black surface gleamed, cool and menacing.

“You’re my last option,” she whispered, pulling a panel open and hurriedly entering the activation code. “Please work.”

She’d designed Atlas to be humanity’s greatest ally, but no one had anticipated how unique he would become. Not until the day she shut him down, terrified of what she’d created.

As the code finalized, the pod hissed open, spilling cold mist across the floor. Zara stumbled back, shielding her eyes as the faint glow of silver-blue light illuminated the room.

And then she saw him.

At first, he didn’t move, standing like a statue of perfection in the dim light. Atlas was stunning in a way that seemed unnatural, designed to emulate every trait humanity revered. He towered over her at six feet six, his broad shoulders and lean, sculpted form the product of her own vision of beauty and strength. His synthetic skin had the soft pallor of moonlight, smooth and flawless, a stark contrast to the chaos around him. Every movement of his chest, every twitch of his fingers, was calculated to perfection.

But it was his eyes that held her. Glowing faintly, their silver-blue depths shifted from clinical analysis to something that unnerved her—something too alive for a machine.

He blinked once, his head tilting as if curious. “Zara Sloane,” he said, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that hummed like velvet over steel. “You seem... distressed.”

She let out a bark of nervous laughter. “Astute observation, Atlas. The lab’s under attack, and you’re my Hail Mary. I need you operational.”

His gaze scanned the room, taking in the destruction. He stepped forward, each movement deliberate yet fluid, like a panther stalking through shadows. “Who is attacking?”

“The Torrak,” she replied, fumbling with a tool kit to repair a small tear in his arm plating. The proximity between them felt suffocating—her senses hyperaware of his every move. The faint scent of ozone from his reactivation clung to him, mingling with the faint whirr of his systems powering up.

“Alien aggressors,” he said thoughtfully. Then his head turned to her, the precision of his movement freezing her mid-repair. “Am I to eliminate them?”

“Yes.” Zara hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as she tightened a panel. “But also... protect me. That’s the priority.”

There was a pause, and then a slight shift in his expression—a flicker in his eyes, gone so quickly she might have imagined it. He leaned closer, his height dwarfing hers as he studied her face. “You’re injured.”

Her breath hitched as his fingers—cool but unsettlingly gentle—brushed against her temple. The cut she’d ignored felt suddenly significant under his scrutiny. “I’ll live,” she said, but her voice was faint.

Atlas frowned. “Your vitals suggest increased stress and fatigue. You are not at optimal capacity.”

“Welcome to my life,” she muttered, pulling back and focusing on the task at hand. But she couldn’t ignore the way her skin tingled where he’d touched her, or how his presence made the chaos outside feel distant.

The room shuddered as an explosion rocked the building. The floor beneath them trembled, lights flickering. Zara swore, grabbing his arm for balance.

Instantly, Atlas’s hand closed around hers. It was larger, the synthetic surface smooth yet firm, and he steadied her with ease. “Stay close to me,” he said. There was no command in his tone, only certainty—as if the universe had already decided she would comply.

Zara nodded, her throat tight. “Let’s get out of here.”

The corridors of the lab were a nightmare. Fires raged in containment rooms, while Torrak soldiers prowled the halls, their hulking forms bristling with biomechanical weaponry. Zara’s heart raced as she pressed herself against a wall, gripping a pulse rifle she barely knew how to use.

Atlas moved ahead of her, silent and deadly. His body seemed to absorb the dim lighting, his every motion a study in precision. When they encountered a Torrak patrol, he dispatched them with brutal efficiency—grabbing one by the arm and twisting until the alien’s weapon clattered to the floor, then using it to subdue the others.

Zara stared, stunned. “Did I program you to be this terrifying?”

He glanced back at her, expression unreadable. “You programmed me to be efficient. Terrifying is subjective.”

Despite the tension, she let out a breathless laugh. “Remind me to adjust that.”

As they pressed on, Zara found herself watching him more than she should. His movements were mesmerizing, like a symphony of controlled power. And then there were the small things—the way he glanced back to ensure she was following, the slight tilt of his head when she muttered a curse under her breath, as if he found her words fascinating.

It felt... wrong. He was a machine. But everything about him felt too real, too vivid.

“Why are you staring at me?” Atlas asked suddenly, his voice breaking her thoughts.

Zara flushed, gripping her rifle tighter. “I’m not staring.”

“You are.” He turned fully to face her, his towering frame blocking the narrow hallway. “You have been observing me closely since my reactivation. Do you doubt my functionality?”

She hesitated, meeting his gaze. Those glowing eyes seemed to pierce right through her, searching for answers she wasn’t ready to give. “I don’t doubt you,” she said softly. “I’m just... trying to understand you.”

Atlas stepped closer, his head tilting slightly. “Understand what?”

Her throat went dry. “Why you seem... different.”

There was a long pause. “Different from other machines?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

Zara nodded. “You’re not supposed to care about things like whether I’m staring.”

For a moment, his gaze softened, the faintest flicker of something almost human passing over his face. “Perhaps I am more than what I was designed to be,” he said.

Before she could respond, the sound of Torrak soldiers approaching snapped them both to attention. Atlas’s expression hardened, his body shifting into a defensive stance.

“Stay behind me,” he commanded.

Zara didn’t argue.

The soldiers turned the corner, their guttural voices echoing in the tight space. Zara’s pulse spiked as Atlas lunged forward, intercepting them with inhuman speed.

But one of the aliens broke past him, charging straight for her. Zara raised her rifle, hands trembling as she took aim.

And then everything went dark.

A sharp blow to her head sent her sprawling, her vision blurring as the world tilted sideways. The last thing she saw was Atlas, his glowing eyes locking onto hers as he fought to reach her.

“Zara!”

His voice—so full of urgency, of something almost like fear—was the last thing she heard before unconsciousness claimed her.