The Ashlands were a grey purgatory. Perpetual twilight clung to the skeletal remains of forgotten structures. Fine particulate matter coated everything, a constant irritant against Jax’s bio-synthetic shell. His optical sensors filtered the gloom, enhancing the thermal signatures of the Null Unit squad he moved with. UNIT-77 led, a hulking mass of programmed aggression. Two other Nulls, 31 and 54, flanked him. Jax, UNIT-09, took point position, his internal processors mapping the treacherous terrain. Every broken slab, every dust-choked crevice, a potential ambush point. His HUD flickered: `OBJECTIVE: ANOMALY-SITE-7. RETRIEVE DATA-SHARD.` The mission was simple. A Null Sector transport had gone down two cycles ago. Data extraction had failed remotely. Null Units were expendable, perfect for high-risk recoveries. Movement. Ten meters, 03:00. Thermal bloom. Not human. Too low, too fast. `WARNING: HOSTILE BIOLOGICAL.` Jax’s internal chronometer registered the threat a full second before 77’s comms clicked. “CONTACT! GRID-4!” Too late. Three Grit-Runners burst from beneath a collapsed skybridge. Razor-sharp claws, chitinous plating. Low-tier mutants, but numerous, aggressive. Jax reacted. His plasma rifle snapped up. A precise burst stitched across the lead Runner’s torso. Chitin cracked. Superheated plasma vaporized internal organs. The creature spasmed, then dissolved into shimmering motes. 31 and 54 opened fire, their aim less refined. Scattershot. 77 charged, his heavy pulse-hammer already sparking. Brute force, the Null Sector way. Jax sidestepped a sweeping claw, the wind of its passage a brief pressure wave. He brought the rifle butt up, slamming it into the second Runner’s exposed jaw. Mandibles shattered. Before it could recover, he pivoted, firing another burst into its brainstem. Clean. Efficient. His human mind registered the cold precision. His Null Unit body felt nothing but the rhythmic thrum of internal systems. A perfect synchronization of predator and machine. 77 crushed the third Runner under his hammer, a sickening crunch of bone and chitin. “CLEAR!” he bellowed, his voice a distorted growl over the comms. `SUB-OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: ELIMINATE HOSTILES.` Jax swept the area, optics zooming, before resuming his path. The Nulls followed, their heavy footsteps echoing in the ash. --- They pushed deeper, the Ashlands giving way to the skeletal remains of a comms relay station. Twisted metal, sparking wires, the air thick with ozone and decay. The crashed transport was a mangled scar against the grey landscape, half-buried in a crater. “Secure perimeter,” 77 commanded. “09, locate access hatch.” Jax moved, his optical sensors scanning for structural weaknesses, pressure points. The transport’s skin was fused in places, buckled elsewhere. He found a seam, partially exposed. His comms clicked. “Hatch detected. Stress fracture optimal.” He deployed his multi-tool, a whirring array of plasma torch and manipulator claws. The metal shrieked as the torch bit deep. Sparks rained down, illuminating the cracked visor of his helmet. His old life flashed through his mind – the click of a mouse, the glow of a monitor, the satisfying *thwack* of a digital hammer striking a virtual weak point. Now, it was real. The heat, the smell of burning alloy, the very real danger. He ripped the panel open. A stench of stale air and something metallic-sweet wafted out. Inside, the transport was a mess of sparking conduits and mangled equipment. The data-shard was affixed to a central console, glowing faintly red. “Shard located,” Jax reported. He reached in, fingers expertly disconnecting the shard from its cradle. It hummed in his grip, warm. `OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: DATA-SHARD RETRIEVED.` Then his internal comms crackled, overriding the standard Null Sector frequency. Not 77. Not his squad. An unknown source. `…UNIT-09. PROCEED WITH EXTRACTION. DIRECTIVE: ABANDON CURRENT FORMATION. SOLO EXFIL.` Jax froze. His internal processors flickered. `NEW DIRECTIVE CONFLICT: PRIMARY MISSION PARAMETERS.` He checked his HUD. No new mission parameters displayed. The `OBJECTIVE COMPLETE` tag remained. “09! Status report!” 77’s voice was sharp. He was already moving towards the transport, ready to provide cover. Jax's Null Unit programming demanded compliance with 77, the squad leader. But the new signal, it carried an authority. A higher clearance, perhaps? Or a trap. He had to choose. Obey the primary chain of command, or follow the anomaly. His human instinct screamed caution. His Null Unit programming was in conflict, a rare, disturbing sensation. He had spent weeks perfecting the mindless drone persona. This was a direct challenge. “Shard secure, 77,” Jax said, his voice flat. He turned, the shard held conspicuously in his open palm. A perfect drone following protocol. `WARNING: HOSTILE ENERGIES DETECTED. MULTIPLE SIGNATURES.` Not the Grit-Runners. Not the Scav-Wraiths. These were… larger. Stronger. The ground began to tremble. “Hostiles!” 77 roared. “All Nulls! Engage!” From the Ashlands, a colossal shape emerged. Towering, multi-limbed, eyes glowing with malevolent intent. A Sand-Leviathan. An alpha-class mutant. Null Sector never deployed Null Units against these things without heavy ordnance support. It shrieked, a sound that vibrated through Jax’s chassis, rattling his very core. The earth around the transport cracked open. More Leviathans, smaller but still immense, erupted from the dust. `ERROR: OVERWHELMING HOSTILE PRESENCE.` `NULL UNIT SURVIVAL CHANCE: 0.007%` The probability was a joke. His gaming mind processed the impossible odds. His Null Unit body, however, stood ready. Ready to die. Then, the unknown comms crackled again, overriding everything else. The voice was distorted, synthesized, yet it held a chilling familiarity. `...09. NEW DIRECTIVE. SHARD CONTAINS DATA ON NULL-CORE PROTOCOL 7. DO NOT LET IT FALL INTO ENEMY HANDS. SURVIVE. EXTRACT. FIND THE REVERIE.` Null-Core Protocol 7. Reverie. These were not Null Sector terms. Jax’s human mind reeled. The leviathans were upon them, a wave of primal fury. 31 and 54 were torn apart in seconds, their screams cut short. 77 roared defiance, his hammer a blur against the overwhelming force. Jax clutched the data-shard. The anonymous voice, the impossible mission, the cryptic terms. He was no longer just a drone. He was a pawn in a game he didn't understand, holding a secret that might unravel everything. The Sand-Leviathan alpha turned its glowing eyes on him. Its maw opened, revealing rows of serrated teeth. Jax raised his plasma rifle, but he knew it was futile. His Null Unit body registered the futility, yet a different programming, an older, human one, demanded he fight. He *would* fight. But first, he needed to understand. What was the Reverie? And why did that synthesized voice sound so much like his own?

Echoes in the Ash