PROJECT: CAYRO

Captain Clark:

September 4, 2025

22:15 CST

The Autumn

Fifty miles off the coast of Texas and Mexico

I burst onto the bridge, my pulse pounding in sync with the pain hammering in my skull. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, a grim reminder of the impact that had just slammed me into the bulkhead. My ears still rang from the explosion, the chaotic echoes of battle distorting reality.

“What the hell was that?!” I spat, my voice laced with the sharp sting of panic.

“Laser cannon fire!” Nathan’s voice cut through the disorientation just as his station flickered back to life, the urgency in his tone matching the dread gnawing at my gut.

“Nathan, get us the hell out of here!” I ordered, the taste of blood thick on my tongue as I spat on the floor, more out of frustration than anything else. Around us, the consoles buzzed and flickered, the ship struggling to wake from its forced slumber.

The entire ship shuddered as Nathan punched the throttle, the force of acceleration pressing me into the bulkhead I was leaning against. The hull groaned in protest, the ship’s structure straining under the steep climb as we clawed our way upward, desperate to escape whatever had ambushed us.

“Andrew, the ship’s computer is back online. And what the hell was that?” the Doctor’s voice crackled through the intercom, his usual calm shattered by the situation.

“We’re under attack. All crew to stations, prepare for battle!” I barked back, not bothering to answer his question—there was no time for that now.

I threw myself into the command chair, my fingers flying over the controls to bring up the external cameras. The view that filled the screen sent a jolt of shock through me—a Titan-class destroyer loomed off our starboard side, its bulk bristling with weapons. Those ships were supposed to be obsolete, decommissioned six years ago. What the hell is it doing here? And why is it attacking us?

The heavy footfalls of the crew rushing to the bridge echoed down the corridors, a steady drumbeat of urgency. Casey was the first to arrive, nearly tripping over himself as he dove into his seat, his eyes locked on me, awaiting orders.

“Find out how far that damn ship is!” I snapped, my voice carrying the edge of desperation.

“Yes, Sir!” Casey’s fingers danced over his console, pulling up the data we needed.

“Bring the cannons online and target that bastard!” I growled, the weight of command pressing down on me like a vise.

“Sir, it’s a mile off our starboard side. They’re gearing up for another volley!” Casey reported, his voice tight with tension.

“Nathan, get us higher!” I ordered, my eyes darting to him, trusting him to keep us alive for just a few more minutes.

Without a word, Nathan pulled us into an even steeper climb, the ship groaning as it fought against the pull of gravity. More footsteps echoed from the corridor, and a moment later, the Doctor burst onto the bridge, Tiffany, John, and Desiree on his heels.

“Andrew, I can’t find Star or Cayro!” the Doctor’s voice was thick with panic, his usual composure shattered.

I whipped around to face him, anger flaring hot and fast. “John, you have the bridge! Tiffany, prep the medical bay for incoming injuries!” I commanded, pushing myself out of the chair.

Without waiting for a response, I sprinted off the bridge, the Doctor’s footsteps pounding behind me. My heart was racing, but not from the exertion—something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.

I skidded to a halt at my quarters, snatching my black skyboard from its place on the wall. There was only one place Star would be on a night like this, and I wasn’t about to waste time. I sprinted to the flight deck, launching myself into the air, the board humming beneath me as it caught the wind.

As I neared the hydrogen pods, I saw him—Cayro, sliding off the platform, unconscious. I barely managed to catch him, his weight hitting me like a freight train, nearly sending us both plummeting. I swerved just in time as Star’s board came crashing down, missing us by inches. But where the hell was Star?

Cayro was out cold, dead weight in my arms. There was no time to waste. I spun the board around and raced back to the flight deck, the Doctor waiting with a look of grim determination on his face.

I handed Cayro off to the Doctor, my fingers lingering for just a moment as if I could anchor us both to something solid. But there was no time for hesitation. Star was out there, and I had to find her. Just as I kicked off the deck and went airborne, the attacking ship fired another volley.

The sight of those deadly beams streaking toward us froze my blood. My arm shot up instinctively to shield my face, even as a torrent of memories—faces, places, regrets—flashed before my eyes. But then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. A blinding flash erupted as the lasers dissolved into the night, mere meters from where I hovered. The heat washed over me, almost tangible in its intensity, and I could do nothing but stare, gasping for breath, as the realization that I was still alive sank in.

Something—no, someone—had saved us, saved the Autumn. But who? And how? The questions swirled in my mind, but there was no time to dwell on them. Cayro's agonized moan yanked me back to reality.

I dropped from my board, landing heavily on the deck with a bone-jarring thud, and watched helplessly as the board spiraled down into the ocean below. There was no time to mourn it. I rushed to the Doctor, grabbing Cayro by the shoulders and shaking him, desperate for answers.

“Where is she?! Where is Star?” I demanded, my voice cracking under the weight of my fear.

“They… took her…” Cayro gasped, his words barely audible as he pointed weakly toward the attacking ship before collapsing into unconsciousness.

A cold wave of terror surged through me, extinguishing the anger that had fueled me moments before. Star was gone. Taken. Before I could process the enormity of it, the Autumn lurched beneath my feet, pivoting to face the enemy.

“Doc, take Cayro to the medical bay!” I ordered, my voice strained. Without waiting for a reply, I sprinted back to the bridge, every step a painful reminder of the stakes.

I burst onto the bridge, my breath ragged, my head pounding from the relentless sprint. Rage and confusion boiled inside me, and I wanted—no, needed—answers.

“Nathan, why the fuck did you change direction after I told you to get us the hell out of here?!” I snarled, my voice barely contained.

“Sir, it wasn’t him! The whole bridge just went offline!” John interjected, his tone defensive, his eyes wide with the same confusion I felt.

I turned to the monitors, and my stomach dropped. The screens were no longer under our control. Instead, our Team SAF logo glared back at me, locking us out of every system.

“What the hell is going on?!” I shouted, my voice cracking under the pressure.

My blood pressure spiked, pain lancing through my skull as frustration and panic intertwined. Then, as if mocking my helplessness, a square pad rose from the floor next to my chair, stopping at armrest level. A blurry figure of light flickered to life above it, gradually taking shape until it solidified into the image of… a cat? A white cat with a black tail, sitting regally on the pad as if it owned the damn place.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring, utterly dumbfounded. It looked exactly like the apparition Star had described in her dreams. My heart raced, and it took several seconds before I could force words out of my mouth.

“What in God’s name is wrong with my ship?!” I growled, disbelief and frustration spilling over.

The cat—what I now realized was a hologram—turned its head toward me, a disturbingly smug smile on its face. “Absolutely nothing is wrong with my ship,” it replied in a precise, upper-class American accent. “Except you allowed two holes to be blasted in the side of it,” it added with a hint of reproach, standing and posing as if it were some aristocrat and not a piece of digital code.

My jaw nearly hit the floor. This couldn’t be real. “By the way, I am 1337-J2 Artificial Intelligence Operating System for the U.S.S. Autumn, re-designated as the SAF Autumn twelve years ago due to ship separation from U.S. Military upon the prior Captain’s death,” it continued, its tone maddeningly calm. “This ship is on complete lockdown until the command password and voice recognitions are met.”

I could feel my rage crystallizing into something sharper, more dangerous. My eyes narrowed as I glared at the smug hologram. “Cat, give me command of my ship before I decompile your program, you scuzball piece of shit,” I snarled through clenched teeth.

“Voice recognition acquired. However, password has not been confirmed. Please provide command password…” the hologram responded, its voice annoyingly chipper.

I closed my eyes, trying to keep my head from exploding, sifting through memories, searching for the damn password. Time was running out, and I needed control—now.

“Damnit, I don’t have time for this. I need control of the ship so we can get out of here,” I snapped, the urgency in my voice unmistakable.

The hologram’s expression shifted, and when it spoke again, the voice wasn’t its own. “Andrew Clark, remember Project Orion,” it said in the unmistakable voice of Jacob Bracton, my old friend.

The words hit me like a freight train, pulling a long-buried memory to the surface. Project Orion—our first assignment together, a project to create a weapon more powerful than anything the world had ever seen. The memory surged back with brutal clarity.

“Schrodinger's Cat Protocol: Charlie Lima Alpha Romeo Kilo – Eight Zero Seven Three,” I spat out, the password falling from my lips without hesitation.

“Password accepted. SAF Autumn is now in secondary command of Andrew N. Clark, Captain. Prior command is released, and all functions are hereby restored. Captain Clark, I am awaiting your orders,” the hologram announced, its tone as calm as ever.

“Huh… Secondary command!” I echoed, the shock of the situation finally catching up to me. I blinked at the hologram, trying to wrap my mind around what the hell just happened.

“You have provided adequate voice recognition and the override password. I am now under your command until the true captains are aboard and available,” the hologram stated in that infuriatingly calm tone, as if it hadn’t just hijacked my ship and tossed my authority into the wind.

I blinked, still reeling from the absurdity of it all. I didn’t have time for this crap—not with Star in danger. Shaking off the shock, I turned away from the smug A.I. and faced my crew.

“Nathan, resume our original course,” I ordered, forcing myself to focus.

“Captain Clark, it would be better to pursue the Death Reckoning and disable the ship,” the hologram interjected, still as calm as ever.

I clenched my fists, barely suppressing the urge to lash out at the damn thing. “Do you realize that’s a U.S. Air Force Titan-class airship? There’s no chance in hell we can take it on. It’s more equipped for battle than the Autumn,” I ground out, trying to keep my voice level.

“On the contrary, the Death Reckoning “was” more equipped, but not anymore,” it replied, as if discussing the weather.

I shot a glare at the hologram, wishing more than anything that it were tangible so I could wring its neck. “Permission to take control of the ship?” it asked, as if it was just a formality.

I felt the weight of every eye on me as the hologram waited for my response. The room was thick with anticipation.

“Fine,” I bit out, “because something tells me you’re going to do it anyway.”

“That would be a correct assumption, Captain. The crew of the Death Reckoning has taken an asset from the SAF Autumn, and it is my responsibility to ensure her protection,” the hologram explained, its tone almost condescending.

My temper flared again. “And how the hell do you know what they took?” I demanded, incredulous at this AI’s audacity.

“Now is not the time to discuss that particular information, Captain,” it replied, evasive calculations scrolling across its body, as if to distract me.

As the Autumn surged forward toward the Death Reckoning, another flash of light blazed across the sky, heading straight for the bridge. My breath caught in my throat as the third volley of lasers struck, only to dissipate mere meters from our bow, just like before.

“What the hell just happened?” John’s voice trembled with shock as the light faded.

“The SAF Autumn is now equipped with advanced light reflective regenerative shielding,” the hologram explained with maddening nonchalance.

“Ah… Makes sense now,” I muttered, my temper slowly cooling as the pieces fell into place.

I narrowed my eyes at the hologram. “Scuzball, target essential systems on that ship—disable it, but do not, under any circumstances, destroy it.”

The cat hologram scowled at me, clearly displeased, but proceeded as ordered. “My name is 1337-J2,” it griped, as if it actually had a say in the matter.

“Not anymore, it’s not. You’ll answer to Scuzball from now on,” I announced with a smirk, enjoying the small victory. Pissing off the AI gave me a brief, much-needed moment of satisfaction, a tiny flicker of control in this spiraling situation.

“Fine, Sir. Target locked and ready to fire,” Scuzball announced, his voice reverting to its calm, infuriatingly polite tone.

“Fire,” I commanded, my voice low and edged with the darkness of the moment.

The entire ship shuddered as a blue beam of light sliced through the night sky, striking the Death Reckoning with pinpoint accuracy. The impact melted through the ship’s belly, tearing a massive chunk out of its hull. Molten slag rained down towards the ocean below, the wreckage of what had once been a formidable threat.

I slowly sank into my chair, dumbfounded by the sheer power of the blast. One cannon, just one, had managed to cripple a Titan-class airship. When the hell did we get blue laser cannons?

But there was no time to dwell on that now. We had Star to save.