PROJECT: CAYRO

Cayro Bracton:

September 5, 2025

06:36 CST

The Autumn

45,000 feet over Victoria TX.

Bright light pierced my vision as I blinked my eyes open, staring up at the stark ceiling of the cybernetics lab. The steady, rhythmic beep of a heart rate monitor was the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. I turned my head, trying to take in my surroundings, but a sharp stiffness shot through my neck, forcing a hiss of pain from my lips. God… I hurt everywhere. The pain wasn’t sharp; it was a deep, dull ache, the kind that settled in your bones after a brutal workout. And the headache pounding at the base of my skull wasn’t helping.

I flexed my fingers, wincing as my knuckles popped, the sound louder than I expected. I cringed, waiting for the pain to subside before wiping the drowsiness from my face with my left arm. As I moved, my elbow and shoulder joints cracked and popped, sending stars of pain flashing through my vision. I let out a low groan. Holy crap, what did I get myself into?

A dim light flickered in my peripheral vision, drawing my attention to my left arm. Data was scrolling across a display embedded just under my skin, an inch above my wrist. It looked like a tattoo, but the text was backlit, moving beneath the surface of my flesh. What the hell? Did the Doctor implant a subdermal display, or had this always been there? My mind raced with questions as I stared at the strange markings on my arm.

Just then, I heard footsteps approaching the door to the lab. The door scraped open with a sound much louder than I anticipated, and I realized with a start that I could hear everything—the soft murmur of voices, the faint hum of the lab equipment—so clearly, as if my senses had been dialed up to eleven.

“Are you sure you’re going to let him do this, Andrew?” I heard the Doctor ask, his voice barely above a whisper, yet crystal clear.

“Yes, one hundred percent sure. He’s the only one who can do it, or we lose Star,” Andrew replied, his tone resolute.

“Alright, but I recommend he gets a full day’s rest to let his body finish accepting the augmentation. His healing rate is amazingly fast, so it won’t take long for him to heal,” the Doctor explained, a note of concern in his voice.

“We don’t have time to wait. The U.S.S. Death Reckoning is making a run to Barksdale Air Force Base. Once we’re out of Texas, we can’t go after Star,” Andrew said, urgency threading through his words.

The Doctor stepped into my line of sight, his face etched with exhaustion. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Oh… you’re awake. How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, his voice soft but clear in the quiet of the lab.

“Sore,” I croaked out, my throat dry and raw.

“That’s expected. It looks like you’re healing at a much higher rate than we anticipated,” he said, nodding slightly as if reassuring himself.

“Doctor, why does everything sound so clear?” I asked, the clarity of my surroundings unsettling.

“I activated all of your implants, which in turn activated the dormant spliced DNA in your system. Once the implants were online and updated, they triggered the DNA throughout your body, causing your muscle and bone density to increase, heightening your sensory system, boosting your regenerative abilities, and enhancing your cognitive functions. Overall, your augmentation went well. You’ll experience everything around you at a much higher intensity than a normal human,” he explained, his tone measured and calm.

“Okay,” I replied, trying to absorb the enormity of what he was saying.

“It will be another hour before I can let you get up. For now, just lie there and rest while I prep your suit,” he instructed.

I nodded weakly and let my eyes drift shut once more, trying to process everything.

As darkness filled my mind, I became aware of a voice, soft and almost familiar, speaking from somewhere deep within.

“I don’t know what to do,” the voice said, laced with worry.

A darker, deeper voice responded, “Do what you must to survive. Your mate will come for you.”

“No… He is dead. They killed him,” the soft voice replied, breaking with grief.

“No, he is not. He is here, listening,” the darker voice insisted.

A jolt of realization shot through me—the soft voice was Star. But who was she talking to? And what did the darker voice mean by “mate” and not being dead? Did Star think I was dead? I wasn’t dead. And how was this voice aware of my presence? A flood of questions overwhelmed me, but one thing was clear: if I could somehow hear Star’s thoughts, then I needed to gather as much information as I could.

Focusing my mind, I thought, “Open your eyes.”

To my surprise, Star’s eyes fluttered open, revealing a dimly lit room that looked eerily similar to mine. She was huddled in a corner, curled up as far from the door as possible, alone and terrified. Somehow, impossibly, I was seeing through her eyes, hearing what she heard. It was the strangest, most unsettling feeling I had ever experienced, as if our minds were overlapping, merging into one.

Memories—her memories—began to flood my mind. I saw flashes of her in a sterile lab, strapped to a table as a nurse drew her blood and conducted a full physical exam. She had tried to ask them what they wanted, where she was, but they ignored her, their focus cold and clinical. They took x-rays and MRIs of her entire body, discussing her bone density and something about a bone overlay. They mentioned her implants, making notes as if she were a specimen rather than a person.

The doctor aboard the ship had been limited in what he could do due to massive power loss. As I sifted through her memories, I found one that I pushed back to her—an image of the Autumn in pursuit, engaging in a shootout with the ship she was on. I felt a wave of relief wash over her through our link as she realized the Autumn was still in the fight. She had thought I was dead, allowing sorrow to consume her. But now, through our bond, I could feel her need for me, the way she drew strength from my presence. I sent her my emotions, soothing her, letting her know she wasn’t alone.

As her anxiety began to ebb, a woman in a U.S. Army uniform, bearing the name Helsing, entered the room with a tray of food. Star’s anxiety spiked again, a sharp flare that resonated through our joined minds as we watched the woman place the tray on the floor and leave, the door hissing shut behind her.

Star’s gaze fell to the tray—baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Next to the plate was a canteen, untouched. The utensils were conspicuously absent, forcing her to eat with her hands. I could feel her revulsion, her reluctance to eat anything her captors provided. She was starving; I felt the hunger gnawing at her, her stomach growling in protest, yet her thoughts resisted the idea of eating.

I nudged my thoughts toward her, urging, “Eat, Star.” At first, she resisted, but I sent a wave of encouragement through our bond, reinforcing the command. Slowly, reluctantly, she leaned over, grabbed the plate, and began to eat.

Suddenly, my eyes flew open, and I sat up with a jolt. Loud pops echoed through the lab as my joints moved, each one sending a flash of pain through my body. A vicious, inhuman growl tore from my throat as I pushed through the discomfort. I ripped off the wires and tubes attached to me, standing despite the soreness and pain that racked my body. The medical equipment shrieked in alarm, the noise grating against my heightened senses. The Doctor rushed in, panic etched across his face as he tried to make sense of the chaos.

“Cayro! What are you doing?” he yelled, desperation in his voice.

“I can’t sit here and wait. I have to go get her,” I snarled, the urgency in my voice unmistakable.

“Your body isn’t done healing,” he pleaded, his tone almost begging now.

“I’ll deal with it,” I snapped, continuing to rip off the remaining cables. “I can’t just lie here while they use Star any longer.”

The Doctor backed away, his eyes wide with fear as he saw the intensity in mine. Andrew burst into the room, drawn by the alarms blaring throughout the ship.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, his voice sharp with authority.

“Cayro refuses to rest,” the Doctor griped, exasperation clear in his voice.

“Cayro, you need to rest,” Andrew urged, his voice softer, pleading.

Before I knew it, I had Andrew by the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground with one arm as if he weighed nothing. That’s when I caught my reflection in the polished surface of the stainless steel door frame. My eyes—they were shifting from green to a deep, menacing yellow as anger surged through me, flooding my mind.

I barely recognized myself.

“I’m going after Star,” I declared, my voice a low growl, the determination in my words undeniable.

“Okay, just put me down,” Andrew replied, his shock evident but laced with understanding.

Slowly, I lowered him to the ground, my grip loosening as the realization of what I had just done hit me. “I’m sorry, Sir,” I apologized, my voice thick with regret.

To my surprise, Andrew pulled me into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around me with a strength that belied his shock. “Cayro, it’s okay. I understand how you feel,” he whispered, his voice shaky, but filled with empathy.

I returned the hug, feeling tears sting my eyes as they spilled down my cheeks. For a moment, we stood there, holding onto each other, the weight of the situation pressing down on us both. When he finally released me, he looked into my eyes, his expression softening as he saw the change. I caught my reflection in his eyes—my own, shifting from that eerie yellow back to their usual brilliant green.

“Doc, get him ready,” Andrew finally spoke, his voice carrying a note of finality.

“Drew, he needs more rest,” the Doctor argued, his concern evident.

“Doc, if I have to pull rank, I will. Don’t make me. Let Cayro go get Star,” Andrew insisted, though his tone remained kind, almost pleading.

I heard the Doctor sigh, the sound heavy with defeat. “Come on, Cayro. Let’s get your suit on.”

I padded over to the wall locker, instinctively moving on the balls of my feet, my steps silent as I walked. The Doctor opened the locker, revealing the suit—not just any suit, but my suit. The process of donning it was tedious, taking nearly ten minutes as the Doctor meticulously ensured every piece was secure. Finally, he lifted the helmet and placed it over my head, locking it into place with a firm click. I felt something connect at the back of my neck, sending a cold chill down my spine that spread through my entire body like an icy wave.

“What was that?” I asked, once the sensation subsided.

“That was your neck implant linking with the suit. Remember what I told you? The suit is connected to your neural net,” he reminded me, his voice calm but with an edge of anticipation.

“Oh,” I replied, as the helmet sparked to life, various displays flickering across my visor before the Doctor stepped back.

“Okay… The suit is laced with nanotech linked to your neural implant at the base of your skull. I want you to think of a simple weapon for fighting,” he instructed.

I considered his request for a moment, my mind racing through the possibilities before settling on one.

“Do you have an idea of what weapon you want?” he asked, watching me closely.

“Yes,” I replied, the image clear in my mind.

“Good. Now, picture that weapon in your hand,” he continued, his voice guiding me through the process.

I closed my eyes and focused, imagining the weight of a katana in my right hand, the smooth, cold metal of the hilt against my palm. As the image solidified in my mind, I felt something materialize in my grip. Snapping my eyes open, I looked down to find a katana in my hand, just as I had envisioned. But instead of a gleaming blade, it was a dark black, the metal absorbing light rather than reflecting it, extending roughly twenty-seven inches from the guardless hilt.

“That’s neat,” I murmured, mildly amused by the ease with which it had formed.

“To retract the nanites, imagine reabsorbing them into your body,” the Doctor explained.

I cocked an eyebrow, even though I knew he couldn’t see my expression through the visor. I tried to follow his instructions, but nothing happened. Frustration flickered at the edges of my mind. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes again, and focused, this time imagining the sword dissolving back into me, like taking a breath in reverse. I felt the hilt vanish from my hand, the weight of it disappearing.

Okay, so it’s like breathing. I’ll keep that in mind.

“Good job,” the Doctor praised, a hint of relief in his voice.

“Cool, this is going to be fun,” I said, a trace of amusement slipping into my tone despite the seriousness of the situation.

The Doctor sighed at my reaction, though I could tell he was glad I was adapting quickly. “For now, stick with simple weapons you can hold onto. If you lose your grip, the weapon will collapse into a pile of nanites. As long as they aren’t scattered, you can reabsorb them. However, if you lose them by throwing them, forming a ranged weapon, or dropping them out of reach, you’ll burn through your nanite reserve,” he explained, his tone reverting to that of a teacher instructing a student.

“Makes sense,” I said, committing the Doctor’s advice to memory.

“Alright, the Captain is waiting for us on the flight deck,” the Doctor said, signaling it was time to move.

We left the cybernetics lab and made our way to the flight deck. To my surprise, my steps were utterly silent, even as I walked across the grated floors and down the metal stairs. It was as if I had become a ghost, my presence barely detectable. When we reached the flight deck, the extent of the damage hit me hard. The Captain hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it was a mess. A diagonal blast had torn through the deck and the hangar bay, leaving a jagged scar that made it nearly impossible to land the skycars.

Despite the destruction, the entire crew was there, waiting for me. As I approached, a wave of clapping rose up from them, their faces filled with pride and anticipation. They had been waiting for this day for a long time. Andrew stood at the forefront, a look of pride etched on his face as he held a large, black skyboard in his hands. As I reached him, he handed me the board and took my hand in a firm handshake. The board was custom-built, perfectly suited to my new armor.

“Your father would have been proud to see you today,” Andrew remarked, his voice thick with emotion.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My feelings about my father were complicated, and now wasn’t the time to let that anger surface. I needed to stay focused.

“I built this board specifically for you. It’s linked to your armor and works with your thoughts, just like your suit. Take care of it, and go get our Star,” Andrew said, his voice carrying both command and care.

“Thank you,” I replied quietly, the weight of the responsibility settling onto my shoulders.

I walked to the edge of the flight deck, the wind whipping around me as I looked back at the crew. They were all watching, their hope and faith in me clear in their eyes. I turned and snapped a salute, a gesture of respect and determination, before letting myself fall backward off the Autumn.

As I fell, the air rushing past me, I heard Andrew’s voice, tinged with amusement. “He’s trying to show off, isn’t he?”

“Yep,” the Doctor replied, just as I activated the skyboard and soared into the sky, the wind at my back and the mission ahead of me.