Cassandra smiled in that fleeting moment when everything finally felt complete.
Against every expectation stacked against her—against the whispers, the quiet doubts, the silent judgments—she had done it. She had managed to assemble an entire squad. Not a perfect one. Not a strong one. But a squad nonetheless.
And yet, as her eyes drifted across the group now gathered near the landing zone, the satisfaction she felt was quickly tempered by reality.
This wasn't the team she had envisioned.
There was an Ashed, barely more than a liability, someone who had struggled to put down a single Shambler. Two Embers, fairly experienced on paper but untested in her eyes—she had never once seen them in actual combat. A disabled Blaze, one who should have been retired long ago. And then there was herself—another Blaze, infamous not for incompetence, but for being notoriously bad at teamwork.
A dysfunctional unit, stitched together by necessity rather than merit.
Still, it was hers.
The Ranking System existed for this very reason—to quantify strength in a world where survival depended on measurable efficiency. Every Terminator was ranked according to several parameters: the total number of zombies terminated, the ranks and abilities of those zombies, and the frequency at which those kills occurred. Consistency mattered. Growth mattered. Hesitation did not.
From lowest to highest, the ranks stood immutable and absolute:
Ashed.
Ember.
Blaze.
Inferno.
Oblivion.
Terminus.
These ranks were more than mere titles. They dictated hierarchy, authority, and wealth. Higher ranks exercised control over those below them, and influence was directly tied to the number of zombie cores a Terminator could harvest and trade. Cores were power. Cores were currency. Cores were survival.
Cassandra turned sharply and began walking toward the far end of the platform, where their chopper remained parked. Malachi fell into step beside her without a word. As they approached, they were met by Xenon, Jim, and Kira—standing far too casually for people who had been explicitly ordered to remain aboard.
Her jaw tightened.
She remembered her instructions clearly.
"You were told to stay on the chopper," Cassandra said coldly, her gaze locking onto them.
Jim raised his hands almost immediately, as if surrendering. "We left to help speed up Xenon's synchronization with his system," he replied quickly.
That explanation was enough.
Cassandra exhaled sharply, the tension easing just a fraction. It wasn't ideal, but it was reasonable—and more importantly, useful. She nodded once, letting them off the hook.
What they didn't say—the part they deliberately left out—was far more dangerous.
Xenon's synchronization hadn't completed.
And if the higher-ups discovered that, the consequences would be… severe.
"He must be an Ashed, then."
The voice cut through the moment, unfamiliar and uninvited.
Everyone turned.
The man who had spoken stood slightly apart from the group, his posture relaxed but his presence undeniable. His gaze rested on Xenon with an intensity that made Cassandra's irritation spike.
"This is Malachi Stewart," she said quickly, stepping in before things could escalate. "Blaze rank. He'll be the final member of our squad."
She turned to the others. "You'll all be receiving a squad invitation through your systems. Accept them immediately."
As if on cue, a translucent interface flickered to life in Xenon's vision.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
Commander Cassandra Vale has invited you to join Squad: VANGUARD-7
Rank Authority: Blaze
Accept Invitation?
[YES] [NO]
Xenon stared at the message.
For a moment, the world seemed to fade around him.
What was he doing?
Accepting this invitation felt like signing away the rest of his existence—binding himself to a path he barely understood, to a life far removed from anything resembling civilization. Squad deployment meant isolation, endless combat, and a future measured only in kills and survival percentages.
Then there was the synchronization.
Incomplete.
Faulty.
Unfinished.
Kira had assured him that the system might still complete itself naturally, that such delays weren't unheard of. But the unease refused to leave him. Something felt wrong—deeply, fundamentally wrong.
Why was it always him?
First the virus infection. Then the grotesque, unforgettable death. Then awakening as something not quite human. An incompatible weapon. Now an incomplete system.
He almost laughed bitterly.
Perhaps it would have been easier to wake up as a zombie instead.
"Xenon?"
Cassandra's voice snapped him back to the present.
"Is everything okay?"
He realized then that everyone else had already accepted their invitations. The virtual tabs had closed. The decision had been made—by everyone but him.
Jim and Kira exchanged a brief glance. They knew exactly what was running through his mind, and both silently prayed he would keep it hidden. If the command hierarchy learned of Xenon's system irregularities, the repercussions would be merciless.
"Oh—yeah. I'm fine," Xenon said quickly.
With a single, deliberate thought, he accepted the invitation.
The interface vanished.
"All right," Cassandra said, brushing off his strange hesitation. "Go retrieve the core from your kill. Make your first cash."
Malachi's eyes widened slightly. "Wait. He already made a kill?"
" When was he awakened?"
Kira responded instinctively, raising a hand and gesturing that Xenon had only been reawakened today.
Cassandra shot her a sharp look.
Kira froze—then slowly lowered her hand.
Too late.
The message had already landed.
Xenon wasted no time. He turned and headed toward the chopper to retrieve the zombie core. Jim and Kira followed closely behind, grateful for the excuse to put distance between themselves and Cassandra.
Once they were alone, Malachi spoke.
"I'm guessing this was your idea, Cass."
As if waiting for the moment, Cassandra's composure cracked.
"First of all," she snapped, turning on him, "as a squad member, you have no right to question your commander. And I am under no obligation to explain myself to you."
"Cass—"
"Don't call me that."
Malachi held up his hands, keeping his voice calm. "All I'm saying is that it might've been too early to push him into his first kill. Even if it was just a Shambler. You know how long it took—"
"Don't," Cassandra cut in, her voice sharp with anger. "Don't you dare drag the past into this."
Her eyes burned. "And from now on, it's Commander to you—if you want to remain on this squad."
By the time Jim and Kira returned, the tension was thick enough to choke on. They both pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the core deposit process.
As the transaction completed and the reward was credited, Malachi did nothing but stare at Cassandra.
He barely recognized her anymore.
Where was the calm, reasonable woman he had once known? When had she built this shell around herself—this armor of command and hostility?
Soon enough, they were airborne again.
From a distance, they looked like a complete unit.
Up close, they were anything but.
They were strangers bound together by necessity, each carrying secrets, unspoken fears, and tensions waiting to fracture them apart.
Xenon leaned back as the chopper hummed through the sky, focusing inward.
With a precise thought, he summoned his system interface.
It responded instantly.
CORE STATS:
VITALITY: 18
OUTPUT: 14
CONTROL: 9
ADAPTATION: 22
COGNITION: 27
INTEGRITY: 1.2
His breath caught.
Each stat had a maximum cap of 100.
He wondered briefly what the others' stats looked like—but knew better than to ask. Rank information was public. Stats were not.
Another thought surfaced, and the system answered.
STAT GROWTH CONDITION:
Stats increase through systemic termination of zombies.
Xenon smiled.
Finally.
A challenge worth living for.
He imagined what his kinetic pulse could become when his Output reached its peak. When Control stopped limiting him. When Integrity finally stabilized.
In that moment, he made a quiet vow to himself.
He would break the system.
"Bring it on," he whispered.
And for the first time since his awakening, Xenon felt something dangerously close to purpose.