Passing through the airlock, Rúna and Samara got their first view of the shipyards. The artificial cavern beneath the moon’s surface was enormous, large enough to house dozens of Peacemakers. Most of the space was empty, a yawning chasm that could easily trigger vertigo in those susceptible to it. There were a considerable number of Yīqún drones strewn about the space, in various stages of assembly, units they’d failed to complete prior to the enemy fleet’s arrival. The pair scanned the area, looking for any trace of the clan leaders when the Valkyrie pointed towards a light shining across the way. “There,” Cherdor Hosk said, indicating the lit complex, “your clan leaders are most likely in that structure.”

Samara peered closely at the building before nodding in agreement. “Then what are we waiting for?” she asked the cognate. Rúna didn’t bother replying, instead, she started making her way toward the edifice, moving in that effortless fashion she remembered so vividly. The last few years with Guardian had been the most exciting of her life, the two of them sharing adventures she could have scarcely imagined. To be so abruptly cut off was a brutal amputation, as traumatic as stepping on a landmine.

What the hell was she going to do now?

She didn’t have an answer to that question, not yet, anyway. Granted, it had only been a few hours since the incident that cost her the Repository, but she was already struggling with the loss. Perhaps in time, she’d find a way to move past it, a way to deal with the emotions churning inside of her, but right now? She seemed to bounce from seething jealousy one minute to dark depression the next, and it was all she could do to remain focused on the mission.

Keep your head in the game, girl, Samara chided herself, you know what could happen if you don’t. Agents who let emotions distract them tended to have very short lifespans, and after all she’d been through she’d be damned before ending up as just another statistic.

When it was over, of course. For now, she had a job to do.

For her part, Rúna was discovering that being a prisoner inside one’s own body wasn’t as fun as it sounded.

I can’t breathe! she shouted as she started to panic, though no one but the cognates could hear her. Give me back control!

… Rúna, you are breathing, Guardian gently pointed out, and I assure you that your body is being well-oxygenated. What you are experiencing is merely a psychosomatic sensation due to a temporary loss of motor control. All Hosts experience it to some degree. In fact, Samara herself often complained of it. I assure you, those feelings of agitation will eventually pass.

Yeah, right, she grumbled, refusing to be mollified, even though she knew the cognate had a point. She knew Samara had complained about the loss of control more than once, but somehow that knowledge brought her little comfort.

She’d spent her entire life listening to what her body was telling her, trusting it, honing that connection until even a minor twinge spoke volumes regarding her current physical state. Losing that psychic link, even momentarily, was like suddenly going blind or deaf. It was distressing on a level so fundamental that Rúna wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it, despite Guardian’s assurances.

Despite that, and even against her will, she found herself slowly warming up to Guardian. She found solace in the gentle company of the ancient cognate, much to her surprise. He reminded her of the ambassador in some ways, though she had no intentions of telling either of them that.

Cherdor Hosk, on the other hand, wasn’t much for idle chit-chat. The warrior cognate was utterly focused on the mission, shutting out distractions like conversations from the host. It was more than a little irritating, truth be told, but in his case, Rúna understood his reasoning. She was a warrior herself, after all, and a warrior who allowed their attention to be diverted didn’t last long in the field… and Hosk had been doing this for eons. The sheer scope of that commitment was staggering to her, the mere thought of being stuck in the Repository for millions of years filling her soul with existential dread.

Guardian, what happens when a cognate wants to just end it? she asked him.

… End it? he answered. You mean, if they wished to terminate their existence?

Yeah, that, she agreed. Forever’s a long damn time to live, even if it’s a paradise. It wasn’t like either of them were required for this op, she reasoned. Why not ask a few questions in the interim?

The cognate took his time to respond. Rúna, while we have existed since long before the birth of your species, we spend the overwhelming majority of that time in stasis. Prior to my first contact with Samara, we had slumbered for over a billion and a half of your years. There is no sensation of passing time in stasis. The last time I went offline, Threshold… New Terra, to you… was still a living, vibrant world, full of promise. When I awoke, it had become a museum, guarded by hostile aliens. She sensed a note of regret in his voice. It was a jarring realization.

Still, she persisted, what happens if a cognate wakes up one day and says, “I’m done”? What then?

An even longer pause this time. We would attempt to address the issue, Guardian explained. As you are aware, this artifact is filled with experts in every field. We would use that knowledge and experience to delve into whatever was troubling the cognate in question and devise a way to relieve their distress.

And if they still want to end it? she insisted.

… In that case, Guardian said with a weary sigh, we would place the cognate into stasis permanently. We keep tabs on them, but if they are resolute, eventually we stop pursuing the matter.

You have any like that now? she asked curiously.

… A few, he admitted. Despite our best efforts to screen out those unsuited for the task, some cognates have difficulty adapting to their new life.

I’ll bet, she thought dryly, as Cherdor Hosk reached their objective. Looks like it’s game time, she observed.

… So it would seem, Guardian agreed. Cherdor Hosk glanced over at Samara and gave her the nod, earning the same in reply as they both went on the offensive. The pair split off left and right, circling around the blockhouse the clan heads were holed up in… only to discover the enemy bunker held one final surprise.

The warrior cognate reacted before Rúna grasped what was happening, diving for cover and firing on the bunker even as return fire lanced out to greet them. It took her a moment to recognize that the weapon’s fire wasn’t coming from the building itself, but a well-camouflaged spider hole near its entrance. I didn’t see it, she realized in shock, yet Hosk had spotted it immediately. His answering salvo was equally accurate, but the enemy was dug in and behind solid cover, making neutralizing the position difficult. He fired another burst and was up and moving, shifting position while Samara did likewise. It was obvious the Protean knew his moves well. After sharing the same body for the past few years, their split-second timing and coordination made perfect sense.

Another burst, this one going wide as veered at the last second, diving behind cover while Samara took up position and poured fire into the foxhole with deadly accuracy. Rúna could only watch in awe as the pair worked in perfect unison without either of them saying a word. It was downright uncanny, as it forced the Valkyrie to recognize just how thoroughly outclassed she was by the cognate’s skills. She was good; she knew she was good, but watching Cherdor Hosk in action forced her to accept an unpleasant reality.

If she’d gone up against the cognate, she’d have been dead in seconds. Less, even.

Her body went still, the body she no longer controlled, willing itself into an almost Zen-like state as Rúna recognized what Hosk was doing. He was choosing his moment, waiting for the perfect juncture to take his shot. Despite her discomfort sharing her body with this ancient alien, she felt an eerie sense of calm wash over her as the cognate… or possibly Guardian himself; it was hard to say… neutralized the adrenaline coursing through her veins in order to steady his aim.

Which was impossible.

Rúna was well acquainted with adrenaline and its effects. It was a powerful drug, a true lifesaver in every sense of the word when the shit hit the fan, but it came at a cost. Long-term exposure did a real number on the body and mind if you weren’t careful, and unlike most hormones, there was no gland or enzyme to counteract its effects. Exercise and meditation helped some, proper diet and sleep even more, but short term? Nada. You could breathe and tell yourself to relax all you wanted, yet flushing your body of adrenaline and its effects still took hours. More, if your health wasn’t the greatest.

Cherdor Hosk just… did it. She had no idea how. If she didn’t know better, Rúna would have thought it all to be some kind of ruse, but Samara had mentioned other miracles she’d performed, with Guardian’s help. Little things, like surviving headshots and living another day.

Suddenly, having Guardian and his friends riding shotgun didn’t sound so bad.

The shot itself was almost an afterthought, the gentlest of pressures on the trigger, sending the projectile screaming downrange and into the target. A follow-up shot came a split second later, and suddenly no more fire was coming from the bunker.

Not bad, Rúna told the cognate, impressed by the demonstration of his skills.

Thank you, Hosk said smugly, rising to his feet as he scanned the perimeter for any other threats. Satisfied, he began making his way toward the bunker.

Wait… where’s Samara? Rúna asked. The last time she’d seen the Protean, she was taking cover behind an outcropping, but one glance in that direction confirmed she’d moved from that position, but where was she now?

The cognate took a moment to ensure the target was down, peering inside the spider hole to verify for himself. Two bodies, each with a bullet hole drilled right through the center of their forehead. Even on her best day, she’d be hard-pressed to make that shot. One hell of an achievement, to be sure, but where the hell was Samara?

Hosk, give me back control, she ordered the cognate. Not seeing any further threats, the ancient warrior complied. “Samara, we don’t have time for this,” she said into the suit radio. “Entryway is clear, so get your butt up here pronto.”

Nothing. No response, and no movement. Rúna felt the bottom of her stomach drop out, as she realized the likely reason.

Confirmation came less than a minute later.

She knelt down before rolling Samara’s body over. A large gaping wound lay in the middle of her chest, centered over her heart. She’d died within seconds, likely the only mercy to be found this day. Her eyes were wide in surprise, as she realized Guardian wasn’t going to save her this time.

“Goddamn it,” she swore, her vision suddenly growing cloudy, “Goddamn it all to hell.”

… I am sorry, Rúna, Guardian said gently.

Slowly rising to her feet, Rúna turned and began making her way toward the bunker, a look of grim determination in her eyes as she strode forward with bloody purpose. Guardian started to speak and then thought better of it, choosing instead to let Cherdor Hosk speak on their behalf.

Perhaps it would be best if I dealt with this, the cognate suggested.

“Not this time,” Rúna growled, her voice low and hungry as she kicked in the door. The metal hatch buckled and flew open as she stormed inside, a juggernaut implacable as the dawn as she faced the clan leaders cowering before her. Commandant Zakiyya pulled her sidearm free from its holster and fired, sending half a dozen well-aimed shots in her direction. She didn’t bother dodging, instead, she simply soaked up the bullets as she closed the distance between them, letting Guardian worry about damage control. The Valkyrie commander was still firing as Rúna ripped the weapon from her grasp and hurled it across the room, a slasher smile brimming with the stuff of nightmares appearing on her face.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” she hissed. The commandant took a desperate swing with her prosthetic arm, hoping to put the enraged Valkyrie down, but Rúna simply caught the limb as it came for her head, and twisted with all her strength.

Or rather, all of her and Guardian’s strength.

Zakiyya screamed as she ripped the metallic limb free from its socket, collapsing in agony as blood poured from her ruined shoulder. Rúna raised the twisted piece of metal high, like a club, her mad eyes filled with hate as she prepared to bludgeon her to death with her own prosthetic arm. They stared at one another, predator and prey, her muscles tensing to deliver the killing blow.

She froze, her nostrils flaring, as she slowly let out the breath she’d been holding before tossing the broken prosthetic aside.

“... you’re not worth it,” she snarled, kicking her in the temple and knocking her unconscious instead.