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I looked down at him, struck by the vulnerability in his expression. In that moment, he wasn't a fearsome cyborg warrior or a potential political complication. He was simply a man, alone and uncertain in a strange place.

"I'll be here," I promised, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Now get some sleep. Doctor's orders."

He nodded, his eye already drifting closed. Within moments, his breathing had evened out, and he was asleep.

I stood there for a long moment, watching him. There was something about this cyborg that intrigued me, drew me in. It wasn't just professional curiosity or the challenge of his unique physiology. There was something more, a connection I felt forming even in these brief interactions.

As I finally turned to leave, I couldn't shake the feeling that my life had just taken an unexpected turn. Whatever brought this cyborg to Durmox C7, whatever battles he'd fought and secrets he carried, I had a feeling they were about to become a part of my world.

Chapter 2

Norn

I jolted awake, my organic eye snapping open as a surge of adrenaline coursed through my system. The sterile white ceiling above me was unfamiliar, and the air carried the sharp scent of disinfectant. My cybernetic systems whirred to life, feeding me a stream of data about my surroundings.

Medical facility. Unknown location. Threat level: uncertain.

I tried to sit up, but my body felt heavy, unresponsive. A quick internal diagnostic revealed the extent of my injuries. Left arm: missing. Multiple system failures. Extensive damage to organic and synthetic components.

The memories came flooding back in fragmentedbursts. The mission. The ambush. The searing pain as enemy fire tore apart my body.

I had failed.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, and I clenched my remaining fist, feeling the pull of tubes and wires connected to my arm. I was Norn, elite warrior of Krixon, and failure was not an option.

As my vision cleared, I noticed a presence in the room. A woman stood at the foot of my bed, her auburn hair pulled back in a messy braid. She wore a lab coat splattered with what looked like a mixture of blood and coolant. My blood and coolant, I realized with a start.

"Good to see you awake," she said, her voice soft but confident. "How are you feeling?"

I didn't respond, instead running another scan of my surroundings. The room was small, filled with medical equipment I didn't recognize. The door was closed, but I could hear the muffled sounds of activity beyond it.

"Where am I?" I demanded, my voice coming out as a rasp. "Who are you?"

The woman approached, her movements calm and deliberate. "You're in the medical facility on Durmox C7. I'm Dr. Imogen. I treated your injuries."

Durmox C7. The name triggered another flood of memories. It had been our fallback point, the place we were supposed to rendezvous if the mission went south. But how had I ended up here? The last thing I remembered was the searing pain of the explosion, the feeling of my body being torn apart.

"How did I get here?" I asked, trying to keep the confusion out of my voice. Warriors didn't show weakness, even when injured.

Dr. Imogen checked the monitor beside my bed. "You were brought in by a transport ship. You were in critical condition. We've spent the last several hours repairing the damage."

I processed this information, trying to piece together the gaps in my memory. "The others? My team?"

A flicker of something - concern? Pity? - passed over the doctor's face. "I'm sorry, but you were the only one brought in. I don't have any information about the rest of your team."

The news hit me harder than I expected. I had trained with those warriors, fought alongside them. We were more than just a team. We were brothers in arms. And now, they were gone, and I was here, broken and useless.

I turned away from the doctor, staring at the blank wall. "Leave me," I growled.

But she didn't move. Instead, she stepped closer, her green eyes meeting mine with a steady gaze. "I understand you're feeling disoriented and upset," she said. "But right now, my priority is your recovery. I need to check your vitals and run some tests."

A surge of anger boiled forth. Who was this woman to tell me what I needed? She didn't understand. Couldn't understand. "I don't need your help," I snapped. "I am a warrior of Krixon. We heal ourselves."

Dr. Imogen raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by my bravado. "Is that so? Well, Warrior of Krixon, perhaps you'd like to try reattaching your own arm?"

Her words caught me off guard, and I glanced down at the space where my left arm should have been. The sight of it, the tangible proof of my failure, sent a wave of nausea through me.

"Your injuries were extensive," Dr. Imogen continued, her voice softening slightly. "We've managed to stabilize you, but there's still a lot of work to be done. You're going to need ongoing care and rehabilitation if you want to regain full functionality."