Silas approached the terminal, feeling the hairs on his arms stand on end. He removed his gloves, exposing the web of silver filaments embedded in his palms. These were his interface nodes, the physical marks of a Conduit.
The commander turned and walked away, his guards following him. The heavy doors of the archive sealed shut with a hollow boom. The Conduit
He felt his own memories slipping away to make room for the torrent. He saw his mother's face, a childhood memory of a green field—and then it was overwritten by the blueprints of a railgun. He cried out, blood beginning to trickle from his nose beneath the goggles. Silas approached the terminal, feeling the hairs on
The heavy iron door of his workshop groaned open, admitting a blast of the metallic air and a tall figure wrapped in a dark, synth-leather duster. Silas didn’t look up. The rhythm of the visitor's boots on the metal grating told him everything he needed to know. It was Commander Vaelen of the Core Guard. The commander turned and walked away, his guards