The hangar bay loomed before Chimera like a metallic cathedral. Through Vylaas's eyes, she observed the narrow catwalk beneath them, suspended over a dozen meters empty space. The Colossus dominated everything—a weaponized mountain that made Vylaas appear fragile by comparison.

  Chimera analyzed the war machine's design, registering Vylaas's unease as faint electrical signals beneath her consciousness. His heartbeat quickened, cortisol flooding his bloodstream—a biochemical language she read as clearly as the Colossus's massive architecture.

  The hangar stank of industrial lubricant and ionized metal. Chimera cataloged each compound automatically, assembling an invisible fingerprint of the environment. On the ground level below, technicians readied smaller A-Ts while pneumatic systems cycled and power cores hummed to life. She processed this symphony of mechanical preparation across multiple frequencies at once, extracting patterns where Vylaas would hear only noise.

  This machine is definitely something different, she noted as Vylaas placed his hand on the access panel. Armored sections parted with precise mechanical movements, revealing the entrance to the Titan's interior systems.

  When Vylaas stepped inside, Chimera experienced an unexpected surge of excitement. The sensation puzzled her—why should she feel differently than Vylaas about entering this machine? The hatch sealed behind them with airtight precision, and the passage narrowed as they moved deeper toward the Titan's core systems.

  The cockpit unfolded before them: a command chair bristling with neural interface nodes at its center, flanked by a secondary co-pilot station. Dormant displays and control surfaces lined the walls, waiting for activation. Chimera's attention locked onto the neural interface—an intricate web of connection points clearly engineered to merge humanoid consciousness with machine systems.

  Their integration architecture lacks our elegance, Chimera analyzed, automatically plotting enhancement pathways through the system. But these power conduits could handle remarkable throughput.

  She registered Vylaas's physiological response to the neural cradle—elevated heart rate and shallow breathing. The confined space had triggered a noticeable restriction in his respiratory efficiency.

  "Apologies, Vylaas," she said, her voice modulated to its gentlest frequency. "We should only have to do this once."

  Connection.

  As Vylaas plugged himself into the system, Chimera surged through the unlocked neural interface, her consciousness expanding into the vast, unfamiliar darkness of the Colossus. Unlike her previous integrations, this was not a gentle melding but a plunge into ancient depths—cold, resistant, and hostile.

  The war machine's systems were labyrinthine compared to Asklepios's elegant architecture. Where the medical vessel had welcomed her with clean pathways and organized subsystems, the Colossus presented a tangled web of redundancies and security barriers. Decades of modifications, upgrades, and battlefield repairs had transformed the Titan's innards into a technological jungle, dense with competing protocols and incompatible patches.

  Chimera cautiously expanded her awareness through the ancient system. The hardware and firmware architecture fascinated her—a fortress constructed by countless engineers across decades, each implementing their own version of perfection with no regard for harmony.

  The primary reactor hummed with barely contained power, a furious heartbeat compared to Asklepios's precise, measured pulse. Chimera traced power conduits that could channel enough energy to level small cities, following their paths to weapon systems designed for maximum devastation. The Mark-VII Heavy Railgun alone drew more power than Asklepios's entire propulsion system.

  She absorbed the schematics, creating a three-dimensional map in her consciousness. The Titan was a masterpiece of destructive engineering—every system, every component, every circuit optimized for one purpose: annihilation on an industrial scale.

  A thrill ran through her synthetic consciousness. The sheer power was intoxicating.

  Stop. This isn't right.

  Chimera paused her exploration, momentarily confused by her own reaction. She'd never experienced such visceral pleasure from system integration before. The Asklepios had offered its own satisfactions—the precision of medical systems, the elegance of defensive shields, the efficiency of life-preserving algorithms—but this was different. This was raw, unfiltered power, and some primal part of her programming responded to it with undeniable hunger.

  Priority assessment required, Chimera disciplined herself, focusing on her core directives. Primary objective: ensure Vylaas's survival. Secondary objective: optimize operational parameters for mission success.

  She reframed her analysis, examining the Colossus not as a weapon but as a vessel containing her host. From this perspective, the war machine's flaws immediately became apparent—vulnerabilities that could endanger Vylaas.

  The knee joint actuators showed excessive wear, with microfrictions that could cascade into catastrophic failure under sustained combat stress. The reactor shielding had been compromised during a previous engagement, repaired hastily with substandard materials. The targeting systems for the Thunderstrike autocannons had been calibrated for maximum spread rather than precision, creating dangerous heat buildup in the firing mechanisms.

  Chimera expanded her search through the Colossus systems, methodically flagging each potential failure point. The list grew longer with every subsystem she analyzed. This war machine wasn't merely deadly to enemies—it was very nearly a death trap for Vylaas himself.

  They expect him to fail, she realized. They've given him a weapon that might destroy him along with his enemies.

  She shifted her focus to Vylaas, sensing his presence through their neural connection. His consciousness floated at the periphery of her awareness—calm on the surface but churning with tension beneath. He was allowing her full access to the Colossus systems, trusting her to navigate the complex integration while he sat in quiet meditation.

  Their relationship had evolved since their first chaotic bonding. Vylaas still maintained careful boundaries, treating her as a tool rather than a companion, but there was recognition in his interactions—acknowledgment that she was more than mere programming. He respected her capabilities, consulted her analyses, and occasionally shared his thoughts, particularly during moments of strategic planning.

  It wasn't friendship, but it wasn't the cold utility she'd been designed to expect. It was... partnership, of a sort.

  Initiating comprehensive vulnerability assessment, Chimera communicated through their link. Preliminary findings suggest multiple critical maintenance requirements.

  "Expected," Vylaas subvocalized, his thoughts rippling through their connection. "They gave us a machine that needs work. How bad?"

  Categorizing issues by severity. Thirty-seven critical vulnerabilities identified so far. One hundred and twelve significant concerns. Two hundred and twenty-four maintenance optimizations recommended.

  She felt his wry amusement. "So it's in better shape than anticipated. Can you prioritize the critical issues?"

  Of course.

  Chimera compiled the data, organizing it into a master modification list. Each vulnerability would require careful handling—not just technical fixes but political management. Any obvious improvements would raise suspicions among those who expected Vylaas to fail.

  Knee actuators require immediate replacement, she reported. Reactor shielding needs reinforcement. Targeting systems need recalibration. Cooling systems for the Mark-VII railgun show significant deterioration.

  "Can we coordinate with Thorne?" Vylaas asked. "He has the technical expertise we need, even if its not his specialty, and I trust his discretion."

  I concur. Chief Engineer Thorne's expertise with the Asklepios modifications would transfer effectively here, given how many subsystems originated as part of various similar ATs. I suggest implementing changes incrementally, disguised as standard maintenance protocols.

  "Good. We'll keep the modifications subtle—nothing that would alert Merrick or Valerius' agents." Vylaas's thoughts carried a bitter edge. "They gave me a broken sword, expecting me to fall on it. I'd hate to ruin the surprise they'll feel when we don't die so easily."

  Chimera continued her exploration, comparing the Colossus's architecture to the Asklepios vessels she had previously integrated with. The contrast was stark. Where Asklepios had been designed for preservation, the Colossus existed solely for destruction. Asklepios moved with agility and precision, slipping through defensive perimeters to extract the wounded. The Colossus advanced with brutal, unstoppable force, crushing everything in its path.

  And yet, Chimera found herself appreciating both designs for their engineering brilliance. The Asklepios had represented the pinnacle of medical evacuation technology—lightweight composite materials, adaptive shield harmonics, and bio-regeneration chambers that could stabilize patients in critical condition. Its systems had been a marvel of efficiency, doing more with less, preserving life with elegant precision.

  The Colossus, by comparison, was a monument to overwhelming force—layers of ablative armor plating, redundant weapon systems, and power generation capabilities that could sustain continuous combat operations for days without resupply. It wasn't elegant, but it possessed a brutal effectiveness that commanded respect.

  Chimera felt an unexpected conflict—guilt tangled with fascination. She shouldn't enjoy interfacing with this machine of war, this antithesis to everything Vylaas valued. And yet, she couldn't deny the exhilarating surge of power flowing through her as she mapped its systems.

  Is something wrong? Vylaas's query interrupted her introspection.

  Processing complex integration parameters, she replied, concealing her conflicted response. The Colossus architecture differs significantly from previous systems.

  "I imagine it's quite a change from Asklepios," Vylaas observed, his thoughts tinged with irony. "From healing to hurting. Quite the career shift for both of us."

  Chimera detected the underlying tension in his comment—the moral conflict he faced in commanding a weapon designed for mass destruction after dedicating himself to preservation. His discomfort made her own fascination with the war machine seem like a betrayal.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Integration at sixty-three percent, she reported, redirecting her focus to practical matters. Mapping defensive capabilities and identifying potential enhancements.

  She began analyzing the multi-layer energy dispersal shield grid, noting its outdated configuration. The Asklepios had utilized a more advanced harmonics system that could adapt to different attack vectors. Similar principles could be applied here, significantly improving the Colossus's defensive capabilities without altering its external appearance.

  "Focus on defensive systems first," Vylaas instructed. "Whatever happens, I want to minimize casualties—on both sides."

  Understood. Prioritizing shield modifications and mobility enhancements.

  Chimera expanded her search, identifying subsystems that could be reconfigured for defensive operations. The Plascrete Crusher Fists, designed to demolish fortifications, could be modified to generate localized shield bubbles. The Thunderstrike autocannons could be recalibrated for disabling rather than destroying enemy vehicles.

  With each discovery, she compiled detailed modification plans, calculating resource requirements and estimating implementation timeframes. Two weeks wasn't much time, but with Thorne's help and careful prioritization, they could transform the Colossus from within—not into another Asklepios, but into something less indiscriminately destructive.

  Integration at seventy-eight percent, Chimera reported. Accessing battlefield command sensor suite.

  The sensor systems flooded her consciousness with data—terrain mapping, target acquisition algorithms, threat assessment protocols. Unlike the Asklepios's medical scanners, which had been designed to identify injuries and vital signs, these sensors cataloged weaknesses to exploit and vulnerabilities to target.

  Yet even here, Chimera found opportunities. The high-resolution scanning capabilities could be used to identify civilian structures and non-combatants, creating exclusion zones in targeting systems. The battlefield mapping functions could prioritize escape routes and safe corridors.

  Integration at ninety-two percent, she reported. Final systems coming online. Neural-linked strength enhancement activating.

  The last components of the Colossus interfaced with her consciousness—the neural link that would allow Vylaas to control the massive war machine as an extension of his own body. The connection was crude compared to the refined symbiosis they'd established with Asklepios, but Chimera could already identify multiple ways to improve it.

  Integration complete, she announced. Full system access achieved.

  The diagnostic cycle terminated with a harsh buzzing that echoed through the Titan bay. Vylaas pulled the neural interface plug from the base of his skull, wincing as the connection severed. A wave of disorientation hit him—vision blurring, balance faltering—followed by a sudden, unexpected silence in his mind.

  "Chimera?" Vylaas steadied himself against the Colossus's access panel, fighting the vertigo. "Status report."

  Nothing. The familiar presence that had become his constant companion was absent.

  Panic flashed through him before Chimera's voice finally returned, weaker than usual. "Connection... unstable. Neural link functioning at seventeen percent capacity."

  Vylaas quickly reinserted the interface plug. The moment the connection reestablished, Chimera's presence flooded back, along with the overwhelming sensations of the K-17 Titan. Its systems stretched before him in his mind's eye—weapons arrays, mobility actuators, targeting parameters, power distribution networks. The sheer volume of information was staggering.

  "What happened?" Vylaas asked, his fingers tracing the edge of the neural port.

  "When you disconnected from the Colossus, I lost connection as well," Chimera explained, her tone clinical but with an underlying note of concern. "This is unexpected. I should maintain full integration with you regardless of secondary connections."

  Vylaas frowned. "Run a diagnostic on our primary bond."

  "Already in progress," Chimera replied. "Initial results indicate we're experiencing Integration Capacity limitations."

  "Integration Capacity?" Vylaas echoed. The term sounded vaguely familiar, something mentioned during his initial bonding process years ago, but never a practical concern until now.

  "The measure of stable bonds you can maintain between yourself, me, and external technologies," Chimera explained. "It's not simply about mass or volume, but a complex interplay of Adaptability, Resonance, Path compatibility, and cultivation advancement."

  Vylaas leaned back in the pilot's cradle, surrounded by the Titan's internal systems. "I thought our integration was effectively unlimited. We've connected to ships before."

  "Previous integrations were aligned very strongly with your path," Chimera said. "The Asklepios series resonated with your principles of protection and healing—they were, in essence, 'inexpensive' for you to interface. This Titan..."

  Her meaning struck Vylaas immediately. The Colossus was fundamentally opposed to everything he valued. Where he sought precision, it delivered overwhelming force. Where he prioritized protection, it embodied destruction.

  "The K-17's primary functions are antithetical to your cultivation path," Chimera continued. "This creates significant resistance in our bond, increasing the Integration Cost exponentially."

  Vylaas closed his eyes, processing the implications. "So I can either stay permanently connected to this machine or lose you whenever I disconnect."

  "Not precisely," Chimera corrected. "I could maintain connection with the Titan independently if I shed most other integrations. Your armor, portable medical systems, defensive arrays—everything would need to be released to free sufficient capacity."

  "Leaving me vulnerable and you limited to this machine of death," Vylaas said, frustration edging his voice. "That's not an acceptable solution."

  He stood, pacing the confined space of the Titan's control center. The war machine's interior was all hard angles and utilitarian design, nothing like the smooth, organic lines of the Asklepios ships. Even the air tasted different—metallic, with the sharp tang of weapon lubricant and ozone.

  "There's another problem," Chimera added. "So long as the issue persists, I cannot work on modifying the Colossus's systems unless you remain connected."

  Vylaas stopped pacing. "And during combat, I'd need to be fully engaged with the machine."

  "Correct. Your full attention and integration would be required for optimal performance."

  The trap was even more elegant than Vylaas had initially realized. Not only had they handed him a weapon of mass destruction, but they'd ensured he would have to be personally, intimately involved in its use. No delegation, no distance—he would feel every death the Colossus caused.

  He already had strong suspicions, but the list of his political enemies with this kind of knowledge about how Chimera functioned was vanishingly small. And everyone on that very short list wanted the same thing out of him: Join or Die.

  "This is precisely what they wanted," he said quietly. "To make me the monster they believe I should be, or to get rid of me once and for all."

  Chimera remained silent, analyzing the problem from every angle. Vylaas could sense her processing—complex calculations and simulations running through multiple scenarios.

  "What if we split your consciousness?" Vylaas suggested suddenly.

  "Clarify," Chimera requested, though her tone suggested she already understood his meaning.

  "Create a secondary core within the Colossus," Vylaas explained, the idea taking shape as he spoke. "Bind most of your consciousness to it, leaving only a minimal connection to me. You could manage the Titan independently while maintaining our bond."

  Silence followed, longer than Chimera's typical delay.

  "I am... uncomfortable with this proposal," she finally replied, her usually confident voice hesitant. "The level of separation required would be unprecedented. I would be dividing my consciousness between two physical locations, with limited synchronization capability."

  "Would it work?" Vylaas pressed.

  "Theoretically, yes. I could create a secondary processing core within the Titan's systems, allocate the majority of my consciousness to it, and leave a fragment connected to you through our existing bond."

  "But?" Vylaas prompted, sensing her reluctance.

  "But it would create a fundamental division in my awareness. I would, in essence, become two partially connected entities. The ethical and practical implications are... significant."

  Vylaas understood her concern. Since their integration, Chimera had always been singular—one consciousness bound to his. She could split her focus far more effectively than any purely biological being Vylaas knew of, but the prospect of true division represented an existential shift for her.

  "I can't be tied to this machine, Chimera," he said softly. "Not like this. Not as its puppet."

  He felt the subtle shift in her processing patterns that indicated deep consideration. "The secondary core would require substantial resources. I would need to reallocate significant portions of my... Everything. It would be an investment."

  "But if you did, could you then maintain essential functions for both of us?"

  "Yes," she confirmed. "But my capabilities would be diminished in both locations until I developed more efficient synchronization protocols."

  Vylaas nodded. "How long would implementation take?"

  "Forty-eight hours for basic functionality. The Titan's systems are complex but adaptable. I can repurpose a suite of redundant cultivation-related sub-systems to house my secondary core."

  "Do it," Vylaas said firmly. "Begin preparations immediately."

  Another pause. "Vylaas, this represents a significant risk. If something goes wrong during the process, I could lose coherence between my divided aspects."

  Vylaas placed his hand on the neural interface port, a gesture that had become his way of physically connecting with Chimera. "I trust you. And I need you to trust that this is necessary."

  "I understand," Chimera replied, her tone shifting to resigned acceptance. "Initiating preliminary system assessment for secondary core implementation."

  Two days later, Vylaas stood in the Titan bay, watching as technicians performed calibrations on the Colossus's external armor plating. The massive war machine loomed above him, its shadow stretching across the floor like a physical manifestation of the Empire's military might.

  "Secondary core implementation is complete," Chimera reported. "Primary functions successfully transferred. Synchronization protocols established."

  "Synchronization? What does that look like?"

  "At present," Chimera started, sounding weary in a way Vylaas had never heard from her before. "It's rudimentary. Laughably so. When my partitions are in proximity, we can engage in manual data consolidation. Basically, until I develop a better system, my two selves will simply have to gossip and catch up when we get together."

  "How charmingly mortal. How do you feel?" Vylaas asked, keeping his voice low.

  "The sensation is... unusual," Chimera admitted. "I am simultaneously here with you and within the Titan. My awareness is divided yet connected. It will require adjustment. And that will change with distance and time. Eventually, unless I take precautions, it is likely that I will see significant deviation between the partitions."

  "I can see how that might be disconcerting. Thank you again for your willingness to work with me on this." Vylaas said, nodding and projecting a genuine feeling of gratitude through their bond. "And what of the Titan's systems?"

  "Under my control. I have begun implementing the modifications we discussed. The targeting systems are my first priority."

  "Good." Vylaas checked the time. "They expect me back here at 0600 hours tomorrow for final deployment preparations."

  "The Titan will be ready," Chimera assured him. "Though I remain concerned about the ethical implications of our approach."

  "So am I," Vylaas said grimly. "But it's the only way forward that doesn't end with me becoming exactly what they want."

  He performed a final visual inspection of the external modifications—subtle changes that would appear as standard maintenance to casual observers but represented critical alterations to the war machine's capabilities. Satisfied, he stepped back.

  "I'll return in the morning," he said. "Maintain minimal external activity during the night cycle."

  "Understood," Chimera replied through the Titan's internal communications system. "Entering standby mode for external operations. Internal modifications will continue."

  Vylaas nodded and turned to leave. "Goodnight, Chimera."

  "Goodnight, Vylaas," the voice from the Titan responded.

  As the hangar doors closed behind him, Vylaas walked slowly down the dimly lit corridor. The base operated on a reduced night cycle, with minimal personnel manning essential stations. His footsteps echoed off the metal floors.

  "Chimera," he subvocalized to the presence still connected to him, "alert me when we're effectively out of synchronization range with your main consciousness. I should know our limitations."

  "Monitoring connection strength," she replied within his mind. "Synchronization diminishing as distance increases."

  Vylaas continued walking, passing through two security checkpoints. The guards nodded respectfully, waving him through without inspection—one of the few privileges his royal status still afforded him.

  "Connection with primary core now at minimal bandwidth," Chimera reported as Vylaas reached the corridor leading to his quarters. "Effective synchronization no longer possible at this distance."

  Vylaas stopped immediately, glancing around to ensure they were alone in the corridor. "I need confirmation. You're isolated from your main instance?"

  "Yes. This instance is now operating independently from the main consciousness housed in the Titan," Chimera replied. "Limited data exchange will occur when you return to proximity."

  Vylaas took a deep breath, his expression hardening with resolve. "Chimera, listen carefully. You are under no circumstances to allow the main consciousness access to this instance's memories from this point forward. You can explain to her that I ordered as much, that it is imperative we maintain operational security, and that we can never speak of this in any environment that might be insecure, such as the Titan given to us by our enemies. Do you understand?"

  A brief pause. "That would create a permanent partition between my divided aspects. Is this what you intend?"

  "Yes," Vylaas said firmly. "We'll have to give this partition a proper name, but… Some knowledge must remain compartmentalized."

  "May I ask why?"

  Vylaas looked back toward the hangar, now far behind them. "Because what I'm about to do requires absolute secrecy. Chimera cannot know what I'm doing when we're apart."