The Void Killer Saga

The combat simulator's targeting laser painted a red dot on the child's holographic forehead. Ozone crackled in the air from the academy's ancient targeting systems, mixing with engine grease from Kasper's overworked exoskeleton. His finger froze on the trigger as sweat trickled down his spine.

Just a hologram. Just another test.

The shot hit perfect center mass, like always. Blood-red pixels scattered like digital confetti. He tried not to think about why the academy was running child-target scenarios, or why his hands remained perfectly steady.

"Betting pool's at fifty credits!" Sean's voice boomed from above, echoing off steel-reinforced walls. The observation deck's windows gleamed with afternoon sun, turning the watchers into silhouettes. "Don't fuck up my money, de la Fuente!"

Kasper's exoskeleton whirred, servos adjusting to compensate for his elevated heart rate. The neural interface at the base of his skull tingled – a thousand tiny needles feeding target data directly into his nervous system. Three months until field certification. Three months to face the tests nobody discussed, the ones that left candidates with haunted eyes or desk assignments.

The simulator's hum deepened. Another target materialized through curtains of holographic static – a woman in civilian clothes, hands raised in surrender. Her face shifted between randomized features, but her eyes stayed fixed on him. Pleading.

*Bang.* Perfect shot. Again.

"They're really pushing the ethical scenarios today," Lucas muttered through the comms. Static crackled under his words, his tech specialist's worry obvious even through encryption. "You okay, man?"

"Focus on your own certification," Kasper replied, dropping into a roll as crimson bullet-tracers lit up his position. The exoskeleton's servos screamed – he'd pushed them too hard during last night's maintenance. The sharp scent of burning plastic suggested he'd cracked another cooling line.

"Ten seconds!" Maria's voice carried that familiar mix of healer's concern and competitive drive. "Beat your record and drinks are on me!"

Five targets left. Each shot echoed through the chamber like funeral bells. The academy's air filtration hummed overhead, trying and failing to clear the smell of ozone and stress-sweat.

*Bang.* A fleeing target, pixels scattering.

*Bang.* A wounded target, clutching simulated wounds.

*Bang.* Academy staff faces now – people he passed in hallways every day.

His enhanced hearing picked up whispers from the observation deck: "Cold Blood Trial candidate for sure." The words carried weight, respect, and something darker. Something hungry.

Two targets remaining. The exoskeleton's warnings flashed red in his neural feed, system strain approaching critical. Coolant dripped onto polished training room floors.

*Bang.* A child again, younger this time. Elementary school age.

The final target emerged through crackling static – a perfect mirror image of himself, hands raised in surrender. Even the exoskeleton's scuff marks matched.

Kasper didn't hesitate.

*Bang.*

"Perfect score!" Sean's whoop of triumph almost drowned out the sudden wail of emergency alarms.

The simulation dissolved as medics rushed past the observation windows, pushing a gurney. A young girl lay strapped down, neural ports flickering amber against olive skin. Military-grade Costa del Sol tech, Kasper's enhanced vision noted automatically. Strange.

Sarah materialized in the doorway, her white coat a stark contrast to the chaos. Her medical scanner hummed that familiar tone that always set his enhanced hearing on edge. "Hold on, pequeña." The Spanish endearment slipped out as her fingers flew over the ports with impossible familiarity.

"BP dropping!" Maria's voice cracked as her healer's aura flared crimson. "These readings—"

"Standard cascade failure," Sarah cut in. Too quickly. "I've seen this in refugee cases."

The system accepted her override codes without question. Kasper watched her hands move in sequences that shouldn't exist in civilian protocols, remembered similar ports in classified files about his brother's last case.

"She's stable," Sarah exhaled, her composure perfect except for a slight tremor in her left hand. Her eyes met his, then darted away. "Dinner tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it." He caught those trembling fingers, noticed how quickly she tucked the scanner away. "Everything okay?"

"Just routine." Her smile was flawless. Professional. Practiced.

Later, stripping off his exoskeleton in the empty locker room, coolant still dripping from cracked lines, he caught fragments of her encrypted comm:

"...subject shows same modifications...proceed with extraction?"

Static swallowed the response, but something in the transmission's frequency tickled his memory. Similar to intercepts from his brother's final mission logs.

For the first time in years, his hands shook.

His perfect aim had never felt more like a curse.