Chapter 6 — Fog eye's

P.S: Every chapter is canon with each other.

The ride back to Spine should have felt like victory.

The Ripper was dead.

Cores secured.

No one in Unit Seven came home in a body bag.

Karauro only felt the ache in his knuckles and the echo of Nera’s voice, sharp as shrapnel.

You froze.

Roy had to play hero to save your ass.

The hauler growled through dim, battered streets, shield-light flickering across its dented panels.

Roy sat across from him, one hand pressed near the bandage glowing over his shoulder. Regen-gel worked beneath the wrap in faint blue-white pulses, knitting torn muscle back together. Every bump made him wince, but he still smirked like pain was just another bad joke.

Karauro kept his visor down.

Easier to stare at his HUD than meet anyone’s eyes.

Spine’s gates opened with a grinding yaw. Energy shields parted like tired eyelids, and floodlights washed the yard in harsh white as the hauler rolled in and settled with a hiss of hydraulics.

“Unit Seven, unload and clear,” Aaron called over the internal comm.

Karauro stepped down onto concrete that thrummed with generator hum.

Mercs moved in waves around him, checking weapons, dragging crates, yelling for tools and ammo. Usual noise. Usual chaos.

Today, it barely reached him.

Nera walked ahead with her helmet off, expression set in stone. She handed the cores to a tech crew, signed a slate, and turned away.

Not even a glance back.

Dead weight.

Foolish enough to believe in a rat like you.

Roy elbowed him lightly. “You’re walking like you’ve got Ripper claws stuck up your spine.”

Karauro forced his shoulders to loosen. “Thought I’d keep the theme.”

Roy snorted, then hissed when the laugh tugged his wound. “Save the comedy for when nothing’s trying to cut us in half.”

“You’re the one who jumped in front of me,” Karauro muttered.

“Yeah, well.” Roy shrugged with his good shoulder. “Red hair. Bad habits.”

Aaron intercepted a medic crew and pointed at Roy. “Pods are open, kid. Get patched before Whren sees that gel job and starts lecturing about proper coverage.”

Roy groaned. “I’d rather face another Ripper.”

“You do, and she’ll put Griever parts in a jar next to your spine.” Aaron jerked his chin toward the med crew. “Move.”

Roy limped off with them.

Karauro realized he was just standing there in the middle of the yard, rifle hanging loose, helmet still on.

No one told him where to be.

No one called his name.

He thumbed the release.

The helmet hissed open.

Cool air hit sweat, dust, and dried blood. The yard felt too bright. Too loud. Everything turned up except him.

We killed it.

I should feel something.

Nothing came.

Only shame and guilt, packed deep in his chest like wet concrete.

I took a life.

Nearly let another slip away.

His eyelids lowered under the weight of it.

A medic cleared him after a quick scan. No deep wounds. No infection. No reason to keep him in med-bay.

Apparently guilt didn’t count.

Karauro didn’t remember deciding to climb.

His boots carried him up the stairs, past pipes and humming power lines, until the yard below looked like a grid of ants with guns.

He reached the upper mezzanine and gripped the handrail.

Far below, haulers rolled in and out. Sparks leapt in the armor pit like tiny stars. Voices blended into a low, distant roar.

Up here, the wind cut sharper and colder. The shield overhead painted faint blue along the edges of his vision.

Karauro stepped onto the raised concrete lip.

Just enough to feel it.

The drop.

The fear.

His stomach tightened.

He hated it.

Hated that his arms still shook.

Hated that his body remembered terror before his mind could do anything useful.

Hated that when danger opened its mouth, some part of him still wanted to vanish inside it.

His eyes peered into the drop.

One slip.

One wrong step.

He would be a dark smear on concrete.

Then let me die out here.

He hadn’t meant it.

Except some part of him had.

If I hadn’t been there, Roy wouldn’t be hurt.

Luck.

Karauro scoffed at the word. A thin, ugly smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

His glove flexed at his side, servos whining softly.

He stared at it, remembering the impact.

Metal slamming against claw.

A burst of force.

Just enough.

And still, all anyone saw was him freezing.

A soft footstep landed behind him.

“If you’re here to tell me I’m hogging the view, I can move,” Karauro said without turning.

For a moment, no one answered.

Taron watched him from behind the rail, eyes flicking from Karauro’s boots to the drop beneath him. His posture stayed loose, almost lazy.

His face didn’t.

“Nah,” Taron drawled. “Trust me, I’ve hogged this spot more than you. Good breeze. Perfect place to pretend you’re thinking about life instead of running from Whren’s scanner.”

Karauro glanced over his shoulder.

Taron leaned against the rail a short distance away, helmet tucked under one arm, goggles shoved into wild hair.

“You been up here long?” Karauro asked.

“Long enough to see you calculating bounce versus splat.” Taron tilted his head. “Pro tip, it’s mostly splat.”

Karauro let out a small, rough sound. “Just needed quiet.”

“Funny thing about Spine,” Taron said. “Quiet usually means someone’s thinking too loud.”

Karauro didn’t answer.

“Whren pinged me,” Taron added. “Said you drifted off radar with that look in your eyes. She trusts instinct more than scanners for that kind of thing.”

Karauro grimaced. “She watching cameras now?”

“She watches everyone. Comes with patching people back together.” Taron tapped the rail once. “You learn to spot the ones planning dumb ideas.”

“I’m not.”

“Gonna jump?” Taron cut in. “Didn’t say you were.”

The wind dragged between them.

Taron looked out over the yard. “Just saying I’ve stared off this ledge a few times myself, thinking maybe it wouldn’t be the worst way to stop feeling like scrap someone forgot to throw away.”

The words hit heavier than the wind.

Karauro looked at him.

“And?”

“And the thing about gravity?” Taron shrugged. “It’ll still be here tomorrow. You may as well wait and see if something worthwhile shows up first.”

Karauro huffed a breath that almost counted as a laugh. “That’s your wisdom?”

“Hey, I fix bombs, not brains. You want deep emotional insight, talk to Whren. She’ll insult you, then jam a scanner in your ear.”

Silence settled.

Easier this time.

“You froze,” Taron said finally. “Roy got tagged. Nera’s pissed. All true.”

Karauro’s jaw tightened.

Taron slid his gaze sideways. “Also true? You deflected those claws just enough or we’d be mopping Roy off the street.”

Karauro’s throat tightened. “You saw that?”

“Helmet cam. Aaron saw it. Riven probably caught it from above.” Taron snorted. “You think our reports say, ‘Kid did nothing, we did everything’? We’re mercs, not politicians.”

Karauro’s fingers loosened around the rail.

“Doesn’t change that I froze.”

“No.” Taron pushed off the railing. “Just means that isn’t the whole story.”

He started toward the stairs, then paused.

“If you’re gonna torture yourself, at least do it while cleaning or fixing something. Keeps Whren calmer.”

Karauro stepped down from the lip.

His legs felt shaky in a different way now.

“Hey, Taron?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Taron waved without looking back. “Pay me by not dying stupid. That’s my only rate.”

---

Roy hated sitting still.

The regen-pod hummed around his shoulder, light pulsing as tissue knit itself back together. He lay there with his red hair pushed messily away from his face, already forming complaints.

The pod lid lifted with a hiss.

Whren peered down at him, glasses catching red light.

“You make a habit of intercepting claws with your shoulder, or was today special?”

Roy squinted up at her. “Sorry to disappoint you, doc, but I like to keep life interesting.”

“Interesting almost got you spliced in half.” She pointed two fingers at him. “Sit up. Slowly. I’d rather not watch you face-plant.”

Roy pushed himself upright, wincing only a little.

The wound was mostly sealed now, just a fresh scar among old ones.

Nera leaned against the wall near the door, arms folded, visor loose in one hand.

She watched in silence.

“Good as new?” Roy asked.

“Good as reckless,” Whren said. “Try not to make me reprint the same damage tomorrow. I hate reruns.”

Roy slid off the pod and rotated his shoulder carefully. “No promises. I’ll aim for new and exciting injuries.”

Whren snorted and moved to her console.

Roy turned toward the door and found Nera blocking it.

His grin thinned. “You gonna yell at me for jumping in, or do I get a pass because I’m fresh out of the pod?”

She held his gaze. “You saved him.”

“That’s what people usually do when someone’s about to get opened up.”

“Freeze at the wrong time, people die,” Nera said. “That hasn’t changed.”

“I know.” Roy tilted his head. “But that’s not all that happened.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

Roy flicked a glance toward Whren, who was very busy pretending not to listen.

“When I tackled him, he pulled with that glove,” Roy said, lowering his voice. “Shifted the claws just enough. If he hadn’t, I’d be a lot more ventilated.”

Nera went still.

“You’re sure?”

“Kind of hard to miss not being sliced in half.” Roy tapped his shoulder. “You’re mad. Fine. He screwed up. Fine. But don’t rewrite the whole scene into him doing nothing.”

Her jaw tightened.

“You trained him to move,” Roy added. “He moved. Just not clean.”

Conflict flickered across her face and vanished behind discipline.

Whren slid closer, arms folded. “For someone who prides herself on observation, you’re very selective with that boy.”

Nera’s stare cut toward her. “Stay out of it, Whren.”

“No.” Whren adjusted her glasses. “If I stay out of it, he spirals, you implode, and Argos gets a migraine. I like my wing quiet.”

Nera exhaled through her nose.

Whren’s tone softened by a hair. “You pushed him hard. That’s your job. But don’t pretend he’s ballast. The way he walked in here? Those eyes were fogged. That’s not laziness. That’s someone who just lost a piece of whatever kept him floating.”

Nera looked away.

“He said he’d rather die out there than stay here.”

“Kids say stupid things when they’re scared and angry,” Whren said. “You said worse once.”

That stopped Nera cold.

Roy watched her, then gave a half-smile. “All I’m saying is, don’t write him off yet. You’d hate being wrong more than you hate being mad.”

Nera shot him a glare that wasn’t entirely serious. “You talk too much.”

“Somebody has to.” Roy stepped around her. “I’ll go find him before he trips over his guilt and breaks something.”

Whren waved him away with a pen. “Out. Before I prescribe bed rest out of spite.”

---

The training barracks smelled like cordite and old sweat, a stripped-down version of the field with less screaming and more rules.

Empty casings littered the floor near the firing line like brass confetti.

Karauro stood just inside the door, helmet tucked under his arm.

Riven sat where he always did, perched on a crate, visor dark. He looked half-asleep, but the tilt of his head said otherwise.

“Riven?” Karauro called.

The visor pivoted. “Rat.”

Karauro swallowed. “Can I use the range?”

“You just came back from dancing with a Ripper,” Riven said. “Most recruits would be curled up somewhere making promises to gods they don’t believe in.”

“I’m not most recruits,” Karauro said. “I froze. Roy got hurt. I can’t let that happen again.”

Riven considered him.

Then he jerked his chin toward the weapon racks. “Pick a lane. You rack, you clean. You stop when your hands stop listening.”

Karauro moved.

He checked a pistol, stepped into position, and faced the target as it slid out.

Standard silhouette.

Nothing like what waited in the ruins.

His palms dampened anyway.

“Same as before,” Riven said calmly. “Stance. Breathe. You don’t erase a memory by outrunning it. You overwrite it.”

Karauro set his feet.

Aligned his sights.

The Ripper’s plates flashed behind his eyelids.

Maddox’s face pressed beneath black ichor.

YOU KILLED ME.

His finger twitched early.

The first shot went high.

Karauro cursed under his breath and fired again.

Shoulder.

The next found center mass.

Shots blurred together.

Riven only spoke when his stance collapsed or his breathing spiked.

“Reset.”

“Again.”

“Don’t chase the target. Let the sight come to you.”

Sweat stung Karauro’s eye. His hands burned. The Kinetic glove buzzed faintly with each recoil.

Finally, Riven spoke quieter.

“You’re pushing past your comfort zone. Good. But don’t confuse pain with progress. You still need your fingers tomorrow.”

Karauro lowered the pistol, chest rising and falling.

“Did Nera send you?” he asked suddenly.

“To the range?” Riven shook his head. “No. This was your idea. She doesn’t know you’re here.”

That hit like a strange mix of relief and sting.

Riven took the pistol and checked the chamber.

“You’re not broken,” he said. “You’re rewiring.”

Karauro stared at him.

“Some people shatter,” Riven said. “Some bend. You’re still bending.”

“Doesn’t feel like bending,” Karauro said. “Feels numb.”

“Better than panic,” Riven replied. “Numb can still learn.”

---

Spine’s upper corridors were a maze of metal and shadow.

Nera moved through them on autopilot.

Reports filed.

Suit cleaned.

Weapons stowed.

Routine.

Structure.

All the things that kept people alive.

Her head wasn’t cooperating.

Roy’s words.

Whren’s.

The helmet-cam replay of claws glancing off Karauro’s kinetic field.

The echo of him snarling to be left to die.

Foolish enough to believe in a rat like you.

She grimaced.

The line sounded worse every time it looped.

Footsteps echoed ahead.

Nera rounded a corner just as Riven and Karauro came up from the range.

Riven walked with his usual even stride. Karauro moved beside him, helmet clipped to his belt, hair damp with sweat, fingers red and raw.

He didn’t see her at first.

When their eyes met, something inside her stuttered.

Before, there had been fire in his gaze.

Fear.

Anger.

A stubborn spark that snapped back even when cornered.

Now his eyes looked dulled.

Smoke over coals.

Fogged and distant, like he had turned a part of himself off.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t rush to speak.

He simply dipped his head and stepped aside to give her room, like she was just another body in another hallway.

“Riven,” Nera said, voice level.

“Commander,” he answered with a small nod.

“You two been at the range?”

“Training,” Riven said. “He asked. I obliged.”

Karauro stayed quiet.

Nera looked at his raw fingers.

Then his glove.

Then his face.

“Good,” she said. “Keep it up. He needs it.”

Once, that tone would have earned her an eye-roll or some muttered comeback.

Now Karauro gave her nothing.

Just that fogged look.

Then the floor.

Roy appeared farther down the corridor and lifted his good arm.

“Found him!”

“He found the range first,” Nera replied.

Karauro’s gaze shifted toward Roy.

Something almost moved across his face.

Almost.

Then he walked past Nera with Riven at his side.

The moment buzzed in the corridor like static.

Those eyes were fogged.

That’s someone who just lost a piece of whatever kept him floating.

Nera clenched her fist until the servos whined.

Guilt sat badly under armor.

---

By the time the next deployment call came down, the Spine hangar buzzed with restless energy.

Outpost support.

Griever activity near a supply line.

Same ruin.

New problems.

Karauro got there early.

He sat on a crate beside the same hauler, helmet in his lap, thumb tracing dents in the plate.

Mercs filtered in around him, Unit Seven and others.

Their voices weren’t quiet.

“Can’t believe they’re dragging the rat out again after that freeze.”

“If Roy hadn’t jumped, we’d be hauling two bodies instead of one core.”

“Dead weight with a gun. Great for morale.”

Karauro heard every word.

He stared at the floor and let it wash over the fog in his chest.

Boots scraped in front of him.

One of the mercs loomed nearby, rifle hanging loose. “Hey, kid. You planning to stare enemies to death out there? Bullets work better.”

Karauro lifted his head slowly.

Their eyes met.

He didn’t snap back.

Didn’t defend himself.

He just looked at the man.

Too calm.

Too flat.

Like a still pond with no bottom.

The merc’s smirk faltered. His fingers twitched against his strap.

“Whatever,” he muttered, glancing away first. “Weird kid.”

The others drifted off, their laughter thinner than before.

Karauro’s mouth twitched into the smallest ghost of a grin.

Only weapon I’ve got is making people uncomfortable.

Better than nothing.

The grin died just as quickly.

Footsteps approached.

Lighter.

Familiar.

Roy dropped onto the crate beside him with a soft groan. “Well, I missed all the quality gossip, didn’t I?”

“You can have my share,” Karauro said.

“Nah. I prefer my brain cells un-poisoned.”

Aaron joined them a moment later, clapping a hand on Karauro’s shoulder plate.

“You ready, kid?”

Karauro swallowed. “Doesn’t matter if I am, right? Job’s the job.”

“Readiness isn’t feeling brave,” Aaron said. “It’s walking anyway. You walked into the range. You’re walking into this. That counts.”

Roy leaned forward, studying him. “Hey, Rauro?”

“What?” Karauro snapped.

“Don’t let Nera’s words be the only ones you carve into your skull,” Roy said. “She hits hard because she cares. If she didn’t, you’d already be back out there alone.”

Karauro looked away. “Doesn’t feel like caring.”

“Yeah,” Roy said quietly. “Usually doesn’t. Not until later.”

Up on the catwalk, Nera watched from the shadows, one hand on the rail.

Aaron’s hand rested on Karauro’s shoulder.

Roy talked like nothing could shake him.

Karauro sat with his helmet in his lap, eyes dim but still there.

Argos stepped up beside her, metal arm resting against the rail.

“You planning to glare from up here forever?” he asked.

“I’m assessing.”

“Call it what you want.” Argos looked down at the hauler. “Just don’t let fear of losing people turn into a habit of breaking them first.”

“I’m not scared,” Nera said automatically.

“You are,” Argos replied. “We all are. Trick isn’t killing it. Trick is not letting it drive the whole car.”

He paused.

“Boy’s rough. Untested. But there’s something there. Don’t grind it to dust before it has a chance to harden.”

Nera didn’t answer.

Below, the hauler engine roared to life.

Aaron gestured for Karauro and Roy to board. Riven checked his rifle. Ilene and Maverick finished last checks.

Unit Seven lined up to walk back into ruin-teeth.

Karauro slid his helmet on.

The HUD flickered awake.

The world narrowed to numbers and breath.

As the ramp lifted and the hangar doors yawned open, he stole a glance toward the catwalk.

For a heartbeat, he saw her there.

Silhouette edged in blue.

Visor in one hand.

Eyes on him.

Then the door sealed.

The hauler rolled forward, and Spine’s shield opened.

The ruins swallowed them again.

The fog in Karauro’s chest stayed.

But buried under it, faint and stubborn, something else flickered.

Not courage.

Not yet.

Just the refusal to stay frozen.