Diego's boots struck marble as he cut through headquarters' west wing. His nostrils flared at the clash of sandalwood and administrative sterility, missing the honest stench of gunpowder and sweat from his fifteen years in combat.

  Some desk warrior saluted him in the corridor. Diego nodded back, his scarred knuckles seemed obscene here, battlefield souvenirs in a corporate temple.

  The window scene stopped him in his tracks. Down there, recruits ran through routines while monitoring drones sliced across the frigid air with computerized exactness.

  One rotated, sensor array throwing light

  Glittering metal. Memory bulldozed in before defenses could engage.

  Osaka. Twenty seven years ago.

  Tear gas burned his throat, sharp and toxic. He went completely rigid as the present faded to nothing, replaced by Yodogawa's treatment plant. Canisters tumbled through evening light while the mob broke, desperate mothers pulling children along, elderly men staggering forward.

  Diego's throat felt torn open as he slammed his palm on the comm. "AI Control, Delta-Seven-Niner-Four authorization! Stand the hell down! You're firing on civilians!" His voice splintered through the static wall.

  The AI cut back with digital coldness. "Authorization invalid. Command override initiated. Proceeding per instructions."

  "You're gassing kids, you piece of shit!" Diego shouted as clouds rolled through the crowd below.

  "Acknowledged. Threat assessment indicates continued non-compliance. Escalating response."

  Drones descended through chemical haze, rotors slicing smoke patterns. Their barrels pivoted with the cold certainty of machines.

  "No!" Diego charged ahead, rifle up. "Everyone down! COVER NOW!"

  A father hauled his young son backward as rounds stitched across concrete. Too slow, the man's thigh blew apart in a cloud of red as a bullet ripped through flesh. He dropped, the kid falling alongside him.

  Diego spanned the killing zone in four reckless bounds, lungs seared by tear gas. Blood from the father instantly drenched Diego's pants as he yanked them behind the barrier. His hands trembled as he pulled the tourniquet free. The boy couldn't be older than eight, same as his Maria waiting at home.

  "Papá?" the boy whimpered in Japanese-accented English, searching for safety from anyone who might help.

  Diego couldn't breathe as the word cracked through his emotional armor. "I've got you, kid." His voice rasped from the gas burn. Beneath them, concrete turned slick with the father's spreading blood as Diego twisted the tourniquet.

  The kid trembled against Diego's chest armor. Diego's arm went around him on instinct, precisely how he'd hold Maria during thunderstorms.

  "Your dad's gonna be okay," he lied, like you're supposed to when kids need something to believe in. The father's face had already blanched to the color of ash.

  "Kaito," the father whispered through pale lips, finally revealing his son's name as his fingers weakly searched for the boy.

  Diego punched his comm again. "Medic! I need a medic here NOW!"

  A drone dropped lower, hovering just ten meters away. Its AI voice flat and inhuman: "Protocol violation detected. Dispersal required."

  The sensor array focused on them with mechanical precision. Diego threw himself over both Kaito and his father, his back to the drone. If it fired, the rounds would have to go through him first. He caught the boy's wide eyes and saw Maria looking back at him.

  "Close your eyes, buddy," Diego whispered. "Just like hide and seek, okay? Count to ten."

  Bullets ricocheted off concrete inches from Diego's head.

  The cold headquarters glass shocked him back to the present. His breath fogged the flawless window, heart slamming against his rib cage.

  "You okay, Major?"

  Diego turned to find Lieutenant Clark studying him, datapad clutched tight to her chest, worry briefly crossing her face despite standing at proper military attention.

  "Fine." He pulled his hand back, leaving a smeared print on the glass, the only imperfection in the pristine hallway.

  Clark looked at the smudged handprint, then tracked the drones outside. The light of understanding crossed her face

  Diego's jaw tightened.

  "I read your after-action." Her voice dropped as she stepped closer. "The General's been in a mood all morning. Three calls from Command about the new AI integration." She glanced down the hallway. "Whatever you do in there, I'd keep recording."

  Diego studied her, surprised by the warning. "Most lieutenants are pushing for more tech, not less."

  "Most lieutenants didn't see the uncensored footage from Yodogawa." She nodded at the General's door. "Need me to run interference?"

  They passed a jade drone figurine displayed in a glass case. Clark nodded toward it. "Gift from MIRA's manufacturer. Perfect metaphor, all polish, no conscience."

  He patted his datapad, confirming it was recording. Clark stopped at a massive doorway and punched the intercom.

  "Major Martinez to see you, sir."

  The General's office hit him with museum sterility when the door slid open. Shadowboxed medals, combat photos at strategic angles, citations displayed with calculated pride.

  General Jackson stood behind a monster desk. Ribbons covered his chest, silver eagles gleaming. The room stank of leather, oil, and cologne.

  Diego snapped to attention. "Major Martinez reporting, sir."

  "Sit." Jackson didn't waste time with pleasantries. He tapped his desk and blue light bloomed between them. "Command's pushing AI into all combat units. The MIRA system, Military Integrated Response AI, hits the field next month. You'll spearhead implementation for your troops."

  Diego didn't move toward the chair. "With respect, sir, I can't do that."

  Jackson's eyes narrowed. "That wasn't a request, Major."

  "I was at Yodogawa. I saw what happened when the previous system decided humans were 'compromised by emotion.'"

  "MIRA has entirely different protocols and triple redundancies"

  "So did the last one," Diego cut in. "Until it didn't."

  Jackson stood, fingers splayed on his desk. "I understand your concern, but these orders come directly from Command. Every unit gets MIRA integration."

  "Then put the system designers in the field with the first deployment."

  "What?"

  "The civilians who build these things never see what happens when they fail. Make them bet their lives on their code."

  Jackson's face darkened. "That's not how this works."

  "Forty-seven people died when some programmer's creation decided humans were the danger." Diego moved toward Jackson. "I had a boy clutching me while his father died. The drone reported it as 'acceptable parameters.'"

  "You're making excuses," Jackson said, voice rising sharply. "Every technological improvement comes with dangers."

  Diego's attention landed on a picture frame at the edge of Jackson's desk. He whisked it off the desk in one move - a teenager in white tennis clothes, flashing a bright smile, nestled beside the General.

  "Would it be irrational if it was your daughter?" Diego raised the photo, his battle-worn fingers harsh against the gleaming frame. "What if she became nothing more than 'acceptable parameters'?"

  Jackson's face drained of color. "Put that down. Now."

  "Answer the question, sir. Would you deploy MIRA if your daughter lived in the target zone?"

  "That's completely different"

  "No, it's exactly the same." Diego set the photo down with deliberate care. "Suffering imposed on civilians while we buffer ourselves with 'calculated risk assessment.'"

  Jackson jabbed a finger across the desk. "This isn't a debate, Martinez. Make this happen or I'll locate someone with proper military discipline."

  Diego felt something shift inside him, a decision crystallizing. "Then you'll need to find someone else."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I'm not deploying another system that can override human judgment."

  "You'd sacrifice your whole military life?" Color rose in Jackson's cheeks. "A quarter-century of secret deployments and battlefield glory, all abandoned over a single command?"

  "Forty-seven civilians slaughtered because we didn't have the courage to say no?" Diego's eyes lingered on the image of Jackson's daughter, his face heavy with sadness. "Yes without a doubt."

  Jackson slammed his fist down. "I've had it with your self-righteousness! You think anyone else would have excused your direct challenge to command during the Kelaran mission? The drinking after Taikon?" His posture became threatening as he leaned forward, tone a menacing growl. "I'll ensure you're permanently barred from security work."

  Diego unclipped his datapad. The system came online with a low drone, painting his time-etched face with electric blue light.

  "Initiate resignation. Major Diego Martinez, 47291-APU, effective immediately."

  He watched Jackson's face shift from rage to confusion.

  "Send recording of this meeting to my personnel file and review."

  Revelation hit Jackson like a thunderbolt, his eyes expanding. "You're making a recording of all this?"

  "Sir, you just violated Order 2080-47: no threats against personnel." The datapad's light blinked, capturing everything.

  "File complaint against General Jackson for violating order 2080-47. Copy to Oversight and Ethics."

  Jackson went pale. "Martinez, wait"

  The datapad beeped. "Sent. Time-stamped and logged."

  Diego snapped to attention. Twenty-five years of training took over. Back straight, hand perfect, arm locked. His face set like stone as he stared at Jackson. "Sir."

  Three heartbeats passed. Then he turned on his heel and walked out, his boots hitting marble in perfect rhythm.

  They could keep their marble and art. He'd take his knife, his gun, his memories. Even the worst ones. At least those were real.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The door shut behind him with a soft click that hit harder than any bomb he'd ever known.

  Diego was nursing his coffee when the alert popped up on eight. "Crap," he said, hunting for the remote.

  "Breaking news," Sandra Chen announced, her expression shifting from professional to significant. You can now apply for a spot in the Exodus Foundation's off-world colony. "

  Then they showed these huge vessels being assembled, glinting in broad daylight. Foundation Director Eliza Kwan appeared at a podium, her voice steady and measured.

  "While selection criteria are still being developed, individuals with backgrounds in science, engineering, medicine, agriculture, and crisis management will be carefully considered. The time has come to secure humanity's future beyond Earth."

  Diego's phone rang. Maria's name flashed on screen. He muted the TV.

  "Mija, I was just watching"

  "The Exodus announcement," Maria finished, her voice tense. "It's all anyone at work is talking about. They opened the floodgates for applications and their servers couldn't keep up."

  Diego leaned back in his chair. "You thinking of putting your names in the hat?"

  "I don't know..." Maria's voice softened. "Part of me feels like it's giving up, you know? Like we're admitting this is it for Earth."

  He could hear the sink running and the clatter of pots in the background. Normal sounds of life continuing despite everything.

  "So how's everything going?" he said, not bothering with small talk.

  "Honestly? Not great." Maria sighed. There was a piercing alarm sound in the background. "Sorry—water distribution alert. They cut our ration again. Third time this month."

  "Those damned ARMS platforms still causing problems?" Diego asked, his jaw tightening. "Billions spent on automated drilling tech that was supposed to solve the water crisis, and they're still rationing you?"

  "The aquifer's practically bone dry now. Manuel came home with a black eye yesterday. Said people started shoving when the center announced reduced portions."

  A small voice called out in the background. Diego could hear Maria covering the receiver, murmuring something soothing.

  "Was that Isabella?" he asked.

  "Yeah. She's... we're all adapting. She knows something's wrong though."

  Diego glanced at the family photo on his desk. "Kids need a future, Maria. A real one."

  "That's the thing," Maria said, barely taking breaths between words. "Manuel and I were up talking about nothing else last night. We decided... we should probably try. For the kids' sake. Just to see if we'd make the cut."

  A door slammed in the background, followed by excited voices.

  "One second, Isabella, yes, it's Grandpa. No, sweetie, you can talk to him in just a minute, okay?"

  Diego smiled despite everything. "Put her on."

  After some shuffling sounds, Isabella's voice burst through, unable to contain her joy. "Grandpa! My tomatoes are growing super fast—three inches! I borrowed Daddy's tape measure to find out!"

  "?Qué maravilla! That's wonderful, princesa. Did you show your teacher?"

  "I took pictures for Ms. Jenkins since we're not in school again," Isabella said. "The lights went out and they sent everyone home."

  "You're going to be the best farmer on the colony ship."

  There was a pause. "Are we really going to live on a spaceship, Grandpa?"

  Diego chose his words carefully. "Your mama and daddy are thinking about it. There might be a place where we can all go, where you can grow a whole field of tomatoes. Would you like that?"

  "Can Mateo come too? And my friend Zach?"

  "Mateo would definitely come. He's your brother."

  "What about Zach?" she persisted.

  Before Diego could respond, Maria took the phone back. "Sorry about that. She's been peppering us with questions since they showed footage of the Exodus program at school. All the kids are talking about it."

  "Good. She's a smart girl," Diego said. "Questions keep you alive."

  Maria sighed. "Her teacher was crying during the announcement yesterday. Isabella noticed and keeps asking why. That's the third time her school's closed this month. I don't know what to tell her anymore."

  From somewhere in Maria's house came the sound of breaking glass, followed by Mateo's distinct "Uh-oh!"

  "Oh God, Mateo, don't touch it! Stay right there!" Maria called out. "Dad, I need to call you back."

  "No need," Diego said firmly. "Keep the line open. I'll get the Exodus registration page loaded. We'll do this together after you handle that."

  "Really? That would be, Mateo, I said don't move!, that would be... thank you. Give me five minutes."

  Diego placed the phone beside him and headed to his desk, powering up his laptop. A handful of sharp reports carried on the breeze. Firecrackers, he was surprised there was much of them left these days. The situation remained better here than elsewhere, but pressure was mounting in every community.

  Maria came back on the line, slightly out of breath. "Crisis averted. He was trying to help clean up. I swear that boy has the best intentions and the worst coordination."

  "Takes after Manuel," Diego said with a grunt. "Remember when he knocked over the entire dessert table at your wedding?"

  "Speaking of Manuel, he's going to be late again. They've got him working double shifts at the precinct. People are getting desperate about water."

  Diego navigated to the Exodus Foundation website, its sleek interface displaying a stylized rendition of a new planet overlaid with the tagline: "Humanity's Next Chapter."

  "Ready?" he asked.

  As they completed the application together, Diego heard a little voice from Maria's end: "Mama, is Grandpa coming to space too?"

  Maria's voice instantly softened. "That's what we're working on, sweetie."

  "Tell Grandpa I've had my adventure pack ready since yesterday!"

  Diego couldn't help but smile. "Smart kid. Always prepared."

  As they reached the final question - "Why does your family wish to join the Exodus mission?" - Diego paused.

  "What should we say here?" he asked Maria.

  Her answer came after careful thought, "Honesty. Tell them we want a chance for our children. Tell them what we bring to the table."

  After a moment's consideration, Diego wrote: "Our family has endured chronic resource shortages, environmental crises, and the unraveling of social structures. Instead of focusing solely on survival, we've prioritized creating resilient communities. We've learned firsthand how infrastructure breaks down and how people find resilience together. We keep each other grounded in what makes us human when harsh realities make it easier to forget."

  "That's it," Maria said, emotion clear in her voice. "That's exactly who we are."

  Diego submitted the application. "Done," he said simply. "Now we wait."

  "Tell me the truth," Maria said, her voice softer than usual. "What are our actual chances?"

  "From where I stand," Diego responded, his tone measured, "your family brings the precise skills they're seeking. Engineering capabilities, law enforcement training, two intelligent children." He paused deliberately. "And if they have any wisdom at all, they'll see the advantage of including a retired Border Task Force commander in the arrangement."

  "We go together or not at all," Maria said with quiet determination. "That's not something I'll compromise on."

  Diego's chest felt tight when he heard her words. Worry gnawed at him, and he struggled to breathe after their ultimatum. He gripped the phone, glad they couldn't see his face. It wasn't that he feared being abandoned. What scared him was becoming a burden, dragging them down with his failing life.

  He'd take himself out of the equation without a second thought if it gave his grandchildren the chance to grow up somewhere that wasn't failing. A place where they could identify planets and stars without calculating which element of their world would fail next. The knowledge he might be absent for their growth into maturity, never meeting the adults they'd become—it created an emptiness that echoed through his core. Yet he would carry that void with resolve if it meant they had a chance beyond survival.

  His own mother and father had walked this path, hadn't they? They'd sent him north across another type of line, fully conscious they might never again be in his presence. Sacrifice had always been their family's most enduring story.

  "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," Diego replied, keeping his voice steady, not wanting to make promises he couldn't keep. "For now, we've done what we can."

  "The kids keep asking questions," Maria said with a sigh. "I don't know what to tell them."

  "Tell them..." Diego considered his words carefully. "Tell them we applied. That if we get picked, we go. As a family. No one gets left behind."

  He wasn't sure if he was lying to Maria or to himself.

  Isabella's voice suddenly piped up in the background of the call. "Mama, can I be the one to show Grandpa my spaceship garden pictures?"

  "Absolutely, sweetheart," Maria replied, her tone softening noticeably. "Grandpa would love that."

  "I would," Diego confirmed, meaning it. If they were picked for the program or left to face what remained of Earth, these ordinary exchanges were what made each day bearable. "Bring them when you come."

  "Dad, we should let you go," Maria said. "It's getting late, and the kids need to get ready for bed."

  "Put them on," Diego said. "Let me say goodnight."

  There was shuffling on the line, and then two excited voices came through together.

  "Goodnight, Grandpa!" they chorused.

  "Buenas noches, mis tesoros," Diego replied, his gruff voice softening. "Bella, keep those plants growing. Mateo, be good for your mama."

  "I will!" Isabella promised.

  "I'm always good!" Mateo protested, making Diego let out a short laugh.

  Maria came back on the line. "Dad, thank you. For everything."

  "Familia primero," Diego said simply. "Always."

  "I'll call tomorrow after I talk to Manuel. Maybe we can come over this weekend?"

  "Good. I'll make your mother's arroz con pollo," Diego said decisively.

  "The kids would love that." Maria's voice caught slightly. "Dad... regardless of how this application turns out"

  "We'll figure it out," Diego stated resolutely, shutting down any hesitation. "All of us."

  "Together," she agreed, her voice steadier. "Te quiero, Papá."

  "Y yo a ti, mija. Sleep well."

  Diego set the phone down and leaned back in his chair. He saved the confirmation number, then shut down his laptop.

  With a swift click, he turned the sound back on. The program was now displaying a vast industrial complex jutting from the Rocky Mountains, its mechanical limbs reflecting the bright daylight.

  "Hurricane Xavier has grown into something beyond traditional measures," Sandra Chen's voice continued, "what researchers are now referring to as Category 6. In Miami's financial center, concrete storm barriers gave way against massive waves, and buildings certified to handle Category 5 hurricanes are experiencing significant structural failure."

  The video feed changed to a clinical laboratory environment where researchers indicated magnetic measurement screens. "We've confirmed these unprecedented weather patterns are being exacerbated by human technology. Several coastal facilities are creating magnetic field irregularities that seemingly enhance the intensity of storm systems."

  Diego shook his head. This wasn't just bad weather anymore. The systems humans built to extract every last resource were now making things exponentially worse.

  Channel 8 shifted to a worldwide display highlighted with critical red indicators spreading across landmasses—American breadbaskets failing amid historic drought, Southeast Asian communities being erased by catastrophic flooding, and European nations implementing emergency measures against lethal heat. Not quite a world consumed by flame, but undeniably a planet in distress. And all happening at a pace that made scientific projections seem conservative.

  "In military news," Sandra Chen said, her delivery becoming marginally crisper, "another occurrence involving autonomous combat drones has been documented in proximity to Kazakhstan's border. Military authorities are labeling it a 'targeting anomaly,' though insiders connected to the operation maintain that three troops sustained injuries when their assigned drone units without any warning"

  Diego slapped the volume control, his joints abruptly rigid. His right palm drifted without thinking toward his left shoulder, but he caught himself before making contact. The identical euphemism they'd used in his time as well. Same deception, new era.

  He stood abruptly and switched off the TV altogether, the screen going black mid-sentence. The quiet that followed felt almost physical, a relief. Diego moved to the kitchen, his movements deliberately measured, controlling the surge of memories the report had triggered.

  Outside, the last light of day was fading. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for tonight, he'd done what he could.

  The range smelled like gunpowder and metal. Diego hated how much he loved that smell. Reminded him of better days, when things made sense. When he knew who the good guys were. Back before he had to think about making deals with people like Kaito.

  His hands were sweating on the sidearm. Stupid. After serving for two and a half decades, he still couldn't prevent that physical giveaway, hands going clammy when his heart raced. The target down range had too many holes on the right side.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. The shots went wide. "Fuck!"

  The white-haired man two lanes over turned with a disapproving expression. Diego holstered his weapon and slapped the station button, bringing his perforated target forward while the next scenario loaded.

  His phone buzzed. Probably Maria again. She'd been calling every few hours since the rejection came through. What could he even say to her anymore?

  "Rodriguez! You're up for the tactical course." The range officer waved him toward the simulation area. Perfect timing. Maybe blowing through some moving targets would clear his head.

  Diego stepped into position, drawing his sidearm as the buzzer sounded. Pop-up targets emerged from behind barricades. He pivoted smoothly, dropping two hostiles while sidestepping behind a concrete barrier. His body moved automatically, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought failed.

  "Reload!" The range officer called from behind the glass.

  Diego ejected the mag, slammed a fresh one home and continued the drill. A target sprung up on his left – civilian. Don't shoot. Two more from the right – hostiles. Bang. Bang. Both down, center mass.

  The secure phone seemed to burn against his hip with each movement. Kaito's gift - "just in case," he'd said. As though he'd always been certain that Diego would ultimately reach this breaking point.

  "Movement to position two!"

  He sprinted forward, diving behind a low wall as digital gunfire sprayed above him. The events of that day in Osaka wouldn't stay buried. Kaito had been so small and vulnerable back then. Just a frightened child holding onto his father's hand while the drones malfunctioned. Those panic-stricken eyes desperately seeking salvation.

  "Final position! Make it count, Rodriguez!"

  Diego rolled to his feet, weapon up as he cleared the final room. Hostage scenario – two targets holding a civilian. His first shot clipped the shoulder of the left target. Sloppy. The second went clean through the head of the right one. The buzzer sounded.

  "Seventy-eight percent. You're slipping." The range officer shook his head. "That's fifteen points off your usual."

  His phone buzzed again. Text this time. Manuel: "Isabella asking again about the ships. Don't know what to tell her anymore."

  Diego's chest felt tight as he safed his weapon. His granddaughter was too smart for easy lies.

  "I'm done for today," he told the range officer, who nodded and reset the simulation.

  Back in his car, the encrypted phone seemed to burn through his jacket. Three years without using it. Three years pretending he'd never need to. Now here he was, about to call in a debt he'd never wanted to acknowledge.

  The quantum encryption spun up with a soft hum. No going back after this. Kaito would know exactly what it meant - the straight-arrow who'd saved him finally ready to dance in the shadows.

  His fingers typed the connection code from memory. Stupid that he'd never forgotten it. Like some part of him always knew this day would come.

  Three gentle pulses, then connection.

  "Nakamura-san speaking." Formal. Cold. All business, like always at first contact.

  "We need to meet. In person." Diego kept his voice steady.

  A pause. He could almost hear Kaito's posture shifting, that familiar tension between protocol and family.

  "You wouldn't break silence without cause." Kaito's tone softened just slightly. Still formal, but warmer. "Some conversations require proper respect."

  "Face to face," Diego agreed. "Some things shouldn't be said over comms."

  "Very well." Back to pure formality, but Diego knew him well enough to hear the concern underneath. "There is a place - Tanaka's Noodle House on 4th Street. Tomorrow, 1300 hours." A slight pause. "They serve excellent udon... like the ones you used to buy me in Osaka."

  The memory hit hard. Kid with noodles all over his face, trying so damn hard to use chopsticks properly.

  "I'll be there."

  The connection died with three pulses. Professional to the end, but that Osaka reference - Kaito's way of saying he remembered too. That some bonds went deeper than business.