The Promise

The promise was simple: No hesitation.

Hollis remembered the night they’d made the promise. Seventeen months ago, forward operating base, Sector 12. They’d just recovered the bodies of Sigma Squad—six Vestiges who’d held a choke point for nine hours before the corruption took root. By the end, they turned on each other. The last one standing had walked into the Rapture, arms open and a smile.

Vera had been quiet on the transport back. She usually filled silences with chatter. Chatter about cloud formations, questions about Old World food, terrible jokes she’d learned from other units. That night, nothing.

“Commander.” Her voice had been soft. “If I ever—”

“You won’t. But if you do, don't worry, I'll put one right between your eyes.” He pointed a finger gun at her forehead with a wink to lighten the mood.

“But if I do.” She wrapped her fingers around his imitation of a gun barrel, holding it to her forehead. Her eyes held a shocking amount of fear. Not of Rapture, not of death. Fear of becoming something that would hurt him. “Promise me you won’t hesitate. Promise me you won’t try to save me. Just… make it quick. While I’m still me enough to be grateful.”

He’d wanted to fall back on his cocky wit to end this awkward emotional intensity she was pushing on him. He wanted to reminder her that corruption was rare, that her model had been reinforced with advanced cognitive architecture, that the odds were—

“Please, Commander. I need to know you’ll do it.”

So he’d promised. And she’d made the same promise back, though they both knew it was symbolic. Rapture didn’t corrupt Commanders. The infection didn’t work that way.

“No hesitation,” she’d said.

“No hesitation.”

They’d shaken on it, her polymer-synthetic hand warm in his, and then she’d smiled a crooked, asymmetrical smile. Then, she asked if he thought the mess hall would still have pudding cups when they got back.

That was Vera. Intensely serious one moment, pudding cups the next. He was happy about the change in topic.

God, he was going to miss her.

* * *

The mission was supposed to be simple.

Recon sweep through the Heart Industrial Complex. Satellite imaging had flagged movement. Probably nothing, residual Rapture units running on degraded attack loops. Command wanted confirmation before they allocated resources to a full clearing operation.

Hollis and Vera had done a hundred runs like this. Drop in, sweep the perimeter, tag contacts, extract. Four hours, maybe five. They’d be back before the evening meal rotation pudding cups ran out.

The complex was a graveyard of rust and silence. Old manufacturing equipment, skeletal and strange, cast long shadows through shattered skylights. Vera moved ahead, her rifle up, scanning corners with mechanical precision.

“Readings are scattered, Commander,” she reported. “I’m getting heat signatures, but they’re diffuse. Could be broken steam pipes.”

“Or could be hostiles running cool to avoid detection.”

“Such optimism, Commander.”

He smiled despite himself. “Stay sharp. We’ll clear the main floor, then—”

The wall exploded inward.

Hollis hit the ground, debris raining around him. His ears rang. Through the dust, he saw too many shapes moving fast in the characteristic joint-stutter of Rapture units.

“Contact! Three in the hole! One Left!” Vera’s rifle screamed in clipped, mechanical bursts. “Commander, move! Fucking move!”

He moved.

Training took over: find cover, assess threats, support your Vestige. The world narrowed to muzzle flashes and the repeated shriek of metallic gunfire. Vera was a blur of precision violence, her body pivoting between targets with inhuman grace.

He focused on counting the targets, any that remained visible and untargeted by Vera for more than half a second he called to Vera.

Then she stumbled. "You bastards!" A Rapture blade had caught her side.

Static erupted in his earpiece. Deafening him for a moment.

… she was still firing. Still fighting but crouched over him in a defensive stance. The last Rapture fell, and silence overtook the scene.

“Vera. Report.” He said, getting to his feet opening and closing his hands to manage the tension pulsing through him.

She turned to face him. The wound in her side sparked and hissed, synthetic fluid leaking down her hip.

“I’m functional, Commander.” She tilted her head, which he knew meant she was running diagnostics. “The damage is superficial. I can continue.”

But something was wrong.

Her head spasmed; then returned to the familiar diagnostic tilt.

“Vera, look at me.”

She did. Her eyes were the same warm amber. But the way they tracked his face… there was lag. A fraction of a second perhaps, where they moved past him before correcting.

“I’m fine, Commander.” She smiled. “We should keep moving. Mission’s not complete.”

The smile was right. The words were right.

So, why did his skin crawl?

* * *

The mission was supposed to be simple, and so far it had been.

Only a single contact with Rapture so far, as they pressed deeper into the complex.

Hollis told himself he was being paranoid. Combat stress. The ambush had rattled him. Vera was damaged, yes, but she was a Vestige. Damage was part of the job. She’d taken worse hits and walked them off.

But he couldn’t stop watching her.

The way she moved through doorways was different somehow. How she used to flow with efficient grace, there was now micro-pauses and stuttering. Adjustments. Like she was having to recalculate each step.

“Commander?” She’d caught him staring. “Is something wrong?”

“Just making sure you’re holding together alright.”

“I told you, sir. I’m fine.”

“Then why do you keep favoring your left side when the damage is on your right?”

Silence. Her expression flickered.

Static erupted in his ears again. Worse this time. He blinked hard as the world steadied around him.

“…just compensating for the damage,” Vera was saying. “Automatic load balancing. It’s normal, Commander.”

Was it? He’d seen her injured before. She’d never moved like this.

“Run your call signs for me.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Standard verification protocol. Run your call signs.”

“Commander, that’s—” She stopped. Something crossed her face. Not quite annoyance. Not quite fear. “Foxtrot-Seven-Seven, designation Vera, assigned to Commander Marcus Hollis, authorization code whiskey-tango-three-three-nine-dash-one-three.”

Correct. All correct.

Then why had there been a pause before whiskey? Why had her eyes moved to the left?

…the wall was closer than it had been. When had he moved?”

“…mander? Commander!”

Vera’s hands were on his shoulder. Her face was close, creased with concern.

“You stopped responding, Commander. For almost thirty seconds. What happened?”

“Nothing.” He shook her off. “I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache from the blast is all.”

“You’re not fine, Commander. Your pupils are dilated. Your pulse is—”

“I said I’m fine, Vestige.” His voice came out sharper than intended. She flinched. Vera never flinched. “We need to complete the sweep and extract. Stay focused on the mission.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Something in her expression. Was it doubt? Hurt? The corruption? It flickered, then died.

“Yes, Commander.”

They moved on. The silence between them was biting.

* * *

It was supposed to be a simple mission, but the signs were getting worse.

Vera started making mistakes. Small ones at first, then larger ones. She’d called him “Marcus” twice, which she never did on a mission, and once she stopped mid-step and stood frozen for nearly a full 30 seconds before resuming as if nothing had happened.

When he asked what was wrong, he watched as she lied to his face. “Commander, that was you that stopped. Are you sure you’re OK?”

“Run a self-diagnostic.”

“But Commander, you—”

“A self-diagnostic, Vestige. Now.”

“Yes, Commander.”

The results came back clean.

She doesn’t know, he realized. The corruption’s already in her cognition. She can’t see what’s happening.

“Vera.” He kept his voice gentle. “I need you to listen to me. Something happened during the ambush. The damage you took… I think it might have been worse that you initially assessed. I think you need to let me run a manual diagnostic. You’re showing signs of—”

“Don’t.” Her voice sounded shocked. “Don’t say it. Please, Commander. I’m not… I can’t be… I would know if I was…”

“Would you?”

She stared at him. The amber of her eyes was so warm. So familiar. So easy to trust.

“Vera, do you remember the promise we made?”

“No, Commander. Don’t do this.”

“No hesitation. You made me swear.”

“I didn’t Commander, please.” Her expression was serious.

“Vera, please allow me to do a manual diagnostic.”

“Commander, you’re confused. I don’t know what’s going on but I think the blast did more damage than we thought.”

“I know, Vera. Now, allow me to do a manual diagnostic, Vestige.”

A single tear rolled down Vera’s cheek. “Commander…” she whispered.

Vestiges could cry. Ghost gave them tear ducts, a psychological bridge to help both Commanders and Vestige’s process trauma. He’d seen Vera cry once before, that ride home from the Sigma Six recovery mission. The sound had broken his heart.

It broke his heart now, too.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he drew his sidearm.

“Commander! Marcus! Please! Please look at me. I’m still me. I don’t know what’s going on, but we never—”

“I know.” He interrupted. “That’s why I have to do it now. Before you’re not you anymore.”

She didn’t run. Didn’t fight. The Contract prevented her from attacking or harming him. Only tears streamed down her face as she pleaded but he’d stopped listening. It would weaken his resolve and he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise.

“You were… the best… Vera.” His finger found the trigger. “You were the best Vestige I ever served with. I’m… I’m so sorry.” His hands shook, the gun in his hand.

The barrel steadied. He opened his eyes to find Vera, hands gripping the barrel steadying it. She moved it up above her tear stained face, above her amber eyes, and rested it on her forehead.

“I’m so… sorry… Commander.” She closed her eyes, a tear shimmered in the evening sun as it fell.

He fired.

* * *

The transport back was simple.

Hollis sat with his head in his hands, Vera’s body in a recovery bag at his feet. Standard protocol: return all Vestige remains to Ghost for processing. Even the corrupted ones. Especially the corrupted ones.

He’d done the right thing. He knew he’d done the right thing. The signs had been there. The lag, the glitches, the inconsistencies. She’d begged him to trust her, and he’d wanted to. God, how he wanted to.

But the promise was the promise.

No hesitation.

* * *

Medical debriefs could be difficult.

Medical officer Alice was waiting when he arrived at the debrief station. Standard post-mission protocol: physical assessment, psychological evaluation, equipment check, bullet count.

Hollis went through the motions mechanically. Blood pressure. Pupil response. Reflex tests. Alice made small notes on her tablet, her face professionally neutral.

“Commander Hollis. I need to ask you some questions about the mission.”

“I already filed my report.”

“Yes. I’ve read it.” She pulled up a chair and sat across from him. “You reported that Vestige Unit Vera exhibited signs of Rapture corruption following combat damage. Visual lag, behavioral inconsistencies, freezing episodes.”

“That’s correct.”

“And based on these observations, you made the decision to terminate her in the field. Despite proper protocol being to return corrupted Vestiges to Ghost for assessment and decontamination.”

“I followed protocol. Corrupted units must be recovered, dead or alive. We’d…” The words caught in his throat as he bit back the emotion. “We’d made an agreement. If either of us showed signs we wouldn’t hesitate.”

“You made this agreement in the field?”

“Yes, seventeen months ago during a mission.”

“Commander, your records indicate that this was the first time you’d been assigned to Vestige Vera.”

“You’re mistaken. We’ve—”

“Commander. Why do we limit Vestige assignments to only three runs?”

He answered annoyed, “To prevent harmful attachments between Commanders and Vestiges, and reduce psychological trauma from the death of either.”

“That’s right, Commander. That’s why it’s impossible for you to have been serving with Vera seventeen months ago.”

“But then, why…” He tried to recall the many missions with Vera. But… despite knowing they had run hundreds of scouting operations, he couldn’t remember a single one. Instead he remembered Chen, Sarah, Grace, Alyssa… He had run the operation hundreds of times, but with a rotating roster of Vestiges. “Why then…”

“Commander. When did you start exhibiting symptoms of corruption?”

The world stopped.

“What? Rapture doesn’t corrupt humans...”

Alice turned her tablet to face him. Footage from his helmet cam during his mission with Vera. But, not footage he remembered. Not Vera standing frozen and vacant.

Him. Standing in a corridor, motionless, while Vera circled him with concern. Her voice, tinny through the speakers: “Commander? Commander! You stopped responding. For almost thirty seconds. What happened?”

“That’s not… I don’t…”

“This is from your own recording equipment, Commander. The timestamps match your mission log.” Alice swiped to another clip. “Here’s the call sign verification your requested.”

He watched himself demand Vera’s codes. Watched her recite them perfectly. Watched himself pause. Watched himself glitch, his head twitching, his eyes rolling for just a fraction of a second… and then respond as if nothing happened.

“That’s… That’s impossible.”

“She wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t make those promises. She realized what was happening, and knew that discontinuing the mission and allowing you to decommission her in the field, you’d return with her body before the corruption took over your mind completely. She may have saved you, Commander.”

He thought of Vera’s face at the end. The tears. The trust. She hadn’t been asking for comfort. She’d been trying, one last time, to reach him. To break through whatever was eating at his mind from the inside.

“The corruption,” he heard himself say. “How… How long do I have?”

Alice was quiet for a moment.

“Commander, the infection… it isn’t standard Rapture corruption. The strain you’ve been exposed to, does not convert you. It’s designed to restructure and implant memories, to turn you into a weapon against your own people.”

He… He thought he was being strong. Thought he was honoring their promise. Thought he was saving her from becoming something terrible. And she knew, it was him who was at risk of becoming something terrible.

“Commander?” Alice’s voice came from far away. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

He understood that Vera had tried to save him. And whens he couldn’t, when his finger was on the trigger and his mind was gone, she hadn’t fought him. She’d let him believe he was doing the right thing. An uncomfortable gift from the woman he’d murdered.

“Commander Hollis.” Alice’s tone shifted. Softer now. “Is there anyone I can call for you? Family? A chaplain?”

Hollis looked at his hands. The were steady. Why were they so steady?

He thought about Vera’s hands holding his steady at the end. How she’d held the gun to stop his shaking. How she’d closed her eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch the light leave them. She’d made it easy for him.

He wondered if his hands would ever stop being steady. If he’d ever stop feeling the trigger pull, smooth and clean, no hesitation —

The shot was loud in the small room.

Hollis slumped forward, blood splattered across his hands still open on his lap, palms up and still.

Alice holstered her sidearm and picked up her tablet. She pulled up the next file, typed a brief note. Protocol complete. Contaminated asset neutralized. Then she checked the time.

Thirteen this month. Thirteen Commanders who’d executed their Vestige before anyone realized the infection had inverted. Thirteen Vestiges and Thirteen Commanders, dead by friendly fire. Thirteen bonds of trust, one of the few fragments of humanity left that had been their advantage all this time, weaponized and spent.

The Rapture hadn’t broken through Ghost’s walls in over a decade, and now it seemed only a matter of time. One thing was clear to Alice, humanity was losing the war.

She prepared for her next debrief.