Part 1 - Bad First Impression - https://jhmills.substack.com/p/apprentice
Part 2 - Black Star - https://jhmills.substack.com/p/apprentice-e3a
The blast doors hung open like a wound in the desert.
Jake followed Gramps down the sloped corridor beyond, dark reinforced concrete descending into the gloom. The passage was wide and tall enough to drive a tank through. Overhead, two dim strip lights followed the seam of wall and ceiling—motion sensors tripped, faintly lighting a narrow section as they passed.
“How deep does this go?” Jake whispered.
“A hundred meters to the sub-surface Connector,” Gramps muttered, checking his HUD. “At least.”
At the bottom, the slope flattened. Another pair of blast doors stood ahead, deformed and barely hanging on their hinges. Beyond lay scattered dark shapes Jake thought looked like bodies.
They moved in, boots quiet on grated flooring.
A soft mechanical chirp echoed ahead. Gramps raised a fist, crouching. Jake mirrored him.
Around the corner: two Black Star Crows. One jacked into a wall port, data spiraling on a ghostly overlay in Jake’s HUD. The other swept its gaze along the walls, pausing at a crate of stabilized cryo-pods. Its talons traced the PHOENIX logo, recording every detail.
“They’re stealing everything,” Jake whispered.
“Not much for them in the Connector,” Gramps replied, “but if they get down into Eremos…”
Jake’s pulse jumped. “So the rumors are true.”
Gramps didn’t answer.
They moved on, the air turning colder. The walls shifted from raw concrete to smooth composite.
That’s when they passed it—a sealed door, stenciled in stark black:
ASPHODEL
HARVEST PREP
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
A low, pulsing hum came from behind it. Jake slowed, reading the words twice.
“Harvest?”
“No time,” Gramps said. “Keep moving.”
“What is this place, really?”
Gramps glanced back. “Ever wonder where the ones who vanish in parks and caves go? The ones no one ever finds?” His eyes held Jake’s for a moment. “Yeah. So do I. Now hush.”
Jake looked back at the door. The hum seemed to resonate in his chest—alive, breathing.
Ahead, the Crows disappeared around a bend in the hallway.
Gramps used his implant to view a local map. “They’re close to the main lift.”
Jake’s HUD flashed red—NETWORK WARNING.
“I’m no security tech, but it looks like they’re trying to hack into PHOENIX-NET.”
***
Gramps’ tone went flat. “That’s exactly what they’re doing. And if they discover the lift, they can get down to Eremos, and we can’t let that happen.”
“Got it,” said Jake.
They crept closer until they had a clear line of sight. The Crow at the wall jack pulled free, retracting its cable like a snake. The other produced a thin whip antenna from its shoulder and began broadcasting in short encrypted bursts.
“Wireless attempt,” Gramps murmured. “Shouldn’t last long. Network’ll lock ‘em out after a few tries.”
Jake’s HUD pinged again—INTRUSION ATTEMPT BLOCKED—and the antenna snapped back into its housing. Without hesitation, the Crows moved to a recessed fiber port near the lift doors. One crouched low, plugging in. The second turned, popped its chest plate, and a small panel extended outward—bundles of glassy cables glimmered inside.
The first Crow snaked a second line from its shoulder, jacking it directly into the other’s open chassis. Their optical sensors shifted to the same pulsing frequency.
Jake frowned. “What’s that?”
“Processor-bridging,” Gramps said. “Doubling their computing power for a brute-force attack.”
“So… what do we do?”
“Split ‘em up. Break the bridge, cut their speed in half.”
Jake’s mind raced. “If we can’t kill them outright, we could at least slow them down.”
Gramps slipped a small, palm-sized charge from a thigh pouch. “This won’t scrap one, but it should disrupt its systems. Weapons, too, if we’re lucky.”
Jake took it, nodding. “I’ll draw one off.”
Gramps’ mouth twitched—approval or warning, Jake couldn’t tell. “Don’t get dead.”
Jake ducked low, circling wide through a parallel maintenance corridor. At the junction, he tossed the charge across the hall toward the Crows. It clattered on the floor and went off with a chest-thumping crack.
Sparks flashed across the nearest Crow’s chassis; its right arm twitched violently, servos grinding. Its weapon pods cycled and jammed with a metallic whine. The other Crow hissed out a synthetic chirp—then they split. One loped after Jake, the other pivoted toward Gramps.
Jake turned and ran.
***
The Crow was hunting him. It was patient and relentless.
Jake had damaged its visual sensors in the explosion, so it had trouble tracking him by sight—but it still had sharp hearing. He could evade it, as long as he stayed quiet.
The hallways in the Connector were dark and pulsed red with emergency lighting. Shadows stretched long across the smooth concrete walls.
Jake stayed low, stepping around a forklift-sized bundle of conduit. His heart pounded. His mouth was dry. He crept forward, every muscle tight with adrenaline. The air here was cooler—refrigerated, sterile—but it did nothing to calm his nerves.
Where’s Gramps? Please be okay, old man.
His Typhon HUD cast a soft, transparent glow over his vision: outlines of walls, power cables, and flickering Veil interference—the usual ghosting that signaled nearby tech. But the true advantage was tactical: he could track the last known position of the Black Star Crow, flickering red on his map like a predator looming just out of sight.
Then—he saw it.
A hospital gurney stood abandoned in the middle of a side corridor. It was stained with blood, and had deep gouges where someone or something had fought to get free.
A datapad rested in a side holster. Jake picked it up with trembling fingers.
Subject ID #40213-A
Status: Stabilized – violent, but constrained.
Method: Chemical & physical restraints.
Source: Cavern Collection Site 14 (CCS14)
Status: Viable.
Forward to EREMOS for Processing.
Jake blinked. “Collection site? Processing…?”
He looked back at the gurney. The restraints. The congealed blood.
His stomach turned.
Suddenly—a clang rang out as a loose metal tray slipped from the side and struck the concrete floor. The sound echoed down the corridor like a gunshot.
“Shit.”
From behind him came a burst of clicking—synthetic and sharp, like metal teeth snapping into place.
Jake bolted.
The Crow shrieked behind him—an inhuman click-screech—and gave chase. Its talons skittered on the floor as it moved in terrifying bursts, loping after him with unnatural grace.
Jake rounded a corner, heart hammering, and dove into the Connector’s main processing chamber.
The room was massive—industrial. The walls were lined with reinforced vertical cylinders—each the size of a small car, transparent and slightly iridescent.
He ducked behind one and caught his breath.
These are nano-diamond tanks, he realized, tapping one lightly with his knuckles. It rang like crystal. Same ones they showed us in Veiltech school.
His Typhon overlay blinked a quiet suggestion: Integrity Grade: NDH-3. High Pressure-tested.
Jake stared into the polished surface of the tank, catching his own reflection in the dim light.
Then he looked up.
A narrow metal staircase curved around the outer wall, climbing to a grated catwalk that looped above the cylinder array. The catwalk was sturdy, industrial—probably for maintenance techs—and ran along the tops of each tank. Automated hatches were built into the upper rims, all currently open, with matching outflow hatches below. Most of the tanks were empty.
Perfect.
Behind him, the Crow shrieked again—closer now.
Jake’s breathing slowed. His hands steadied.
“Okay. I can work with this.”
***
He moved fast.
Jake crept toward the stairs, trying to keep his boots light, but every step on the steel rang out like a bell. The Crow heard him instantly. Its head snapped toward the sound, and it broke into motion—talons clanging, limbs unfurling.
Jake hit the top of the staircase just as the Crow reached the base.
It gave another shriek and began climbing after him—fast.
Jake crossed the catwalk in a sprint, boots slamming metal, the HUD shimmer lighting his path. He skidded to a stop over an open cylinder and dove in feet-first.
His back struck the interior wall hard, legs tangling as he dropped. He caught himself, barely, and scrambled forward onto the slick nano-diamond floor.
Then he heard it—clang, clang, clang.
The Crow dropped in behind him.
Jake lunged for the bottom hatch but slipped, his knee slamming the floor. He turned, crab-walking backward, eyes locked on the machine. The Crow was already unfolding its limbs, head low, sensing the enclosure.
Jake kicked backward, hands slapping the floor—and fell out of the lower hatch just in time. He hit the concrete hard, rolled, and spun toward the control interface.
The Crow advanced.
Jake slammed his palm on the external hatch control.
Seal Engaged.
With a hydraulic chuff, the hatch slammed closed beneath the Crow. A heartbeat later, the top hatch snapped shut as well, locking the machine inside.
The Crow tilted its head in confusion. For one strange moment, it stood still—almost uncertain.
Then it turned and deployed a drill from its right forearm. The bit spun up with a shrill whine and began carving into the nano-diamond from inside.
Jake didn’t hesitate.
He crouched beside the reinforced cylinder, fingers flying across his Veil Control Unit as he created the virtual node inside the tank.
A window snapped into view—coordinates, fluid type, flow controls:
Veil Access Point – Available
Destination: Challenger Deep / Veil Tag 101C-D
*Pressure Warning: >15,000 PSI
Status: Isolated, Contained, Stable
He confirmed the settings:
Confirm: Open Veilpoint
Diameter: 1 meter
Direction: Vertical (local down)
Duration: 3.00 sec
Warning: High-Pressure Hazard
Jake looked up.
His HUD displayed the path—an ethereal outline marking where the Veil Access Point would manifest, just inside the top of the tank. A simple arrow icon extended downward.
The Crow’s drill was starting to bite into the cylinder wall. Small fracture lines spread along the inner surface like an expanding spiderweb.
He gritted his teeth.
“Showtime.”
He slammed his palm on the activation control.
A deep hum built from within the tank. The air shimmered. A moment later, space buckled—and the Veilpoint tore open.
The chamber filled with a howling sound—not of wind, but pressure. A violent column of seawater, black as oil and cold as death, erupted down through the tank.
The impact hit like the voice of a god.
THOOOM!
The entire cylinder rang like a struck bell. The Crow was crushed instantly. Its chassis slammed against the base of the tank, twisted and buckled. The limbs sheared apart like snapped branches. The rotary drill exploded in a starburst of fractured metal.
A single mechanical screech tore through the water—then silence.
Three seconds passed.
The Veilpoint collapsed with a crackling sigh. The shimmer faded.
But the water didn’t.
Jake blinked through the dark green brine pooling around the base. Inside the tank, the Crow lay in a heap of imploded plating and ruined servo-sinew.
Scrap.
He tapped the emergency pressure release valve, grinning.
But in his haste, he forgot one detail:
The tank was still pressurized.
FOOMP!
A geyser of seawater blasted out of the lower hatch and caught him square in the chest. Jake was launched off his feet and landed flat on his back in a soaked sprawl.
He lay there, stunned, staring at the ceiling. His Typhon HUD flickered like it had been slapped.
“Holy shit,” he croaked. “That actually worked.”
He sat up slowly, coughing, then tapped his comm.
“Gramps… please tell me you’re still alive.”
No answer.
Jake got to his feet, shaking off water like a dog, and turned toward the nearest corridor.
His smile faded.
“Hang on, old man.”
He ran.
***
Jake moved fast, wet boots squeaking on concrete as he rounded corridor after corridor.
A strange light flickered ahead—orange, distorted.
And then came the sound: groaning metal. A crash. Something... struggling.
Then he smelled it.
Smoke.
Jake pushed through a swinging metal door—and froze.
It was a cafeteria. Or had been once. Stainless counters. Round composite tables. Banners of melted insulation hung from the ceiling like jungle vines. Part of the far wall was aflame—something chemical burning hot and blue at its base. Smoke licked the rafters. The firelight cast long, violent shadows across the room.
Gramps was pinned.
A table lay sideways over his legs, warped and smoking at the edges. His hands gripped the lip, straining to keep it between himself and the horror bearing down on him.
The Crow.
It stalked forward, twisted and furious, moving on its legs alone. Both arms were missing—severed above the elbow. Fluids leaked from the sockets in steady pulses. Sparks danced along its shoulder nodes, dripping into the pool of firelight.
And without arms, it was somehow even more terrifying.
Its beaked head swiveled in sharp, robotic jerks, scanning Gramps for a killing angle.
Gramps kicked out with one leg and nearly lost his grip. “Jake!” he shouted, wild-eyed. “Get out of here! It’s—”
Jake didn’t wait.
He grabbed the nearest object with weight—a metal food cart tipped on its side—and held it tight in front of him. With a shout, he charged, hurling himself forward like a human battering ram.
CLANG!
The cart smashed into the Crow’s side with a teeth-rattling crash, Jake’s full weight driving it home. The machine staggered, lost its footing, and crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and sparks. It skidded across the cafeteria, colliding with a row of overturned chairs.
Jake dropped the cart and vaulted the table to reach Gramps. “Can you move?”
“Define move,” Gramps grunted.
Together, they shoved the warped table just enough. Jake hooked his arms under Gramps’ and dragged him clear—both of them half-stumbling, half-limping toward the exit.
Behind them, the Crow shrieked—a horrible, glitching screech that echoed through the firelit room. Servos whined. Something sparked.
It was getting back up.
Jake and Gramps burst through the door.
***
They waddled around a corner, leaning on one another, into a wide, empty storage bay—cold, dark, and silent.
Too silent.
Jake’s eyes swept the space. No doors. No cover. No exits.
“Shit,” Gramps muttered.
They slid down against the far wall. Jake was soaked, bruised, borderline concussed. Gramps was bleeding from one arm, and his breath rattled like something broken.
“No way out,” Jake panted. “We’re dead.”
Gramps coughed, wiped blood from his nose. “Where’s the other one?”
Jake flashed a sheepish grin. “Smashed flat. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Gramps gave him a look—then broke into a wheezing, pained laugh. “Remind me never to doubt MIT kids again.”
Jake smirked. “Me? What did you do back there? Place looked like hell on Earth.”
Gramps shrugged. “Couple of propane tanks. Overclocked plasma cutter. Improvised.”
They both chuckled—until they heard it.
Click-scrape.
That awful, metallic raking sound. Claws on concrete.
They turned.
The Crow stepped into view, dragging one ruined foot behind it. Its matte-black armor was scorched and soot-streaked. One eye flickered. Hydraulic fluid oozed from the stumps of its missing arms. Its beaked head jerked back and forth, as though disoriented… then locked onto their position.
It took a step.
Then another.
Gramps straightened beside Jake. “At least we took one with us.”
The Crow tensed—
BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM.
A thunderous burst of 7.62 tore through the hallway.
The Crow convulsed. Armor shattered like ceramic under fire. The impact flipped it backward, scattering pieces across the floor. Sparks danced across the concrete as the wreckage slid to a halt.
From the smoke, six armored figures swept into the room, weapons raised, fanning out with surgical precision. Their suits were matte black, angular, bristling with integrated optics and reactive shielding. Their helmets resembled snarling wolves—jaws bared, eyes glowing faint crimson.
CERBERUS.
The REACT team from Eremos.
The tower guard’s emergency call had worked after all.
“Sector secure,” a voice barked over helmet comms. “You two look like hell.”
The lead soldier raised a gloved hand, and the others froze in place. His helmet folded back with a quiet hissssss, revealing a scarred, chiseled face and storm-gray eyes.
Jake squinted through the haze and caught the rank on his shoulder: Captain.
Name tape on the chestplate: Kernhauer.
Gramps collapsed to one knee, exhaling. “Took your damn time.”
Kernhauer stepped forward and helped him up. “Had to let you kids have some fun.”
“Gramps?” Jake asked.
Gramps gave a thumb up. “I’m good. Ish.”
Another CERBERUS operator rounded the corner, hauling a fire extinguisher. He glanced between Jake and Gramps.
“Fire’s out in the cafeteria,” he said. “You two sure know how to rack up a repair bill.”
“Debrief topside,” Kernhauer ordered, signaling the rest of the squad. “Let’s move.”
As the fireteam swept the bay for hostiles, Jake and Gramps were guided toward the lift—leaving behind the burned-out corridors of the Connector like a fever dream best forgotten.
***
Outside, dawn was breaking across the New Mexico desert, bleeding soft orange light over rust-colored rock.
The dust had settled.
The Crows were scrap.
The black site—Desolation—was secure once again.
CERBERUS operatives moved like phantoms across the yard, sealing entry points, launching recon drones, and running threat diagnostics on every surface—like the war wasn’t quite over.
Jake and Gramps sat in two folding chairs in front of the coordination trailer, both dazed and dead on their feet.
Captain Kernhauer stood nearby, datapad in hand. He preferred his briefings vertical, but the two men looked like they might pass out at any second. He flicked through pages of damage reports, bot telemetry, and live-captured combat footage.
His expression didn’t change—until he reached the end.
“That Veil-stunt you pulled with the pressure tank?” he said, not looking up. “Cleanest bot kill I’ve seen outside a sim.”
He smirked.
“Remind me to make you an honorary member of my team.”
Jake blinked.
Kernhauer turned to his second-in-command—a towering soldier with deep brown skin and regulation-sharp posture. Master Sergeant Doakes.
“Patch him.”
Doakes stepped forward, peeled the Cerberus insignia from his own sleeve, and slapped it onto Jake’s chest with a firm clap.
“Don’t let it go to your head, nerd.”
Jake stared at him, wide-eyed.
Doakes leaned in, grinning. “Used to sling Veiltech myself. Hated it. Too quiet. Not enough action.”
Jake’s eyes welled—just a little. He looked down at the patch.
His fingers closed around it like it was the Medal of Honor.
“You two held the line,” Doakes said simply. “PHOENIX won’t forget that.”
Then he turned, walking back to the formation—helmet under one arm, jaw set like a man who didn’t give out compliments often.
Kernhauer finally looked up.
“You did good,” he said, voice flat but sincere. “Eremos is secure because of your work. Minimal infrastructure loss. We lost some people—not your fault. But no data exfiltration. That’s key.”
He turned his gaze on Gramps.
“You still got it, old man.”
Gramps smirked. “We were just finishing up. Hope we didn’t void any warranties.”
Doakes let out a rare chuckle.
Then, the coordination trailer’s side door opened—and Elena DuChamp stepped out.
Calm. Poised. Impeccable, even amid the wreckage. She took in the chaos with clinical detachment, arms crossed.
Jake raised a tentative hand. “Hey…”
She didn’t wave.
But she gave him a single nod—and a slow, deliberate thumbs-up.
Jake turned to Gramps. “Was that… approval?”
Gramps squinted. “From DuChamp? That’s practically a hug.”
Kernhauer resealed his helmet. The snarling wolf-face snapped into place with a quiet hiss.
“We’re sweeping the lower levels,” he said. “You’re off the hook.”
He gestured for his team to fan out.
“Try to stay out of trouble.”
CERBERUS disappeared into the Connector facility, weapons up. One by one, the wolves descended into the dark.
Gramps clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Come on, kid.”
“Where?”
Gramps nodded toward the battered SUV parked near the gate.
“Breakfast,” he said. “My treat.”
***
The coffee was black enough to strip paint. Early light slatted through blinds, turning the Formica gold. Jake sat in a corner booth, still in his dust-streaked coveralls, the Cerberus patch on the table before him. He turned it in his fingers, mind elsewhere.
He couldn’t stop seeing that ASPHODEL door. The hum. And the gurney in the Connector with its blood-crusted restraints. Harvest prep. The words itched under his skin.
“Something on your mind, kid?” Gramps asked, pouring a splash from his dented flask into his coffee.
Jake hesitated. “What’s really going on down there? In Eremos?”
Gramps took a slow sip. “A lot more than you can imagine. My advice? Don’t dwell on it. Don’t let it get to you.”
“And you’re okay with that? With what we saw down there?”
“I’m okay with doing my job and going home alive.” Gramps’s tone softened. “Look, I’ve been with Phoenix for decades. Got clearances most people don’t know exist, and I’ve still barely scratched the surface of their secrets. But one thing I’ve learned—everything’s done for a reason. Carefully considered.”
Jake studied him. “Yeah?”
“Yes. I know this was your first day, and it was a hell of a one. You saw things that upset you—I get it. You could walk away right now, and I wouldn’t stop you. But I think that’d be a shame.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I like you, and you’ve got a knack for the work. That’s rare these days.”
Jake’s Typhon pinged—an incoming message from Elena DuChamp:
CERBERUS posted a glowing after-action report. Commended both of you by name. A $1,000,000 performance bonus has been deposited to your accounts.
Jake blinked at the zeroes. “Gramps… are you seeing this?”
Gramps checked his own HUD and smiled. “See? This is what happens when we work hard and keep our mouths shut.”
Jake looked down at the patch in his hand, then at the laminated menu under his elbow. The corners were curled, the surface faintly sticky, and in tiny print at the bottom it read: 810 W. Pierce St. – Carlsbad, NM. Outside the window, beyond the city, the desert rolled on forever. Somewhere under that endless sand and stone, the hum of ASPHODEL was still there, patient and strange.
He forced a smile at Gramps’s next joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes.