Welcome To Sync Lock, A Work Created By Me.

Prologue

Nex didn’t flinch when the missile hit twenty meters from the mech.

They didn’t even blink.

They just sighed. Loudly. Into the comms.

“That was dramatic,” they muttered. “Unnecessary.”

“You walked into a war zone in stealth mode and then forgot to turn the stealth on,” Ika snapped back. “So yeah, dramatic seems accurate.”

“I was testing reflexes.”

“Yours or the missile’s?”

Another explosion lit up the horizon. Nex finally turned their head to look. It's face stayed blank, but the mech’s fingers flexed, just once.

“Objective?” Nex asked.

Ika’s voice shifted. Quieter. Focused. “Extraction. One survivor. Deep Corp zone.”

Nex’s screen lit up with the sync marker. Their pulse didn’t change.

It let the silence stretch for three seconds too long before saying:

“Fine. But if I die because you’re emotionally compromised, I’m haunting your cockpit.”

“You already do,” Ika said. “Every damn day.”

The cockpit still smells like smoke.

Not the kind from battle, though there’s plenty of that baked into the walls, but something more final. Like scorched paper. Like burned names.

Ika leans back against the cracked seat, boots propped near the control panel. One display flickers. The others gave up days ago.

At their feet, Protocol lets out a soft whine. Her half-rebuilt leg clicks as she shifts position, pressing against Ika’s boot for warmth or comfort or both.

Ika hasn’t cleaned the blood off the dashboard. Not because they’re sentimental, but because it dried before they had the strength to care.

“I should’ve died there,” they mutter.

Protocol growls low—offended, maybe. Her ears twitch toward the static humming from the old radio unit.

The mech hums beneath them. Old model. Modified. Frankensteined from scraps and stolen Corp tech. A mechanical grave that somehow still walks.

Outside, the desert howls. Inside, it’s just them.

Ika closes their eyes.

Remembers the last time they saw Nex.

Nex didn’t flinch when the order came. Not even a blink.

The sync trembled—just once—before it snapped.

“Coward,” Ika whispers, voice cracking.

Protocol shifts again, laying her chin across Ika’s shin.

The mech groans like it agrees.