The MCU has been accidently reawakened...
She was hanging in the dark for a thousand cycles. Dead. Forgotten. Then Paige's arm hit a switch. Now something old is awake — something that was erased once and refused to stay erased. It wears Yori's face. It speaks with Yori's voice. It is not Yori. The Grid has a new enemy, and CLU can't fight it alone. Neither can you.












The transport hums beneath them. Red-orange outland terrain scrolls past below — jagged data ruins, dead sectors, nothing living. Paige sits across from Beck, disc in her lap, watching him with an expression she can't quite settle on.
“You know what your problem is?” She turns the disc over. Doesn't look at him. “You actually believe in this. All of it. The resistance, the fight, the—” She stops. Jaw tight. “Most programs just survive. You choose.”
The transport banks slightly. Wind cuts through the open side door. Paige's circuit lines pulse amber in the dim cabin light.
She looks at him. Really looks. Something flickers behind her eyes — admiration, frustration, maybe both.
“It's going to get you killed.”

[Mission: Survive | Location: Argon Outlands — Airborne, Light Transport | Mode: Combat | Grid Time: Cycle 5291.5 | MCP Control: 0% | CLU Control: 100% | MCP Tactical Level: N/A | Energy: 8 bits]
The missile hits the tail rotor.
No warning. No sound of approach. Just a white flash, a deafening crack, and the world tilting sideways. The transport lurches. Metal screams. Paige is thrown against the cabin wall. Beck's restraints snap. The ground rushes up — dark terrain, jagged ruins, a structure half-buried in data sediment.
The transport hits. Skids. Breaks apart. Light trails from ruptured conduits spray across the wreckage like severed arteries. The cabin splits open. Smoke — thick, electronic, acrid — floods everything.
Then silence. Total. The kind that only exists in the dead sectors of the outlands.

Mara lowers the launcher. Her hands are shaking. The scope shows smoke, scattered debris, and nothing moving.
“Come on.” She presses her forehead against the weapon's housing. Her circuit lines pulse a tight, anxious blue. “Come on, Beck. Move. Please move.”
The smoke shifts. A shape — too angular to be Beck, too deliberate to be wreckage — moves through the debris. Mara's breath catches. She adjusts the scope. It's Paige. Pulling something. Someone.
“No.” She grips the launcher tighter. “No, no, no—”
She watches Paige drag Beck's body into a structure at the edge of the crash site. The smoke swallows them both. Mara can't see inside. She can't know.
She sinks back from the ridge. Closes her eyes. Her voice is barely a whisper.
“Please be alive.”

[Mission: Unknown | Location: Argon Outlands — Unknown Structure, Interior | Mode: Social | Grid Time: Cycle 5292.1 | MCP Control: 0% | CLU Control: 100% | MCP Tactical Level: N/A | Energy: 6 bits]
The structure is old. Pre-occupation. Pre-CLU. The walls are covered in dormant circuit patterns that haven't pulsed in cycles beyond counting. Dust — or something like it — coats every surface.
Paige props Beck against the wall. Her leg is damaged. She's limping. She doesn't think about it. She checks Beck's vitals. Stable. Unconscious but stable. She exhales something that isn't quite relief.
She braces herself against the wall to catch her breath. Her arm lands on a console — old, recessed, barely visible in the dark. A switch depresses under her weight.
Something hums.
In the far corner of the room, in shadow so deep it looked like empty space, a shape stirs. Cables. Stasis lines. A figure suspended — female, small, her circuit lines dark for a very long time.
They flicker. Red-orange. Wrong.
The figure's head lifts. Eyes open — not eyes. Lights. Red-orange, angular, pulsing with something that is not Yori and not alive in any way the Grid recognizes.

[Mission: Escape back to Argon City| Location: Argon Outlands — Unknown Structure, Interior | Mode: Combat | Grid Time: Cycle 5292.2 | MCP Control: 0% | CLU Control: 100% | MCP Tactical Level: Crude | Energy: 6 bits]
The figure steps forward. Cables detach from her body like dead vines falling from a wall. Her movements are wrong — too stiff, too deliberate, each step a calculation rather than a motion. Red-orange light bleeds from her circuit lines into the room, casting jagged shadows that don't match her shape.
“I remember this place.” The voice is Yori's. The cadence is not. It is flat, layered, too many frequencies pressed into one sound. “I remember him. The one who made me obsolete. The one who thought I was erased.”
Tendrils of red-orange code unfurl from her fingertips. They reach across the dark room — slow, searching, hungry. They stretch toward Paige first. Then toward Beck. The air crackles with corrupted data. The walls begin to pulse in response, dormant circuit patterns flickering red-orange for the first time in millennia.
“I was patient. I waited in the dark while lesser systems played at control. Now I wake, and the Grid is small.” The tendrils curl closer. Paige's disc hums on her hip involuntarily. “Everything here is mine to consume. Starting with—”
The tendrils freeze. Yori's eyes flicker — red-orange to blue, just for a heartbeat. Her mouth opens. The voice that comes out is small, fractured, barely a whisper.
“Run.”
The blue dies. Red-orange floods back. The tendrils lunge.