Intergalactic conquest with an AI-Chapter 419: The enemy within. {7}

The soldier trembled, his wide eyes filled with terror. He nodded quickly, understanding the stakes.

"Good boy," Lyra whispered as her eyes glowed faintly as she leaned in closer. "I like smart dogs. So listen carefully..."

Her hand released his face slowly, though the tension in her arm told him she could kill him at any second.

"I’m going to ask you a few simple questions. If you answer truthfully, I’ll just knock you out and leave you dreaming. But if you lie... well... let’s just say I’ll leave you in pieces."

The soldier nodded again, faster this time.

Lyra’s voice turned cold. "Has anyone brought a bot maid here recently? One with golden lights in her core and eyes brighter than a star?"

The soldier swallowed hard.

"N-no, sir! I swear on my life! no bot maids have been brought to the camp!" the soldier stammered, his whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for some miraculous escape from the deadly grip that held him.

Lyra narrowed her eyes. Her face, hidden by shadows and the bloodied soldier bodies around her, was unreadable. Her voice, however, carried the chill of ice. "Then answer me this... is there any other base nearby? A secondary camp? A secret location?"

The soldier frantically shook his head. "N-no, sir! This—this is the only base on the planet, I swear it! I’ve worked logistics here for over a month! I’d know if there was another!"

She leaned in closer, her claw lightly grazing the soldier’s cheek, not enough to hurt but enough to promise pain.

"Then why are you here?" Lyra asked slowly, every word being heavy. "Why did your people attack my army? Why bombard the infected nest? What’s the point of any of this?"

"I-I don’t know, sir!" he blurted out. "I’m just a mechanic! I fix engines and clean weapons! I don’t know anything about the mission or why we were deployed!"

He paused, swallowing hard, before his eyes lit up with a flicker of recollection.

"Wait! there was something odd earlier. One of the recovery teams brought in a robot they found. Said they dragged it here from a wreck site. Looked like it used to be a beautiful bot... except it was stripped naked... no clothes, no ID plates, nothing."

The words hit Lyra like a bullet through the heart. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, her hands trembled. A bot. Stripped. Dragged in.

She didn’t need to hear any more.

With a flash of motion, she struck the soldier in the side of the head with the back of her hand, knocking him unconscious instantly.

"I gave you the chance for sweet dreams," she muttered. "Now sleep."

She then pulled off the soldier’s uniform and quickly removed her own power armor. It was heavy, cracked, and useless; it was now more a burden than protection.

Her movements were shaky, her muscles sore, and her bandaged wounds reopened as she changed clothes, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.

Piece by piece, she dressed herself in the soldier’s gear. She tucked her long silver hair inside the stolen helmet, making sure her face was completely hidden.

"I really should’ve asked where the team took her before knocking him out," she muttered under her breath with a grim smile. "Oh well. The hard way, then. It wouldn’t be the first time."

Stepping out of the transport vehicle, Lyra melted into the crowd of soldiers and technicians like a ghost in plain sight. She walked slowly, with a limp that blended well into the natural weariness of battlefield survivors.

Her head remained bowed just enough to avoid drawing attention, but her sharp eyes darted across every corner of the base.

More importantly, she listened.

Her Blood Clan senses were sharp, even more so in the dark. Her hearing was elevated beyond normal comprehension, allowing her to filter through dozens of overlapping conversations.

She tuned out the meaningless chatter and locked onto voices that mentioned anything out of the ordinary.

Finally, after minutes of patient wandering, a pair of soldiers near a supply tent caught her attention.

"Oh man..." one of them groaned. "Still can’t believe they brought that pile of junk into the base."

"Right?" his companion replied with a grunt. "It probably used to be one of those fancy maid bots or something. Damn shame... she was probably gorgeous before they yanked all her pretty pieces off."

"Yeah, too bad it wasn’t one of those pleasure models," the first one snorted. "At least it could’ve given us something to do. Now it’s just a busted toy waiting for the scrapyard."

The two chuckled quietly.

Lyra froze mid-step.

Her vision blurred not with pain, but with rising fury. Each breath burned in her throat. Her blood, already hot, turned to boiling lava.

They stripped her... mocked her... treated her like scrap... her maid... her protector.

They laughed!!

Lyra moved like a whisper on the wind, gliding across the camp’s shadows with a predator’s patience. Her steps were light, her posture casual, but her senses were honed like the edge of a blade.

She quietly approached the two soldiers still chatting outside the guarded section of the base, blending in with the night and the uniform she had stolen.

When she was just a few steps away, one of the soldiers squinted at her. His eyes fell on the insignia stitched into the shoulder of her borrowed jacket.

"Hey, you there!" he called out while narrowing his gaze. "What are you doing here?"

The other soldier looked her up and down before scoffing. "Tch. You one of the tech kids from maintenance? I didn’t get a damn notice about needing a gearhead here."

He raised his rifle slightly, not as a threat, but enough to show that he wasn’t in the mood for games. "So why don’t you turn around and walk away before I stop being polite?"

In the same breath he spoke, Lyra’s sharp eyes caught something crucial around her, three surveillance cameras positioned at the corners of the nearby tents, all with clear sightlines to the area. Any sudden moves would get her flagged. She needed a clean approach.

"I’m not here to poke around the tent," she said with a mechanical-sounding voice, subtly distorted through her arm-mounted voice modulator. "A guy from earlier told me to check on a malfunctioning bot they dragged in. I got turned around. Do you know where they’re keeping it?" ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

One of the guards blinked. "Ah, that busted pile of junk? Yeah, I saw where they took it. Tent at the far end of the row. Go straight down that path, take a left, and it’s the last one in the corner."

"Thanks, brother," Lyra replied while nodding with forced casualness. She turned and walked off, controlling her pace, her breath, and her fury.

As soon as she rounded the corner, out of sight of the cameras and the guards, her hands clenched into fists so tight they shook. Just a little further...

Finally, she reached the tent the soldier had described. It was dimly lit from within, barely guarded, its entrance carelessly left half open.

She didn’t wait.

In one fluid motion, Lyra slipped inside.

And then she froze.

What she saw knocked the air from her lungs.

In the center of the tent, lying motionless on a cold, metal table, was the bot maid who had risked everything to protect her. The once graceful and pristine guardian was now mangled beyond recognition.

One of her legs was completely gone... ripped off at the hip. Jagged puncture holes ran down her torso, and her arms were bent at unnatural angles. Her synthetic skin that was soft and warm once, nearly human... was stripped off in large patches, revealing the golden circuitry and exposed exoskeleton beneath.

There were scorch marks across her chest and abdomen, the unmistakable residue of energy harpoons. Her face, though intact, was dulled and cracked, her eyes closed as if in eternal sleep.

Her maid outfit was also gone.

She had been dragged, clearly for kilometers; Lyra realized that almost instantly. The friction burns, the snapped plating, the grooves along her back... it all spoke of brutal mistreatment. She had been dragged like cargo. Like trash. She had been stripped of dignity, of identity.

Lyra’s heart twisted in her chest, and a fire rose within her... white-hot and unforgiving.

Her legs moved on their own, carrying her forward until she stood right beside the table. Her hands hovered just inches above the maid’s broken frame, afraid to touch, afraid she might shatter.

"I’m sorry..." Lyra whispered, her voice cracking for the first time in years. "You saved me... and I wasn’t there for you..."

Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t fall... not yet. Her rage was a dam holding them back.

She reached forward and brushed her fingers gently across the bot maid’s face. Even now, cold and unmoving, the maid still bore a peaceful expression. Like she had no regrets. Like she would do it all over again.

"I’m going to fix you," Lyra whispered. "I’m going to tear this place down, find every last bolt of your memory, and ask Cleo to rebuild you... stronger than before..."

"And I swear... everyone who touched you... everyone who laughed at you... they’ll beg for a mercy I won’t give."

Her eyes, glowing faintly red beneath the helmet, turned toward the tent entrance.

"Hey, kid! Who the hell are you?!"

A gruff voice cut through the silence of the tent like a whip. One of the soldiers, who had been leaning over the broken body of the bot maid, turned sharply toward Lyra.

His face twisted in irritation while his brows furrowed as he stepped closer, his eyes scanning her uniform suspiciously.

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