Several days had passed before CT-312 was finally permitted to move freely. The infirmary staff on Jutrand had insisted that the Princess’s orders were for her to remain under observation. She tried to argue that she was fine and ready to be put back on duty. It did not matter. CT-312 had been confined to the medical bed beneath the soft sterile lighting. Only after a few days, she was allowed to move around, but still monitored.
It was disorienting.
The Scout wasn’t accustomed to this type of stillness. Lying here or doing nothing. Forced into recovery unsettled her more than the injuries themselves. Yet, the injuries were gone. Not healing…
Gone. Old scars that CT-312 carried since her earlier deployments had vanished. The faint tension in her shoulder from an improperly set on Woostri had disappeared. Even the deeper aches she had learned to ignore no longer linger. It was as if none of these existed in the first place. CT-312’s body felt restored in a way that was almost unnatural. But something felt
off.
Since the Princess— No. Since
Quinn had pressed her hand into core and did…
whatever space voodoo magic… Her mind recalled the pain and agony of her body slowly stitching itself back together.
Something had altered within her. It wasn’t weakness or damage.
It was unfamiliar. Feelings constantly surfaced without warning. A tightening in her chest or a warmth that spread unexpectedly. A pull in her mind that she could not categorize or suppress. CT-312 didn’t have a terminology for it and
that bothered her. She was trained to identify variables and assign structure to chaos.
This had no structure.
CT-312 brushed the sensations aside, forcing it into a category that made sense to her.
Confusion. She had nearly died and the Princess had intervened in a way that defied everything the Scout understood about balance and consequences. CT-312 was a soldier. A defective manufactured one at that. A failure built for compliance and efficiency.
Expendable. Why would Quinn bother helping
something like her?
When BARCA
pinged with summons to the Academy, CT-312 accepted it without hesitation. Movement was preferable to confinement. Tall windows stretched upward as marble and stone framed the massive corridors. The building felt immense, not only in size but in presence. As she entered the grounds, CT-312 became aware of something pressing against her senses. The atmosphere felt charged and dense, just whenever—
Freaks.
Her gloved fist tightened at her sides. TK-710’s voice echoed in memory, blunt and dismissive. CT-312’s thoughts drifted back to the Kaggath arena, power used without restraint. Remembering how it felt…
Make them hurt.
The phrase lingered longer than it should have. CT-312’s jaw began to clench. A low growl began to form in the back of her throat as her hand instinctively slowly started to reach for her weapon—
CT-312 blinked behind her visor as she was greeted by the guide. Her jaw unclenched slowly as she exhaled. The gloved fist loosened, fingers uncurling one by one before settling back into their neutral position at her sides. The sounds of boots on the polished ground kept her grounded. Why would the Princess require her presence here?
The question resurfaced every time they passed students. Some cast curious glances towards her armor, while others avoided eye contact entirely. Was she here for protection detail?... Against what, exactly?... Children?
Her helmet tilted slightly at the thought. The idea was absurd, but not impossible. If ordered to neutralize a threat. She would not hesitate simply because it was a student’s uniform. Still… the idea did not align with the Princess’s tone in the summons. Suddenly the guide stopped before a set of doors.
“Her Highness’s Office.” Stepping off aside. CT-312 remained still for a brief moment. An old reflex surfaced from basic training. Standing outside a superior’s door— it meant evaluation, correction, or… reassignment. The memory lingered just long enough to tighten something in the Scout’s chest.
CT-312 drew in a controlled breath and stepped forward. The doors parted open.
“CT-312, Reporting in.” Her tone carried the same discipline as it always did. The doors sealed behind her. Eyes observed the Princess as she looked up, smiling. Raising a brow, it wasn’t a diplomatic smile reserved for public appearance…
‘What–’ Her tone was one of enthusiasm, the words spoken took a moment to process, having to travel through layers of disbelief before settling into comprehension.
Welcome to your first day of school, 312.
‘You got to be shi—' Did she hear that right? CT-312’s visor shifted toward the board, then back towards Quinn.
“Excuse me, Princess…” in a respectful tone with a hint of uncertainty,
“Aren’t I too old to be playing—” Her gaze drifted to the desk— what is that? Are those puzzles? Amongst other items.
“—school?”
Looking back at the Princess,
“I am confused.” CT-312 admitted plainly. So she was not beating up children? Or was that the joke? School. There had been no academies for her. No classrooms or childhood instructions.
“I’ve already received formal education and combat instructions. It was not conducted within an academy environment.” Bright sterile labs. Voices of scientists and drill instructors arguing cognitive load thresholds. Projection and data charts hovering above her while information was forced into her developing mind at an accelerated rate.
“Only flash training and live simulations.” Remembering the sensations of it. CT-312’s brows furrowed. The overwhelming flood of tactical and strategic knowledge, it felt as if her mind was going to melt.
An anomaly. CT-312 had overheard enough of discussions to understand at a young age that
she was
that test subject.
“Despite my normal growth cycle compared to my accelerated counterparts, I received the identical curriculum. I completed the required coursework.” Long nights. Repetition until precision became instinct and reflex. Discipline for deviation… correction for error. CT-312’s visor fully settled on the Princess.
“I passed my classes.”
CT-312 recalled from an earlier summons, on a parchment paper.
“Professor of Force Theory.” A subtle pause. Her tone held no mockery, just honest skepticism and lingering confusion.
“I am fairly certain I understand how gravity and physics work.”
