Blake retrieved a nutrient bar from his cache, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. The synthetic flavor was as unappetizing as ever, but his body needed fuel. He chewed slowly, buying time to process what Kitt had just told him.

"So let me get this straight," he said, swallowing the chalky bite. "You're going to dive headfirst into the mind of a traumatized alien starship, and I'm going to wander around this nightmare maze solo, planting magical beacons?"

"That's... actually a pretty accurate summary," Kitt replied, her mental voice carrying a note of surprise. "Though I'd phrase it more diplomatically."

"Diplomacy's never been my strong suit." Blake took another bite, grimacing. "Walk me through the details. What exactly happens to our bond when you do this immersion thing?"

Kitt's presence shifted, becoming more focused. "Think of it like... putting me on standby mode. The nanites will still function—your HUD, System access, all that stays online. But my active consciousness, the part of me that talks to you, analyzes threats, fabricates gear on the fly? That'll be redirected into helping the Leviathan."

Blake felt a cold knot form in his stomach. "How long are we talking?"

"I don't know. Could be hours. Could be days. The Leviathan's consciousness is vast, Blake. Ancient. And it's been shattered by what the Outsider did to it. Putting the pieces back together..." She paused. "It's not going to be quick."

"And while you're playing cosmic therapist, I'm what—back to baseline Blake?"

"No, not at all." Kitt's tone turned reassuring. "Your physical enhancements will remain. The strength, better healing, all the permanent changes I made to your body during our initial bonding. Those are yours now whether I'm 'present' or not. And your Class abilities, your cultivation—none of that depends on me. They never have."

Blake nodded, understanding the distinction. "So I'm basically just losing your color commentary."

"Ah," Kitt said, her mental presence dimming slightly, as if embarrassed. "Yes. That too. But there's also your gear to consider. Verdict, Fang, your armor... they'll still function, of course. But the... integration? The way they feel like extensions of you? That's part of my active presence. They'll feel like tools again. Just objects."

He frowned. He hadn't considered that. Verdict in his hand often felt like another finger, instinctively knowing where to aim, how much pressure to apply. To lose that synergy...

"And the special ammo?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

"What you have on you is what you get," Kitt confirmed. "I won't be able to fabricate more while I'm... occupied. The displacer rounds, the explodey ones... use them wisely."

One more thing clicked into place. "The cache," Blake stated, not a question.

"Damn, yeah, that too. Access to the Dimensional Cache is tied to my active presence. You'll need to carry whatever you need between the beacon locations. The good news is I can open a cache for you when we make contact during beacon placements."

Blake finished the nutrient bar, crumpling the wrapper in his fist. No Kitt. No gear bond. Limited special ammo. No magic pocket. Just him, his wits, and whatever he could physically hump through a ship infested with reality-bending horrors and Outsider spawn.

He let out a slow breath. It wasn't ideal. Far from it. But it wasn't a deal-breaker.

"I was in the field for twenty-odd years before we ever met, Kitt," he said, his voice even. "Ran solo for a good chunk of that. No magic, no super-soldier juice, just what I could carry and what I could figure out. I can manage."

"Right." Kitt's mental voice grew quieter. "You'll be relying on your training. Your experience. Everything you learned before we met."

The irony wasn't lost on him. After months of growing accustomed to Kitt's constant presence, her insights and support, he'd be thrown back to operating solo. Like the old days.

"I'll be fine, Kitt. I promise. Now, tell me about these beacons," he said, pushing his own doubts aside and changing the topic.

"They're not physical devices you plant," Kitt explained, her voice gaining strength as she shifted to technical details. "They're more like... spiritual anchor points. Nodes in the Leviathan's nervous system that have been corrupted or blocked by the Outsider's influence."

"So how do I activate them?"

"Each one will be different. Some might require you to simply channel energy from your core directly into the node. That would light it up for me to point us in the right direction and come in to take over. Others could involve clearing physical corruption, rerouting power, that sort of thing. I'll program your HUD with the locations and basic activation procedures before I go under."

"And once a beacon's active?"

"The Leviathan regains control of that section. The corruption retreats, the ship's systems come back online in that area. More importantly, it creates a clear communication channel between me and that part of the ship's consciousness."

"How many beacons are we talking about?"

"Seven primary nodes," Kitt replied. "Though if we can get the first three online, the Leviathan should be able to help with the rest."

Blake stood, testing his balance. He could probably pull off the triage patch, but he could feel the dull ache of his injuries regardless. "What about check-ins? You said I could contact you once a beacon's working?"

"Brief ones. Think of it like... surfacing for air. I'll be able to pull back from the immersion long enough for a quick status update, maybe crack open the cache for resupply, that sort of thing. But I can't maintain that for long without losing sync with the Leviathan."

The practical concerns were manageable. Blake had operated in communications blackouts before. But there was something else, a deeper worry that he couldn't quite articulate.

"Kitt," he said finally. "What are the risks? For you, I mean."

Her presence hesitated. "There's always risk in deep consciousness work. The Leviathan's mind is... wounded. Traumatized. There could be fragments of the Outsider's influence still lurking in there, hidden where I can't detect them initially."

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"And if you encounter one of these fragments?"

"Best case? It slows down the healing process. Worst case..." She trailed off.

"Worst case what?"

"Worst case, I get lost in there. Or corrupted myself." Kitt's mental voice was steady, but Blake could feel the fear beneath her words. "The Leviathan's consciousness is vast, Blake. Absolutely none of what we're talking about is normal procedure, and if I lose myself in that immensity..."

Blake felt his jaw clench. "Then we find another way."

"There is no other way." Kitt's response was immediate, firm. "The corruption is spreading. Every hour we delay, the Outsider's influence grows stronger. The Leviathan has been fighting it unconsciously, but she's losing ground. Without intervention, this entire ship becomes another vector for the Outsider's expansion into our reality."

"And if we lose you in the process?"

"Then you complete the mission anyway." Her voice was steel. "You activate those beacons, you help the Leviathan heal, and you find a way off this ship. That's the job, Blake."

The words hit him harder than he'd expected. After everything they'd been through, the idea of losing Kitt—of being truly alone again...

"I don't like it," he said.

"I know." Her presence wrapped around him, warm and comforting. "I don't like it either. But this is bigger than just us. The Outsider can't be allowed to establish a foothold here. Too many innocent lives are at stake."

Blake was quiet for a long moment, staring at the pulsing walls of the core chamber. The Leviathan's heartbeat thrummed through the deck plates, steady but strained. Like a wounded animal trying to stay alive.

"How long do I have before you start the immersion?"

"I need about an hour to prepare. Map out the beacon locations, program your HUD with the activation sequences, run diagnostics on your gear." Kitt paused. "And to say goodbye properly."

The simple honesty of that last statement caught him off guard. They'd been dancing around the emotional weight of their temporary separation, focusing on tactics and procedures. But the truth was simpler and more frightening: they were about to be apart for the first time since their bonding. Really apart, in a way that felt permanent.

"An hour," Blake repeated. "Okay. What do you need me to do?"

"Rest. Eat another one of those terrible bars. Let your body finish healing." Kitt's tone turned lighter, though he could still sense the undercurrent of worry. "And maybe practice not talking to yourself out loud. People will think you're crazy."

Despite everything, Blake found himself smiling. "Too late for that. I've been talking to voices in my head for months now."

"Fair point." Kitt's laughter was warm, familiar. "Though who's to say? You might be a voice in my head."

"I'm pretty sure you sort of ate me when I showed up in your head. Let's stick with you being in mine."

The severance, when it came, was like a switch flipped in the dark. One moment, Kitt's presence was a warm, constant hum at the back of his mind, a second set of senses, an intuitive extension of his own will. The next, silence. A profound, unnerving quiet that left him feeling strangely hollow.

Verdict, clutched in his hand, suddenly felt like a lump of inert metal. Heavy. Clumsy. The familiar, almost organic give of the grip was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding texture of whatever composite material Kitt had used to form it. Fang, on his hip, was just a knife again, no longer a razor-sharp extension of his arm. His combat bodysuit, which usually moved with him like a second skin, felt stiff, restrictive.

He took a step, and it was like walking on someone else's legs. The effortless balance, the subtle micro-adjustments Kitt's presence had always provided to his movements, were absent. He felt…ungainly.

This is what she meant, he thought. Just objects.

The massive, iris-like aperture of the core chamber began to constrict behind him, the bioluminescent edges dimming as the organic doorway sealed shut. The soft, rhythmic thrum of the Leviathan's heart faded, replaced by the distant, unsettling groans and creaks of the corrupted ship. He was alone. Truly alone.

Blake raised his arm, the HUD flickering to life. Kitt had been true to her word. A schematic of this section of the Leviathan overlaid his vision, a blinking icon marking the closest beacon. Maintenance Sub-level 3. Access conduit seventy-gamma. Looked like a utility crawlspace, probably cramped.

He holstered Verdict, the motion feeling awkward, less practiced than it had mere moments ago. The weapon didn't seat itself with that satisfying, almost magnetic click he was used to. He had to consciously guide it home. It all should have felt completely natural—it had certainly seemed that way before he had bonded with Kitt, but the supernatural connection she had given him… That was Blake's new baseline for natural. Nothing else was going to cut it.

The corridor ahead was a twisted mess of buckled deck plating and exposed, sparking conduits. The air tasted metallic, tinged with the faint, sickly-sweet odor of whatever alien flora the Outsider's influence was cultivating. He started forward, his boots crunching on unseen debris. Each step was a conscious effort, his body learning how to move in the suit without the constant, subtle support he'd taken for granted.

He'd only gone a few dozen yards when the first hostiles appeared. Two Ferroghests, their chitinous bodies scuttling around a bend in the corridor, their multiple eyes glowing with malevolent red light. Standard.

Blake drew Verdict. The draw was slower, more deliberate. He brought the weapon up, sighting down the barrel. For the first time in months, he actually needed to use the iron sights, instead of instinctively knowing where the barrel was in relation to his sight line.

The first Ferroghest lunged. Blake squeezed the trigger. The recoil felt harsher, less controlled. The shot went wide by an inch, impacting the bulkhead beside the creature's head. He cursed internally, realizing that he had never fired Verdict without Kitt's bond. It sure as hell didn't fire like the P226 it had started as.

He corrected his aim, fired again. This time, the round struck the Ferroghest center mass, punching through its carapace with a wet crack. It stumbled, but didn't go down. The next round knocked it down, but there wasn't time for a third.

The second Ferroghest was on him. He sidestepped, the movement feeling sluggish. He brought Verdict up for a point-blank shot, but the creature swatted his arm, the impact jarring. The gun flew from his grasp, clattering across the deck.

Instinct took over. He drew Fang, the knife feeling foreign in his grip. He lunged, aiming for a joint in the creature's leg. The blade bit deep, but the angle was wrong. It wasn't the smooth, effortless penetration he was used to.

He twisted the blade, trying to sever the limb, but the Ferroghest thrashed, its razor-sharp claws raking at his arm. Pain flared, hot and immediate. His bodysuit held, but he felt the force of the blow.

This was a mess. He was fighting like a rookie, clumsy and reactive. Without Kitt, his combat flow was gone. The intuitive understanding of range, timing, the almost precognitive awareness of his enemy's movements—all dulled, muted. He was relying on unreliable muscle memory, instead of on decades of training, and it felt like slogging through mud.

He gritted his teeth, ducked under another swipe, and drove Fang upwards, into the softer underside of the Ferroghest. The creature shrieked, a high-pitched, grating sound, and collapsed.

Blake scrambled back, breathing heavily, and retrieved Verdict. The first Ferroghest, wounded but still mobile, was trying to rise. He aimed carefully, squeezed the trigger. Two more shots, and it finally lay still.

He stood there for a moment, the silence of the corridor pressing in on him. His arm throbbed where the Ferroghest had struck him. He looked at Verdict, then at Fang. Tools. Just tools. And he, apparently, was a less effective tool user than he'd realized.

The ease, the almost casual deadliness he'd come to associate with his abilities—a significant portion of that hadn't been him. It had been Kitt.

Yet… Even as he had the thought, it felt wrong. Obviously, things were easier with Kitt and the bond she provided, but he was clearly just in his own head. Right?

"Just gotta get back to fundamentals," he said aloud. Only after he spoke did he realize that there was no one to listen.

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