Archive of Our Own

spawn, it seemed, had never been a fair god.

hyperlaser had prayed many times — not for himself, but for her. every time he left tri-lazer’s hospital room, he would linger in the hallway for a long while, beneath the cold white hum of fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling, casting a lifeless glow that made everything look paler than it already was. sometimes a nurse passing by would notice him standing there, his back against the wall, head slightly bowed, both hands clenched deep inside his coat pockets. they never heard him say anything, because he never truly spoke the words aloud.

but inside his mind, the same quiet plea repeated itself over and over, like a silent prayer.

spawn… please let her be okay. that was all he ever asked.

he had never asked for victory. never asked to survive. never asked for easier missions. just… please let her be okay.

but the prayers of soldiers are rarely heard. war is not a place meant for miracles, and the gods — if they truly exist — always seem far too busy to listen to small, fragile pleas like that.

and then, during a mission when hyperlaser was in his early twenties, everything changed.

at first, it was no different from any other blackrock operation. an abandoned industrial building on the edge of the city, its concrete walls cracked, its glass windows shattered long ago. inside, there were only rusted steel frames and dark corridors stretching into shadow. intel said a group of targets was hiding inside. the mission was simple: go in, clear the building, get out.

hyperlaser and his squad had done this dozens of times before. no one expected it to be different. “ten minutes,” one of his teammates joked as they stood outside the entrance, his rifle bumping lightly against his shoulder. “then we’re done and heading back for dinner.” hyperlaser said nothing. he simply checked his equipment one last time.

everything seemed normal, too normal.

when it happened, it happened fast.

a violent explosion erupted from the lower floor, powerful enough to shake the entire building. then came a chain of chaos — shattering glass, falling metal, hurried footsteps, someone swearing through the radio.

and then,

fire.

it burst forward like a beast that had been chained for far too long and was finally unleashed. flames rushed down the corridor, devouring everything in their path, turning gray concrete walls into a blazing orange inferno. thick black smoke poured through the rooms, dense enough that shapes dissolved into warped shadows.

“laser! fall back!” someone shouted through the radio, their voice distorted by static. but hyperlaser was already too deep inside the building.

the ceiling began collapsing in sections. a red-hot steel column crashed across the hallway with a horrifying impact, cutting off the only escape route ahead. the temperature rose so quickly the air itself seemed to ripple like disturbed water. every breath he took was thick with smoke, scorching his lungs like swallowing burning ash.

hyperlaser tried to find another way out. he slammed his shoulder into a door, trying to wrench it open, but the handle had already turned red-hot. the fire was spreading closer now. wood crackled and burst in the surrounding flames.

and then, the fire touched him. first the armor. the protective fabric began to char and curl. then his skin. the pain came too fast, too violently — a brutal wave as if his entire body had been thrown into a furnace. he only vaguely remembered the moment when the ceiling above him trembled one final time before collapsing, a massive piece of metal flew straight toward his head.

the impact was devastating. the two sea-blue horns on his head shattered instantly, breaking into blunt, jagged stumps.

a sharp crack rang out — short, cold, horrifyingly clear.

and then everything fell into darkness.

when hyperlaser woke up, the world had changed completely.

there was no fire anymore. no gunfire. only the sharp smell of antiseptic, and a strange, heavy silence.

pain rolled through his body in endless waves. when he tried to open his eyes, he saw nothing, only darkness — thick and absolute, like ink. he tried to move his arm, and the pain exploded so violently that his chest seized.

“don’t move!” a woman’s voice said urgently somewhere nearby. “you’re still recovering!” a hand pressed gently against his shoulder, “calm down… you’re safe now.”

the months that followed drifted past in a long, blurred stretch of time. hyperlaser’s body had been severely burned. in many places, his skin had been destroyed completely and required repeated grafts. his face had also been badly damaged; sections of muscle had burned away, leaving parts of his features sagging into warped, uneven lines.

worse than that, he could no longer see. his eyes had been destroyed in the fire. for the first several months, his entire face and body were wrapped in bandages. layers of gauze circled his head, neck, chest, and arms so tightly that he could barely move on his own. the blackrock nurses had to help him with everything — helping him sit up, feeding him spoonfuls of bland porridge, guiding his slow steps through the rehabilitation halls.

sometimes, when he thought no one was listening, hyperlaser would quietly ask the darkness: “what day… is it today?”

one of the nurses would answer and every time, after hearing it, he would fall silent for a very long time.

because inside his mind, there was always a date drawing closer.

tri-lazer’s birthday.

it wasn’t until many months later, when his wounds had finally stabilized somewhat, that someone came to see him.

subspace, blackrock’s resident scientist — a man many soldiers in the unit simply called “the lunatic.” he walked into the room exactly as usual: white lab coat dotted with ink stains, hair wildly unkempt, and a crooked smile that made it seem like he found the world endlessly fascinating.

“oh,” he said lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. “you survived after all. i’m quite impressed.”

hyperlaser didn’t respond. he simply sat there on the hospital bed.

subspace tilted his head, studying him for a moment, then placed something onto the metal table beside the bed: “i brought you a gift.”

a few days later, hyperlaser put the helmet on for the first time. it was a special combat helmet, heavier than ordinary ones. a black visor sealed the front completely, hiding the ruined remains of his face. two blue stripes ran along its sides. and on the top were two antennae — blue and black — replacing the horns he had lost.

inside the helmet was a visual sensory system designed by subspace. when he activated it, the world returned.

distorted. strange.

but still… light.

hyperlaser stood up that very day. his body still hurt terribly. every step felt like hundreds of needles piercing his skin. but he didn’t care.

there was only one place in his mind.

the hospital.

tri-lazer’s room.

he remembered the room clearly. the white door. the small window looking out onto a narrow slice of sky. and the bed where she usually lay reading her books.

that day was tri-lazer’s birthday. she had turned twenty, but hyperlaser was late, several weeks late. when he stood in front of the hospital door, his hand paused on the handle. “she’s probably mad at me…” he murmured quietly beneath the helmet.

then he opened the door.

the room was silent, too silent. the hospital bed in the center of the room was empty, tri-lazer wasn’t there, only a few blue hydrangeas resting on the white bedsheet. they were her favorite flowers.

hyperlaser stood there for a long time. the helmet’s visual system recorded every cold detail of the room — the empty chair, the small table, the closed book resting beside the pillow. “…?” he stepped inside slowly.

“tri?” he called softly. no one answered.

he walked back out into the hallway and saw two nurses who had once cared for tri-lazer. “where is tri-lazer?” he asked. at first, they said nothing. one of them raised a hand to cover her mouth. then the tears began to fall. “no…” hyperlaser said quietly. his voice lowered. “don’t tell me…”

one of the women broke down crying, “she… she’s gone.”

the words fell like a stone.

“when?” hyperlaser asked, his voice rough.

“a few weeks ago…”

right around the time he had still been lying motionless in the recovery ward.

the nurse wiped her tears with trembling hands. “tri-lazer… she knew you were badly injured. she was afraid that if you knew her condition had worsened… you would lose focus while recovering.” her voice caught in her throat. “so… she begged us.” she took a shaky breath, “please don’t tell him. she said… he’s already been through too much.”

hyperlaser said nothing. in that cold white hospital hallway, the world around him collapsed. every sound became distant, as if he were standing at the bottom of deep water.

and in that moment, hyperlaser realized something more cruel than any wound he had ever suffered: his prayer had come too late.

. . .

hyperlaser is thirty-eight years old now.

inside the blackrock barracks, that number is almost strange. most of the soldiers who once served beside him are long dead, or have disappeared into one of subspace’s experimental programs. those who still walk the cold steel corridors of the base…

are, for the most part, no longer human.

they are called biografts.

subspace often says the word with unsettling calm, as if he were explaining a simple scientific law. once, in the laboratory, when hyperlaser happened to overhear him murmuring to a group of technicians, he said:

“humans are far too fragile. too slow. too easy to kill. if war is a machine… then humans are nothing but poorly made gears.”

then he smiled — that familiar, crooked smile.

“so i created something better.”

and from that idea, six types of biograft were born.

half-machine, half-biological entities designed for different purposes. but among them, the two most common on the battlefield are the soldier lines: zeta biografts — offensive constructs with devastating power and almost inhuman reflexes; and beta biografts — heavy defensive units, wrapped in armor as thick as living tanks.

the halls of blackrock are now filled with the heavy sound of metal footsteps. cold blue lights glowing where eyes once were. voices low, hollow, and steady, like sound playing through a damaged speaker.

and among all of them…

hyperlaser is almost the last one still made of flesh and skin.

subspace once asked him about it while they stood in an observation room overlooking the training grounds where biografts drilled in formation.

“do you know why i still keep you around?”

hyperlaser stood still, arms folded across his chest, the black helmet hiding the scarred ruin of his face.

“no.”

subspace chuckled softly.

“because you’re still useful.”

he tapped lightly against the observation glass.

“your skill is still sharp. your reflexes, your experience… those things aren’t easy to replicate.”

then he turned to hyperlaser, eyes gleaming with a strange curiosity.

“and besides… i’m rather curious to see how long a human can survive among machines.”

hyperlaser didn’t answer.

but the truth inside him had always been simple.

he wants to leave this place.

he has wanted that for a very long time.

but blackrock is not the kind of place people simply walk away from.

so he stays.

day after day.

mission after mission.

and in that world that grows colder with every passing year, hyperlaser has almost no friends.

the closest thing he has to one is katana.

katana is a swordsman styled after the samurai of old japan — or at least the closest thing to that image in a world filled with guns and machines. he always wears a porcelain mask that covers his face up to half his scalp. the eye slits are long and narrow, like the eyes of an owl, giving his gaze a calm yet razor-sharp look. the mask is secured by a red strap running behind his head, and on its forehead is the clear emblem of the thieves’ den pirate band.

from the lower jaw of the mask protrudes a pair of small wooden tusks, sharp but subtle, looking like they are part of the mask itself rather than the real face hidden behind it.

katana’s clothing is no less unusual. he wears a combined haori robe, its front left open to reveal his solid chest. a cord tied around his waist keeps the garment in place. below that are kyahan trousers wrapped neatly around his legs. and on his feet are geta — traditional wooden sandals that produce a steady clack… clack… each time he walks across the metal floors of the barracks.

his weapon is a katana larger than normal, with glowing symbols etched along the blade and a red sheath hanging at his side. when the sword is drawn, the markings emit a cold blue glow like electricity running along the steel.

from his head grow two horns like those of a bull, emerging from either side before curving forward and upward, tapering into sharp points.

katana doesn’t speak much.

but somehow, he and hyperlaser understand each other.

sometimes they simply stand together on a metal balcony overlooking the training yard, saying nothing for hours.

once, katana asked in a low voice behind the porcelain mask,

“have you ever thought about leaving this place?”

hyperlaser answered simply.

“every day.”

katana gave a quiet hm.

“so do i.”

then they fell silent again.

hyperlaser’s second companion…

is not human.

it is a cat.

he found it during a mission at crossroad — a ruined intersection where collapsed buildings stacked over one another like concrete skeletons. it was raining that day, and somewhere inside a pile of roadside debris there came a small, thin meow.

hyperlaser had intended to ignore it.

but the cat crawled out from a soaked trash container and stared directly at him.

its fur was dirty and wet, and its round eyes looked like two small pieces of glass.

hyperlaser watched it for a few seconds.

then he sighed.

“…what a nuisance.”

he bent down and picked the cat up.

since then, it has lived in his room.

he named it princess.

princess likes to curl up on hyperlaser’s coat whenever he sits down to rest. sometimes it climbs onto his shoulder, tiny claws gripping lightly into his armor as he walks through the corridors.

katana once saw this and remarked calmly,

“you look like an old man with a pet.”

hyperlaser only shrugged.

“it followed me.”

but every time he watches princess sleeping, hyperlaser thinks the same quiet thought.

tri-lazer would probably have loved this cat.

but tri-lazer is gone.

and sometimes — not often, but often enough to become a quiet habit — hyperlaser leaves the barracks and visits the old hospital.

tri-lazer’s room is still there.

because when an infernal dies, no bones or ashes remain.

only their gear.

tri-lazer’s gear is the tri-lazer 333.

it rests inside a glass case in her old room.

the sniper rifle is long and slender, unmistakably futuristic in design. its body is made from angular metallic segments, giving it a cold, precise appearance. the main color is a blend of blue-gray and black, broken by faint glowing blue lines running along the frame like dormant streams of energy.

the stock is hollow and geometric, designed both to reduce weight and to give the weapon a modern feel in hand. along the center of the rifle are ventilation slits and layered armor plates, arranged like mechanical scales protecting the energy core inside.

the barrel stretches forward with clean, decisive lines, ending in a system of vents that suggest it fires concentrated beams of energy with extreme precision. beneath the barrel sits an additional mechanical module — perhaps a stabilizer, perhaps a firing amplifier.

overall, the tri-lazer 333 looks like a weapon built for the future.

sleek.

dangerous.

perfect.

hyperlaser often stands before the glass case for a very long time.

sometimes for hours.

he says nothing.

he only looks.

because according to infernal tradition, the gear of the dead remains where it is until a new infernal is born.

a new child.

a new life.

someone small enough to hold it for the first time.

and continue the story the one before never had the chance to finish.

so hyperlaser waits.

not for the war to end.

not for freedom.

but for the day…

when another small infernal is born.

another “tri-lazer” will come looking for him.

and take the rifle

out of that quiet room.