Blake lowered himself to the metal deck, muscles trembling from another round of force manipulation drills. Even with Chimera helping to manage his energy expenditure, the constant push of training had taken its toll. His shirt clung to his skin, dark with sweat despite the cooling systems she'd woven into the fabric.

"Again," he said, pushing himself back to his feet.

Chimera's concern filtered through their bond. "Your channels are nearly depleted. We should-"

"Again." Blake settled into a ready stance, focusing on the practice targets Eland had configured. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the debris field, marking the hours they'd spent refining his control.

She sighed but complied, directing a measured flow of energy through their shared pathways. The familiar warmth spread through his limbs as his reserves partially restored. Not enough for comfort, but sufficient to continue.

Training continued until sunset, each cycle following the same pattern - push until exhaustion, restore just enough to continue, then push again. By the time the alien sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in strange colors, Blake had progressed from simple barriers to complex spatial manipulations that left reality itself warping in his wake. Granted, he could only accomplish this by leveraging [Unfettered Stride], but it made him more difficult to hit while in motion.

That evening, lying in his bunk, Blake stared at the metal ceiling of his quarters. Chimera's avatar manifested beside him, her form compacted and more cat-like than leonine. Neither spoke for several minutes, letting the quiet weight of the day settle between them.

"Thank you," Blake said finally, his voice rough with fatigue. "For everything you've done. Not just today, but..." He trailed off, searching for words that felt inadequate.

Chimera's avatar shifted, her expression unusually gentle. "You don't need to-"

"I do." Blake turned his head to look at her directly. "I wouldn't be here if not for you fixing my messed up core. Instead, you not only saved my life but gave me capabilities I never imagined possible." He gestured at the modified weapons beside his bunk. "The gear modifications, the training, all of it. I've been taking it for granted."

"That's not true." Chimera moved closer, her holographic form seeming more solid in the dim light. "You've adapted to everything I've thrown at you. Most people would have broken under half of what you've endured."

Blake snorted. "Most people didn't have you rebuilding them from the inside out."

Blake shifted uncomfortably as Chimera's words hung in the air. Her teasing tone made something twist in his gut, but he found himself chuckling anyway. The idea of someone appreciating his rebuilt body felt surreal, like trying on clothes that didn't quite fit.

The silence that followed felt different than before. Less like a wall and more like an open door neither of them was ready to step through. His thoughts drifted into territory he'd been carefully avoiding since his resurrection. What would intimacy even look like now, with another consciousness permanently wired into his nervous system?

Shit, sex was just the tip of the iceberg. The real question was trust - how deep it went, how much of himself he was willing to share. Chimera had literally rebuilt him from scratch. She knew every neuron, every synthetic fiber, every augmented piece of him. And here he was, still keeping mental walls up.

The realization made him feel like an idiot. He'd been so focused on the physical changes that he'd missed the bigger picture entirely.

"I've been thinking," he said carefully, watching her reaction. "About our connection during combat."

Chimera's avatar stilled, suddenly alert. "What about it?"

"The mental distance we maintain." Blake sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. "It's... inefficient. When we're in the middle of a fight, that split second of communication delay could be critical."

"You're suggesting closer integration." It wasn't a question. "Direct thought-to-thought contact, without the buffer we currently use."

Blake nodded. "I know I was resistant to the idea before. Having someone else in my head..." He grimaced. "But after today, seeing how seamlessly we can work together when I stop fighting the connection..."

"It would be more intimate than anything you've experienced," Chimera warned. "No barriers, no filters. Pure thought-stream sharing."

"I know." Blake's hands tightened on the edge of the bunk. "But we're about to assault a fortified position against unknown opposition. We need every advantage we can get."

Chimera studied him for a long moment, her avatar's tail moving in slow, contemplative patterns. "You're certain about this?"

Blake met her gaze steadily. "I trust you," he said simply. "More than that—I want to trust us. What we can accomplish together."

The admission hung in the air between them, heavy with implications. Chimera's avatar flickered, her form briefly destabilizing before resolving into sharper focus.

"There would be side effects," she said finally. "Increased emotional bleed-through, shared sensory input, possibly even dream overlap."

"Can we control the degree of connection? Dial it up or down as needed?"

"To some extent." Chimera moved closer, her holographic form now at eye level with Blake. "But it's not like turning a knob. Think of it more like... learning to focus your hearing. You can't truly shut it off, but you can choose what to pay attention to."

Blake nodded slowly, processing the implications. "And during combat?"

"Full integration. Your thoughts become my thoughts. No delay, no translation needed." Her avatar's eyes gleamed. "It would make our current level of coordination look primitive by comparison."

"What do you need from me?"

"Just your willing participation." Chimera's form began to fade slightly. "And your trust."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"You have both." Blake lay back down, settling himself on the narrow bunk. "How do we start?"

"Close your eyes," Chimera instructed, her voice taking on a softer quality. "Focus on the feeling of our connection—not just the mana pathways, but the subtle threads of consciousness that link us."

Blake complied, letting his awareness sink inward. He could feel the familiar channels of power that connected them, but now he noticed other, more delicate strands - whispers of thought and emotion that had always been present but ignored.

"That's it," Chimera murmured. "Now, instead of maintaining your usual distance, imagine those threads growing stronger. Let them expand naturally."

Blake felt the first brush of foreign thought against his mind - not invasive or threatening, but a gentle pressure like waves lapping at a shore. His initial instinct was to pull back, to maintain the comfortable separation he was used to. Instead, he forced himself to relax, to accept the contact.

The connection deepened, bringing with it flickers of sensation and emotion that weren't his own. Curiosity, concern, and a deep-seated protectiveness that surprised him with its intensity. Beneath it all ran a current of something else—a profound loneliness that resonated with his own carefully hidden isolation.

"Don't fight it," Chimera whispered, though he wasn't sure if she spoke aloud or directly into his mind. "Let the barriers dissolve naturally."

Time seemed to lose meaning as the integration continued. Blake floated in a strange space between consciousness and meditation, feeling the artificial distance between their minds slowly erode. Occasionally, a particularly strong emotion or memory would surface, but Chimera helped him navigate through them without becoming overwhelmed.

Finally, the process settled into a new equilibrium. The connection between them felt both foreign and perfectly natural, like discovering a sense he'd never known he was missing. Blake opened his eyes, blinking at the familiar ceiling of his quarters.

"How do you feel?" Chimera asked, her avatar reappearing beside him.

"Different," Blake said slowly, testing the new awareness. "But not wrong. It's like..." He searched for the right comparison. "Like putting on night vision goggles for the first time. Suddenly seeing things that were always there, just hidden before."

He felt her approval ripple through their strengthened bond. "The real test will come during combat," she said. "But for now, rest. Let your mind adjust to the new neural pathways."

"Yeah," Blake relented. "Let me just clean Verdict."

"You know I already do that, right?" Chimera asked. "I did explain that part?"

"Yes," Blake answered. "But it's meditative. It's routine. I'll clean my own weapon until it gets too complex to handle."

Twenty minutes later, Blake was focused on cleaning his sidearm, the familiar ritual helping to order his thoughts. The weapon disassembled smoothly under his practiced hands as he worked at the small desk in his quarters. Each part required specific attention—he could do this in his sleep, but that didn't mean he should. The slide assembly in particular...

"You're thinking awfully hard about something that isn't gun maintenance," Chimera's avatar flickered into view, perching on the edge of his desk. "Care to share with the class?"

Blake continued his methodical cleaning for a moment before responding. "Been thinking about what to call you."

The avatar's form rippled with interest. "Oh? Finally tired of 'Chimera'?"

"It's more of a classification than a name." Blake reassembled the slide with practiced ease. "Thought you might appreciate something more... personal."

Chimera's avatar leaned forward slightly, her form solidifying into sharper detail. "I'm listening."

Blake set the slide down carefully, finally meeting her gaze. "Kitt."

The avatar tilted her head, expression unreadable. "Kitt," she repeated, testing the sound. "Why Kitt?"

Blake picked up the barrel, running a cleaning rod through it with careful precision. "Few reasons. You're my entire kit of gear—couldn't ask for better equipment support." His lips quirked slightly. "Also works as short for 'kitten,' given the whole chimera motif."

"And?" Chimera prompted, clearly sensing there was more.

"It's short. Sounds fun." Blake focused intently on a particularly stubborn bit of carbon buildup.

"Those are very practical reasons," The avatar's form flickered with what might have been amusement. "Almost too practical." She leaned closer, her form casting faint shadows across his work surface. "You're holding something back."

Blake's hands stilled for a moment. Then he sighed, setting down the cleaning rod.

"Okay, fine. There was this old TV show I used to watch as a kid. Knight Rider."

Blake rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. "It was about this guy with a talking car. An AI that could think and act independently, help him fight crime. Car's name was KITT - Knight Industries Two Thousand." He focused on reassembling his sidearm, the familiar motions helping mask his slight embarrassment. "Used to watch reruns whenever I could catch them. Something about the idea of having a partner like that, someone who always had your back..."

He trailed off, realizing how sentimental he probably sounded. But when he glanced up, Chimera's avatar was practically vibrating with excitement, her form shifting through various shades of iridescent blue.

"Blake," she said, her voice carrying an unusual warmth, "are you telling me you named me after a sentient vehicle that assists its partner in fighting evil?" Her form solidified into something more defined, taking on an almost catlike grace. "A technological marvel designed to enhance and protect its companion while maintaining its own distinct personality?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." Blake managed a small smile, sliding the magazine back into place with a satisfying click.

"You do remember that's literally what I'm meant to be, right?" Chimera - or maybe Kitt now - practically bounced in place. "I mean, yes, currently I'm working with you at a more personal scale, but my core design? I'm supposed to be a ship, Blake. A living vessel."

Blake blinked, caught off guard by her enthusiasm. "I hadn't really thought about it like that."

"Of course you hadn't," she said, her tone somehow both fond and exasperated. "You've been too busy trying to figure out how to blow things up with spatial manipulation." Her avatar leaned forward, expression turning serious for a moment. "But you chose that name because it reminds you of something important. Something that meant a lot to you when you were young."

Blake holstered his weapon, considering his words carefully. "Used to dream about having someone like that. A partner who understood you completely, who'd always be there no matter what." He shrugged, trying to play it casual. "Silly only-child stuff."

"Not silly at all." Kitt's avatar settled into a more relaxed pose, though her form still shimmered with barely contained excitement. "You chose that name because it means something to you. Because it represents an ideal you've carried with you since childhood—the idea of having a true partner, someone who understands and supports you completely." Her form shimmered with what might have been emotion. "I'm honored by the comparison, Blake. Truly."

Blake felt heat rise to his cheeks and busied himself with checking his knife's edge. "Don't make it weird."

"Too late!" Kitt's avatar practically sang the words. "You've revealed your sentimental side. No taking it back now."

But despite the teasing, Blake sensed her joy seeping through their connection like water through sand. The bond was getting stronger, even now. More defined, more natural.

Strange how content that made him feel.

It was the night before he would officially be coming out of retirement. Strapping on his Kitt and going back to war.

He slept like a goddamned baby.