Baggen moved through Vester's chaos with desperate purpose, calling Rolf's name into darkness that swallowed sound.
"Rolf! Where are you?"
There was no response. Just distant screams, alarm bells, the clicking of mandibles and clash of steel that meant combat everywhere except where Baggen searched.
He'd lost track of his squadmate during the initial panic—Rolf had been drunk, bitter about being excluded from the Academy, he had wandered off seeking air and space. Baggen had let him go, had thought giving him time to process would help.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
Now, hours into the assault, Baggen couldn't find him anywhere.
He checked the barracks—empty, abandoned. The training yards—occupied by ant swarms Baggen barely escaped. The taverns—full of bodies, some Covenant, some Republic, none of them Rolf.
"Rolf!" Baggen's voice cracked with fear and guilt. "Answer me, damn it!"
