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As the metallic door hissed open, Atlas barely had a second to react.
A hail of gunfire erupted from the other side — thunderous, deafening. Sparks tore from the steel around him as bullets ricocheted, whining past his ears.
"Shit!" he cursed, jerking his shield up just in time. The Isu-forged bronze flared gold, deflecting the barrage in a shower of light.
"Friendly fire! Friendly fire! Friendly fire!" Atlas bellowed over the chaos.
The shooting ceased instantly. The ringing silence that followed was almost worse than the noise. Through the haze of smoke, half a dozen figures crouched behind overturned tables and makeshift barricades, rifles still aimed at him. They couldn't make out his face — only the silhouette of a tall figure with a glowing shield.
Atlas squinted through the smoke seeing a huge figure and, despite the tension, a crooked grin spread across his face. He raised his voice in mock exasperation.
"Jesus, Captain Bear! Are you trying to kill me? I know I joke about your size, but that's no reason to put holes in me!"
There was a beat of stunned silence. Then, a deep, familiar voice barked out through the haze.
"Stand down, boys! It's the Doc!"
Relief washed over the room as the soldiers lowered their rifles. The smoke thinned, revealing the massive figure of Captain Arthur "Bear" Harrison — a mountain of a man with a beard that looked more like battlefield camouflage than grooming. His broad grin split through the grime as he strode forward.
"Well, I'll be damned," Bear said, his laugh booming. "I thought you died in a ditch somewhere, Doc."
Atlas chuckled, shaking his head. "Me? Die before you? Not a chance. You'll croak first from cholesterol."
Bear's laughter rolled like thunder as he clasped Atlas's dirty hand in his own massive grip. "Still got that mouth, huh? Good to see you, kid."
"Likewise, Captain," Atlas said, clapping his shoulder.
Around them, the smoke cleared enough for Atlas to see the rest of the squad — or what was left of them.
There was Xavier Todd, the infiltration specialist, crouched beside a broken console, his stealth gear half-burnt and eyes sharp as ever.
Next to him, Amelie Griffith, the sniper and weapons expert, cleaned a blood-smeared rifle with calm precision.
Judson Diaz, the bomb expert, was fiddling with a detonator like a child with a toy, muttering under his breath.
And leaning against the far wall was Flynn Goodman, the heavy gunner — broad, bald, and wearing a grin that said he'd probably headbutt an alien for fun.
Atlas's chest tightened with a strange mixture of relief and disbelief. They were all still here. His team. His family at the front.
Atlas spread his arms, smirking. "You bastards left me behind again. What, thought the medic was optional?"
"Last time we checked," Xavier said without looking up, "you were surrounded by wounded and swearing at everyone to 'stop dying so fast.' We figured you'd stay with your patients."
Judson snorted, tightening a wire on his device. "Yeah, until the whole tent exploded. We thought you'd gone poof — instant barbecue."
Atlas lifted his brows. "And yet, here I am. Medium-rare, but still standing."
Amelie's lips twitched into a rare smile. "You always were impossible to kill, Atlas."
"Appreciate the vote of confidence," he said with mock seriousness. "Next time I die, I'll make sure it sticks."
Flynn pushed off the wall, grinning wide. "Still ugly as ever, Doc. Guess even death didn't want you."
Atlas gave him a look. "And you still look like a shaved gorilla that lost a fight with a lawnmower."
That earned a chorus of laughter. Bear clapped them both on the back, nearly knocking Atlas forward. "Ah, hell, I missed this. Feels like old times — only smellier and with fewer snacks."
"Speak for yourself," Judson said, pulling a chocolate bar from his vest. "I always come prepared."
Atlas blinked. "You're hoarding chocolate in a war zone?"
Judson shrugged. "Explosives and sugar keep me sane."
Flynn snorted. "That explains a lot."
The laughter finally faded into a quieter moment — that rare calm that only veterans shared after hellfire. The sound of breathing, the weight of survival.
Then Atlas noticed movement near the far wall — the other survivors. Doctors, technicians, and a few shell-shocked scientists huddled together, bandaging the wounded. And among them, standing tall despite the exhaustion, was a familiar face.
Dr. Evelyn Wu.
Her hair was tied back hastily, her white coat stained with soot and blood. Even covered in grime, she had the same sharp, intelligent gaze that once made every medical exam feel like a duel.
She froze when she saw him. "Atlas…? You're alive?"
He grinned softly. "Last I checked. Don't sound so disappointed."
Her lips parted, and a shaky laugh escaped her. "You and your weird humor… is really unique, I thought that I'm gonna start your death paperwork ."
"See? That's why I don't trust your handwriting," Atlas said, tapping his chest. "Still breathing."
She rolled her eyes, but the relief in them was unmistakable. "Still making jokes under fire. You haven't changed a bit."
"Some things shouldn't," he said, smiling faintly.
Behind him, Flynn leaned toward Judson and muttered just loud enough, "Who's the doc's lady friend?"
Judson smirked. "Old classmate, I bet. You see that look? That's the look of someone who's seen his exam grades."
Atlas shot them a glare. "I can hear you idiots."
Bear laughed, slapping Flynn's shoulder. "Leave him be. Man's got enough on his plate without your romance commentary."
Evelyn shook her head, amused. "They still act like children, I see."
Atlas sighed. "Worse now. They started breeding sarcasm."
That earned another round of chuckles before Bear's tone shifted back to business, though his grin never faded. "Alright, Doc. Talk to me. What's it like out there?"
Atlas exhaled slowly, his humor dimming. "Bad, but not hopeless. Most of the aliens have retreated for now, probably regrouping. A few stragglers stayed behind — picking off survivors. I cleared the outside perimeter. There's one alien leader unconscious out there, plus two more tied up near the tents."
Bear's eyebrows rose. "You captured one? Alive?"
Atlas nodded. "Yeah. Though the eggheads might want a look at their anatomy. Or their toys."
Amelie muttered, "That's… new for you."
He shrugged. "I've developed a professional curiosity."
Bear chuckled. "Curiosity? Hell, Doc, you're the only man I know who'd bring a shield to a gunfight and still win."
"It's a long story," Atlas said with a wry grin. "You'll love it once we survive."
He gestured toward the outer compound. "I already sent a corporal to the radio station to call in reinforcements from the city. If he made it, help should be coming soon."
Bear rubbed his jaw. "And you? Where the hell were you when the base went up?"
Atlas hesitated a moment, thinking quickly and decided to lie for a bit. "Knocked out by one of the explosions. It came about thirty minutes later. Found what was left of the med tent and started patching up whoever I could."
Bear's eyes narrowed briefly, but then he nodded. "Still doing your job, huh? Good man."
Atlas smiled faintly, but behind his calm expression his thoughts churned.
Thirty minutes for them. Twenty years for me.
He clenched his jaw slightly and forced the thought down.
No one will believe me anyway, they might still joke around,
He looked around the command center — scorched walls, blinking consoles, exhausted faces. The last bastion of order in a collapsing front.
He rolled his shoulders, the weight of his shield comforting against his back.
"Alright," he said, his voice steady again. "Let's get to work. We're not dead yet."
End
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