The landing was not graceful.
It was not the smooth, practiced touchdown of a commercial liner docking at a luxury station. It was a rough, jarring collision of metal against calcified bone.
The shuttle pod shuddered violently as it clamped onto the outer hull of Gyra. The sound of the magnetic locks engaging echoed through the cramped cabin like the final nail being hammered into a coffin.
Ragia sat in the pilot's seat.
He did not move immediately. He let his hands rest on the controls, feeling the vibration of the impact travel up his arms. He was staring out the viewport, but he was not looking at the stars.
He was looking at the rotting white surface of the massive bio-ship that filled his vision.
It was ugly…
It was a monument to death, floating silently in the vacuum, waiting for someone foolish enough to knock on the door.
"We are attached," Raya stated from the co-pilot seat.
She did not look up from her console. Her fingers were already moving, initiating the hacking sequence to override Gyra's external airlock. Her face was illuminated by the cold blue light of the display, highlighting the sharp angles of her Alumos features.
"Atmospheric seal is green," Raya continued, her voice devoid of any emotional inflection. "Gravity is stable at zero point eight. Oxygen levels are minimal but breathable."
"Great," Ragia muttered. "Just enough air to scream."
He unbuckled his harness. The click was loud in the small space.
Behind them, Gin stood up. She was checking the fuel canister on her flamethrower, adjusting the valves with the precision of a master chef preparing a delicate soufflé.
"It smells like old meat out there," Gin commented, wrinkling her nose as the pod's internal sensors picked up the external atmosphere. "Like a freezer that stopped working three weeks ago."
"It is the smell of history, Chef," Ragia said, standing up and stretching his legs. His leather jacket creaked.
"And history usually smells terrible."
He reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small vial. It contained a swirling, red liquid that seemed to glow with its own internal light.
The GT-698-Z serum.
"Drink up," Ragia ordered. "We don't know what is waiting for us in there. I want everyone at maximum capacity. No holding back."
"Mug check," He popped the cork on his own vial.
"Correction," Raya interjected. Her eyes were still glued to the screen. "The designation is GT-698-Z. Referring to it as 'Mug' is scientifically inaccurate and diminishes the complexity of the chemical engineering involved."
Ragia sighed…
He looked up at the ceiling of the pod. He looked at... me.
"Do you hear this?" Ragia though. "We are about to enter a tomb filled with space monsters, and she is spell-checking me."
I heard him.
It is her way of coping, Capt. Logic is her armor. Just like that leather jacket is yours.
"It is annoying," Ragia grunted.
He looked back at Raya.
"We don't have time for a lecture on nomenclature, Prof," Ragia snapped. "Just drink the damn juice. Unless you want to fight a Centaur with a clipboard."
Raya adjusted her glasses.
"Inefficient," she muttered. "But acceptable."
Then she drank her serum, when Gin downed hers in one gulp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
A faint, blue flame flickered in her eyes for a second before settling down.
"Spicy," Gin grinned. "I like this batch. It has a kick."
Ragia drank his.
The liquid burned going down. It was a familiar heat, spreading through his veins, sharpening his senses. He felt the fatigue of the last few days evaporate, replaced by a hum of raw power.
"Okay," Ragia said. "Let's go say hello to the neighbors."
The airlock cycled.
The inner door hissed open, revealing the dark, ribbed corridor of Gyra.
It was exactly as Gin had described. It smelled of decay. The walls were lined with organic material that looked like dried muscle fibers. The floor was slick with frozen fluids.
They stepped out.
Ragia took point, his silenced blaster raised. Gin covered the rear, her finger hovering over the trigger of her flamethrower. Raya walked in the middle, her scanner humming softly.
"Quiet," Ragia whispered. "We are intruders here. We don't want to wake the house until we are ready to burn it down."
They moved deeper into the ship.
The silence was oppressive. It wasn't empty. It was heavy. It felt like the ship was holding its breath, watching them with a thousand unseen eyes.
They reached a junction. The corridor split into three paths, disappearing into the gloomy dark.
"Prof," Ragia signaled. "Scouts."
Raya nodded. She tapped her belt.
The shadows around her seemed to detach themselves from the floor. They rose, twisting and forming into solid shapes.
Six clones materialized. They were identical to Raya, down to the lab coat and the stoic expression. They stood in silence, waiting for orders.
"Sector right, three units," Ragia commanded, pointing down the dark hallway. "Sector left, three units. Map the perimeter. If you see anything moving, tag it. Do not engage unless compromised."
Raya relayed the command mentally.
The clones split up. Three moved to the right, disappearing into the shadows with the grace of ghosts. The other three moved left, their footsteps silent on the organic floor.
"We take the center," Ragia said to Gin and the original Raya. "That is where the heat signatures were. The Scout and Trooper barracks."
"The meat grinder," Gin whispered, tightening her grip on her weapon.
They moved forward.
Ragia walked with a predator's grace. He kept his breathing slow, his heart rate steady. He was not afraid. He had done this a hundred times.
But…
This time felt different. This was Labradlle's ship. This was the grave of his mentor.
"Hey, Narrator," Ragia thought.
Yes, Capt?
"Does it feel... easy to you?"
Define easy.
"Quiet," Ragia clarified. "Too quiet. Usually, by now, something would have jumped out of a vent."
"A Viper. A Locust. Something."
Maybe they are sleeping.
"Or maybe they are waiting," Ragia muttered.
He stopped at the edge of a large chamber. He peered around the corner.
The room was massive. The ceiling vaulted high into the darkness, covered in hanging cocoons. Below, on the floor, rows of Krall Troopers stood motionless. They were dormant, their heads bowed, their red skin dull in the low light.
There were hundreds of them.
"Jackpot," Gin whispered, peeking over Ragia's shoulder.
"They are in stasis," Raya observed, scanning the room. "Metabolic rates are near zero. They are preserving energy."
Ragia pulled back. He looked at his team.
"Okay," Ragia said softly. "We do this surgical. No explosions. No alarms. We take them out in their sleep."
He pointed to the ceiling.
"Prof, you take the high ground. Use the sniper configuration. Clear those cocoons before they hatch. If a Butterfly wakes up, it will alert the whole hive."
"Understood," Raya said.
She tapped her wrist, and her energy rifle shifted, extending into a long-barreled sniper mode.
"Chef," Ragia looked at Gin. "You and I take the floor. Blades and silencers. We move row by row. Throat or heart. Make sure they don't twitch."
Gin pulled a long, serrated dagger from her belt. She dipped the blade into a small pouch at her waist. The metal sizzled.
"Modified GX-778-C," Gin grinned. "One cut, and they turn to dust. I love science."
"Just don't get it on yourself," Ragia warned. "It burns."
"This would be easier if we had Stealth," Gin commented, looking at the sea of sleeping monsters.
Ragia paused…
He let out a short, quiet laugh.
"You know," Ragia said, shaking his head. "I honestly forgot."
"Forgot what?" Gin asked.
"That we have a stealth specialist," Ragia admitted. "I always forget about Stealth. She is so... quiet. Even when she is using her Melios. I keep planning these missions like we are still a four-man squad."
He looked at me.
"Is that bad writing, Narrator?" Ragia thought. "Or am I just a bad Captain?"
It is consistent characterization, Capt. You focus on the loud variables. Gap is a silent variable.
"Statistically," Raya interrupted, her voice cutting through the banter like ice. "It is highly probable that your selective memory regarding Stealth is not due to her lack of presence."
"What do you mean, Prof?" Ragia looked at her.
Raya adjusted her glasses. Her eyes were cold behind the lenses.
"You forget her," Raya stated calmly.
"Because your subconscious is actively trying to suppress the fact that she is related to the enemy."
The air in the corridor seemed to drop a few degrees.
"Gap Simmians… Stealth… She is Vexal's niece," Raya continued. "The Councilor who tried to imprison you. The man who called you a monster. She shares his genetic lineage."
"Every time you look at her, you see a shadow of him."
Ragia froze.
His smile vanished. His jaw tightened.
He looked at Raya. She was not being cruel. She was stating a fact. She was analyzing data.
"Prof," Ragia whispered. "You have a terrible sense of timing."
"Truth does not require a schedule," Raya replied.
Ragia let out a cynical laugh. It was a dry, bitter sound.
"You are right," Ragia said. "Vexal. The old snake."
He looked down at his hands. He thought about Gap. The shy Mer girl who tried so hard to fit in. The girl who built walls to protect them.
And yes... she had Vexal's eyes.
"I don't hate her," Ragia said. "She isn't him."
"Cognitive dissonance," Raya noted. "You trust her, yet you isolate her in your planning. It is a defense mechanism."
"It is a flaw," Ragia corrected. He looked up, his golden eyes hardening.
"And we don't have time for flaws right now. We have a job to do."
He checked his blaster. The silencer was screwed on tight.
"Focus," Ragia ordered. "Forget Vexal. Forget Stealth. Right now, the only thing that matters is turning these sleeping beauties into ash."
"Roger, Capt." Raya said. "Moving to position."
She dissolved into the shadows, using her own tech to lift herself toward the upper gantries of the chamber.
Ragia signaled Gin.
They moved out. They entered the chamber. The air was thick with the smell of dormant alien biology.
Ragia approached the first Trooper. It was tall, muscular, with chitinous plates covering its chest. It was sleeping standing up. He didn't hesitate. He raised his blaster. He aimed for the small gap between the helmet and the neck armor.
The blue bolt hit the Krall.
The effect was instantaneous. The modified serum in the energy bolt reacted with the alien physiology. The Krall didn't scream. It didn't fall.
It disintegrated.
It turned into a pile of purple ash that crumbled to the floor with a soft hiss.
"One down," Ragia thought.
He moved to the next one.
Beside him, Gin was working with her knife. She moved like a dancer. She stepped behind a Trooper, clamped a hand over its mouth, and drove the poisoned blade into its kidney.
The Krall stiffened. Then, it dissolved. Gin stepped back, letting the ash fall around her boots.
Above them, Raya was at work.
Ragia couldn't see her, but he could see the results.
High in the dark ceiling, the hanging cocoons were vanishing one by one.
Raya's sniper shots were precise. She was injecting the poison directly into the sacs. The cocoons shriveled, turning grey, then dusting away into nothingness before the creatures inside could even take their first breath.
"Sector A clear," Raya's voice whispered in Ragia's earpiece. "My clones report Sector B and C are also being sanitized. The Butterfly variants are neutralized."
"Good," Ragia whispered back. "Keep going. Don't stop until the floor is covered in dust."
They worked in silence.
It was a massacre. A silent, efficient, industrial-scale execution.
Ragia moved from target to target.
Aim… Fire… Ash…
Aim… Fire… Ash…
He didn't feel like a hero. He felt like an exterminator. He looked at the face of a sleeping Krall before he pulled the trigger. It looked peaceful. It looked... almost human.
"They are parasites," Ragia reminded himself. "They ate Labradlle's squad. They would eat us."
He pulled the trigger, and the Krall vanished.
"Hey, Narrator," Ragia thought as he reloaded his blaster.
I am watching, Capt.
"Is this what it feels like?" Ragia asked. "To be the bad guy? Walking into someone's house and killing them in their sleep?"
It is war, Ragia.
"It feels like murder," Ragia muttered.
He looked at the pile of purple ash at his feet.
"But I guess I can live with murder," Ragia said, his eyes cold. "If it means my family gets to live."
"Capt," Gin hissed from two rows over. "Movement."
Ragia froze. He looked where Gin was pointing. At the far end of the chamber, a massive door stood closed. It was the entrance to the bridge. To the command center.
The door was not moving, but the shadows in front of it were.
"Centaur guards," Ragia whispered. "They are awake."
He gripped his blaster.
"Okay," Ragia said. "The easy part is over."
He looked up at the darkness where Raya was hiding.
"Prof," Ragia signaled. "Regroup. We are done with the small fry. It is time for the main course."
He looked at the big door. He felt it then. A pull. A vibration in his chest.
It wasn't just Krall in there.
There was something else. Something that felt familiar. Something that felt like home, but twisted.