[Wichita] - [Medical Bay]

…

Well, he'd really done it now. Zen stared at the heavy frame on the floor, partially draped in the frame of another wounded.

Both of the bodies were wearing Union combat gear.

This fact lead to a conclusion of two things.

One, and most importantly, was that he was an idiot. And, two, that he had very likely just gone and killed what was probably a member of the team trying to rescue them.

Worse: He had done a disturbingly good job at it.

Zen did not come from a physically powerful species, but using his full frame, tiny as it was, he had smacked his target squarely on the cranium with the largest thing available. In this case, the weapon of choice had been a rather large custom wrench, that had come along with the tool-cart during the mad dash to the medical bay. There had made reliable contact directly to the front of the boned forehead of the intruder. As their suit's visor was in submission, perhaps even completely deactived, there had been nothing to block the blow at all.

Zen was a murderer.

This was just the embroidery along the list of galactic crimes he had recently committed, but if he had to rationalize it, it wasn't his finest moment.

He stared at his victim, emotions mixed. His mind tried to think its way out of the situation, but continued to fail worse with each additional detail his eyes gleamed.

In front of him lay a soldier- gear in shreds and tatters, yes, but those service tattoos didn't lie. Clear as day he could recognize the Union insignia on the shoulder blades- and the further indication of service- a long list of symbols, cut off beneath the synthetic fabric which remained. Zen didn't know the exact details, but this was clearly a veteran, possibly a special unit, deployed for only the most difficult of missions.

Such as rescuing trapped Union researching in a classified facility...

Oh, he'd messed up.

Grabbing two nanite capsules, Zen decided to take a gamble. It might work, or might do nothing, OR might kill the soldier a second time, but truth be told, he was already in enough trouble he didn't feel a tremendous amount of worry. Trying not to flinch, he slammed one of capsules down into the thick frame with a sick sound, of a tiny piercing needle hissing out an injection.

The nanites he had on hand were mostly a Union [High-Class] fueled solution, which were a type that came with its own liquid calories. Each one of them possessed twice what would be required for Zen to survive a week, but they were extremely condensed, to the point where the injection sites smelled sickeningly sweet in a vile sort of way. They were meant for emergency situations regarding open wounds, reattaching limbs, and curing malignant cellular growth.

Zen figured if they couldn't fix some head trauma, they weren't worth their weight.

Turning to Phesol, he provided her with a quarter of a dose. He knew that her species, the Birsingidarians, were too small and fragile to withstand a full treatment, but he was almost tempted to try and give her more until she started to move. The coils of vines shivered, then coughed, her center of mass spitting out bile and weak acid- and no longer blood.

At least the nanites were working.

Zen turned back towards the soldier he'd bludgeoned, warily. As long as the injection made its way to the wound- the soldier might live, though he wasn't at all certain about the specifics of the creature's species. The fallen soldier didn't look like any he was familiar with, and Zen could only hope he'd not made things worse.

If a species isn't strong enough, and overdose of nanites could easily consume it from the inside out.

Zen didn't ponder that for very long.

Quiet rasps of air indicated that the Minrok the soldier had been carrying was still alive, and its breath rising and falling in slow, short, puffs. Much like what Zen had inflicted upon its fellow, the Mintrok had head trauma. Its carapace was pronounced, and the shell was cracked and foaming. Perhaps, with a primitive and ancestral reaction, likely left from the heritage of an oceanic world- meant to clot the wound.

He had seen creatures like Mintrok before in his studies. Though his samples were not intelligent, many of the samples experimented upon in the laboratory came from similar evolutionary environments, some even from heavier gravity planets. Places that had even stronger gravity than Attica. The healing of natural armor, would almost always come with the form of a biologic adhesive- a means to reseal, and reinforce the body as it grew back into place. The Mintrok was covered in examples of such an occurrence- hundreds upon thousands of tiny hairline fractures, stacked upon several massive “scars.”

The symbols of a Union engineer was staggered along the edges of one of those scars. Clearly defining their rank and purpose, despite the occasional break in the shell.

So... An engineer and a soldier...

Zen wondered at that. The possibilities for such a pair were... troubling. Union engineering units were usually contained in squads, and rarely went into combat zones. In a system that required replaceable parts, Engineers were not fitting in the mold. They took cycles to train even with the most intelligent of species, and thus they could not be wasted lightly.

Neither, Zen supposed, could elite special forces...

The Mintrok was quite small in comparison to the creature that had carried it in. The soldier was huge- eight units at least if it had been standing, and its limbs were disturbingly thick. Zen was lucky it had been hunched over enough for his melee to reach. Or unlucky... the realization set in.

Zen felt like a colossal idiot. On top of now being a murderer, if he ever got out of this facility, he was going to be ripped apart in some high-class military court for void-only-knew-what. Because of his interference he may have caused a mission more important than the life of everyone in the sector, to have failed.

It was a big “if” at least, in regards to getting out of the facility. Zen was under the impression at this point he would be paying for his crimes in a rather brutal fashion long before a court could get him in its clutches. Still, it was best to at least make the effort, and perhaps the Mintrok could still be saved.

There was going to be a lot of work to do with that one, but it was feasible. The other soldier one would have to live or die on its own accord. Priorities came first.

....

[Fringe world- Remnants of Union Base: 33rd Lines]

[Two full Planetary rotations after Emergency-landing]

...

He lead the boarding party by default. In a metaphoric fashion, everyone else had stepped back from the idea, and he had been too preoccupied with the sheer number of absurd circumstances that lead them to this, to properly react in time do the same.

In defense of the collective agreement that placed him in the front, just going on what the holo-files listed, Juuso Trohon fit the bill.

With a history of military experience both on and off the lines, he was a combat veteran with several successful missions. Topping that off, he was even a Rullah buck, which were known as the strongest overall of known the species within the Union. With several other veteran of Union service in the Engineering squad working with him, why wouldn't he be the perfect candidate to take the lead into the downed ship?

There were reasons.

In fact, there were many reasons- more than Juuso cared to count, but none he could bring himself to admit aloud in front of witnesses. Certainly not individuals he had come to respect. The summary of those numerous parts and shattered pieces, was simply put:

Juuso was a coward.

Each rotation he had spent aboard the vessel, had included something that set him off him. Past experiences would flick to the present as flash of remembrance. The flaming pulses of ions off the thrusters dragged his mind to another place. Where exploding hulls had sent Union soldiers flinging into the empty, cold void of space. Where the yells for help turning to screams, as his fellows were consumed from the inside out by a wildfire of Consumption.

These thoughts put his fine scales into a cold flush, as his lungs filled and emptied in a quickened rate and pace.

Their freefall towards the planet surface... the screams of terror mixed with calm orders from the bridge... All it had done was remind him of the communication lines, of voices pleading for help when there was none left to give, and ships burned in the furious fire of mercurial laser arrays- melted down to their very souls-

"CEASE." His mind shouted, his breath catching to release in a hiss beneath his visor. "Cease..."

Juuso was damaged now, and he knew it well. A warrior was something his ego could only pretend to be, to claim honor in past accomplishments which he knew could never be repeated. When he'd once been young and brave, he was no matured, and shattered.

He was a coward.

And yet they had chosen him.

As many cowards do, he could not bear the shame, so he lead them in an effort to hide behind the facade, with the illusion of his strength. Juuso knew it was wrong, but he continued to do so, regardless. Perhaps, this was some twisted, and selfish, form of bravery. Or, perhaps he was a fool who gambled with the lives of everyone behind him.

Juuso couldn't decide.

The two Mintrok males scuttled along his flanks as they cleared the passageways, slowly approaching their destination. It was dark in the halls, and in the tiny ship, the walkways almost felt like tunnels. Space consolidation was mandatory on vessels such as this one, where volume was extremely limited in respect to functionality. This ship was meant for specifically tuned purposes, and unlike the freighter- large open spaces did not fit into the Union designs.

What struck him as odd, was how little temperature control was in place. Certainly soldiers would be considered a hardier group on an average, having been through training to survive in worse conditions than most individuals in the Union would ever hope to encounter- but it was very cold.

Too cold.

Perhaps that was the strangest part, as if it were being done intentionally.

The air outside of the ship was warm, tropical even by the two Mintrok's standards. They had said as much when they first stepped out onto the planet's soil, and their home-world was largely swampland and shallow ocean. For the inside of the ship to be cold, Juuso had to consider that unlike most situations, which a ship would be experiencing in the void, this ship couldn't lose temperature on the planet surface. Once it landed, it could only hope to grow warmer.

Why then, was it cold?

Not many species Juuso knew of enjoyed the cold, and though it wasn't enough to cause any true harm, even over the long-term, this was a very strange temperature for a ship to be set. He felt it meant something- something important, but for all the scars on his scales, Juuso couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer.

Another fallen vent blocked their paths as they reached the inclined ramp which would lead to the ship bridge. The layout had been predictable, with the bridge towards the upper center of the craft. There had been no survivors spotted yet, and if their luck held, Juuso hoped there would be none at all. It would be a difficult thing to explain- why they were going to be stealing classified military information. The temporary Shipmaster's kin had provided them with an interface module which would largely automate the process for them, but they still had to get the device into the hard-ports of the captain's chair.

Juuso twisted his neck a full one hundred and eighty degrees, flexing his joints as he eyed Di'her, barely illuminated in the back of the group, near Ch'Korob and the new shipmaster, Syzah.

The young Siren held the device at his hip; a tiny disc link, which sat next to the side arm. It always interested Juuso how different the spawn were from Yitale. Worlds of difference, truly, between the Shipmaster he had contracted to follow, and the youth who wore her spare cape. He wouldn't have followed at all, were it not for the fact that the boy had talent.

Juuso had sat on the upper deck of the freighter during the landing. He had seen the route on which they skimmed the planet surface, and he had borne witness to the genius that had guided them to rest safely.

The adolescent didn't look like much, but the proof was undeniable. They were all still alive because that tiny frame managed to steer their brick of a trade-ship in from orbit, out of a shitstorm, and into a high gravity world. Everyone would be a liquefied, jelly-paste coating whatever scraps that could have been found in the tremendous crater, formerly known as “The Red Scar.”

Reports he'd seen had called the ship that during the initial news on its rise to fame: “The red scarred ship.” Juuso had come to think of it as such, as a vessel with a history. He respected it. The Shipmaster had scars, the ship-beast did as well, so why not the ship? It was nothing if not fitting, and most had agreed it was a better name than “The big fracking brick” which was what many of the veteran crew members jokingly called the freighter when Yitale wasn't around to hear them.

His claws gripped the metal vent with both sets of upper limbs, as his spine flexed, forcing muscles into position. The metal groaned, and gave, as he shifted it out of their path. The noise that clattered through the packed hall behind him, tensed his senses to full alert, as the Mintrok skirted around him to advance upon the bridge gate.

Their shelled bodies clacked in a heavy brace, as they saddled up to either side of the locked entryway. Juuso, took the front point drawing his weapons, as the rest of the group moved to advance. He stared at the solid metal, and the metal stared back. What was beyond it, he could only guess.

“Are you ready?” Di'her had taken point behind him, blocking the Shipmaster- who stood farther back with Ch'Korob, both of which keeping a grim awareness of the shadows behind them.

Juuso watched from behind his visor, as the Mintrok engineers took out the plasma cutters, and began the process- flaring up light that threw shadows dancing along the hall. Flickers and flame, running and jumping in front of his tinted glass and thin combat shield. He felt his vocal lungs clench, as he sucked in more air than he needed. He would stay calm.

The cuts moved up in an arch, along the perimeter of the gate itself, their torching glow persistent as the fires of ships- flying along the lines in his mind. His claws began to curl, their sharpened points sliding uselessly over the floor of the ship, making faint dissonance of resistance. He could be dead soon, when that door fell.

Di'her shifted, readying herself, her tail falling in straight behind her- as if she were to lean forward for a sprint. The Mintrok were much the same, their limbs bracing for the push, as the final licks of plasma cut through.

How was it that he was so afraid, when the others stood so strong?

Was it a curse, that he had been born into this existence, and never received some simple teaching. Did he live in some shaded cover, unable to grasp the practiced skills that would lead him to bravery, in seas of lost honor- choking in his own fear for every experience he had hoped to overcome?

He had thought himself brave once, but it had simply been ignorance. An empty shell when set next to those that surrounded him, facing the unknown with determined grit and humor.

As the door fell, he fought the urge to turn back. He didn't want to die.

Life was more important than honor.

Di'her was moving. If he refused to move, would his lack of action lead to the Siren's death? If the human returned, how long would Juuso really survive, once he had learned? Those words had been all too clear, the threat all too real as the memory of his encounter echoed in the stillness of his mind.

“If you harm her, I will kill you.”

The edge between a certain death, and a gamble was to sharp to stand on. The choice was clear. As his limbs flew into motion, to charge beyond the veil of the hall, and into the unknown, it was not bravery that drove him. It was fear as its substitute. And honor could rot in the halls of those long dead- Juuso would chose to live, even if he'd be damned to the void.

....

The flashes of gunfire erupted instantly. Burst of lights came flashing in and past him, impacts rippling and distorting the combat shield of his suit like heavy rocks onto still water. Each blow shook him, as if a hard shove, or an unexpected slip- throwing his balance. Even on four legs, Juuso felt his weight shifting as another blast smacked his visor, and in doing so, crushed what was left of his armor's resistance. His shields failed with a sizzling series of crack.

Death was going to take him, and he would be forced to dance his final pitiful moments.

The dance of death was almost upon him.

He wasn't ready. Void take him, he wasn't ready- not yet, not now. He couldn't die here. He couldn't die here-

“Friend Juuso.” A soft touch lay on his shoulder.

The room was still, lightly illuminated- but clouded by the streams of spent light-rounds. The fight had ended as suddenly as it had begun. Ch'Korob's strange coloration shifted in quiet flourishes as the lizard lifted his claw from Juuso's flickering armor.

“You did well. The twins and Di'her took them down while you drew their fire.” Ch'Korob's pause held, as a thin tongue flicked out to taste the air. “You were very brave. I have no doubt one of us would have died if you hadn't acted.”

Juuso could smell the scents of death, and terror now. It held in the air, dissonant and wrong. Impossible to ignore, no matter how he tried. More than a slight amount of that terror was his own, plain as day for him to recognize, and possibly Ch'Korob as well.

Juuso had doubts on the others, and their detection of scents- but Oxot had come from a world very similar to his own. One glance at Ch'Korob confirmed there was no secret there, just an accepted fact.

This was further dishonor, but Juuso knew it well by now. Dishonor was familiar. At least he had not danced off into the red haze of death. He would carry on another day, the weight on his soul a bearable exchange.

“These bodies don't look right.” Di'her had crouched down to inspect the first fallen. It was a Alalozun, but it was frail, sickened even. The killing blow had been to the chest, but its body looked as though it had been distressed long before the light-round took it. Its plumage was discolored from malnutrition, and its beak was horribly chipped.

Any evidence of basic needs was missing as Di'her rolled the body over to check for other injuries. What caught her attention, caused her to recoil in shock. “They were already dead!”

True enough, the back of the Alalozun's neck was simply a gaping hole, its skull hollow. Blood didn't so much as leak from the gap. In fact, it was polished and clean, reflecting the light of their visors in a pale glow, which made it seem unreal. A wound of that size shouldn't be sanitized, or anything close to it.

“There isn't even inflammation, or some sign of infection- or rot. I'm not even sure how this is possible.” Di'her had begun to pivot in an arc, her side arm once again drawn as her visor light fell on the other bodies. “Those wounds are fatal- were fatal. Something's wrong.”

"They were alive when we came in, weren't they?" Syzah nervously inched by the largest corpse, a species unfamiliar to Juuso- some strange tangled mess of a creature. Its many limbs were green, and seemed to be interwoven into fitting arrangements, as though it were some biological cross-stitch. “They clearly shot at us. Did we just imagine that?”

“No, there are spent light rounds all over the floor." Di'her ran a small handheld scanner along one of the corpses, eyeing the readings it presented. "It's how they did it... they've got half their central nervous systems missing.” Di'her shifted a corpse's head with her foot, revealing its backside to the visor light. Its skull was hollow, clunking with a disturbing noise against the metal floor. “I don't know what this is, but it isn't normal.” The Siren inched away from the body, as she kept her profile low. “Do any of you feel that?"

On the elevated portion of the bridge, Syzah let out a shudder, dropping the device in a panicked recoil, his hands shaking uncontrollably. The two Mintrok were frozen nearby the young shipmaster- but it was only now that Juuso realized how still they were- their many eyes though, were fevered in their jumping and addled movements.

Her composure was falling as Di'her tried to draw her weapon- only to drop it as her limbs began to tremble in jerky motions. The Siren's song rang out quietly, as her breath exhaled with a trebled note of horror.

“Something is very wrong.” She gasped. "Something-"

He felt it then, a primal terror. The type you could never prepare for. He had never tried any of the cultural spices from the Rullah home planet, but he had heard enough to make a comparison. The horror, the confusion, the sheer shock of utter ego-death, hit him at once.

It hit everyone.

The Mintrok stumbled to the floor, the Oxot's color fell away to gray as it slumped into a control panel, holo-screen prompting command codes on the flickering graphics- its tail twitching in uncontrolled spasms.

Were they drugged? Had they missed something? Was there a gas?

They had cleared the room, removed the hostiles, taken away any visible weaponry, but maybe they had missed something- some dead-man's switch, some military bio-toxin Juuso hadn't been aware of. A gas of some type- odorless perhaps, that could cause hysteria. Some inner system crowd control method?

He clung on, as his mind, his identity, fell slack. Juuso felt muscles locked in place, holding him upright- giving him a perfect view of what was approaching. It was then he realized their error- the possibility which they had overlooked, when the evidence had been screaming at them the entire time.

Psychokinesis.

It was a mass, gelatinous in shape and form, but not like that of a Gastruca. It molded in ways that seemed akin to a time-lapse, of something that was literally creating and recycling its own flesh in an effort to propel forward, towards him. He felt the presence of many, weighing down- their focus purely on domination, and control.

It was coming for him.

It was screaming.

The flesh, and it was flesh, although it was stretched and absent of tissue as Juuso had been aware prior- seemed to fight itself, in a desperate cluster of bulging parts. As they grew closer, the units shaving away, he felt each one screaming out in a shrill noise- only in his mind.

“Rullah! First the Rullah!”

“Let me take him, his mind is fear- delicious fear.”

“Flesh- his flesh is strong, a strong body, a strong host”

“LET ME TAK-”

A shot hit the mass, sending the sum of its parts flying in different directions- the splattering of a flesh puddle- a burning husk remained in its center. The voices screamed in pain, but the pressure on his mind didn't release- it just became more daunting, organization of forced suppression turning to a dozen voices shouting over one another. Their determination now motivated by terror.

“TAKE THE RULLAH! QUICKLY, TAKE TH-”

Another shot rang out, as the closest of the organic blobs of flesh melted away into a steaming puddle, under the burning power of a light-round. With each shot that followed, Juuso felt the claws grasping his mind loosen, and dissipate. His muscles slackened, enough for him to turn towards the entryway- and witness the individual responsible.

With each flash from the weapon's muzzle, Juuso could see a bi-pedal figure. Its features were simplistic, plain even. Its limbs possessed a metallic sheen which seemed to catch the glow of the surroundings.

As it advanced, each shot was accurate, and deadly so. With machine-like efficiency, it reloaded its wepaon with a flawless speed the same instant a soft click, announced that the weapon had depleted. Then, the supply of ammunition was replaced, and it continue firing.

“BETRAYAL! WE HAVE BEEN BETRAYE-”

The voice was silenced with brutal abruptness, leaving only the aftertaste of horrid anger and a tainted disbelief.

Though the amplification of the voices lessened with each shot- each kill, Juuso felt the anger smoldering, until the bitter end. As the last creature's life sizzled from existence, and it all collapsed to his own memory and nothingness, leaving him alone once again with his thoughts.

The room was silent for a time. The Mintrok shakily took their footing, as Ch'Korob fell to all fours, shaking his head with a flurry of colors which traveled down his length. At the head of the bridge, Di'her was pulling Syzah to his feet, as the young shipmaster shakily stumbled back to the railing overlooking the room.

No one spoke, they just stared. The lone figure stared back.

It wasn't much to look at. Simplicity was built into the very design, and there was a lacking of artistic flourishes. Two arms, two legs, a thin torso with a slightly angled upper body. It had no tail, or excess of limbs- just a soft illumination of internal power sources, slipping from each of its joints. A pale orange glow.

Juuso had seen this in many forms, many times- but never in combat, never as a weapon.

It was formidable.

“I suppose you're wondering what that was.” The figure spoke with an artificial filter, playing audio through its synthetic frame. “Or, more importantly, who I am.”

The room remained silent for a moment, before Juuso took the initiative to speak.

“Yes.”

The figure turned to him, allowing him to see more clearly in the dim lighting, clarifying what Juuso had already suspected.

“Those were Gemynd. A bonded cluster of them, to be more accurate.”

“And what does that make you?” Juuso asked, placing his upper arms onto the handles of his weapons, checking the shield gauge on his visor's HUD screen.

[Fifty seven percent]

In the current condition he could take one solid hit before those popped, and with the dim lighting he might be able to evade... no, he had seen those shots fire. The was a very good chance that whoever was standing in front of him could kill every single individual in this room before they took it down.

There would only be one true chance. He would have to forgo safety, fall on the blade, and embrace the dance if it came to that. Juuso readied himself.

"Hold." Its synthetic arms raised in an artificial, friendly mannerism, away from the weapon on its hip.

“I'd rather not have a misunderstanding Rullah. Unlike the rest of this ship, I'm no longer in the service. I've recently taken the liberty of extricating myself from the military entirely.”

Juuso froze, his secondary limbs partly raised.

[Sixty four percent]

“And you would murder your kin for what, exactly?” Juuso let the question hang as a statement. For anyone not aware of exactly what they were dealing with: it had to be clear.

This was no safer then before.

Its reply seemed callous, as it cooly held his gaze, the artificial glow of ocular inputs meeting his visor.

“Well, you see, it's rare that one such as myself could ever get a chance at retirement, and I have rather grand designs in mind.”

“I've had quite a long time to consider it." Its torso rotated at frightening speed one hundred and eighty degrees, to face the elevated portion of the bridge, abruptly disregarding the tense atmosphere. "Hundreds upon hundreds of cycles." It let the statement hang, before turning once more. "May I inquire your name, Shipmaster?”

Di'her flinched visibly as the occular lights passed over to settle on her and Syzah. The younger Siren, though, held his composure. It was difficult to see past the tinted visor that covered his face, so Juuso was uncertain whether it was in true confidence, or forced bravado.

“Syzah, spawn of Yitale, Shipmaster of the Red Scar.” Syzah's hands clenched against the rail as he leaned forward slightly, his tail flicking in a mannerism Juuso had learned to interpret as hostile. “And yourself, Gemynd?”

Juuso knew that Synthetic bodies could not display emotion. They were simply machines in which actions and information can be utilized through. An imperfect medium designed for specific tasks. Their face plates, body shells, and underlying interior, had no place for such habits of the flesh. Still, Juuso would wager every scar on his back, that he had seen it grin.

A sadistic, maniacal grin that made blood curdle, and scales dull.

“Why of course, Shipmaster. You may call me Xios.”