Oscar Irons walked up to the station check-in, he put his ID up and the automated scanner beeped at him. Then the airlock opened and he walked through it. He was immediately greeted by three security guards. At a glance, Oscar knew that they were double digits and probably high-class ones; (deathworlders) at that. The thousands of races around the Galaxy evolved on different worlds. Those worlds were classified on a scale of 1 to 20, though no species had ever evolved to sentience on a class 20 and a class 1 planet was still theoretical.

The aliens loomed over Oscar, each one was over eight feet tall of pure muscle. Those muscles were hidden under several inches of thick exoskeleton. Their six eyes burned with barely contained hatred and disgust. On their backs were two huge tanks of methane and nitrogen, easily two hundred kilos each.

“Terran’s are not welcome aboard this station.” one of them snarled at him. Oscar sighed, he had visited this same station at least a dozen times in the past month and was almost certain he had talked to these exact guards multiple times.

“Can’t a man get a drink in peace?” he asked, “you know, you can’t bar entry from a station without a warrant from the station chief right?”

The tallest of the three snapped its mandibles at Oscar and turned off its translator. Then it conversed with its two compatriots. They growled, barked, and trumpeted at each other, sounding like a mix of canines and elephants. Oscar felt his hand go to his hip and wrap around the smooth wood grip of a snub-nosed revolver.

The Xenos’ conversation seemed to turn into an argument and teeth were bared and claws extended. Oscar decided now was as good a time as any and slipped away. The three deathworlders didn’t pay the lowly human any attention as they glared at each other.

Oscar walked along the main corridor of the station, to either side where dozens of buildings, most were some sort of bar or market. As he walked into the more crowded parts of the station, people began to notice him. Most ignored him, some held children and loved ones closer, and others were openly hostile. For that reason, most Terrans never left their ships when on voyages and those that did always carried weapons. In Oscar's case, it was an ancient pistol that fired tungsten flechettes. Simple and reliable, it had saved his life on several occasions.

He finally found what he was looking for, the Easy-Eight. Oscar nodded to the bouncer at the door, a man wearing military surplus powered armor holding a M88 rifle.

“That you Oz?” he asked and Oscar showed him his ID, “Good to see you're still in one piece.”

“It’s good to see you too Hans, ET not causing too much trouble I hope?”

“Been quiet so far, but you know how it is, all it takes is one of those fuckers getting the wrong idea and they’ll linch the lot of us.”

Oscar patted him on the shoulder and walked inside. Several dozen terrans sat on couches or at the bar talking to each other. Immediately they all looked up at the new arrival.

“Ah, Mr. Irons, welcome back.” the bartender said and conversations resumed. Oscar scanned the room and found none of his shipmates so he sat down at the bar and ordered a drink.

“Hey, you’re one of the guys from that ship that came in today right?” a guy to his left said, Oscar shifted his attention to look at him. He was tall, incredibly muscular, with a standard spacer’s shaved head.

“Depends on who’s asking.” Oscar said and folded my arms.

The man smiled, “the names Sullivan, Michael Sullivan. I’m the captain of the Mistral.” He said and offered him a hand. Oscar shook it and the bartender put his drink down in front of him.

“The Mistral huh,” he said, “like the one mercenary destroyer?”

Michael gave him a thin smile, “We prefer the term private security contractor, makes us sound more professional you know.”

Oscar bit back a retort about how “professional” mercenaries really were, having almost lost his life when their hired guns had run in the face of a pirate crew. He lost several friends that day and had to have his left hand regrown after it had been gobbled up by a Helifax.

“So, what brings you here?” Oscar asked, trying to make polite conversation. Michael smiled broadly at him.

“Why, just trying to recruit some more people to join my crew.” he said and Oscar sighed audibly.

“I’m not interested.”

“Oh, come on at least give me a chance.” he said and Oscar was about to respond when all the music in the room cut off.

“What the hell?”

The TV beeped loudly and the screen went blue, then flashed to life. A man walked onto a large stage with the flag of the United States behind it. He stepped up to a large podium and adjusted a microphone. The bar buzzed with hushed conversation.

“That’s the president of the United States right?” Oscar whispered, and Michael nodded.

“Yeah Arthur Reyes, won the vote by a landslide last year.”

The president cleared his throat and the bar quieted down.

“Forty three years ago, on October 11th, 2394 first contact was made with the Rokoran Compact. Ten years later, Terra and her people were introduced to the wider galaxy and with it, the Galactic senate.

Humanity was refused a seat in the senate and was shunned and laughed at by the other races of the galactic community. They thought us weak, backwards, and barbaric Little did they know they had only seen a fraction of humanity. When they realized the true extent of humanity across the stars, and the magnitude of their errors, the other races showed only indignity and distrust. Even as Terran aid landed on backwaters and war torn planets. Even as Terran ships patrolled the space lanes. Even as Terran citizens laid down their lives to save others, we were treated not as equals or peers, but as cheats and liars.

For years, the Senate has worked behind our backs to undermine humanity and all we stand for. They fund our enemies, they ignore the rampant racism and prejudice towards terrans, they refuse to allow humanity a seat or say on the Galactic council. And through all of this humanity has still shown nothing but respect and honor to the other races.

Then, on January 1st 2437, Rokoran and Stigarian forces suddenly and ruthlessly invaded the Arcadia system and massacred the Terran population. Not only did the Senate refuse to condemn these actions. On the contrary, the Galactic Senate congratulated them on their victory.

But if the Xenos believe that they can bully and cow humanity into submission, then they are sorely mistaken. The deaths in Arcadia will not go in vain. Humanity will never be caught unprepared again. Mankind will once again march into space united in purpose. Every wonder encountered shall be utilized. Every challenge overcome, and every terror vanquished. And when those responsible for the deaths of billions are found. Each injustice will be repaid a hundred, then a thousand times over. Terra Invictus! Terra Indomitable!”

The transmission ended and for almost a full minute the entire bar was deathly still, not a single person spoke. Then all at once, everyone started yelling. The door to the bar slammed open and Hans ran in, “We got to move! NOW!”

For a moment, no one moved, “Hey, if you idiots want to get spaced by ET, be my guest. But I’m getting out of here.” Michael said and got up, Oscar followed behind him a few seconds later. Then quickly the rest of the bar followed, “We gotta make it to the docks before they close all the hatches on us.” Oscar said and picked the pace up.

He turned a corner and ran head first into an alien, Oscar slammed his head into its thick exoskeleton. His vision blurred as he stumbled back a step before falling on his ass.

“OH SHIT!” someone yelled then the hallway flashed green and people started screaming. Michael grabbed Oscar by the collar and dragged him back around the corner.

“Get your ass up!” he yelled into Oscar’s ear. Michael pulled out a handgun and pointed it at the corner. Hans knelt beside him, rifle up, finger on the trigger.

“Hey, Hans what’s that suit telling you?” Michal shouted. Modern battle armor had incredibly advanced sensors that allowed soldiers to see through walls and scan entire rooms in a microsecond. Hans pinged the hallway around the corner and noted three ET’s.

“Three armed deathworlds, Class 14, armed with plasma rifles and no armor.” he said, Oscar pulled his revolver out and pulled the hammer back.

“Fuck!” Oscar swore and turned around, “Anyone got a rifle on them by chance.”

The mob of concerned looking humans shook their heads. Most humans carried pistols or knives for self defence not large caliber weapons.

“Whatever we do, we better make it quick.” One of them said, “Greg’s not gonna last much longer.”

Oscar leaned over and saw the man that had been shot. The bottom third of his leg was missing. At the midpoint of where his shin would have been was a charred mess and the whitish bone shown through.

“We stay here, they cut off the O2 and we asphyxiate. We try to run to the other side of the station and it’ll be a shooting gallery nevermind the fact that that’s the one way down to the docks, so I don’t think we have a choice.” Michael said. “We have to kill those fugly sons of bitches.”

“Hans is the only one here with a weapon that even stands a chance at putting one of those monsters down.” Oscar said, “so we’re going to have to distract them while he shoots.”

“They’re moving up right now.” Hans snapped and we looked at each other.

“Good luck,” Michael said, “On three.”

The entire group counted down together, “One, two, three!”

Oscar pushed himself off the ground and ran around the corner, Michael followed a heartbeat later. Seeing two of their numbers follow through with the plan, the rest of the humans followed suit. Oscar pointed the revolver at the leading deathworlder, lined up the sights and pulled the trigger. A fireball exploded out the muzzle and half a dozen tungsten sabots spat out of its short barrel. All six hit the alien squarely in the head, bone dust particles puffed into the air as it trumpeted in pain. Oscar pulled the hammer back and fired again. The deathworlders opened fire and the woman to his left liquidized as two plasma rounds hit her.

Blood and gore smeared across the wall, men and women dropped like puppets with their strings cut. Michael tossed aside an empty magazine and slammed another one home. He sprayed the left most xeno with 4.7mm sabots to no effect. His eyes widened as the alien turned its attention on him, the smooth, organic looking plasma rifle in its hands pointed right at his chest. Then the deathworlder’s head exploded, brain tissue splattered the ceiling and chunks of bone shot everywhere like shrapnel.

Hans fired again, this time the hypodermic needle hit the deatherworlder in the chest. The penetrator punched a neat hole in its exoskeleton, injecting its explosive payload inside its unprotected flesh before detonating. The aliens chest erupted outwards and it collapsed onto the ground. He shifted his attention to the next xeno, dropping it with three well placed shots. The last one fired at Hans but the shot glanced off his suit and splashed on the wall. It fired again, this time it hit him straight in the chest. The plasma biting into the suit's armor, Hans lined up another shot and turned the final deathworlder to paste.

Oscar sighed with relief and turned around. The back wall was covered in scorch marks and human remains. Chunks of half melted human flesh clung to every surface. The air itself was tinted red with blood and stunk of charred meat. Oscar fell to his knees and vomited across the ground, around him many of the other survivors had similar reactions.

“Come on, we gotta move.” Michael said and put a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “They’re already dead, there’s nothing we can do for them.”

Oscar wiped his mouth and stood up. Hans was shuffling the survivors into the lift and Michael walked over to one of the deathworlder’s corpses. He reached down and picked up the large plasma rifle. He hefted it above his shoulder and got in the lift.

The lift’s doors slammed shut as it sped down to the docks.

“Alright, are we going to talk about that?” Oscar asked reloading his gun, the rest of the survivors looked back at him blankly.

“Talk about what?”

“HOW WE JUST DECLARED WAR ON THE ENTIRE GALAXY!!”

“What’s there to talk about, we all know first hand how they treat us. It was only a matter of time before it happened.”

“But the entire Senate! That’s ninety three different races!”

“So? Humanity accounts for almost a third of sentient life anyways.”

“We are so fucked!”

“We can talk about this after we’re safe on the ship.” Michael spat and the lift dinged. Oscar took a deep breath and tried to calm down. The doors opened and a blast of heat hit them. He raised a hand to cover his face and ran outside.

“What in the Goddamn is causing all that heat!” Someone yelled, Oscar looked around. Most of the docking bays were empty, but four still had ships in them. Gunfire could be heard coming from the one closest to the elevator. Two more were actively on fire, the only ship left unscathed was a large dagger shaped destroyer.

“Come on, we gotta make it to the Mistral or we’re all dead.” Michael yelled and started sprinting to his ship. The lift dinged again and a dozen robots scuttled out of it immediately firing on the humans.

“Hit the lift!” Michael screamed into a com device and a single point defence turret from the Mistral spun around and locked on.

“Are you crazy?”

The turret roared to life, filling the docking bay with harsh yellow light. The robots disintegrated under the downpour of fire as shrapnel sprayed through the station hitting bystanders and severing critical systems. Oscar didn’t have time to wonder how many had been caught in the crossfire. He sprinted to the destroyer and smashed his ID onto the scanner. The airlock refused to open and a red X appeared on the screen.

Michael slid by him, shoving him out of the way and waving his card over it, “you don’t have access you vegetable.”

The airlock opened with a hiss, the surviving humans scrambled inside as the point defence system opened up again. “Turn that off!”

“No way, that’s the only thing keeping them from blowing us all to hell.”

“You’re getting innocent people killed.”

“Who gives a shit, we’ll be killing them by the millions in a couple of weeks anyways so why not get a head start while we’re here?”

Oscar gritted his teeth, he would have shot the man but that wouldn't have done anything. The airlock cycled open and six armored silhouettes stormed in rifles ready, green lasers scanning every millimeter of the airlock. One of the soldiers popped the visor off their helmet.

“It’s good to have you back sir.” she said and motioned towards the rest of the humans with the barrel of her gun, “they with us?”

Michael looked back and laughed, “not like they have any choice.”

The 1MC crackled to life, “Undocking procedures initiated, all personnel to battle stations time to warp jump three minutes.”

That caused everyone to scramble out of the hanger and make their way to the bridge. No one knew what happened to those caught by themselves or outside of battlestations during the transition to warp space but the blood stained walls and missing crew members were a strong enough incentive that no one was in a hurry to find out.

The bridge was a small metal bunker hidden deep within the guts of the ship. It had its own O2, electrical, and water. Screens were placed everywhere, giving the crew full sightlines in every direction. The destroyer rumbled as its fusion engines ignited, the gravity compensators kicked in a few moments later.

“Sir, two ships have left the station and are following us.” a man at one of the consoles called out. “Make that four ships.”

“Show me a scan.”

“IFF transponders show two human cargo carriers, the other two are unidentified, classified as hostile.” the screen flashed white as one of the cargo ships exploded in a brilliant flash of light.

“Damn it, we can’t let them take out the other one.” Michael growled, “warm up the MARS cannon and unmask rail guns. I want missile tubs three and six on standby with a firing solution on the second ship.”

“Aye sir, MARS cannon is at ninety percent capacity.”

“Get me an accurate scan on those ships.”

There was a short pause, “Scanners show two Instigator class Rokoran destroyers with full shields.”

“We have to hold them off until that ship can get out of range.” Oscar shouted and Michael glowered at him.

“Shut your mouth.”

“MARS cannon is fully charged, waiting for a go order.”

“Fire!”

“On the way!” the lights flickered momentarily as the capacitors were drained of their power. Launching a 600 ton depleted uranium slug out at nearly one percent of light speed. The Mistral shook violently, several of the survivors losing their balance. A bolt of red streaked across space before slamming into the leading ship. Sensors were momentarily blinded before returning to full function.

The gunner gave out a loud whoop, “That’s a hit!”

“Hit it again!”

“On the way!” another round slammed into the enemy destroyer and it’s engines cut off and it started drifting in space.

“Splash one, capacitors at eighteen percent.”

“Turn the hull towards the other destroyer, they’ll turn us into swiss fucking cheese with those plasma lances if we show them our side.”

“Incoming missile fire, I hope engineering cleared those guns.” on the display, nine red arrows raced towards the Mistral. There was a cone of red surrounding the ship that showed the minimum distance required for a kill and those missiles were getting uncomfortably close. Times like these made Oscar wish that they had shields.

A portal opened in front of the remaining cargo ship, casting it in red and purple light before disappearing. “Friendly ship is away, transit to warp space in thirty seconds.”

The enemy missiles reached the outer range of point defense guns and Oliver felt the ship start to spin, the guns opened fire releasing a cloud of bullets that saturated the space around the Mistral. The missiles started to jink around, changing attack vectors as their AI’s tried to evade the flak. Two were destroyed outright and the rest had sent themselves off course and were scrambling to readjust only to be met by accurate laser fire that burned neat holes through their ballistics computers.

“Fire missiles three and six, give them one last fuck you before we get our asses out of this shit hole.” Michael said as the Mistral was enveloped by an eerie red light.