Ryvek exited the debriefing bay, the hiss of the sliding door sealing behind him like the closing of a vault.
The polished corridor stretched ahead, silent and still, illuminated by narrow bands of cool overhead lights embedded in the ceiling. Their pale glow skimmed across the reflective floor, casting subtle shadows beneath his boots as he moved.
The remnants of artificial gore had begun to dry across his uniform, dark against the S-Rank insignia marked cleanly across his chest. Though most personnel avoided the hallway entirely when he was scheduled to pass, the few who remained still caught sight of him—always at the corner of their vision, and always with a stiffening of posture or a too-quick glance away the moment they noticed him.
"Packet integration complete. Squad composition confirmed. Operational status: green. Estimated deployment: thirty-seven minutes," VIREN's voice was clinical, embedded within Ryvek's neural feed.
He turned down a corner and made his way toward the lift junction. The corridor opened into the atrium, which branched into various wings of Sector 2¹. As he stepped through, a fast and sharp movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention.
A figure rounded the corner just ahead, coming from the opposite lift—a young woman in matte-black field gear, slightly oversized on her small frame. She clutched a data slate close to her chest. Her visor flicked as it calibrated mid-stride, emitting soft flickers of blue across her dark hair. As soon as she saw Ryvek, she slowed abruptly, boots skidding slightly on the polished floor as her breath caught in her throat.
Without meeting his eyes, she offered a stiff, awkward nod and brushed past him into the debriefing bay. Her footsteps echoed after her, uneven with urgency.
Ryvek continued on, his thoughts undisturbed, though he marked the detail—a nervous new officer, late to briefing, no insignia ranking above standard field unit.
He retraced the same path he'd taken earlier—past the side corridors lined with armored glass, and through the quieter wings reserved for high-clearance transitions. Ahead, near a terminal alcove, an officer leaned against the wall with their arms folded loosely.
He looked up as Ryvek approached.
"So you're the famous S-R-001²," he said, not as a question but as confirmation, "Name's Kalen. Looks like we're shipping out on the same team."
Ryvek's pace didn't change, "You've read the brief."
"Everyone has. It hit the system a few minutes ago. Sector 2—Unit 7."
That gave Ryvek the briefest pause in his stride. Unit-7, an unit assigned by the Commander, not by the system like other units. Kalen pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him.
"I figured I should introduce myself. I don't like going in cold with people I might be relying on not to get me killed."
Ryvek looked ahead, "Your reasoning is practical."
"I thought so," Kalen replied with a short laugh. "Still, a lot of people wouldn't bother. I figured someone like you might just ignore the rest of us unless bullets start flying."
"There's no value in ignoring your unit. Efficiency requires awareness."
Kalen side-eyed him, "Not the answer I expected, but I'll take it."
They turned down a secondary corridor that was less populated, the ambient hum of systems echoing faintly through the walls.
"You know, I've read your file," Kalen broke the silence after a beat, "Or at least what wasn't redacted. Your combat simulations, integration with VIREN, termination records... They're all clean and precise."
"Do you intend to measure me against expectation?"
Kalen smirked, "Nah. I just want to know the person I'm walking with."
"The person is secondary, function matters more." Ryvek replied, considering Kalen's words.
"Maybe," Kalen remarked, "But I've seen plenty of people with function and no foundation, and snap when the script goes sideways. You seem more... contained."
That earned Kalen a glance, not long, but direct.
"I don't break."
"I'll hold you to that," Kalen remarked, then extended a hand briefly for a hand shake, "Seriously, though, it's good to meet you... I don't expect a hug or anything."
Ryvek stared at the hand and pondered for a brief moment, then accepted the gesture with mechanical ease.
"Noted."
They reached the first checkpoint gate of the staging area. Red floor lights pulsed slowly, signaling restricted access and proximity to launch preparation zones. Kalen's pace slowed down before turning to the subject.
"I guess I head in from here. I've got weapon calibration. You?"
"Loadout sync, neural reinforcement."
Kalen nodded, adjusting his strap. "We've got time before deployment. Maybe I'll see you again before the drop."
Ryvek didn't confirm nor deny, he simply turned toward the direction of his assigned gear station. As he stepped into the ready hall, the cathedral-like design of the Sector 2 staging zone surrounded him. Tall arching frames, illuminated displays, and suspended lockers filled the space like a military chapel. Every piece of gear had a place and every officer moved with a schedule in hand.
VIREN's calm and precise voice chimed again.
"Mission staging begins in 29 minutes. Squad rendezvous in bay seven."
Across the chamber, the same young woman from earlier entered through a side passage, brushing past the doorframe with careful urgency. Her short black hair had settled into soft, uneven strands around her visor, still slightly mussed from her earlier sprint through the corridor. Though now steadier on her feet, her pace remained quick, precise without confidence.
Her armor, though standard-issue, sat a touch loose at the joints, giving her movements a slight awkwardness. She clutched her helmet under one arm like it was something to hold onto rather than wear.
As she made her way across the room, her stride never faltered, but it carried the tension of someone trying to outrun the evidence of being late. She flinched as she passed a senior officer, murmuring an apology under her breath, barely audible.
Just before she reached her locker, her eyes lifted and met Ryvek's. The contact lasted only a second before she looked away, gaze snapping back to the floor.
She arrived at her station and slipped into routine. Fingers activated her terminal, ran diagnostics on her gear, and checked readouts with the mechanical precision of someone drilled on repetition, not experience. Her posture remained drawn inward—shoulders subtly hunched, chin lowered in calculated deference.
Her name flashed on her panel: Min Hye-Won.
Ryvek turned back to his own locker. The door opened with a quiet click, revealing gear arranged with surgical order. His rifle rested in its magnetic harness, while a soft-blue interface pulsed beside a sealed injector labeled with his neural sync ID.
As he reached for his weapon, the sound of light footsteps approached again.
"Um... excuse me," said a voice, soft and unsure.
The subejct gazed down towards the woman which stood a few paces away, helmet still tucked beneath her arm. Her eyes flicked from his equipment to his face before settling on the latter with visible discomfort.
"I just... wanted to say—I'm on your unit. Unit-7," she added, as though clarifying something he didn't already know.
Ryvek gave a short nod, "Acknowledged."
An awkward pause settled between them. Her fingers picked at the edge of her helmet's chin strap in a subtle, nervous loop.
"I saw your simulation score," she said quietly. "It was... efficient."
He regarded her for a second longer. "It was necessary."
Another beat of silence. Then, she gave a slight, instinctive nod and offered a soft, almost reflexive, "Good luck out there."
"I don't rely on luck," Ryvek stated.
A hint of something flickered across her face. Uncertainty, perhaps. Or recognition. She gave another polite nod, and as she turned to leave, her steps faltered slightly.
"I've never been deployed before," she admitted, her eyes still turned away, "Not for something like this."
Ryvek didn't respond immediately. He continued securing his sidearm, his gaze fixed forward. Then he spoke, voice even.
"You were chosen, that's sufficient reason."
Her grip tightened slightly around the edge of her helmet, but her voice steadied as she replied. "Right... thanks."
She returned to her station without further words.
Ryvek resumed prepping his gear, though the interaction left a subtle impression—nothing emotional, but logged, like a flagged entry in a field report marked for later review.
Around him, the staging room continued to swell with motion. Other members of Unit-7 began filtering in through the upper entrance, their voices low, the sound of armored boots muted but constant against the reinforced floor.
Kalen arrived a few minutes later, brushing moisture from his shoulders as though it had followed him across zones. He spotted Ryvek, gave him a quick nod, and crossed the room.
"Hey. Squad's almost checked in. The fourth member's en route." He dropped his helmet onto a nearby bench. "Looks like they're keeping the unit tight for the drop."
Ryvek acknowledged this with a small nod. Kalen, in response, leaned slightly, glancing over toward the far corner, "Did you speak to her? The quiet one?"
The subject didn't glance in her direction, but answered, "Briefly."
"She seems... green," Kalen muttered. "I hope she holds together."
"She will hold," Ryvek replied flatly, "Or she won't."
Kalen tilted his head, sarcastically remarking, "That surely sounds reassuring. You've really got that warm, inspiring leadership vibe locked in."
Ryvek finished sealing his armor, the magnetic clamps snapping into place with a low click. He stood straight, fully geared.
"Performance is more valuable than reassurance."
Kalen chuckled and and slid a fresh magazine into his sidearm. "Remind me to never come to you for a pep talk."
Before Ryvek could respond, a loud metallic hiss echoed from the opposite end of the hall as the bay doors to the hangar slowly opened. The reinforced panels slid apart with deliberate weight, revealing the dropship designated for Unit Seven's deployment to Theta-1. Its matte-black hull was angled and low-slung, built more for function than aesthetics. The engines emitted a soft hum, pulsing steadily as personnel moved across the adjacent loading platforms with quiet, practiced urgency.
"There it is," Kalen muttered, sliding his rifle onto his shoulder, "The bird."
He stepped forward and waited for Ryvek to join him before proceeding down the sloped access ramp toward the ship.
Near the entry hatch of the craft, two other officers waited—one leaned casually against the bulkhead, the other stood with arms folded across their chest, watching the room like a hawk. The first was short and wiry, his frame taut with energy. His eyes were a sharp ice-gray, and a crooked grin pulled at one corner of his mouth as he spotted them.
"Took you long enough," he called out with mock impatience, "I almost thought you got cold feet and bailed."
Kalen smirked, "Yeah, because walking into a blacksite with you is exactly my idea of fun."
The man rolled his eyes but introduced himself anyway.
"Name's Tylo. I'm a Recon specialist, drone operator, and your new best friend whether you like it or not." He gave Ryvek a pointed nod.
Ryvek acknowledged him with a quiet look, one that neither invited nor rejected the title.
Standing beside Tylo was a taller woman with a lean, powerful build and the posture of someone used to command. Her chestnut hair was braided tightly back, and her armor bore the quiet wear of someone who had seen actual combat.
"I'm Rena," she said simply. "Field control. I keep the plans tight and the squad tighter."
Kalen gave Tylo a light nudge with his elbow, "You two haven't changed a bit."
"Why would we?" Tylo responded, unfazed, "We're already perfect."
His attention shifted as Hye-Won arrived, stepping lightly up the ramp with her helmet clutched to her chest again like a lifeline.
"The rookie's with us too?"
Rena nodded. "She's green, but she's quiet. Quiet's better than arrogant." Her tone implied the example was standing right next to her.
Tylo gave her a dry look but didn't respond.
"That makes us six," Kalen noted, glancing around the group.
"Seven," came a voice from deeper inside the ship.
They turned as another figure emerged from the interior ramp—tall, clean-shaven, with sharp features, black hair, and a uniform accented in blue along the collar and sleeves. A polished executive patch was pinned to his chest, and a sleek sidearm rested in a high-grade holster at his hip. His demeanor radiated authority, not loud but unmistakable.
"I'm Lorien," He introduced himself, voice clear, "The assigned executive supervisor for Unit-7. The Commander wants eyes on this operation, and I'm those eyes."
Tylo gave a low whistle. "Didn't realize this op came with upper-level baggage."
Lorien ignored the remark. "Everyone aboard. Mission briefing begins in the air."
One by one, they filed into the dropship, boots thudding lightly on the ramp. The interior was dim, industrial in design—lined with cushioned benches, exposed grates, and overhead data screens displaying synchronized HUD feeds from each operative's suit.
Ryvek took a seat near the rear, opposite Kalen. Hye-Won sat beside Kalen, her posture upright, though tension showed in her shoulders. Rena and Tylo claimed spots near the hatch and exchanged quiet words. Lorien remained standing, positioned near the center of the cabin.
Once the final belt clicked into place, the bay doors sealed behind them. The dropship rumbled as its engines powered up, then lifted smoothly from the platform.
Lorien moved to the center of the cabin, adjusting the cuff of his uniform. "This isn't a simple sweep-and-clear," he began, "Theta-1 was the first IAPCE³ ground-level settlement attempt on Caellius-d. Eighteen months ago, all contact was lost. No distress signals. No emergency pings. We sent recon drones and the few that returned came back with corrupted data feeds."
Tylo muttered under his breath. "It's always a great sign when 'corrupted' shows up in the mission brief."
Lorien continued without reacting, "The Commander⁴ believes some form of sentient interference may have taken root. We don't know what, that's why you're being deployed. Your primary objective is to identify the cause of communications loss, confirm the status of the original settlement population—alive or otherwise—and, if possible, retrieve black box data from the central outpost's mainframe."
Kalen leaned forward slightly. "What's the population count from the original outpost?"
"Six hundred," Lorien answered.
Rena frowned, her expression tightening, "And not a single body recovered?"
"No," Lucien spoke flatly, "Not even remains."
A heavy silence settled across the cabin. Hye-Won shifted subtly beside Kalen, her fingers tightening on the edge of her seat.
Lorien gave the group one final, measured glance, "You will operate with autonomy, but I'll be monitoring comms and retaining central authority in the event of a split decision. Your path through Theta-1 will adjust in real time as intel arrives. No assumptions. No ego. We enter as observers and leave as ghosts—silent, fast, clean. Understood?"
The hum of the dropship filled the momentary pause that followed, quiet and constant. Outside, the sky beyond the viewports deepened—silver fading into charcoal as the vessel pierced the upper atmosphere of Caellius D. A faint tremor rippled through the hull. Ryvek adjusted his stance almost imperceptibly, compensating without thought. The rest of the team remained still, unaware.
"Thirty minutes to landfall," Tylo muttered, tapping the soles of his boots idly against the grated floor. "Just enough time for a round of squad bonding, don't you think?"
Rena gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you trying to get punched before we even hit the ground?"
Tylo raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, just trying to break the tension. If we're dying in some half-digested ghost city, might as well learn each other's names beyond the tags."
"You already know mine," Rena replied, though a faint curve appeared at the edge of her mouth.
"I'm not talking about you. Or Kalen. Or Ryvek—who I'm convinced powers down standing up." Tylo's gaze shifted across the cabin. "I mean you," he added, nodding toward Hye-Won.
She stiffened slightly, hands still gripped around her helmet. "Me?"
"Yeah. You've said maybe ten words. Which is fine, I guess, but if we're walking into the unknown together, it helps to know who's watching my back."
Hye-Won glanced toward Kalen, a silent question flickering in her eyes. He answered with a small, easy smile. "He's harmless. Most of the time."
She exhaled, then nodded. "...My name is Min Hye-Won. Medical support and recon assist, if needed."
Tylo gave her a two-fingered salute. "Perfect. Now we're even."
Lorien, still standing in the center of the cabin, folded his arms. "Better to get the bonding done now. When Theta-1 hits, it won't give you the time."
The moment lingered heavier, weighted by the unspoken truth. Sensing the shift, Kalen leaned back, voice light.
"Alright, since we've got a little breathing room, we're doing the drill—favorite meal, worst habit, death preference."
Rena groaned audibly. "You're such a cadet."
"Come on," Kalen grinned, "I'll go first. Steak, forgetting charger packs, and quick and clean with minimal screaming."
Tylo followed with a shrug. "Street ramen, betting too much on fights, and vaporized, ideally—less cleanup for the medics."
"Medics like me," Hye-Won added softly, almost reflexively. Her eyes widened slightly after she spoke.
Tylo grinned. "She speaks! That's—"
Rena cut him off without lifting her gaze. "Salmon. Overthinking. And I'd rather not die at all, thanks."
The cabin quieted, all eyes gradually shifting toward the rear bench—toward Ryvek, who hadn't moved. Still, composed, unreadable. The silence that followed was different. Not awkward, but full of weight. Even the steady hum of the engines seemed to dull beneath it.
From her seat beside Kalen, Hye-Won gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice broke the silence without disturbing it. "Um... If it counts, I think I'd prefer something quick too. Not knowing might be easier."
To everyone's surprise, it was Lorien who responded next, voice dry but calm. "Synthetic bourbon, arguing with higher-ups, and dying of boredom during briefings—though preferably not today."
The tension cracked just slightly—enough for a ripple of quiet amusement to pass through the group.
Kalen leaned forward, reaching out to place a hand on Ryvek's shoulder with the casual ease of someone used to camaraderie. "Alright, One. Now it's your turn. Don't hold back on us."
The contact lasted a second at most. Ryvek's shoulder tensed instantly beneath his palm, the kind of tension born from reflex, not hesitation. Kalen felt the shift and pulled his hand away without needing to be told.
"Okay, no touching. Got it," he said, raising his hands with a playful grin.
Ryvek looked across the cabin, his voice flat but deliberate. "I do not have preferences in food. I have no habits. And I don't intend to die."
The silence that followed felt colder. Tylo, after a beat, muttered under his breath, "Damn. That was intense."
For a moment, no one quite knew how to respond. Then Kalen let out a low whistle, half-laughing as he shook his head. "Also remind me never to invite you to a dinner party."
Tylo leaned back with a smirk. "Yeah, next time I'll just skip to asking his favorite method of interrogation."
The subject met their looks without flinching. "Humor is inefficient," he said calmly, then after a pause added, "But not always incorrect."
Across the cabin, the squad gradually slipped back into conversation—Tylo tossing out another joke, Rena replying dryly, Kalen narrating a story that never quite reached the point. Ryvek said nothing, but watched each speaker in turn, silent and unmoving.
Hye-Won, on the other hand, sat with her helmet still held close, but her grip no longer trembled. She hadn't spoken again, but her presence had shifted—quiet but alert. Kalen noticed the direction of her gaze and leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice just enough to stay beneath the drone of the engines. "You alright?"
Her eyes stayed on the bench opposite them. "I'm just watching."
Kalen followed her line of sight, then exhaled through his nose in a soft half-laugh. "Yeah. He's a lot, isn't he?"
She didn't answer right away. "Not really... just different."
He nodded slowly, considering the word. "Fair. But don't worry. He's on our side. It might not feel like it, but trust me—if things go sideways, he'll make damn sure we walk out of there."
Her lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile, "That's what scares me."
Kalen turned his attention back toward Ryvek. "Hey, One," he called out, voice raised just enough. "Are you planning on letting us get picked off while you analyze the wreckage, or are you actually going to have our backs?"
Ryvek's gaze shifted, first to Kalen, then to Hye-Won.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, his attention returned to Kalen with the quiet precision of a machine registering input. The question lingered—blunt, unfiltered, dressed in casual sarcasm but not without weight.
Kalen had nicknamed him "One," the kind of shorthand that carried the unspoken familiarity of soldiers already counting on each other. Ryvek recognized and noted it.
His gaze lingered for a second longer on Kalen. Then, in the briefest of gestures, he gave a nod—so slight it was easy to miss. His voice followed, level and steady.
"I will hold the line. If you fall, it won't be from lack of cover."
The words were meant to reassure. But coming from him—face expressionless, tone devoid of warmth—they sounded more like a tactical protocol than comfort. Still, the intent was there, buried beneath layers of discipline.
Kalen didn't press. He leaned back with a satisfied grunt. "Good enough for me."
Hye-Won remained still, eyes low, but a flicker of something—relief, perhaps—crossed her face. It passed quickly, almost like it had never been there at all.
Lorien, who had been silently checking his interface near the cabin bulkhead, straightened slightly. A soft chime echoed from the comms system above as the dropship's display flickered, showing a descending trajectory and approaching terrain.
"We've arrived," Lorien announced, and the quiet murmur of the squad died down. The air changed—sharper, tighter, like a held breath just before release.
The dropship's motion shifted as it descended further into Theta-1's upper atmosphere. The landscape through the narrow viewport grew clearer—gray fields of industrial sprawl, half-collapsed structures twisted into dead angles, and a horizon painted in ash and static. Whatever had once moved there no longer did.
The cabin lights dimmed to red as the ship entered its final approach. The clamps beneath their boots vibrated subtly, locking their positions in place.
The executive took one final glance at the squad. "Standard formation. Keep a minimal profile until we confirm signal integrity and environmental stability. Stay sharp. No chatter unless it's relevant."
A heavy thud landed through the hull as the dropship touched down. The bay doors hissed open, releasing a brief gust of cool, recycled air into the cabin. Faint wind swept across the outer edge of the platform—thin, dry, and coated in dust that clung like memory.
Tylo stood first, rolling his shoulders as he stepped toward the exit ramp. "Well," he muttered, "nothing like a ghost town to stretch your legs."
Rena followed, calm and silent. Her steps were precise, every movement deliberate.
Kalen rose next and offered Hye-Won a hand as he passed her. She hesitated, then accepted it. He gave her a firm pull and a nod before heading toward the door. She followed close behind, helmet now securely in place, her posture straighter than it had been when she boarded.
Ryvek waited until they had all moved. His own gear made no noise as he stood. He paused at the edge of the ramp, eyes scanning the terrain as the wind tugged faintly at the hem of his coat—not hurried, not hesitant, simply thorough.
Then he stepped out.
-----------------------------
Glossary:
1. Sector 2 - A Special force originally for colonization security, now focused on termination and threat control.
2. S-R-001 - Ryvek's subject classification. S for "S-rank" R for "Regeneration type," 001 meaning most valuable.
3. IAPCE - International Alliance for Planet Colonization and Exploration.
4. The Commander - usually used to refer to those in charge of a sector.