Author note: Random piece of suspense written while I'm at uni and don't have time to upload anything else. Tis alright, methinks.

I don't own Hein or the Phantoms or Zeus. Pete and Simon are mine. Whoo and Hoo.

Enjoy! Cookies to reviewers, the task of writing my next report to those who don't. ^_^

Major Simon Amain let out a nervous sigh and tried not to look about as the ship shuddered and shook around him. How he had ever let himself get roped into this assignment was beyond him. He hated flying – he really hated it. Taking a cross-country flight was more than enough to have him hiding under the seat for fear that and engine was about to blow and send him plummeting to an early death. So to be going into space to explore the smouldering wreckage of some half-destroyed, unstable space station was his idea of total hell. Actually, he thought. Hell would be kinder than this, This must be some punishment for some terrible deed he'd never committed. Life was not fair.

Around him, the squad of Deep Eyes looked much more at ease. After all, they probably weren't terrified of the ship suddenly veering out of control and burning up in the atmosphere. No, they even appeared to be enjoying the flight while Simon bit his nails raw with worry. It might not have been so bad if the soldiers didn't taunt him for his fear. There was no discipline left in the military these days, especially not since the disappearance of the Phantom threat two days ago. Simons second in command, Captain Pete Burns, noticed the major's tension and was absolutely no help as he pointed to a window behind Simon.

'Is that a crack in the glass?' he asked curiously. Frantic, Simon whirled around – his fingers gripping the seat so hard his knuckles turned white – and was not at all amused when the window turned out to perfectly uncracked.

'Captain,' he growled angrily, ignoring the laughter from the other troops. Pete grinned behind his helmet, leaning forwards to pat Simon on the shoulder.

'Relax, sir. Everything's fine. We'll be at Zeus in a couple of minutes and then you can worry,' Simon shot him a sarcastic glare – a redundant gesture because of his helmet – but did his best to relax back in his seat. It wasn't easy. He and the Deep Eyes squad were the second group of soldiers to be sent up to the Zeus station in the two days since its destruction. The first squad had gone in eight hours ago and not come out. The last contact they'd had with Houston had been three hours ago, just a routine check in as they explored the crippled space cannon. Nothing else had been heard, panic had ensued and Simon had been roped into leading these troops into space to see what had happened. They were primarily on a search-and-retrieve mission; simply they were to find the missing soldiers and bring them back to earth. An easy task? Not at all. From the early reports of the first squad, the interior of the Zeus station was a mess; cracked and venting gallons of air into the vacuum outside, whole sections of the station were just missing, it had little power and almost no heat. The only thing it did have was oxygen. The air generators were more sturdy than hoped, and continued to churn out clean air for people to breathe. This was the only good thing about the station, though Simon was amazed any of it was still in one piece. The central hub had remained intact and there were hopes that there were survivors up there; another reason why Simon was sat trembling in a shuttle. The station had been near destroyed almost 50 hours ago when General Hein had pushed it beyond far. The ovalpacks that powered the mighty cannon had overheated – an impressive feat in the icebox that was space – and exploded, taking most of the station with it. There was only the hub left and that was where Simon and his crew were heading.

'We're docking now, sir,' one of the pilots informed him through his earpiece. 'You might wanna watch your step as you go in though. Place looks ready to fall apart,' Simon did not need to hear that. It was bad enough being so far up in the air; being told he was about to go onto a decrepit space station that was likely to fall apart any minute now was not good for his nerves. The other soldiers were at the windows, gazing in awe and horror at the once mighty Zeus. Simon stayed rooted in his seat. He didn't need to see the destruction before he went in! He only had so much courage and it was running pretty thin right now. He wasn't even supposed to be up here, strictly. He wasn't part of the Houston Deep Eyes, though he had been once. He worked directly under General Field, the top ranking official in Houston. As such, he was responsible for directing squads such as these, not taking part in their missions. But Field had insisted he go along so there was a "viable officer present" who could report on the state of station first hand and help decide what to do with it. Plus, there were a few other tasks to be done should certain situations arise, but Simon would deal with those when he came to them.

'Time to stop gaping like tourists,' he muttered as the ship came to a halt, stopping sharply as it docked.

'Yes, sir,' Pete replied, speaking for his troops. 'Alright, people. We're not sure what we'll find in here, so stay on your guard, ok?' The soldiers nodded, unable to see Simon's scowl. Someone was forgetting who was in charge here. . .

Still, the major shouldered his rifle and opened the door, ignoring the steam that covered him as it hissed open. The most noticeable thing was that the station was pitch black, so he flicked on the night vision in his helmet and stepped inside.

'This place is beyond a wreck,' one of the soldiers mused as the group slowly made their way along the docking gantry, occasionally stepping over a charred body or fallen lump of metal. Simon had to agree. Zeus had once represented the pinnacle of human technology. Now it just represented the pinnacle of human junk. Steam spat at him at every turn, supporting girders were twisted and broken and the whole station seemed to shudder and creak with every step he took. They had described the state of Zeus as "unstable" which was the biggest understatement since the early governments had decided that the Phantoms were a threat. He couldn't see how anyone had survived in here. Things were not looking too good.

Presently, they met a crossroads of sorts; the path splitting to lead either to the left or the right. From what Simon could remember of the schematics of the station, the left path led to the bridge and the right path led to the engine – the belly of Zeus.

'Captain,' he said, aware that his voice was tinny through the radio. 'Take your men left. If anyone survived, they'll be up there,' Pete nodded, slowly directing his troops up the corridor.

'You'll be alright alone, sir?' he asked, the radio not hiding his doubt. Simon nodded, though he felt less than alright. The muted sensation of weightlessness was making him nauseous and the knowledge that he was thousands of miles from terra firma only added to his nervousness. But, this had to be done.

'I'll be fine. I doubt anyone's up here, but I have to check,' Pete nodded again, tapping his right ear with one hand.

'Keep in touch, sir. If you find anything, just yell,' Simon was already making his way down the dark corridor, waving a hand.

'Don't worry, captain. I will,' And then, he was alone.

It took him several minutes to traverse the relatively short passage, as the destruction appeared to be worse here than it was nearer the core. He could hear the faint crackling of some small fire somewhere in front of him and immediately had to quell images of a fireball leaping out and engulfing him in flames. He stepped over a twisted girder of metal and came face-to-face with the door that led to the engine room. He just paused for a moment, staring at that door. He didn't know if he really wanted to go in there. What if there was a huge gaping hole waiting to suck him out into the vacuum of space? What if the engine room was an inferno, feeding off the seemingly limitless supply of oxygen being spewed out by the generators?

'And what if you're a paranoid idiot with an overactive imagination?' he muttered, ridiculing himself. Sure, he knew he was insecure sometimes, but this was just silly. There was nothing wrong! But, he couldn't shake that sense of trepidation as he pushed the over-ride on the door lock and opened the door.

He allowed himself to breathe again as he opened one eye and realised that not only was the hull intact, but there was not fireball waiting to take his life. There was a small fire crackling merrily away somewhere to his left, but it was controlled and had no hope of spreading to the sturdy metal pipes around it. Simon looked around, shaking his head. The room looked like a bomb had hit it repeatedly with a big stick. The secondary control system for the cannon was all melted and deformed, broken and useless. The walls and floors were badly scorched, letting him know that a fire had raged in here at some time. It was comforting to know that not all his worries were purely in his imagination.

He looked around slowly, allowing the scanner in his helmet to search for any signs of life. He didn't expect to find any on the station, let alone in here, which was why he jumped when the shrill bleeping sounded in his ear. There was someone alive in here, someone other than him. He looked more carefully in the direction the scanner was indicating, and suddenly he saw it; what looked like a ball of rags huddled in the long shadows thrown out by the fire. Simon cocked his rifle and stepped closer, his eyes remaining fixed on the bundle. This person would no doubt be dazed and confused – in shock most likely. He'd seen people do some pretty crazy things when they were like that.

He knelt down by the bundle and gently peeled back the top most layer. It was black leather, he noticed, smoked and melting and not at all pleasant. But it must have served to keep this person warm in the freezing cold of the station, he reasoned, before letting himself gasp. He recognised the battered face and the military insignia only confirmed what he thought.

It was General Hein.

He was curled up, hands and legs drawn close to his body, with his eyes closed as if in peaceful sleep. There was a long line of dried blood all down the side of his head, the cut underneath still oozing slowly, and there were many more minor cuts, bruises and burns dotting his pale face. But it was Hein, no doubt about that. Simon swallowed deeply. He had dreaded finding this man alive. After the destruction of Zeus, the councils of New York and Houston had worked to piece together what Hein had done before leaving for the station. They knew he was responsible for the fall of New York and they did not want this man returning to earth alive. If the fireball of Zeus hadn't done the trick, then Simon was to finish the job. He had no real qualms about it at first – he had lost friends in New York and here was the man responsible. Hein deserved to die. But now that he was faced with killing an unarmed, injured and unconscious man, Simon suddenly didn't feel too comfortable. Why not just leave him here to freeze to death as he slept? He'd die, and he wouldn't ever set foot on the planet again. But then, what if he did? He'd already defied the odds by not only surviving New York, but surviving the destruction of Zeus as well. What if he did manage to escape the station? Simon would be in trouble; trouble he'd have a hard time getting out of.

'Damn you for making my life complex,' he muttered, setting his rifle down by his side and studying the general further. His vital signs weren't exactly weak, but they weren't what you could call strong either. The mass of dried blood near his temple was accompanied by heavy bruising, showing he had been hit on the head, and hit hard. There were countless burns – of varying degrees – on his face and gloveless hands, which Simon could just see. His breathing was so shallow and slow he was probably already comatose. He didn't even twitch when Simon put two gloved fingers to his throat to check his pulse. Pretty weak. Hein wouldn't last long up here, not without food or water or heat. Better to let nature take its course, rather than violently end the life of a sleeping man, no matter how much he deserved it.

'Major?' Simon turned away from the sleeping general and put one hand to his ear as Petes voice echoed through the radio.

'What is it, captain?'

'We've found the first squad, sir,' The captains voice was strained with worry, as if he was in shock. Simon soon found out why.

'They're dead, sir,' Simon gasped, his whole attention away from Hein now.

'How?' he asked. 'The cold?'

'No, sir. They were shot,' Simon frowned, that sentence not making sense.

'What?'

'Shot, sir. In the back. They weren't expecting it,' There was a sound behind Simon, and he span around, only to gasp loudly. Hein was gone.

And so was his rifle.

Simons free hand fumbled for the handgun on his belt as he looked around, desperately searching for any sign of the general.

'Sir?' Pete asked, worried about Simons lack of response.

'It's Hein,' Simon whispered, his handgun up and ready. 'Hein's alive. He killed those soldiers. He's got my ri – ' There was another sound behind him, closer now – too close for his liking. He whirled around, and fired blindly into the dark.

'Look out for hostiles,' Pete warned as he and his squad stood ready outside the engine room, guns drawn. They had last heard from Major Amain ten minutes ago. In that time, several shots had been fired and radio contact with the major had been lost. Pete and his squad had come as fast as they could, but getting through the tricky terrain of the station was not easy. The captain listened carefully as he signalled for one of the soldiers to open the door. There was total silence; no sound of a battle. The hatch slid open, and Pete slipped quietly inside.

He saw the two bodies as soon as he entered, one dead and one barely alive. He rushed to the armoured body and cursed as he saw the blood trickling steadily from the wound in his stomach.

'Make sure Hein's dead,' he ordered, checking the major's vital signs quickly. One of the soldiers whistled.

'He won't have survived that. Two shots to the head, point blank range. Several more to the chest. You can't even see his face anymore,' Pete nodded quickly, gesturing to another soldier to help carry the unconscious major to the waiting shuttle.

'No more than he deserves. Now we get the major back to the base as soon as we can,' He hauled the lifeless body into the air and began to carry it back to the ship.

No-one knew that the person in the armour was actually awake and fully aware of what was going on around him. No-one knew that the "wound" was merely a scratch, inflicted by himself to present the illusion of injury. No-one had bothered to notice that – apart from the unsightly holes in his head – the dead body was otherwise unblemished. Not what you would expect from someone who had survived a fireball in the aftermath of Zeus' destruction. That was the trouble with soldiers these days, they didn't care about details. That lack of care got them killed. That other soldier for example, the one who had so graciously given up his rifle. He didn't care about his weapons and now he was dead. These troops didn't care about who they were loading onto the shuttle with utmost care, and soon they would be too.

Under the helmet, General Hein let himself smile, his left hand tightening around the gun by his side as the shuttle undocked and began to head down to earth.