Anhur Colony, Anhur System
Eagle Galaxy, 10,000,000 LY
Office of Colonial Affairs
December 20, 2367
0700 HOURS (local time)
Colonel Jian Yang crouched low behind a jagged piece of twisted metal, once part of a residential block, now debris scattered across the battlefield. The streets of Anhur Colony, once bustling with life and the hum of daily activity, had transformed into a smoldering warzone. Smoke hung thick in the air, punctuated by the rapid, staccato bursts of gunfire and the bone-rattling thuds of explosions. The acrid smell of burning flesh and twisted metal filled Yang's nostrils as he wiped sweat from his brow, his dark eyes scanning the chaos around him.
Above, the alien sky was a canvas of strange, swirling purple hues, marred by streaks of crimson clouds. It felt like a cruel mockery, peaceful in its beauty while hell raged below. Yang's comm crackled, cutting through the cacophony of the battlefield.
"Move! Move! Keep that fire focused on the flanks!" Yang's voice was commanding, his orders sharp and direct.
A panicked voice broke through the static. "Colonel! We've lost the east gate!"
Yang cursed under his breath, pushing himself up slightly to check his tactical display. The red dots on his holo-map were multiplying rapidly, crawling across the colony like locusts. These weren't ordinary enemies. The colonists—the very people he had sworn to protect—had become twisted abominations, a grotesque fusion of flesh and metal. Their glowing, hollow eyes were devoid of life, driven by something far darker.
"What the hell are they?" he muttered, his voice low, filled with both frustration and disbelief. None of his briefings had prepared him for this. These cybernetic nightmares, mindless and relentless, had overtaken the colony in mere days.
The sound of rapid footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. Sergeant Alina Jones, her face streaked with dirt and sweat, sprinted toward him, her eyes wide with urgency. "Colonel Yang!" she shouted, sliding to a halt next to him. "The east is completely gone. We're getting overrun, sir!"
Yang's jaw clenched. "Tell me something I don't know," he snapped, raising his pulse rifle and firing a burst of plasma into the advancing horde. The closest cybernetic creature staggered back as sparks erupted from its chest, but it didn't stop. Its glowing eyes fixed on him, and it continued forward, metal limbs clanking with each step. Yang fired again, this time aiming for the head. The thing crumpled, twitching as it hit the ground.
"Fall back to Central Command!" he barked into the comms. "We regroup at the Command Post, or we die here!"
The marines in his unit were already in motion, pulling back toward the fortified remains of the Office of Colonial Affairs. The building, now riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks, stood like a last bastion against the oncoming tide. Yang could hear the tension in his soldiers' voices over the comms—pleas for reinforcements, cries for medics, reports of ammunition running dangerously low.
Jones fell into step beside him, breathing heavily as they moved. "What's the plan, sir?" she asked, her voice tinged with fear but steady. "We're not going to last much longer without evac."
"We'll make it," Yang replied, his voice hard as steel. "We have to." He tapped his wrist comm. "Ramirez, what's your status?"
"Still holding at the shuttle, sir, but we're pinned down! Those things are swarming the LZ—we can't lift off until it's clear!" Ramirez's voice crackled through the interference.
Yang's lips tightened into a thin line as he surveyed the landscape ahead. The streets were littered with debris, broken vehicles, and the bodies of fallen soldiers. His gaze locked on the Command Post. Marines were dug in, firing down into the streets at the cybernetic abominations pouring in like a flood.
But then his eyes caught something massive moving in the distance. Towering over the rest of the creatures was a hulking figure—a mechanical behemoth, slow but unstoppable. Its legs crushed anything beneath them, and its arms were lined with heavy, claw-like appendages. The Reaper.
Yang's stomach turned at the sight of it. "What the hell is that?"
Jones paled as she followed his gaze. "That's the Reaper, sir. It broke out of the Cerberus Vehicle Assembly days ago. Nothing we've thrown at it has slowed it down. We're outgunned."
Yang's grip tightened on his rifle. "Damn it. We don't have time for this." He turned to Corporal Riveria, who was helping to reinforce the barricades. "Riveria, get demolition charges on those outer defenses. If they break through, we're leveling this place."
"On it, sir!" Riveria nodded and began directing his team to rig the explosives. The sound of rapid clicks and the hum of energy charges being armed filled the air.
The ground trembled as the Reaper moved closer, its massive frame advancing with horrifying precision. The smaller cybernetic creatures clustered around it like parasites, using its bulk as cover. Yang raised his comm to his lips. "Mortar teams, hit that thing with everything you've got!"
Seconds later, the sky lit up as plasma mortars rained down on the Reaper's position. The blasts shook the colony, sending shockwaves through the streets and ripping apart the smaller creatures. But the Reaper kept moving, its armor glowing faintly from the heat of the strikes.
"That thing just won't die!" Jones shouted, firing her rifle into the advancing horde.
Yang felt a sinking sensation in his gut. They couldn't hold this line for long. "Blow the barricades!" he ordered, his voice a bark of desperation.
The outer barricades erupted in a fiery explosion, the detonation sending a wave of debris and shredded cybernetic parts into the air. The force knocked Yang off his feet, and for a moment, his world became a blur of smoke and ringing noise.
"Colonel! We've got to move!" Jones was by his side, pulling him to his feet.
Yang shook off the haze, his vision clearing just enough to see the Reaper still advancing through the wreckage. "Fall back to the shuttle! We can't stay here!" he yelled.
The remaining marines began their retreat, firing wildly as they moved toward the landing zone. The cybernetic zombies pressed in from all sides, their metallic limbs clawing at anything in their path. Yang swung his rifle like a club, bashing one creature aside as he fired at another.
"Ramirez!" Yang shouted into his comm. "We need that evac now!"
"Shuttles inbound, sir!" Ramirez's voice crackled in his ear. "Just hold out a little longer!"
The unmistakable hum of incoming Puddle Jumpers filled the air, and Yang's heart leapt. He could see them now, their sleek forms cutting through the smoke as they descended toward the landing zone. The back ramps were already lowering, gunners aboard the shuttles pouring fire into the advancing horde.
"Go! Go!" Yang shouted, his voice hoarse. The marines ran toward the shuttles, gunning down enemies as they closed the gap.
Yang was the last to board, his pulse rifle blazing as he backed up the ramp. The Reaper was close now, its massive arm reaching for the shuttle. With a final leap, Yang dove inside just as the Puddle Jumper lifted off, the Reaper's claws missing them by mere inches.
As the shuttles rose into the sky, Yang stared down at the burning colony, now a wasteland of destruction. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts of those they had left behind.
"We'll be back," he whispered, his voice filled with cold determination. "And next time, we'll be ready."
FEDERATION COMMAND CENTER
ANHUR 3, ANHUR SYSTEM
EAGLE GALAXY
The transport shuttle roared as it descended toward the surface of Anhur 3, its thrusters cutting through the thick, ash-filled atmosphere, sending clouds of dust swirling across the landing pad. The sleek, utilitarian Federation Command Center loomed ahead, a structure designed for cold efficiency, now marred by the chaos of a warzone. Colonel Jian Yang stood at the rear of the shuttle, one hand gripping the overhead rail as the other rested on the butt of his pulse pistol. Around him, his marines, weary and battered, exchanged grim looks beneath their visors. The mechanized hiss of their armor filled the silence, as medical nanites worked to heal fresh wounds. Blood-streaked faces, haunted eyes, and the distant groans of the wounded told the story of their hard-fought retreat from Anhur Colony.
The battle was over. The colony was lost.
The shuttle lurched as it touched down, the landing gear hissing as it engaged. The ramp began to lower, and Yang was the first to step off, his boots hitting the dusty ground with a dull thud. The atmosphere outside was thick with desperation. Medics rushed by carrying stretchers—wounded soldiers, women, children—heading toward the makeshift medical tents that had sprouted like weeds around the command center. The air was saturated with the stench of burning wreckage and disinfectants. Federation soldiers, once proud and disciplined, now hurried past him, their faces etched with fatigue. Crates of supplies were being unloaded with frantic energy, barely enough to meet the desperate needs of the survivors. What had once been a symbol of Federation order and control had become a grim staging ground for the barely surviving remnants of a broken defense.
Yang's eyes drifted to the nearby landing pad, where a sleek black-and-white frigate sat in sharp contrast to the dust-covered transports. Its angular design and dark hull panels marked it as a stealth vessel, but what caught his eye was the name stenciled in bold white letters: NORMANDY.
As Yang approached, three figures emerged from the ship. The first was a tall man in black N7 combat armor, with the insignia "SPOC" emblazoned on his chest plate—Special Operations Command. Walking beside him is a woman with blonde hair tied into a tight bun, her armor marking her as a marine. Behind them, a second woman followed closely, her black hair neatly pulled back, her armor bearing digital camouflage patterns.
Yang straightened his posture and snapped a salute, his voice heavy with exhaustion but he is the current commander of the facility. "Colonel Xi Yang. You must be?"
The man in N7 armor returned the salute with practiced ease. "Commander David Sheppard, Special Operations Command." He gestured toward the women at his side. "This is Gunnery Sergeant Charlotte Burk Sheppard, and Gunnery Sergeant Ashley Williams."
Charlotte extended her hand with a firm shake. "No relation to the Commander, just married to his cousin." She gave a small smile, but her eyes remained serious.
Ashley stepped forward, her grip firm as well. "Gunnery Sergeant Williams," she said, her voice clipped and professional.
Yang nodded in acknowledgment, though he couldn't help the flicker of surprise at the introduction. They were a small team, far from the reinforcements he had expected. "Follow me to the command center," he said curtly. "I'd like to know why the President sent operators instead of more marines. We've lost the colony. We need soldiers, not—" He stopped himself, glancing at the special ops insignia on Sheppard's armor. "No offense."
Commander Sheppard's face was unreadable, but before he could respond, Ashley spoke up, her tone direct. "Colonel, how long have you been in combat?"
Yang exhaled sharply, running a hand through his short, cropped hair. He looked tired—no, beyond tired—his face lined with exhaustion. "Nine days," he replied, his voice edged with the weariness of a man who had watched his command crumble before his eyes. "It started when that thing—whatever the hell it is—showed up. It's turning our colonists into those… things. Mechanical zombies. We've been holding them off as best we can, but we're running out of everything. ammo, men, time."
"What exactly were you fighting?" Charlotte asked, her sharp eyes darting toward a holographic display that showed images of marines rescuing civilians from another town on Anhur 2, now flickering above the command console.
Yang's gaze followed hers before flicking back to David. "Where the hell have you been? We've been sending communications out regularly. We're not some independent backwater."
David's expression remained calm, though his jaw tensed slightly. "The Federation assumed you had gone independent. We were deployed when we lost contact with Eagle Galaxy. That was over two years ago."
Yang's frown deepened. "We've been under constant attack by the mechanical hordes for days now," he said, turning back toward the command center's main console as they walked. "We never went independent."
Charlotte glanced at David, but her face remained impassive. "These zombies, Colonel—where did they come from?" she pressed, her voice calm but insistent.
Yang's jaw tightened as he turned to face the command display. The blue glow of the holographic screen flickered, illuminating his weary features. "It all started when Cerberus pulled out of Anhur 2," he said, his voice low. "We were under siege for weeks. When the cybernetic creatures showed up, we sent a distress call. No response. We fought alone." He tapped a command into the terminal, and the screen shifted to display their communication logs—dozens of distress signals sent out over the last several days, all unanswered. "We didn't go dark."
David studied the logs, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You said Cerberus pulled out? Why?"
Yang shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"They left you to fend for yourselves," Charlotte said quietly, her voice laced with anger.
Yang nodded grimly. "We were overrun. The Reaper—whatever that monstrosity is—was the final blow. We tried everything. Mortars, charges, heavy artillery. Nothing could stop it. It tore through our defenses like they were made of paper."
Sheppard steps forward, eyes scanning the holographic display, watches the red line of their outgoing communications traces a path through the Eagle spiral arm, stopping at the very edge, where a unmanned Federation subspace satelite is positioned. But something is off. The transmission data abruptly halted before reaching it's destination.
Yang furrows his brow. "That satellite is supposed to relay our transmission back to the Federation."
David exchanged a glance with Charlotte and Ashley. "If Cerberus was experimenting here, then there's more going on than just a rogue colony. The Federation didn't lose contact with you by accident."
"Agreed," Ashley said, stepping forward to examine the communications logs more closely. "Whatever they were working on, they lost control of it."
Yang nodded grimly. "We're out of options. If you're here to help, then help us fight to get our colony back. Our weapons are useless against it." His voice trailed off as a holo-screen behind him displayed the abominations—once-human colonists now twisted into grotesque machines. Their bodies fused with metal; their limbs replaced with cybernetics. "I don't even know if we can call them human anymore."
Charlotte leaned in closer to the terminal. "What do we know about Cerberus' operations here? Any data logs? Research files?"
Yang hesitated for a moment before typing a command into the console. A series of encrypted files appeared, their titles vague but ominous: Project Hyperion, Operation Pastus Progenitor, Reaper Initiative. "These were recovered from their labs," Yang said. "We haven't had time to decrypt them."
David frowned as he examined the file names. "Anymore files." He turned to Charlotte and Ashley. "Transfer the data back to the Normandy and start decrypting it. Whatever Cerberus was doing, we need answers—and fast." He ordered. "Probably they have the location where they are holding Anakin."
Yang nodded, though his expression was grim. "Do whatever you need to do. But remember, while you're working on decrypting files, those things are still out there."
David's face hardened. "We won't let it come to that, Colonel."
"Let's hope you're right," Yang muttered as he watched the holo-screen cycle through images of Anhur 2 Colony's devastation.
TBC