A/N: I reworked the Prologue and chapters 1 - 4. I'm especially proud about how chapter 4 turned out. Check them out and let me know what you think! :)
"Commander, we have a problem!" Corporal Blake, their communications specialist, called out from his station.
"What's the issue, Corporal?"
"Kyle was supposed to be en route to the Rome with an injured man onboard, but the shuttle is moving away from us at full speed."
"Do we have a course?" Commander Lance asked, irritation creeping into his voice.
"He'll be out of range of our short-range radar soon. I've already tried contacting him, but he's not responding."
Lance scratched his chin thoughtfully. His three shuttle pilots—Cob, Sørensen, and Kyle—were dependable men. None of them would decide to take an impromptu joyride without a serious reason. Blake was right—something wasn't adding up.
"Check if the cockpit's audio log recorded anything."
"Already on it, extracting the data now. Give me a minute."
Finally, the file was ready to play. The bridge went silent as the recording began. Kyle's voice was the first to come through, shouting something to someone in the back of the shuttle.
"Perkov, you better stay seated."
The sound of someone limping toward the front could be heard, their steps uneven.
"Hello, Kyle. Unfortunately, I'm going to need to borrow your shuttle," said an unfamiliar voice—yet one that sounded painfully familiar to Lance.
Kyle's panicked shout of the marine's name was cut short by the deafening crack of a gunshot. Something heavy hit the floor.
The other man's voice returned, calm and smug.
"Hello, Commander Lance? It's me, Corporal Bryan Polk. I assume you'll hear this sooner or later. Funny how life works, huh? You just happened to show up here and unknowingly lend me a hand with my escape. The galaxy really is smaller than people think. I'll admit, I was quite surprised to see your people in the hangar just as I was about to leave.
"Apologies for the... unfortunate workplace accident involving good old Kyle. Anyway, I'm off now, but who knows? Maybe we'll cross paths again someday, and we can have a drink together. We could reminisce about the good old days. I could even tell you about all the new friends I made in prison. You wouldn't believe how many of them hate the Alliance—and how very tempting they found the idea of attacking the Alcatraz Station.
"Bryan Polk, signing off."
The recording ended abruptly.
Commander Lance clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. He had to fight hard to maintain his composure.
"What you just heard does not leave this room," he said, his voice shaking with barely restrained anger. "Van Hagen and his team are not to know about this. Not yet." Lance feared he wouldn't be able to stop them if they knew that he killed another one of their friends.
The only others on the bridge at the time were Blake and Wei, who both nodded in understanding.
"Commander, it seems we've caught a bit of a break," Blake said. "Kyle was flying the shuttle we received after the incident with Vicerus. It's equipped with a rather advanced tracker that can transmit data over long distances. However, we shouldn't wait too long—eventually, the signal will fall out of range, especially if he makes a major jump through the next mass relay."
"Good work," the Commander replied, rising from his chair. He needed to move, to let off some steam, and had decided to check on the injured in the medbay with Doctor Lopez. Most importantly, he needed time to think.
"Keep a constant watch on the shuttle's signal and inform Van Hagen to get his team back onboard as soon as possible. Also, send a message to Captain Dunham of the Lima—we'll need their support transporting our people. Bryan Polk isn't going to slip away from us."
The flight back to the Rome was quiet. The team was exhausted and drained—both physically and mentally. The fighting on Alcatraz hadn't ended with the capture of the bridge. As the mercenaries had begun to retreat, the prisoners had launched a desperate resistance, fighting tooth and nail to avoid being forced back into their cells. Ellen and her squad had been locked in a heated firefight when the sudden order came to withdraw immediately.
Van Hagen, transported back to the Rome with his team by a pilot from the Lima, had reluctantly accepted the order, grumbling until Kara reminded him that this might be their chance to track down the fugitive Bryan Polk.
Ellen recalled the reactions when Polk's image had been displayed on their briefing screens. He was an average-looking man with close-cropped brown hair and a weak chin—hardly someone who left an impression at first glance. But even in the still photo, his mischievous smirk and sharp eyes betrayed the cunning mind hiding behind his otherwise unremarkable appearance.
On Alcatraz, Washington and Van Hagen had charged headlong into combat from the bridge, dragging the rest of the squads into the chaos. Ellen's and Norah's teams had struggled to keep up with their reckless pace, barely managing to maintain cohesion before the retreat order came.
"Three minutes to landing on the Rome," Sörensen called back to the Marines seated in the shuttle's hold.
Ellen glanced at her squad. Casey was crouched next to Alex, treating a grazing wound on her thigh with a layer of medigel. Jenkins sat nearby, silent but watchful, his presence a quiet reassurance. When he noticed Ellen looking his way, he nodded grimly, a faint trace of camaraderie in his eyes.
As difficult as the early days of Beta Team had been, Ellen realized just how far they'd come. Over the past months, they had become a true unit—a team that fought and bled for one another.
"Carl, do you need medigel too?" Casey asked after finishing with Alex.
"I'm fine," Jenkins grunted, though Ellen could swear she saw a flicker of embarrassment in his expression.
Her gaze shifted to Norah next. She was sitting a few seats away, deep in discussion with Lauren, John O'Malley, and Tran Nguyen, debating tactical strategies. A few strands of golden hair had escaped her usually strict bun, framing her face. Despite the exhaustion etched into her features, Norah's intensity hadn't waned.
Shortly after, the shuttle touched down in the Rome's hangar. Commander Lance was already waiting for them. The Marines of the 231st Platoon quickly fell into line beside the officers gathered around Van Hagen.
"Van Hagen, you and your people will rest and recover," Lance began. "The Marines of the 231st Platoon are to remain on standby. You will be deployed again shortly."
Anger flared in Van Hagen's expression as he stepped forward. "Sir, Polk was on Alcatraz Station, and he escaped! Capturing him should be our top priority! We have to hunt him down and —"
"We have to do what, Lieutenant?" Commander Lance asked, raising an eyebrow.
The two men locked eyes, neither blinking or backing down. The tension in the hangar was almost palpable, and Ellen could feel it pressing down on everyone present.
"This next mission… we are going after Polk, aren't we?" Van Hagen's voice was low, but the barely contained fury in his tone made every word cut sharper.
The Commander didn't respond, and the silence was too much for the Lieutenant Commander to bear.
"Sir! You're leaving this to the 231st? Polk belongs to us! He's responsible for the deaths of so many good Marines—not just back then, but today too!" Van Hagen's voice rose to a shout, and the few surviving members of his unit murmured their agreement, their anger growing louder.
Only six of them were left—just six. The rest were either in the medbay or dead.
"Lieutenant Van Hagen," Lance began, his voice low and calm. But it sharpened as he continued. "You and the remainder of your team will leave this hangar immediately, and I don't want to see any of you near the shuttles today. Anyone who disobeys will find themselves in the brig."
The protests swelled.
"You can't do this!" Lieutenant Washington snapped, her voice trembling with rage. "He killed my sister!"
August, standing nearby, ripped his helmet off and slammed it to the floor with a frustrated shout.
Ellen watched the scene unfold in stunned silence, but she couldn't blame them. If someone had caused the deaths of over half her platoon, she'd hunt that person to the ends of the galaxy too.
The tension in the hangar reached a boiling point when Van Hagen reached for his weapon.
The Commander moved before the rifle could even be raised, his fist connecting with Van Hagen's face in a brutal, decisive punch. The blow broke the man's nose, and he would have collapsed if August hadn't caught him.
A heavy silence fell over the hangar, broken only by the harsh breaths of the Marines. Van Hagen clutched his nose, blood dripping between his fingers.
"Leave. I won't say it again," Lance commanded, his voice steady and unyielding.
Van Hagen and the others looked shocked, but their anger seemed to deflate. One by one, the defeated Marines turned and left the hangar, leaving the Commander alone with the 231st Platoon.
After a moment, Shaun hesitantly broke the silence. "Sir, your approach might've been… extreme, but wasn't Van Hagen's point at least somewhat valid and -?"
He stopped mid-sentence when Lance shot him a fierce glare. But the Commander's expression softened quickly, shifting into one of exhaustion and grief.
"You've seen them. If I gave them the mission, Polk wouldn't come back alive—or even in one piece. There needs to be a trial, no matter how much I'd like to ignore that. Murder is still murder. I'm not giving you this mission to punish or spite them. I'm doing it to protect them from themselves. They'd throw their careers—and possibly their lives—away."
The Commander straightened and looked over the group. "You've grown during your time aboard the SSV Rome. The Marines of the 231st Platoon have earned a great deal of respect. Don't let us down."
The platoon snapped to attention and saluted as the Commander turned to leave. Halfway to the elevator, he glanced back over his shoulder.
"You'll be heading out again in an hour. Get something to eat or take a break. But if you stay in your armor, remember—no weapons in the mess hall."
He stepped into the elevator and disappeared.
Murmurs rippled through the platoon as they began to scatter. Some headed to the armory, while others made themselves comfortable on nearby crates.
Ellen joined Alex, who was halfway through removing her armor, stacking her chest and shoulder plates on a crate. She tugged at the collar of her tank top, trying to dry the sweat clinging to the fabric.
"This day's been brutal. Is it even still daytime? I've completely lost track," Alex muttered, fanning herself with her gloves.
"It's probably daytime somewhere," Ellen replied.
Lauren walked over, holding out energy bars with a forced cheerfulness. "Here. You should eat something."
"Aye aye, Doc," Alex said, mock-saluting with the snack.
"You might not want to make fun of her," Olivia said, approaching with Norah. "One day, she'll have to treat you for real. And I doubt she'll be gentle."
Lauren laughed. "Exactly. Maybe a little too-tight bandage. Or a misplaced IV that just refuses to go in…"
Alex glared at her but quietly unwrapped the energy bar and started eating.
Norah stepped closer to Ellen, close enough that their hands brushed for a moment. The brief contact sent a warm shiver down Ellen's spine. Their eyes met for a second before Norah quickly looked away, clearing her throat.
"If we work well together, this mission will be over quickly. Then we'll have some time to… relax," Norah said, throwing a sidelong glance at Ellen.
"I don't think you even know how to relax," Olivia teased. "You'd probably need a whole rulebook for it. Maybe Ellen could help you with that."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Alex asked, her mouth still half-full.
"Nothing!" Ellen and Norah blurted out in unison.
Alex pointed her half-eaten energy bar between them, squinting suspiciously. "Something's going on." She turned to Olivia. "Olivia?"
"Definitely," Olivia confirmed with a smirk. "The body language says it all. But they're not ready to tell us yet."
"That's fine. We can wait," Lauren chimed in with a grin, throwing her arms around Ellen and Norah's shoulders. Norah crossed her arms and stared at the floor. Ellen stuffed the rest of the energy bar into her mouth, grateful for an excuse not to answer.
"There you are," Jenkins called from a few meters away. "The Commander says we've got a target. He's waiting in the briefing room to prep us for the mission."
