The Butcher of Torfan II

The rest of the squad was already assembled in the shuttle bay when Benedetto, Reznik, Miller, Dubois, and Vasquez arrived. The air was thick with expectation, but one presence was noticeably absent.

"Where's the captain?" Reznik asked, scanning the bay with a frown.

"He was here," Hao answered, his weight shifting onto one leg "but the LT asked to see him."

The five newcomers exchanged knowing glances. That kind of summons never meant anything good, and their earlier conversation seemed to be spot on.

Hao narrowed his eyes, eyeing each of them in turn before locking onto Benedetto like a predator sizing up prey. "You know something?"

Benedetto lifted his hands in mock innocence. "Technically, I don't know anything."

"Yeah, we know that," Martino quipped, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

Vasquez clapped Benedetto on the shoulder. "He thinks the recently arrived Spook and Praetorian are coming with us."

A ripple of unease passed through the rest of the squad.

"Spooks are always up to something," Puidgemont murmured under her breath but it was still loud enough for everyone to hear.

Taylor folded his arms across his chest, brows knitting together. "What makes you think they're tagging along?"

"Call it a hunch," Benedetto answered with a shrug.

"No such thing as a hunch when it comes to spooks," Jenkins said with a frown.

Benedetto glanced around before leaning in slightly. "We're being sent to investigate a mining outpost that lost communication after discovering a potential alien structure. And just before we depart, a Spook and a Praetorian board the ship?" He shook his head, mouth drawn in a tight line. "if we're going down there, you can bet your ass they are too."

A knowing silence followed before Hao clapped his hands together, startling a few of them. "No point worrying about it now. We'll find out soon enough."

Reznik, still surveying the bay, frowned. "Isn't there supposed to be a shuttle prepped and ready to go?"

Vasquez smirked, waggling his eyebrows. "You know those fly boys. Probably hit snooze one too many times and overslept."

As if summoned by his words, the engines of the UT-53 Ussuri shuttles roared to life. The larger, bulkier cousin of the standard Kodiak, the Ussuri was built for heavier loads and rougher conditions. The clamps securing the shuttle disengaged with a mechanical hiss, and the craft lifted off the deck, hovering a few inches in place before stabilizing.

A side hatch popped open, revealing Ensign Madison Evers as she stepped onto the bay floor. She had soft brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when she laughed and honey-blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She was dressed in the dark blue bodysuit standard for shuttle pilots.

"I heard you jarheads needed a lift," she said, a playful grin tugging at her lips as she locked eyes with Benedetto.

"Maddy," Benedetto muttered, grinning in return.

"Fly girl," Vasquez whispered, eyebrows raised in amazement.

Taylor, eyeing the shuttles, gestured toward one of the sleeker Kodiaks. "We're not taking a Kodiak?"

Evers gave a noncommittal shrug. "Too many passengers."

The Roadrunners broke into a chorus of groans and curses. Too many passengers for a Kodiak meant more than just their squad was coming.

"This day just got a whole lot worse," Kruger muttered darkly.

"Stow it, Marine."

They all pivoted as Captain Kogo marched into the room, wearing a scowl that would cower even the toughest of krogans.

Behind him walked two unknown officers. The first, an older man bearing the rank of major, stood a few inches below average height. His graying hair was neatly trimmed and he had a smile that did not reach his eyes. His dark gray body armor bore purple accents and a scorpion insignia above the heart, marking him as a Praetorian, the political-military police force established during the war with the batarians.

Beside him, the second officer, a naval lieutenant, was taller and leaner, with short copper-colored hair. His body language spoke volumes: stiff posture, slightly averted gaze, the faintest twitch in his fingers. He radiated discomfort, as if the mere act of standing in a room full of soldiers put him on edge. His armor was jet black, and at the center of his chest, a white eye stared back at them. It was the emblem of the Special Intelligence Office, whose members were commonly called "spooks" by the rank and file of the Systems Alliance military.

"Attention!" Hao barked.

The squad straightened up in unison, feet snapping together, hands at their sides.

The Praetorian waved his hand about in a nonchalant manner. "No need for formalities." His voice had a soothing aspect to it but it did nothing to put the Roadrunners at ease.

Captain Kogo's jaw visibly tightened as he spoke. "This is Major Wilkes of the Praetorian Guard and Lieutenant Thompson of the Special Intelligence Office. They will be accompanying us on our mission to the Cayuga Mining Outpost."

Looks were shared between the marines. Major Wilkes gave them all a look that tried to say, I'm on your side.

"Captain Kogo still has active command. We are merely coming as observers," Wilkes assured the squad.

The muscles in Kogo's jaw flexed again, his displeasure barely contained. But after a moment of silence, he turned to Evers instead.

"Ensign, what's our ETA?"

"Nine minutes, sir," Evers replied crisply.

"Then I suggest you marines get aboard and strap yourselves in."

"Sir, yes sir!" they answered in unison.

The Ussuri's interior was split into two sections: the cockpit in the front, housing the pilot, copilot, and flight engineer, and the troop bay in the rear.

Evers slid into the copilot's seat beside Junior Lieutenant Jessica Rawley, a tall, wiry woman with sharp cheekbones and steel-blue eyes. Behind them, Chief Petty Officer Kwon Tae-joon adjusted his harness in the flight engineer's seat. He was a slender man with close-cropped black hair and a weathered face that hinted at a lifetime of experience. His sharp gaze flicked across his console, fingers dancing over the controls with methodical precision.

As the squad settled into seats that folded down from the side of the troop bay, Benedetto exchanged one last glance with Vasquez, who gave him a knowing smirk.

"Too many passengers," Vasquez mouthed at him, enunciating each word.

Benedetto just exhaled and tightened his harness.

The sound of pressure leaving the shuttle bay rang in their ears before a section of the floor away from the shuttles opened up.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen," Rawley's voice echoed in the troop bay as she keyed the comm system, "we've been given the green light to descend. ETA to the outpost is two hours and thirty-two minutes. There is no in flight entertainment, so hopefully you brought a book for some light reading. Remember to please keep your seat-belts fastened at all times. Thank you for flying Systems Alliance Navy and enjoy your flight."

Rawley turned off the comms and moved the shuttle forward. As it reached the gaping hole in the floor, she pointed the nose almost straight down at the planet below and pushed the throttle. Evers looked over the readings in front of her, nodding at what she saw.

"Not much atmosphere. Air resistance should be minimal. We're looking at a relatively smooth flight."

Kwon slams his hand on the side of his seat. "Damn it Evers! You jinxed us!"

"I didn't jinx anything," Evers said, defensively.

"Yes you did! You jinxed us!"

"Whatever, ya superstitious dolt."

Gunnery Chief Datu Benedetto much preferred going planetside in a drop pod. The sensation of being fired like a bullet, the force of acceleration, and the bone-rattling impact upon landing were all part of the experience. Adrenaline surged through his veins in those moments, and there was no time to think. From launch to crash, it was over in minutes.

A shame, really, that they could only do it once per deployment. Frigates were too small to carry spare pods, and so, for the rest of the deployment, they were stuck taking the slow route: shuttles. Taking a shuttle to the surface was boring. The descent took hours, and there were only two things to entertain you; your thoughts or your fellow marines. Neither was particularly appealing after the first hour.

"Alright, let's take bets," Vasquez said, a mischievous lilt to his voice, cutting through the monotony. "Losers buy the winners a round next shore leave. Who here thinks we'll arrive to a bunch of dead bodies, and who thinks we'll arrive to a downed comm relay? I vote dead bodies."

"Dead bodies," Miller responded without hesitation. Lofton grinned and voiced his agreement.

"Downed comm relay," DuBois countered.

Jenkins and Kruger both sided with the dead-body theory.

Miller shook his head and flashed DuBois a toothy grin. "DuBois, next shore leave you're either gonna blow through your pay or you are going to be absolutely hammered."

"I'll say downed comm relay," Martino offered.

"Oh, and someone willing to share in the high risk, high reward," Lofton called out with glee.

Captain Kogo, already irritated and sporting his usual scowl, looked as though his patience had been tested enough. His voice cut through the banter like a blade. "Can it, Marines. These are Systems Alliance citizens you're talking about. Show some damn respect."

"Yes, sir," Vasquez, Miller, and Lofton muttered in half-hearted unison.

The reprimand sucked the air from the conversation, plunging the troop bay into an uneasy silence. Benedetto knew it wouldn't last. They had been in the shuttle for nearly two hours, and they should be landing soon. Once they hit the ground and moved toward the outpost, their ability to joke around would be limited. Kogo wouldn't stand for it, and guys like Vasquez and Miller would try to get their last wisecracks in before the mission got serious.

In the cockpit, Ensign Evers' eyes widened as fresh data flashed across her screen. "What the—"

The shuttle's power cut out in an instant. Every system went dark.

Then, they plummeted.

A symphony of screams and curses erupted as the shuttle dropped from the sky like a stone. Red emergency lights flickered to life, bathing the interior in a blood-colored glow.

"I hope you dirt-pounders are strapped in!" Rawley shouted from the cockpit as she fought to restore the engines.

"I told you, you jinxed us!" Kwon screamed over the din.

"Now isn't the time!" Evers snapped back.

"We're probably about to die! There isn't going to be another time!"

"Helmets on!" Kogo roared, grabbing his own helmet. "If the hull gets compromised, the air's not breathable!"

The scramble was frantic. Some marines managed to secure their helmets in time, locking them into place with sharp hisses of pressurization. Others weren't as fast.

The shuttle clipped a rock formation, the impact sending shockwaves through the cabin. Those who hadn't secured their helmets had them bouncing around like projectiles in a brutal game of dodgeball. Benedetto gritted his teeth as he was thrown against his harness, his shoulder screaming in protest.

Then, the shuttle hit the ground. Hard.

It bounced, once, twice, before skidding across the terrain, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and debris. Metal groaned, buckled, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, everything stopped.

Silence.

Then groans.

Benedetto felt weightless for a moment before realizing he was still strapped in. With one hand he fumbled with his harness, the pain in his left arm sharp and immediate as he collapsed to the floor. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up, his arm hanging limp at his side.

Reznik groaned beside him.

"Reznik, you okay?" he asked, moving closer.

She didn't answer at first. He waved a hand in front of her face. "Reznik?" He snapped his fingers. "Hey, Yulia. You alright?"

"I think so." Reznik shifted in her harness and winced. "Definite damage to the ribs, but I can manage."

Kogo, Thompson, and Taylor undid their harnesses. Each of them performed small stretches, attempting to see if their movements caused any pain and where that pain was located.

"Why does it smell like vomit?" Martino asked groggily.

"Because you puked in your helmet," Taylor pointed out, his voice flat as he noted the chunks and thick liquid that stuck to the inside of Martino's faceplate.

A tinge of surprise entered Martino's voice. "Holy shit, I did."

Benedetto moved to check on Kruger, who was slumped beside Reznik. Kogo checked on Hao.

"Kruger's breathing but unconscious."

"Same with Hao," Kogo confirmed.

Thompson checked carefully on Wilkes, and was relieved to see the older officer was still breathing.

Benedetto's gaze swept the troop bay before locking onto the cockpit door. In three steps he clears the troop bay and hovered in the cockpit doorway. The windshield was cracked, but not shattered. No telltale hiss of leaking air. That was good. But none of the three inside had their helmets on.

He moved passed Kwon to Evers first, pressing two fingers to her neck. A steady pulse. Relief flooded through him. Her nose was swollen, an ugly mix of red and purple, blood dripping sluggishly from her nostrils.

Kwon stirred and coughed. He noticed Benedetto crouching over Evers.

"I'm fine too, lover boy." He coughed again. "How's Rawley?"

Benedetto turned his head and winced. Rawley's face was unrecognizable, caved in where her skull had met the console. Blood, flesh, and bits of bone smeared the dashboard. He couldn't even comprehend the amount of force it took to cause such damage.

"Rawley's dead."

Kwon muttered a string of Korean expletives. He unbuckled himself but made no move to stand.

"What the hell happened?" Kogo demanded from the troop bay.

"Electromagnetic pulse," Kwon answered hoarsely. "Came out of nowhere."

"Everything's fried?"

"Everything."

Kogo exhaled sharply, his mouth a thin line. "Benedetto, I need you to lead a team to the outpost and get assistance, most ricky tick."

Benedetto arched an eyebrow. "You mean assuming everyone in the outpost isn't, you know, dead?"

"Look around, Marine. We don't exactly have options. Communications are down, life support is down, propulsion is down. More than half the squad is unconscious, and we've got a KIA. We don't know if the Tripoli even knows what happened to us, and we can't sit around waiting to find out."

Benedetto sighed. "Taylor? Martino? You guys up for a hike?"

Martino gave a weak thumbs-up.

Taylor frowned. "Let me help with that."

He gestured to Benedetto's arm. Taylor stepped forward and grabbed the arm. He looked at Benedetto, who nodded his head. With an upward jerking motion and a grunt of pain, the arm popped back into its socket. Benedetto gingerly moved his arm around, massaging his shoulder with his other hand.

Kogo crouched and picked up one of the helmets scattered across the ground, turning it over in his hands. The exterior was battered, scuffed from impact, and bore a noticeable dent on one side. He ran a gloved thumb over the damaged area, searching for any cracks that might compromise the airtight seal. Satisfied, he gave a short nod and placed the helmet over Kruger's head, locking it into place with a practiced twist. Benedetto and Taylor followed suit, securing helmets onto Jenkins and Puidgemont with careful efficiency.

"There's thirty minutes of air in your suits," Kogo stated. "I'd suggest bringing a tank."

Every shuttle came stocked with emergency oxygen tanks; ten-pound canisters meant for situations exactly like this. It was protocol. But the issue was that each tank only provided about five to six hours of breathable air, depending on exertion levels. If they were lucky, sitting still might stretch that to seven or eight hours. But if the Tripoli had no idea they'd crash landed, that was not much of a buffer.

They moved quickly, grabbing and distributing the oxygen tanks. The metallic clinks of attachments locking into place punctuated the silence as they connected the tanks to their suits. Even the unconscious crew members were fitted with tanks, their breathing steady but shallow beneath their helmets.

The three Roadrunners heading for the outpost double-checked their equipment; suit integrity, weapons, oxygen supply. Everything had to be in working order.

"All set?" Benedetto asked, glancing at the others.

Taylor gave a firm nod. "Good to go."

"Just one question," Benedetto said, shifting from one foot to another. "Which way to the outpost?"

Kwon, scratched the stubble on his cheek, his brow furrowed in thought. "Based on our flight path, it should be about two to three klicks magnetic north by northeast."

"Should be?" Taylor asked, frowning.

Kwon shrugged. "Or I could be completely wrong."

"Fantastic," Martino muttered under his breath.

Despite his uncertainty, Chief Petty Officer Kwon's estimate proved accurate. Thirty minutes later, the marines found themselves standing in front of the outpost, a two-story structure of dull, gray metal. Large hangar doors dominated one side, their reinforced panels thick with dust. To the right of the hangar, a smaller door sat embedded in the metal wall, secured with a rotating dog lever.

Benedetto stepped forward and gripped the wheel, straining as he twisted it. The metal groaned in protest, but with effort, the door gave way, swinging outward to reveal a small airlock chamber. It was cramped, only large enough to fit a small group at a time, and led to another door deeper inside.

Benedetto tapped the side of his helmet. No response. "Helmet lights aren't working."

"The suits' electronics are fried too," Taylor reminded him.

Martino hesitated. "Wait… does that mean no shields?"

Benedetto turned and casually punched Martino hard in the shoulder. The impact sent Martino stumbling a step to the side. There was no flicker of a kinetic barrier absorbing the hit, no familiar shimmer of energy flaring upon impact.

"Ow! What the hell?" Martino growled, rubbing his shoulder.

"No shields," Benedetto confirmed, his tone dry.

Taylor pulled his Avenger assault rifle from his back, the weapon expanding in his hands with soft metallic clicks. He pressed a button on the side and the flashlight on the side of the gun lit up, casting a bright but narrow beam.

"Use your Avenger's flashlight," he instructed. "They run on a simple contact strip and micro power-cell. The EMP didn't fry them."

Martino, still muttering under his breath, pulled out his own rifle and switched on the flashlight. Benedetto moved cautiously as he reached for the next door's rotating dog lever. It resisted at first, but like the previous one, with a grunt, he forced it to spin. The door creaked open, revealing an expanse of absolute darkness beyond.

Benedetto took out his Avenger rifle and added his flashlight to the mix. The hangar was vast, its size barely discernible even with three beams cutting into the void. Shadows stretched unnaturally, forming pools of inky blackness between stacks of cargo crates and forgotten machinery.

"Without our suits' systems, is there any way to tell if the air's breathable?" Benedetto asked, his voice low.

"Could always just take off our helmets and take a deep breath," Martino suggested dryly. "See if we pass out or not."

"We'll call that Plan B," Benedetto replied.

"Shit, I might just give it a shot," Martino muttered. "I can only take the smell of vomit for so long."

"Next time, don't puke," Taylor said, his tone flat.

"Next time, go fuck yourself," Martino shot back.

Beyond their beams of light, something moved.

It stayed just out of reach, lurking in the shadows, tracking their every step. Its form was indistinct, a flicker in the dark, a shape that seemed to blend into the blackness itself. The marines had no idea it was there.

"Let's fan out," Benedetto ordered. "Martino go left, Taylor right."

"You sure?" Martino asked, shifting uneasily.

"I'm not sure of shit," Benedetto admitted. "Just spread out."

With slow, measured steps, they advanced. Every movement was careful, their rifles at the ready. The something mirrored them, stepping back each time they moved forward. It stayed just beyond their lights, shifting noiselessly. Until it miscalculated.

Its back met cold metal.

A loose cylinder, standing on its own, toppled over with a metallic clank. The sound reverberated through the empty hangar, breaking the tense silence.

The three marines jumped, curses escaping their lips.

Something was in here with them.