5 HOURS BEFORE THE SQUAD'S AWAKENING.

  DATE: August 30, 2920.

  LOCATION: Rebel Corvette.

  "Report..." a man's voice crackled through the comms.

  No one answered. Only static.

  "I repeat, report..."

  "Team Quebec here..." the choppy reply came through the speaker. "East Zone secured. I repeat, East Zone secured..."

  "Copy that, Team Quebec. Proceeding to deploy the boarding bridge..."

  "Received, command deck."

  The man communicating with Team Quebec wore civilian clothes. He sat in front of his console, the screen’s light reflecting on his face. Touching the panel, he slid his fingers with precision, executing the deployment sequence.

  "Ready," he whispered. He quickly raised his hand upon finishing, signaling the room.

  A soldier in light tactical gear approached him. They looked at each other for a second, nodding almost in unison. The soldier turned on his heel and immediately exited the command deck.

  With a brisk pace, the soldier navigated several corridors saturated with people running and shouting orders. But upon reaching the last hallway, the bustle died instantly.

  This corridor was almost completely empty.

  If not for the presence of one other person.

  And for a sound. A metallic screech—sharp, constant—sounding as if the steel itself were suffering.

  The soldier kept walking but slowed his pace as he drew near.

  There he was. Leaning against the wall.

  It was a man wearing loose tactical clothing with a navy blue coat draped over it, and a metallic half-mask hiding the lower part of his face. His hair was messy, his complexion olive.

  However, the most striking thing wasn't his officer-like appearance. It was what he was doing.

  In his right hand, gloved in tactical gear, he held a combat knife. With the tip of the weapon, he was carving Roman numerals into the palm of his other hand, tearing through the tissue with force.

  "Three left..." the man whispered, like a broken song. "Just a few more..."

  The soldier quickly averted his gaze upon hearing the whispers, unable to sustain eye contact. His hands trembled as he passed right by him, and cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

  "ONLY THREE LEFT FOR THE AWAKENING!" the man suddenly screamed, letting out a macabre laugh that bounced off the metal walls.

  The laugh was like a whip crack. The soldier clenched his fists and, like a startled cat, jumped in fright. He stopped walking and broke into a run, feeling a chill crawl down his spine, convinced the madman would pounce on him any second.

  He’s going to catch me, he thought in panic.

  At the end of the hall, he ran into a double sliding metal door. He stopped dead, leaning against it.

  "Damn it!" he exclaimed, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Calm down... calm down..."

  He inhaled deeply. Exhaled slowly.

  With his pulse slightly steadier, he adjusted his tactical gear and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  "I'm coming in, sir," he announced, opening the doors and entering.

  Inside, the room looked like a makeshift laboratory. There were shelves full of jars with cloudy liquids and a central table cluttered with chemical instruments.

  Although the place was striking, the soldier didn't take his eyes off the front. He took subtle, careful steps, as if walking on glass.

  In front of him, behind the table, was a chair facing away from him.

  "Sir..." the soldier said, swallowing hard. "Everything is ready."

  The distant rumbles from deep within the ship were his only answer.

  The silence in the room was dense. The heavy, rhythmic breathing of the person sitting in the chair was the only audible sound, and that only increased his discomfort.

  "General?" he insisted. His hands started shaking again.

  No answer.

  Did I bother him... or did I? the soldier thought, feeling his left leg start to tremble uncontrollably.

  The General didn't turn around.

  Unhurriedly, he extended his right hand toward a shelf and grabbed a gas mask. He placed it on with slow, precise movements, covering his entire face before deigning to look.

  "Let's go," he replied with absolute seriousness and calm.

  He stood up from the chair and turned toward the soldier.

  The white lab coat opened as he moved, revealing the clothes underneath. It was strange: a suit of fibrous weave, devoid of insignia, in muted colors that seemed to absorb the light.

  His bearing was anachronistic for the era, almost regal. Yet, that presence emanated absolute control which, strangely, calmed the soldier. Seeing him standing tall, his shoulders relaxed by instinct.

  They left the room.

  Walking down the hall, the soldier saw the madman in the distance again. This time, he forced himself not to look away.

  I'll be fine, he thought, positioning himself half a step behind the masked man, using him as a human shield.

  "Mm?" The General turned his head slightly, noticing the soldier's excessive proximity.

  In the distance, the madman gripped the handle of his knife. The General's subtle movement acted as a trigger. He turned his head slowly toward them, locking his eyes on the duo.

  "Oh, my Lord!" the man exclaimed, his eyes widening with grotesque joy. "It is time, isn't it...?"

  "Walk, Zarbac," the masked man ordered without raising his voice.

  The soldier's borrowed calm vanished in a second; he froze in his tracks.

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  "As bitter as always!" Zarbac peeled himself off the wall and opened his arms. "Ahh, what a delight!"

  The General stopped too. He had taken a few steps, but seeing Zarbac approaching closer and closer, with a skipping gait as if wanting to give him a hug, he preferred to wait.

  "Why do you fear?" the General sighed.

  The soldier stood motionless, paralyzed, watching Zarbac come. Every step the madman took provoked a small spasm of terror in the military man's body.

  "Sir...?" he stammered, seeing him dangerously close.

  "Mm?" The General still had his back to him.

  "What is an 'H' doing here?" His breathing became heavy, agonizing.

  The General didn't answer. Zarbac kept getting closer, happy.

  "Sir?!" The soldier squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, unable to look. "What is he doing here?!"

  A sudden gust of wind ruffled his hair, cutting off his words.

  The trembling in his body stopped for an instant, suspended in confusion. He opened one eye first, looking up in fear: the hallway in front of him was empty.

  He opened the other eye. The General was no longer turning his back on him. He had turned around, but he wasn't looking at him. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, were pointed to the side. Right next to the soldier.

  By instinct, the soldier followed the General's gaze.

  He turned his head to the left. And his heart stopped.

  There he was. Inches from his face.

  "Do you have a problem?" Zarbac asked, with a chilling tranquility.

  "No, no, no, sir! I'm sorry!" the soldier stammered, trying to back away, but his boots stumbled.

  "HA... I assumed you knew me." Zarbac tilted his neck slightly, like a curious dog. "Do you know me?"

  "You... you are the lu..."

  He couldn't finish. He bit his tongue when a hand closed around his throat.

  In a blink, Zarbac lifted him and slammed him against the wall.

  The impact was brutal. Zarbac showed no effort whatsoever; he held him pinned against the metal, feet dangling in the air, strangling him.

  Tears welled up in the soldier's eyes instantly. The lack of air burned. The slight creaking of his vertebrae and the pressure on his trachea screamed at him to fight, to get those hands off him, but he was paralyzed.

  "Please..." he croaked, airless.

  Zarbac twisted his neck again upon hearing him, ignoring the plea. He stared into the void.

  "What if he doesn't know me?" he whispered with genuine doubt.

  Suddenly, he snapped his neck to the other side, furious.

  "You shut up! Of course, he knows us!" he screamed at himself. "I'll teach you who...!"

  He couldn't finish the threat.

  "That is enough," the General said.

  His voice didn't rise in volume, but his hand came to rest on Zarbac's shoulder. It was a firm, dry touch.

  Zarbac froze instantly. The General withdrew his hand, and Zarbac took a step back, stumbling against the opposite wall.

  The soldier fell to his knees on the floor, gasping for oxygen. Behind him, on the metal wall, a visible dent remained where he had been slammed.

  The General, wasting no time, turned to the soldier. He extended a hand to help him up. The man was still staring at the floor, sobbing and shaking.

  "Damn it..." the soldier muttered, wiping away tears and saliva.

  "Do not speak of him in his presence again," the General warned coldly.

  The soldier looked up, nodded frantically, and took the gloved hand to stand.

  "AHH!" Zarbac shouted suddenly, with a mix of pain and ecstasy.

  The madman brought his hand to his own shoulder, right where the General had touched him. The bone looked slightly dropped, out of place. With a sharp, expert movement, he shoved it upward.

  CRACK!

  The wet sound of the joint popping back into place echoed in the hallway.

  "You are truly incredible!" Zarbac exclaimed, panting with pleasure while rotating the freshly reset arm. "TRULY INCREDIBLE!"

  His words of masochistic satisfaction made the General let out a tired sigh, downplaying the strength he had just exerted.

  "Let's go," he simply said, lifting the soldier completely and resuming his path.

  Minutes later, the three arrived at the boarding bridge access zone.

  It was a sort of internal hangar, dominated by a metal staircase structure at least thirty steps high. The door they had entered through was at the top, offering a panoramic view.

  Upon descending, they found a group of rebel soldiers formed in perfect rows at the foot of the structure.

  "Why is there a platoon here?" the General asked upon reaching the last step.

  "It's your escort, sir," the soldier replied, his voice still trembling. "It's for your protection."

  "I do not need escorts," the General said, and began walking in a straight line, cutting through the formation without asking for permission.

  "But... it's for your safety," the soldier insisted, knitting his brows with concern.

  Zarbac, walking behind, twisted his neck and locked his gaze on the soldier, enjoying his discomfort.

  The General stopped for a second and turned. His eyes scanned the soldier's uniform until stopping at the identification patch on his chest.

  "In that case, only you come," the masked man said, reading the embroidered name. "Private Valto... I appoint you as my escort."

  Valto clenched his fist, feeling the ground open up beneath his feet. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a short sigh, heavy with resignation.

  Why me? he thought, feeling Zarbac's gaze burning the back of his neck.

  "It will be an honor," he lied, swallowing hard.

  The masked man nodded and turned his back on him.

  "Platoon," he ordered, turning only his head toward the formation. "Protect the bridge to the death."

  "YES, SIR!" they shouted in unison, their voices rumbling in the hangar.

  The group advanced toward the boarding bridge.

  It was an impressive and disconcerting structure at the same time: the floor wasn't solid, but a projection of blue plasma energy humming beneath their boots. The walls and ceiling were made of a translucent, thin material, resembling paper, designed to maintain oxygen without losing the view of the void outside.

  On the other side of the bridge, already inside the Frigate Blitz, the leader of Team Quebec waited.

  Behind him, the rest of his team moved with urgency, providing medical attention to the wounded lying on the floor, without discriminating sides. Imperials and rebels were treated equally.

  "Captain Ripto, Team Quebec," the man said, clicking his heels on the floor and saluting with impeccable military bearing. "Reporting for action."

  The General nodded upon seeing him as he finished crossing the plasma floor.

  "At ease," he said upon reaching him. "Report."

  Ripto put his hands behind his back, relaxing his posture but maintaining seriousness.

  "The East Zone has been fully secured," he reported. "However, due to a lack of manpower, we cannot maintain order with the hostages in Sector B."

  His words provoked a sepulchral silence in the group. In the background, the moans of the wounded became clearer, filling the void with a melody of pain.

  "You are all useless..." Zarbac hissed.

  He clenched his fists tightly and took an aggressive step forward, invading the space.

  "Can no one, except me, do things right?"

  Ripto took a step back by instinct, swallowing hard. He didn't take his eyes off the madman, watching him peripherally.

  To his right, Valto began to tremble again, as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees.

  "Oh, my Lord..." Zarbac turned abruptly toward his General, caressing the handle of a knife sheathed at his abdomen. "If you allow me, I will solve the problem."

  The masked man sighed wearily and raised his left hand to stop him.

  "Silence, Zarbac... I have a better job for you."

  Zarbac's eyes swelled with excitement behind the mask.

  "Ohhh...!" He opened his arms theatrically. "What will it be?"

  "Head to Sector C," the General ordered, "and retrieve the files related to the PDM Project."

  "It will be a total pleasure."

  Zarbac made an exaggerated bow, then turned toward the dark interior of the Blitz. Before leaving, he leaned toward Ripto and Valto, whispering with venom:

  "Don't die, useless ones."

  He broke into a run toward his sector with a strange, almost childish joy, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway.

  A long collective sigh resonated in the place when they saw him vanish. Valto stopped trembling visibly. Ripto recovered the step he had retreated, composing his posture.

  The General began to walk, stopping when he was shoulder to shoulder with the Captain.

  "Valto, you go with Ripto to control the hostages," he instructed without looking at them.

  "I REFUSE!" Valto exclaimed immediately, furrowing his brow and swallowing hard as if he had glass in his throat.

  The General didn't even turn around. He just let out a small snort of indifference and kept walking.

  Valto reacted late and tried to follow him, desperate not to lose the protection of his shadow. But he was stopped dead. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder.

  Ripto stopped him as he passed by.

  "Hey...! I am his escort," Valto protested, struggling.

  "Not anymore." Ripto looked him dead in the eye, with authority. "Now you are my subordinate."

  Valto felt the Captain squeezing his shoulder tightly. Seeing his General moving further and further down the hall, panic dominated him. He tried to break free.

  He failed the first attempt.

  He failed the second.

  On the third, fear broke his voice.

  "No..." Valto whimpered, clinging to Ripto's arm like a child. "Please... don't leave me so close to that beast."

  The masked man kept walking calmly, without stopping.

  "PLEASE...!" He reached out his arm toward the retreating figure, on the verge of crying.

  There was no physical response. The General turned a corner and disappeared from view.

  "Calm down..." Ripto said, looking at him strangely due to his hysterical behavior. "They are just hostages, soldier. Control yourself."

  Valto looked at him with disdain, breathing heavily. They didn't understand anything.

  Suddenly, Valto's comms came to life. The masked man's serious and distorted voice resonated in his ear and in those of the nearby officers.

  "You already survived Zarbac once... You can survive him again."

  The effect was immediate.

  All the personnel there, including Ripto, froze. Upon hearing that name, they looked at Valto with disbelief and horror.

  A nervous tic appeared under Captain Ripto's eye. He let go of him slowly, looking at him no longer as a cowardly subordinate, but as someone who had walked away alive from a monster.

  End of Chapter 4.

  CHAPTER 5 IS OUT NOW!