They rose as one, blood-streaked and battered, onto the lip of the balcony.

  From up here, the whole fight snapped into focus.

  Two Opp rifles had clean angles straight onto Tanaka’s ruined cover. Another pair were chewing chunks off Navarro’s support strut, keeping her pinned. The rest lurked deeper near a cluster of glowing consoles—torpedo sub-control, if Aurora’s quick tags were right—popping out to take opportunistic shots.

  Kaden didn’t think. Trauma Response narrowed the chaos into targets.

  Anyone aiming at Tanaka dies first.

  He leaned over the rail, braced his SMG with his good hand, and squeezed.

  His first burst hammered into the side of the Opp leaning into Tanaka’s lane. One round chipped the console; the next two caught helmet and neck. The alien’s head snapped sideways. They dropped out of sight behind their cover.

  Beside him, Vos’ SMG barked in harsh, controlled bursts. His rounds chewed apart the console an Opp was using to work Navarro’s angle, forcing them to duck. When they popped back up in almost the same spot, Vos walked a three-round line across their upper chest. They slumped backward, arms flailing.

  The Opp adapted fast.

  Muzzles swung toward the balcony. Voices snapped in that clipped, avian-sounding language that made Kaden think of metal on glass.

  “Shift!” he snapped, already moving.

  He dropped flat as shots tore into the rail where his head had been. Fragments of metal bit at his armor and helmet. Vos rolled along the balcony, sliding to a new angle a couple of meters away. He came up on one knee and sent a tight burst back down, forcing one of the shooters to flinch and lose their sight picture.

  On the floor, Jax didn’t waste the opening.

  “Tanaka, push lane three!” she barked. “Navarro, ride his left!”

  Tanaka moved like every joint hurt.

  He dragged himself and his shield sideways, boot skidding in his own blood. The blast had torn chunks out of the lower plates and punched sharp-edged holes near his hip, but he got the mangled slab back between his squad and the worst of the fire. His shotgun rose over the shattered top edge and boomed. The blast took a chunk out of a console corner and showered two Opps with debris.

  Navarro slid along her support strut, taking the angle Tanaka opened. Her rifle popped in short, vicious bursts. One Opp who’d been leaned too far out to track the balcony took two rounds in the shoulder and one in the side of the helmet. They went stiff and toppled.

  Kaden crawled left, ignoring the hot pulse in his ruined hand, and popped up again.

  He picked the muzzle that looked closest to finding Vos.

  The Opp behind it had chosen aggressive cover—a low housing only chest-high. They rose a little too far, weapon tracking toward the balcony. Kaden led by half a helmet and squeezed off a three-round burst.

  One round sparked off the housing. The other two hit the side of the helmet and visor. The alien folded sideways and disappeared.

  For a heartbeat, the fire aimed at Tanaka and Navarro slackened.

  “Whoever’s up there with guns,” Jax called over squad comms, dry even under fire, “welcome to the party. There’s a laundry penalty for showing up fashionably late.”

  Kaden couldn’t help it; a ragged breath that might have been a laugh rattled up his throat. She knows it’s us.

  Navarro must have seen their tags populate at the edge of her HUD. Her voice cut in, tense but lighter than it had been a second ago. “About time, Mercer!”

  “Two of us, one ladder, some assembly required,” Vos shot back, tone tight.

  No one had the bandwidth for more.

  The last three Opp in view tried to adjust all at once—redistributing fire between balcony and floor. It made them sloppier. One overexposed to hit Tanaka’s shield and caught a Controlled Burst straight through the chest from Navarro. Another leaned out in a bad rhythm and Vos clipped them twice in the collar.

  The final defender made the smartest call they had left.

  They bolted.

  They broke from cover and sprinted for a side hatch, weapon tucked across their chest, head low.

  Kaden tracked, exhaled, and let off a short burst. Two shots sparked off armor. The third found the gap between neck and pauldrons. The Opp stumbled, smashed into the hatch frame, and slid down in a heap.

  Silence slammed down, sudden and almost obscene.

  The only sounds were the hiss of damaged consoles, the tick of cooling metal, the small hungry crackle of a few fires trying to take hold. Kaden held his aim for another three breaths, waiting for one more Opp to pop up.

  No one did.

  “Hold fire,” Jax said, voice clipped. “Check your lanes. Confirm clear.”

  Kaden swept his sector from the balcony: broken cover, sprawled bodies, drifting smoke. No movement.

  “Balcony clear,” he said.

  “Left clear,” Navarro put in.

  “Center clear,” Tanaka grunted.

  “Right clear,” Vos added.

  Jax held the silence for a couple of seconds more, then let out a very short breath. “Theta-3, weapons sub-control secured,” she said for Aurora’s benefit and whoever was still listening on the net. Then, more quietly, “All right. Breathe. Six seconds. Then we tighten up.”

  Kaden used three of those seconds to sag behind the rail and let his shoulders drop. His hand throbbed so hard now it felt like it was trying to pulse its way out of the gauntlet. His ears rang faintly.

  “Let’s get down there,” he said to Vos. “Tanaka’s hit bad.”

  “After you,” Vos said. “I’ll admire the view on the way.”

  There was a short ladder cut into the corner of the balcony niche that was built for maintenance access, not marines with full kit. Kaden slung his SMG, got his boot on the top rung, and climbed down one-handed. His legs protested after the earlier ladders and explosions, but they held.

  He hit the deck, rolled his shoulder to bleed off the last bit of drop, and took stock.

  Up close, the room looked worse.

  Consoles had been shot to scrap. Panels sparked intermittently where someone had blown apart their housings. Opp bodies lay sprawled in unnatural angles, blackish blood pooling under them and mixing with human red on the deck.

  Tanaka was kneeling behind his shattered shield, the big plate tipped at an angle now that it wasn’t actively catching rounds. His shotgun lay across the top of it, muzzle down. The armor over his left hip and thigh was a mess. The plates cracked, joint seals shredded. Blood had turned that whole quadrant of his under-suit a dark, ugly color.

  His thigh alarm flashed amber in Kaden’s HUD relay.

  [THETA-3 // K. TANAKA – STATUS: WOUNDED]

  [LOCAL – THIGH / HIP]

  [BLEEDING – ACTIVE]

  [SHRAPNEL – MODERATE]

  His visor turned as Kaden approached. Even through the smoke tint, Kaden could see the dilation in his eyes, the little micro-tremors in his shoulders where his body was trying to shake and Pain Conditioning was refusing to let it.

  “You’re late,” Tanaka rumbled. His voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel. “Missed all the fun.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “I'm hurt you started the party without me big man.” Kaden said, dropping to a knee beside him. “Shield down.”

  Tanaka paused, then let the shield slip off his forearm. It clanged as it hit the deck, the sound slightly warped by the holes blasted through it.

  Without that extra bit of support, he swayed. Kaden shifted closer so his own shoulder brushed the heavy’s chestplate, giving him something to lean on.

  “Navarro, Vos, doors and corners,” Jax said behind them. “We just stole something important. Someone’s going to want it back. Mercer, you’ve got sixty seconds. Then we move or this gets worse.”

  “Copy,” Kaden said.

  He thumbed the manual release on Tanaka’s thigh plate. The armor popped with a hiss, the panel lifting just enough for him to work his fingers under and rip it away.

  Underneath, the under-suit was shredded. The wound was a mess of torn flesh, embedded metal, and blood that kept trying to well up around everything.

  “Good news,” Kaden said automatically. “Everything’s still attached.”

  “Bad?” Tanaka asked, breath hitching.

  “Looks like the grenade tried to take a bite out of your leg and then changed its mind,” Kaden said.

  He reached for his harness.

  [SKILL: FIELD STABILIZE (R1) – ACTIVE]

  [AP – MERCER: 3 → 2]

  The familiar cold clarity slid in behind his eyes as Aurora synced the procedure with muscle memory. Steps lined up in order. Things he already knew, just…smoothed.

  Tourniquet first.

  He pulled the band free, slid it high up the thigh, and cinched hard. Tanaka sucked a breath between his teeth as Kaden twisted the clamp, the muscles in his neck standing out.

  “Keep breathing,” Kaden said. “In. Out. You know the drill.”

  Once the bleeding slowed, he grabbed his tweezers and did the fastest fragment sweep he dared. Big, loose pieces first—one ragged shard of shrapnel near the surface, another bit of warped ceramic that was just waiting to tear more tissue if left where it was. Anything deep and stable, he left.

  Tanaka’s hand clenched into the deck plating with each pull.

  “Anything you’re taking out,” Tanaka said, voice tight, “I’m not going to want to see, am I?”

  “Strong ‘no’ on that buddy,” Kaden said.

  He shook the last fragment into the little scrap catcher on his wrist, then swapped tools for a foam sealant canister. He thumbed the safety cap off with his right hand and slid the injector tip into the wound channel.

  “Foam’s going to feel cold and wrong,” he said. “Don’t kick me.”

  Tanaka grunted his assent.

  Kaden squeezed the trigger. The foam went in thin and then expanded, hissing softly as it filled space and forced blood out before hardening. Aurora ghosted a little overlay showing where he’d coated enough and where to pull back.

  Tanaka’s whole body shuddered once. His helmet hit the console edge behind him with a soft clunk. He didn’t swear; his mic cut down to ragged breathing.

  [PATIENT – STABILISATION: IN PROGRESS]

  [BLOOD LOSS – REDUCING]

  Kaden let the foam finish setting, then grabbed a pressure bandage. He wrapped it tight around the thigh, building layers, using his ruined hand only when he absolutely had to pinch or hold fabric in place. Every time his left fingers shifted even a little, pain flared like a live wire up his forearm. He pushed it aside and kept moving.

  He finished the wrap, anchored it, and reached for a painkiller injector. The little cylinder clicked into the armor port at Tanaka’s hip with practiced ease.

  “On three,” Kaden said. “One. Two.”

  He pushed.

  Tanaka grunted, then let out a long, shaky breath as the drug started to bleed the edges off the pain.

  [THETA-3 // K. TANAKA – STATUS: STABLE]

  [BLEEDING – CONTROLLED]

  [MOBILITY – LIMITED]

  Aurora threw the new status across Kaden’s HUD. He acknowledged with a blink.

  “That’s as good as it’s getting out here,” Kaden said. “You can stand, you can walk, you shouldn’t run, and if you try to jump on anything I’ll sedate you myself.”

  Tanaka huffed something that might have been a laugh. “You spoil me,” he said.

  “Get spoiled in medbay,” Kaden said. “This is just keeping the parts attached until then.”

  He sat back on his heel, letting his shoulders slump for half a second.

  His own HUD complained in the corner of his vision.

  [HAND TRAUMA – STABLE]

  [PAIN LEVEL – MODERATE–HIGH]

  [FATIGUE – SIGNIFICANT]

  He dismissed it. Later.

  Vos shifted into his peripheral vision, still covering one of the main doors. His SMG was up, but his shoulders were sagging now that the immediate shooting had stopped. His armor’s left shoulder plate bore a new crack, and the sling rested awkwardly across his chest.

  “Can he move?” Vos asked.

  “Yeah,” Kaden said. “Like a busted cargo hauler. But yeah.”

  “Good enough,” Vos said. “We need his shield more than his dance skills.”

  Navarro called from her doorway without looking away from her lane. “Tanaka doesn’t dance,” she said. “He just leans and the floor moves to make him feel better.”

  “Appreciated,” Tanaka said, voice a little muzzy now.

  Kaden pushed himself to his feet. The world tilted for a second and snapped back into place. He blinked hard.

  “Mercer.”

  Jax’s voice snapped his attention up.

  She stood closer now, maybe three meters away, rifle held low but ready. This was the first time she’d gotten a good look at him since the blast.

  Her helmet tilted, taking him in.

  The front of his armor was lacquered in dried and half-dried blood—Opp and human both, layered from the relay room, the maintenance corridor, the CQB nightmare, and the climb. His glove was dark to the wrist. The foam-sheathed stumps where his fingers had been were visible where the fabric had torn.

  Vos, behind him, didn’t look much better. Blood streaked his chestplate. His visor had a long scratch across it. The sling was stained.

  For two full heartbeats, Jax said nothing.

  “You look like you crawled out of a meat grinder,” she said finally.

  “Technically accurate,” Vos said.

  “Technically we crawled up out of it,” Kaden added.

  Navarro risked a glance back over her shoulder. Her eyes widened a fraction behind her visor.

  “You two are a fucking mess,” she said. It didn’t sound like an insult. More like disbelief threaded through relief. “Thought you’d bought it in that blast.”

  “Almost,” Vos said lightly. “We decided we’d rather owe Jax laundry than haunt the hull.”

  Jax snorted through her nose, the sound more exhale than laugh. “Laundry tax still stands,” she said. “But I’ll let medbay set the payment schedule.”

  She looked at Kaden’s hand for a beat longer. “How bad?” she asked.

  “Two fingers,” Kaden said. “Offhand. Self-stabilized. I can still shoot and work.”

  Her helmet inclined once. The acceptance wasn’t casual; it was measured. “You go down, we don’t have a medic,” she said. “Mind your pain curve.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” he said.

  She pivoted slightly, taking in Vos. “Arm?”

  “Still attached,” Vos said. “Doesn’t like me much right now. We’re negotiating.”

  “AP?” she asked.

  “Zero,” he said. “Rapid Override on that maintenance door ate the last of it. Wasp’s grounded unless Aurora decides to be generous.”

  Jax nodded.

  She turned her attention to the wrecked consoles and Opp bodies on the far side of the room. Aurora still had small tags hanging in Kaden’s HUD over some of the machinery.

  [PLASMA CONTROL SUB-ROUTING]

  [TORPEDO LOCAL FIRING LOGIC]

  “Tell me this room matters,” she said.

  Vos adjusted his stance, still watching his doorway as he answered. “Oh, it matters,” he said. “These banks were running local control for the torpedo batteries—timing, routing, target correlation. Killing this node means anything still trying to fire torps from this ship has to fight through missing logic and broken loops.”

  “In English,” Jax said.

  “It means we just made their plasma torpedoes a lot dumber and a lot more likely to kill them instead of us,” Vos said. “And before we got here we took a relay down in the spine that fed power and data to the launchers. So even if some torps can still cycle, they’re going to be late, misaligned, or both.”

  Kaden saw a small fleet-level update blink at the edge of his HUD.

  [OPP PLASMA TORPEDO CAPABILITY – FUNCTION: DEGRADED (SEVERE)]

  It didn’t say disabled. Not yet. But the bar representing threat had dropped a visible notch.

  Jax’s jaw flexed under her helmet.

  “So between that relay and this room,” she said, “we’ve kicked the legs out from under their big guns.”

  “As many legs as we could reach,” Vos said. “I’d still prefer not to stand in front of whatever’s left.”

  A low, distant rumble rolled through the deck under their boots, followed by a subtle tilt in the gravity that made Kaden’s stomach flip. Somewhere deeper in the ship, something large had just been hit or powered down.

  “Valiant’s not letting up,” Navarro said quietly.

  Jax listened, head tilted slightly like she could hear more than Kaden could. Maybe she could. Experience did things to people.

  “All right,” she said. “We don’t camp on our victory. Opp command is already sending whoever’s nearby to either retake this or keep us from walking to whatever’s next.”

  She turned back to Kaden and Vos. “You two are alive and mostly in one piece,” she said. “Tanaka’s patched enough to move. Navarro’s still shooting straight. That means Theta-3 is still combat effective.”

  Kaden felt the weight of that phrase settle on his shoulders. Combat effective. Not “okay.” Not “safe.” Just capable of doing more damage.

  He could live with that.

  “Take thirty seconds,” Jax said. “Water, mags, check each other’s plates for holes you didn’t notice. Then I’m going to get a call from Okafor, and he’s going to tell us exactly how much more trouble we’re in.”

  Kaden swallowed past the dryness in his throat. “Yes, Sergeant,” he said.

  He stepped away from Tanaka, who was testing his leg in small, careful shifts, and moved toward Navarro. She tossed him a half-full mag with a deft underhand. His left hand twitched on instinct and flared with pain. He caught it with his right instead.

  “You really okay?” Navarro asked under her breath.

  “Define okay,” he said.

  She snorted. “Not dead,” she said. “Still making bad jokes. That’ll do.”

  Behind them, Vos leaned his helmet back against the nearest intact patch of wall for a second, eyes closed, then pushed off again and checked his mag. Tanaka straightened by sheer stubbornness, using his shield as a crutch to stand. Jax moved to the edge of the room, visor tilted slightly as if she were already listening for the call she knew was coming.

  Kaden reloaded, slapped the mag home, and did a quick mental check.

  AP: 2/5. Hand: wrecked but usable. Squad: all present, all breathing, all hurting.

  Aurora sat quiet in the corner of his vision, for once not shoving new alerts at him.

  Whatever came next, they’d face it as Theta-3 again.