The corridor outside primary control looked worse on the way out.

  When they’d pushed through, the killbox had been clean lines and active guns. Now it was a graveyard. Opp bodies where they’d fallen. Console casings gutted by shotgun blasts. A smear on the deck where someone had tried to crawl and hadn’t made it far.

  Jax took it in with one quick sweep, then pointed.

  “Same route back,” she said. “We know it, it’s already broken, and anyone still waiting on us is pointed the other way by now. Tanaka, front. Navarro, you’re eyes and pistol. Mercer, watch our rear and anyone who wants to fall over. Vos, stay between warm bodies.”

  Tanaka brought the shield up again, shoulders rolling as he set the weight. His armor plates looked like scrap—pitted, scorched, edges chewed. He moved like a man whose leg hurt and whose body was very done with all of this, but he moved.

  Navarro limped into position just behind his left shoulder, pistol held high, rifle hanging empty on its sling. Vos fell in around the middle of the column, one hand on a torn bulkhead to steady himself, SMG tucked close. Kaden drifted toward the back, re-checking everyone’s vitals on HUD.

  [THETA-3 – STATUS]

  JAX – STABLE / WOUNDED – MODERATE ASPIRATION

  TANAKA – STABLE / HEAVILY WOUNDED – COMPROMISED MOBILITY

  NAVARRO – STABLE / WOUNDED – MINOR ISCHEMIA

  VOS – STABLE / CONCUSSION RISK: HIGH – FRACTURED ULNA

  MERCER – STABLE / WOUNDED – DIGITAL LOSS

  The ship groaned around them as they moved away from the core. Systems were failing in layers: one section with full light, the next in red emergency gloom, another flickering between the two. Gravity hitched once, enough to make everyone’s stomachs lurch before it restabilized at a slightly crooked pull.

  They reached the junction where Kaden and Vos had split off earlier. The bulkhead that had slammed down to cut them away from the rest of Theta-3 now hung crooked, its bottom edge buckled by whatever stresses had hit the ship since.

  Jax studied it for a second, then nodded.

  “Same way,” she said. “Bulk of the fighting’s moved away from here by now. If it hasn’t, they’ve got other problems.”

  She led them back into the corridor where the Opp demolition charge had gone off and the blast doors had slammed, splitting the squad. The scorch marks from the explosion were still there, a jagged black ring burned into the deck and lower bulkheads. The shield had taken most of it. The metal remembered the rest.

  “Eyes up,” Jax said. “Opp love second chances on traps.”

  They moved through slowly, boots crunching over debris. No new charges. No fresh shimmer of Opp system work. Just the echo of what had nearly turned Theta-3 into two casualty lists instead of one squad.

  The marine net crackled in Kaden’s ear as they moved. He caught snatches of call signs, contact reports, a shouted order for someone to fall back two junctions and hold. It was a wash of noise, most of it too garbled to follow.

  “Valiant to Theta elements,” Okafor’s voice cut through the background. “Be advised: Opp hull is losing integrity in multiple sections. Do not linger near exterior bulkheads if it can be avoided. Get to your extraction points.”

  “Copy,” Jax said. “Theta-3 is en route.”

  They pushed on.

  The first contact came two corridors later.

  Tanaka had just rounded a corner when a burst of fire chewed the wall beside his shield. The rounds hit high, scouring the bulkhead where a human head would’ve been if he weren’t as low and braced as he was.

  “Contact right,” he grunted, dropping his center of mass and pushing the remnants of his shield toward the corner.

  Navarro stepped into his pocket, pistol coming up smoothly. Two Opp were using a wrecked console cluster as cover, firing down the hallway to keep anyone from making the turn.

  Navarro took one breath, leaned out, and put two shots into the nearest muzzle flash. One connected; the return fire stumbled.

  Kaden flattened against the opposite wall, angling his SMG around the corner low. He caught a glimpse of alien armor, fired a short burst, and was rewarded with a sharp jerk and the sight of the body sliding down behind cover.

  The second Opp broke. They tried to fall back, exposing more of themselves for a few steps than they should have. Tanaka used what was left of his shotgun’s ammo on them, the blast punching into their side and ripping them off their feet.

  The corridor went quiet again.

  “Clear,” Navarro said, breathing hard.

  They stepped over the bodies.

  Vos’ shoulders brushed the wall, and he winced.

  “You okay?” Kaden asked.

  “Head’s ringing like a bell, but I can walk in a straight line,” Vos said. “Mostly.”

  Kaden checked his status. Aurora still had him flagged at “concussion risk,” but his vitals were holding.

  “Don’t go to sleep,” Kaden said.

  “Wasn’t planning to,” Vos said. “If I pass out, I’ll miss the part where we don’t die.”

  They kept moving.

  The ship got louder the closer they got to the outer decks. Distant thunder rolled through the structure as something heavy tore loose. Once, the lights went out entirely for three long heartbeats. The squad stopped where they were, every weapon up, listening to the thud of their own pulse.

  Emergency strips flickered on, bathing the corridor in red.

  “Don’t love that,” Navarro muttered.

  “Better red than vacuum,” Jax said. “Keep going.”

  The next intersection brought company.

  They hit the cross-corridor at the same time as another group of marines stumbling in from the left—a mix of Theta tags on Kaden’s HUD. Theta-2, mostly. Helmets scorched, armor charred.

  One of them was half-carried between two others, feet dragging. Blood soaked the side of their armor and left a smear on the deck.

  Kaden’s HUD tagged the wounded marine as:

  [THETA-2 // J. HAVEL – STATUS: CRITICAL]

  [LOCAL – LOWER ABDOMEN / PELVIS]

  [BLEEDING – ACTIVE]

  Havel’s head lolled. They were conscious, barely. Their breath rattled over the channel.

  Jax took in their formation in a glance. “Extraction?” she asked.

  “Pod cluster Gamma-Three,” Theta-2’s squad leader said. His voice sounded raw. “Same as you.”

  “Good,” Jax said. “We go together. Mercer—”

  “I see it,” Kaden said, moving toward Havel before she finished.

  The two Theta-2 marines holding Havel shifted gratefully as he approached. One still kept a rifle up, watching the rear. The other kept a white-knuckled grip on Havel’s harness.

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  “Set them down for ten seconds,” Kaden said. “No more.”

  “We don’t have—” the rifleman started.

  “You don’t have another hundred meters with them bleeding like this,” Kaden cut in. “Trust me or watch them die on the floor. Your call.”

  They swore, a choked sound, and eased Havel down with as much care as the situation allowed.

  The wound was ugly. Something big had gone in low and angled up—shrapnel or a round that didn’t care about bone. Blood soaked the lower plates and pooled on the deck. Havel’s armor readout threw warnings at Kaden’s HUD.

  If you don’t get on this now, they don’t make it to the pod.

  He hesitated for half a breath, eyes flicking to his AP.

  [AP – MERCER: 1/5]

  One point. One real boost left in him. Tanaka was walking. Navarro was limping but functional. Jax was held together. Vos was concussed but upright.

  Havel was dying.

  Kaden flipped the switch.

  [SKILL: FIELD STABILIZE (R1) – ACTIVE]

  [AP – MERCER: 1 → 0 (0/5)]

  The world narrowed again. Noise blurred into a background hum. The heat in his hands cooled into precise, focused motion.

  “Ten seconds,” he repeated. “Start counting.”

  He popped Havel’s lower plates with practiced motions, fingers moving with a speed and precision that would’ve been impossible without the skill riding his nerves. Blood spilled out in a hot rush; he dug past it, searching for the main source.

  Field Stabilize painted ghost lines, suggested vectors from entry to exit—or lack of one. No clear exit. Fragmented path. Messy.

  He didn’t waste time on the fragments. He went for bleeding.

  “Pressure,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He jammed a hemostatic patch into the worst of it, then another, fingers pressing deep. Havel gasped, tried to curl, but the marines holding their shoulders pinned them down.

  “I know,” Kaden said. “Stay with me.”

  Sealant went in next, foam expanding around the patches, locking them in place. He wrapped a band around Havel’s hips and cinched it tight, creating external pressure to complement everything inside.

  [THETA-2 // J. HAVEL – STATUS: STABILIZING]

  [BLEEDING – REDUCED]

  “Five seconds,” Jax called.

  Kaden hit them with a painkiller injector through an armor port and slapped a basic stim patch against their neck for good measure. Not enough to make them want to sprint. Just enough to keep their heart from deciding the job was too hard.

  He sealed the plates back as best he could, foam squelching, then slapped the armor lock.

  “Up,” he said. “Now.”

  The Theta-2 marines hauled Havel upright again. Their boots slipped in the blood, but they caught themselves. Havel’s weight hung heavier on them, then shifted as the marine’s legs found just enough strength to try and help.

  “You’re not fixed,” Kaden said, meeting Havel’s bleary visor. “You’re just not dying yet. Medbay does the rest.”

  “Th… thanks,” Havel managed.

  “You can thank me by not collapsing in the pod,” Kaden said. He pushed himself to his feet and backed into Theta-3’s rough shape.

  His HUD chimed.

  [AP – MERCER: 0/5]

  [SKILL: FIELD STABILIZE – DURATION ENDING]

  The cool clarity faded, leaving raw exhaustion in its wake. His fingers shook as he tightened his grip on the SMG.

  “Mercer?” Jax asked.

  “I’m good,” he said. “That’s everyone I’ve got in me.”

  “Then that’s enough,” she said. “We move. Together. Tanaka, you and Theta-2’s lead share front. I don’t want either of you eating the first shot alone.”

  They adjusted formation on the fly. Two battered squads became one ragged column, Tanaka and Theta-2’s heavy at the nose, shields overlapping. Havel and their carriers went near the center, sheltered by bodies and armor on all sides.

  They moved.

  The corridors blurred into a series of pulses: move, pause, check a junction, move again. Twice they had to detour around a section where the hull had buckled inward, the metal bowed and cracked. Once they jogged under a section of ceiling that had half-collapsed, cables hanging low enough to brush their helmets.

  Opp resistance came in spikes, not waves. A pair of marines trying to hold a stairwell; Navarro and Theta-2’s rifleman dropped them in a brief exchange. A lone Opp stumbling from a side passage, weapon at their hip; Tanaka put them down with a short, brutal burst from his sidearm.

  The ship’s dying sounds grew louder as they neared the outer decks. Kaden felt each new vibration through his boots. The air tasted wrong—too hot, carrying the faint tang of overheated systems and seared metal.

  “Pod cluster Gamma-Three is two decks down and one corridor over,” Jax said, checking a flickering overlay. “Stairs ahead. We don’t get stuck there. If something blocks them, we find another way. No heroics on a choke.”

  “Copy,” Tanaka said.

  The stairwell itself was a mess. Something had blown out a section halfway up, leaving blackened walls and melted railings. The stairs still existed, but the edge of the landing was charred and slick.

  They took it slow. Tanaka and Theta-2’s heavy braced each other as they stepped over the worst patches. Havel’s handlers picked their way down, Kaden a step behind in case someone’s foot went out.

  Gravity flickered again as they hit the lower deck. For a moment they all felt lighter, stomachs lurching, then the pull snapped back at a slightly different angle.

  “Love that,” Navarro muttered.

  “No one throw up in their helmets,” Vos said. “Bad look for the after-action report.”

  “Vos,” Jax said warningly.

  “Shutting up,” he said.

  Gamma-Three sat at the end of a long, straight corridor. The doors at the far end were big and blunt, built to cycle pods through in sequence. One of the status panels beside it flickered between glyphs and a simple Aurora overlay:

  [EXFIL POINT – GAMMA-3]

  [STATUS: ACTIVE]

  [PODS – 2/4 DOCKED]

  “Move,” Jax said. “Last sprint. If something hits us, we hit it harder and keep going.”

  The corridor wasn’t empty.

  Two more Theta marines were dug in around the pod bay entrance, using a collapsed pipe as cover. They flinched when the combined squad rounded the corner, then relaxed as HUD tags synced.

  “Friendlies,” one called. “Get your asses in here. Opp haven’t pushed this far in the last minute, but I don’t trust their sense of timing.”

  “Any more incoming?” Jax asked as they closed the distance.

  “Theta-1 elements are en route,” the marine said. “No word on Theta-5 yet.”

  Kaden felt that name like a thumb pressed into a bruise. He didn’t ask.

  They spilled into the pod bay.

  Two pods were already gone, clamps hanging empty. Two remained, their hatches open, each big enough to take a squad plus a bit of overflow if people were willing to get close.

  “Split by squad tags,” Jax said immediately. “Theta-3, we’re in the left pod. Theta-2, take the right. We make room for anyone who comes in behind us until we hit green lights. After that, tough choices.”

  “Understood,” Theta-2’s lead said.

  They moved fast but not frantic. Havel went into Theta-2’s pod first, strapped in with the kind of care you only see when someone knows how bad it is under the armor. Kaden caught the squad leader’s eye once.

  “He gets through this corridor because of you,” the man said. “We’ll do the rest.”

  “Make sure you do,” Kaden said.

  He turned and followed Theta-3 into their own pod.

  The interior was familiar in shape and unfamiliar in feel. Last time, it had been a sim, the walls clean, the harnesses smooth from maintenance. Now there were scuffs and streaks of someone else’s battle baked into the metal. The smell of burnt composite and old smoke lived in the padding.

  Tanaka dropped into a seat near the hatch and let the shield rest against his knees. Navarro took the far side, pistol finally holstered, hands shaking as she fumbled with her harness. Vos slumped into a corner spot, head tipped back against the padding, eyes closed for a second before he forced them open.

  Kaden took a seat between Jax and Vos. His fingers moved automatically through the harness sequence, buckles clacking home.

  Jax strapped in last, with the kind of stubbornness that refused to let anyone help her with the belt despite the wound at her side.

  “Valiant, Theta-3,” she said over comms. “Gamma-Three pod two. All aboard, plus Theta-2 in pod one. Ready for retrieval.”

  “Copy, Theta-3,” Okafor replied. “Pods at Gamma-Three, stand by for launch. Harrow will cover your vector. See you back on deck.”

  The pod hatch swung shut with a heavy finality. Interior lights shifted to launch mode: dimmer, focused.

  Kaden’s HUD updated.

  [POD STATUS – SEALED]

  [DECK CLAMPS – ENGAGED]

  [EXTERNAL ENVIRONMENT – HOSTILE]

  He let his head rest against the padding for a second, just long enough to register how much everything hurt.

  Jax’s voice came on the squad net, softer now that the immediate noise of the ship was muted.

  “You all did your jobs,” she said. “We’ll go over the mistakes and the rest when we’re not bolted into a tin can about to get thrown across space. For now? Breathe.”

  Tanaka let out a low, tired laugh. “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Vos chuckled once, then winced. “I vote we never do this on zero AP again.”

  “Talk to Aurora,” Navarro said. “Maybe it issues refunds.”

  Vos opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. His visor tilted, attention somewhere only he could see.

  “…you’re kidding me,” he muttered.

  “What?” Jax asked.

  “It just ticked me a point,” Vos said. “Right after she said that.”

  Navarro snorted. “Of course it did.”

  “Guess it liked your work more,” Kaden said.

  “Or it’s got a sense of humor,” Vos said. “I’m not sure which is worse.”

  “Spend it on staying conscious,” Jax said. “You can argue theology with a System later.”

  Kaden shut his eyes for a moment and focused on breathing.

  [AP – MERCER: 0/5]

  Nothing left to give.

  Out beyond the pod’s hull, something big tore free. The vibration hit a half-second later, a dull, distant impact. The pod shook lightly on its clamps.

  “Launching in three,” Okafor’s voice came through. “Two. One.”

  The clamps released.

  The pod kicked forward, away from the dying Opp ship and back toward the only piece of metal in the system that felt anything like home.