Taylor woke to a clang of metal. “Get up!” someone commanded loudly as he was blinded by the ever-running lights in the ceiling. The dark, cold steel walls he grew accustomed to seeing slowly came into focus as he rolled over.
He let out a groan as he shifted on the feeble mattress he was forced to use; his body sore from its inability to support his weight. However, between the crap bed or the steel floor, the bed was the winner. Luckily, Taylor had adapted to the constant brightness of the lights.
He shifted again to see a man standing in front of the bars of his cell. There was a calendar clock above the man on the wall that was used to torture prisoners. on! Get your ass up Briggs, I don't got all day!”
Taylor ignored the man and studied the date. Four months. It had been four months since he was arrested for attempted murder of a superior officer b“Come ack on Earth. The keyword was ‘attempted’, if Taylor could go back and do things differently, he would have made sure to put a bullet between the eyes of Sergeant Arden.
Taylor knuckled his tired eyes before standing up with a sigh. Despite being able to sleep in the torturous light, it was rarely restful. His dreams were often plagued by the echoes of screaming children and women. Taylor did not fight the hauntings of his subconscious whenever he heard those screams. Instead, he embraced them with the regret and sorrow he felt for those victims of his actions.
It may have been orders, but he was the one who pulled the proverbial trigger with the targeting beacon he had thrown. However, he did not serve the Federation to murder innocent civilians especially women and children regardless of which side they were on. That led to Taylor’s assault of his superior.
After destroying the munitions depot, there had been a rendezvous with the commanding officers near the depot. His requested presence for congratulations by the lieutenants had sickened him. It fueled his rage as he dropped his helmet to the desert ground and proceeded to bludgeon Sergeant Arden with his fists. Taylor’s sorrow and rage could not stop him even after several men tried to pull him off the man.
It was not until the first lieutenant fired a side arm into the air till someone had managed to stop his assault. By then his fists were bloody and the unconscious Arden’s face was a wreck. When asked why he attacked his superior Taylor explained, “the first target was shelter to civilians, I didn’t get conscripted to murder civilians and this asshole knew they were there!” To Taylor's surprise, the lieutenant did not chew him out or even agree with Arden.
“Well, I honestly can’t say the little weasel didn’t have this coming. You’re a good marine Lance Corporal. However, you are still a Federation marine, which means you are to follow orders to the letter. Assaulting an officer is against the rules. So, I’m afraid I’ll have to arrest you and issue a court martial.” That is how the lieutenant responded. Taylor could not help but smirk at the memory. It was not maliciousness but nearly sadness in the lieutenant’s voice that he found amusing.
Now there he had been, after a month of a secret trial, spending four months locked in a cell on a Federation military transport ship going who knows where. His only regret from that day was not drawing his pistol and taking the final inch of Arden’s life that he failed to beat out of him.
The marine leading him drew him out of his memories by shoving him into the wall near the reinforced door of the cell block. The man scowled as Taylor gave him a smile. Shaking his head, the marine entered the passcode to the door and submitted his handprint on the scanner. With a loud clunk, the door unlocked and someone on the other side pulled the heavy door open.
“Transfer of D-S-T Lance Corporal Taylor R. Briggs!” his guide announced as Taylor was grabbed by the arm and shoved through to find four armed guards standing around him. It felt unnecessary given the fact his hands and ankles were chained and cuffed, but at the same time he could not blame the heightened security since he had been arrested for nearly killing someone with his bare hands. No one moved, but he could see that the guards were just waiting for him to make a move. So instead, he just waited, wondering what DST stood for. It was an acronym he was unfamiliar with.
Moments later someone shouted the arrival of an officer which Taylor instinctively responded to, along with the marines that guarded him. It took a second for Taylor to question his reaction now that he had been a prisoner for five months, he was never given a verdict during his trial which meant he could very well still be a prisoner arriving on some mining colony.
Taylor relaxed his nerves but held himself high in obstinate stoicism as he eyed the guards. He may have been a prisoner but he was also a marine, as well as an individual who stuck by his beliefs. He would never hold any regret for what he did nor would he show any sign of defeat… that was one important lesson he learned from Morrigan.
His thoughts were consumed by the love of his life; where was she? How was she handling conscription? What trouble had she gotten herself into? Then a hopeful thought occurred to him. There was no way Morrigan would tolerate the things he was forced to do and given her volatile nature, it was very possible she had been arrested too. Not only that but he may very well see her soon!
Hope began to swell in his chest as he heard the echoing click of high heels approaching. Who approached was a short, slender woman barely five foot in height. Her hair was hidden underneath her officers’ side cap. The deep blue uniform she wore was pressed and proper, her shoulders squared and her spine straight. Aside from the out of code footwear, she was like the poster child for the Federation military. She also paid no attention to anything as she skimmed through several documents attached to the clipboard she carried until she came within five feet of Taylor.
The second she came within reach, the two fore-guard stepped up in-between her and Taylor, blocking her path. Taylor could hear her scoff, “did I request that you block my path?” Though Taylor could see over the two men’s shoulders, she was short enough to still be hidden by their bulk. However, that did not keep Taylor from hearing the authority radiating from her voice.
“No ma’am. We wanted to make sure you did not become within reach of-“ one guard started before being sharply cut off.
“If I were in fear for my life, I would command you to block my path. However, I am not... and if you do not move out of my way I will have the both of you thrown in the brig for insubordination.” Her words were as sharp as the look Taylor was certain she had given them because each guard took no time at all stepping out of the way, followed by apologizing.
“Sorry Master Chief.”
“Yes, pardon us for our misjudgment.”
Taylor could not help smirking at their cowardice until the woman's piercing brown eyes laid upon him. Her scowl from the altercation still plastered on her fair, pointed features. There was one thing certain about the dainty woman and that was she was not one to trifle with which immediately wiped the smirk from his face.
With a huff she looked down at her clipboard, “Taylor R. Briggs, Lance Corporal of the 83rd Infantry, WarWolf Company…” she paused to skim two additional pages, “you have a short yet impressive history… conscripted… court martial for assault of CO, sentenced to D-S-T…” she let linger as she let the pages fall back into place and turning her gaze back to him.
What worried him was the sweet smile she gave him before turning on her heels. “Release him, you are to follow me and the guards will follow at ten paces,” she finished, eyeing the guards that irked her.
The guards responded without question this time, hurrying to release the cuffs that bound Taylor. It felt nice to have the cold steel off his wrists and ankles as he rubbed the tender skin. Without paying the guards another ounce of attention he stepped forward to fall in line with the threatening small woman.
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As she walked, Taylor was careful to match her stride despite it being a bit awkward for him given his height. She, however, could not care less. “My name is Rosaline Holt, you however, will address me as Master Chief. I am in charge of the Naval Storm Troopers aboard the FSS Chevelle. The Chevelle is a deep exploration cruiser whose is circling back through Terran territory. Your dossier states you have moderate mechanical engineering knowledge, is that correct?”
Taylor was completely baffled by everything he was taking in as they walked through the transport ship. His heart pounded in his chest when he realized he was no longer on Earth, loud enough to nearly miss the woman’s question.
“Uh yes, yeah, I’m pretty good with a wrench…” he trailed off as she abruptly stopped. He turned to see her gaze piercing right through him expectantly. It took a brief moment for him to realize she was waiting for him to acknowledge his misstep. “Yes Master Chief ma’am.” He said nervously averting his gaze.
Rosaline let out stiff sigh of approval as she smirked ever so subtly. She liked that her newest recruit was a faster learner, she was sure his attitude would change once he integrated with his new squad.
Taylor watched the woman begin walking and followed like a lost puppy. Despite still being in apparent servitude of the Federation military, there was a nagging uncertainty about his situation. It was not until he stepped off the access ramp from the transport ship that he really felt the magnitude of his situation. Around him was numerous crates, workers and marines as they worked to unload and store various cargo throughout the massive docking bay. To say it was massive was an understatement as he looked around and took it all in. There were four transport ships including the one he had been imprisoned. Each the length and width of a football field and there was still enough room to fit two more.
Taylor had never seen a Federation cruiser before but as daunting as it was, it was equally impressive. To his surprise, Rosaline gave him the moment take in the atmosphere as she watched him with an amused smirk on her face. Once he gave her back his attention she chuckled, “yes, it is quite impressive.” She continued down the ramp and into the chaos of the docking bay as she beckoned him with a flick of her wrist.
“The FSS Chevelle is commanded by Admiral Thaddeus Hartfield. Pray you never have to stand before him,” she joked before continuing her speech, “it is home to an upward count of 85,000 Federation personnel, 20 percent of which keep this ship healthy and running. The rest is broken up into military personnel: fighter pilots, artillery personnel, R&D, support crew and of course, the strike teams I command.”
They continued to weave through the busy docking bay, avoiding mechanical loaders and workers running about as she continued her introductory speech until they came across a group of marines lounging around, and on, a series of crates in the middle of the bay.
The first notable person was a blonde man in black and grey combat fatigues laying across a stack of crates. Whether he was sleeping had yet to be determined, however, Taylor was well aware of the need to make the time and space for sleep when it came to the military life. Another was a tall woman with long blonde dreadlocks, meticulously cleaning her short nails with an oversized combat knife with a bored expression on her face. She sat perched above the sleeping man on a higher stacked crate, letting her foot softly swing back and forth, tapping against the steel container. The deep scar across her neck spoke of an unforgotten mistake.
A man as large as Taylor, however densely thicker, knelt in front of an open crate. His humming reverberating in a deep bass as he plucked devices and what Taylor could easily distinguish as explosives from the crate, setting them aside in some form of organization. The man took no heed of Taylor's approach nor the looming threat that was the Master Chief as he kept his back to them.
The only other two was a man and a woman talking to each other while discussing what was on the man’s data-slate. The man was a tall black man with trimmed hair and beard. His blue eyes erratically switching between the data-slate and the woman he spoke to. By the helix patch on his shoulder, Taylor deduced he was some type of medic.
His concentration was broken when the Rosaline assertively cleared her throat.
No one seemed to notice nor care about her presence until the large man responded, “hey boss,” his thick Russian accent cutting the air with his bass leaden voice. The man, however, did not move to acknowledge her as he continued to dig through the crate.
Taylor watched her eye the man suspiciously with an amused expression, “you had better not be stealing from the boarding teams again Aleksei.”
That question got the man’s attention as he turned his head to her wide eyed, “no Master Chief! This stuff we order…” Taylor had to stifle a laugh as the man looked like he was about to start sweating bullets. He quickly swiveled on his toes towards the other woman, “EB! Tell boss this is ours!”
The one who was talking to the medic turned abruptly. Her golden hazel eyes swept over Aleksei and over to Rosaline and the curious man standing next to her.
Taylor was surprised by the woman’s beauty; she had caramel skin that accented the fiery irises, her head wrapped in a brown and tan shemagh. A single golden nose ring accenting her face from her left nostril only highlighted the bright smile she gave. To who she gave it to had yet to be determined. “He’s not lying, this is the stuff we ordered… well most of it,” her English came out perfectly with the undertone of a long forgotten accent Taylor could not place.
“Oh? What’s missing from your requisition?” Rosaline asked.
The slender woman strutted up as she snatched the data-slate from the man behind her fluidly and handed the device to her. “Mostly Jackson’s medical supplies and the big guy’s breach charges that he’s so meticulously looking for.”
“Hey!” Aleksei called out sullenly only to be cut off by Rosaline as she skimmed through the information.
“If he would stop turning them into grenades he would have plenty,” Rosaline said pointedly, “as for your medic’s supplies… it should be here.” She handed the tablet back to the woman and turned her attention to the man standing paces behind her, “I'll find out what happened to those supplies Jackson.”
Jackson only smiled and gave her an appreciative bow before turning to head off. “Not so fast,” she said causing him to stop. She snapped her fingers three times to garner most of everyone’s attention, “Steph, come down and join us, get Henry while you’re at it,” she commanded with an almost elegant tone.
Taylor watched the dread-headed woman skillfully sheath the knife with a shrug, adjust the shemagh around her collar and slide off the crate she was on to the crate below her; her foot landing squarely on the sleeping man’s shin.
The blonde man jolted upright clutching his leg with a yelp, “what the hell bitch!” he outraged at the woman with a glare. She just shrugged before bringing her hands to her temples and then pointing towards their superior officer. The man scoffed as he watched her jump down off the crates. He turned his head as he rubbed his sore shin to see who was waiting.
“Oh shit, hi MC!” he greeted with a bright smile as he shifted to slide off the crates only to collapse on the ground. “Shit! Man down! Ah, damn it… Jackson!” he called out from behind another stack of crates. Aleksei just rolled his eyes and let out a sigh when he saw that Jackson was not moving.
The large man stepped around the crates and hoisted the blonde man up by his collar, “here you go little buddy,” he joked as he stood the smaller man up. Chiseled jaw splitting into a hearty chuckle. “That will cost one bottle.”
The blonde chuckled as he leaned against the Russian, limping his way to the group meeting with the provided assistance, “I don’t know about that you big teddy bear, but if you want a good rub and tug later I’m game.”
With that, the Russian dropped him flat on the ground letting the man laugh at his own joke as he positioned himself to sit in on the meeting. Taylor could not help but wonder how most of this squad had managed to survive as long as they have. He also pondered his likelihood of surviving his conscription with a bunch of hooligans such as these.
Rosaline nodded her thanks to the dreadlocked woman who exuberantly grinned back before letting her face fall back into impassive boredom.
“This here is Lance Corporal Briggs,” she said gesturing to him, “he will be joining your merry little group so I expect you to treat him with the respect he deserves.” Taylor furrowed his brow in confusion at her introduction. Before he could question or even move, she turned on him, “if you have any questions, your squad leader will be happy to answer them,” she stated before handing the clipboard off to the caramel skinned beauty.
Before she let go of the clipboard she leaned in, “I expect you to keep this one intact Ms. Salah,” she ordered just loud enough for everyone to hear. The group snickered as the woman’s eyes gleamed mischievously and her smile split into a wide grin.
Taylor began to worry about the ramifications of the dynamic he was witnessing. Both of these women were alpha predators in their own rights, one obviously having the weight and authority of the Federation behind her. The other held a confidence that could only be backed by a skillset that made her just as dangerous if not more, almost like staring at Morrigan's twin, a reminder that made that twinge of pain very real.
“Then you shouldn’t send me such cheap play things,” she said in response. Her voice carrying blend of seductive playfulness and sarcasm that made Taylor’s spine shiver unpleasantly. Her comment brought more snickering and idle commentary from the rest of squad.
With the faintest of chuckles, Rosaline stepped away and headed towards a large set of blast doors on the other side of the docking bay, leaving Taylor alone with the miscreants. He shifted his attention only to swallow hard as he found each and every one of them staring him down like fresh meat.