The dropship's engines roared, carrying Hayes and his squad back to Phoenix Station. The soldiers around him were jubilant, high-fiving and exchanging stories about the fight on Titan. For them, it was a clean victory. Another strike against the rebellion.
For Hayes, it was anything but.
He stared at his hands, still clad in the high-tech gauntlets of his armor. They felt weightless yet crushing, as if every trigger pull had added an invisible burden. The image of the boy behind the barricade haunted him, flickering in his mind like an old film reel spliced into the chaos of the battle.
The lieutenant, seated across from him, leaned forward. “Hell of a first mission, Sergeant. The squad looks up to you already. They’ll be telling stories about today for months.”
Hayes’ jaw tightened. “What happened down there isn’t a story worth telling.”
The lieutenant frowned but didn’t press further. Hayes appreciated that. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to explain.
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Later, in his quarters, Hayes sat alone.
The room was as stark as before, but now a faint hum came from the walls. A projection materialized in front of him—a glowing screen displaying post-mission debriefs, squad performance stats, and propaganda footage of the operation.
He waved it away. “System, shut that off.”
The projection vanished, leaving him in silence. Hayes rubbed his temples, the faint golden glow of his eyes reflecting in the darkened surface of the window.
And then the ghosts came.
He didn’t hear their voices so much as feel them—whispers threading through his mind, pulling at buried memories. He saw himself back in the Pacific, the turquoise waves of the ocean shattered by black smoke and gunfire.
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The Pacific Mirage War.
He remembered the start of it all. A refugee crisis spiraling out of control. Misinformation on both sides. The first shots fired not by soldiers but by machines acting on faulty intelligence.
Guam had been his station, his home base, when the war erupted. The skies over the island turned to fire as U.S. naval forces clashed with New Zealand’s air defenses. Hayes was just a sergeant then, tasked with leading a small squad in what was supposed to be a tactical support mission.
But the war never went the way it was supposed to.
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Operation Tidal Spear.
The mission that defined—and destroyed—him. His squad had been sent to Varuna Island, a small Pacific outpost supposedly housing a New Zealand missile site. Their orders were clear: secure the island, neutralize the threat, and await reinforcements.
What they found wasn’t a missile site. It was a camp. Refugees huddled in makeshift shelters, their eyes hollow with fear and hunger.
Hayes had called it in, demanding clarification. The response was cold, clinical. “Intel confirms hostile presence. Proceed with the operation.”
He’d tried to refuse, to argue, but the chain of command was ironclad. When New Zealand forces engaged his squad, the lines blurred. Civilians, soldiers—it became impossible to tell who was who.
He remembered the faces. A woman shielding her child as gunfire tore through the air. A young man charging at him with a rusty blade, desperation in his eyes. The screams. The chaos.
And then the moment that cemented his fate.
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The Last Stand.
The evac point was overrun. His squad was pinned down, outnumbered and outgunned. Hayes had made the call no soldier wanted to make.
“Get out of here,” he’d said, gripping the belt of explosives strapped to his chest.
His squad had hesitated, but he barked the order again, leaving no room for argument. They retreated to the extraction point as Hayes stayed behind, rigging the island’s remaining fuel depot to blow.
The last thing he remembered was the explosion. Fire and heat and pain, and the strange sense of peace that came with knowing his men were safe.
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A sharp knock at the door pulled him back to the present.
Hayes blinked, the memories dissolving like smoke. “Come in,” he called, his voice rough.
The door slid open, and General Voss stepped inside, her uniform immaculate as always. “Sergeant. May I?”
He nodded, and she entered, folding her hands behind her back.
“I reviewed the footage from Titan,” she said. “Your performance was exemplary, as expected.”
Hayes shrugged. “Didn’t feel exemplary.”
Voss raised an eyebrow. “You saved lives, secured the objective, and weakened the enemy’s hold on the colony. That’s a win.”
“They weren’t soldiers,” Hayes said, his voice low. “Most of them were just people trying to survive. Kids, even.”
Voss’s expression didn’t waver. “They’re rebels, Sergeant. The moment they took up arms against the URT, they became combatants.”
“That’s the same thing they told me during the Mirage War,” Hayes muttered, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Voss tilted her head. “And you still did your duty.”
Hayes looked up sharply. “Is that what this is about? Duty? Because back then, all I saw was chaos. Orders made by people who didn’t know what it was like on the ground.”
Voss stepped closer, her tone softening slightly. “The Mirage War was… complicated. Mistakes were made. But your actions saved lives, Sergeant. They made you a hero.”
Hayes laughed bitterly. “Hero. Is that why you brought me back? To wear a shiny badge and keep the propaganda machine spinning?”
Voss’s eyes hardened again. “We brought you back because you inspire people. Because you’re proof that sacrifice and loyalty matter. This war is bigger than you, Hayes. It’s bigger than any one person.”
She turned to leave but paused at the door. “We can’t afford hesitation, Sergeant. Remember that.”
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When she was gone, Hayes sat back down, his head in his hands.
The Mirage War had followed him here, its echoes woven into every action, every decision. He’d thought death would be an escape, a final rest.
But now, as he stared out at the stars, he realized he was trapped in an endless cycle. A soldier, a tool, fighting wars he didn’t understand for causes he no longer believed in.
And the worst part was, he wasn’t sure if he could stop.