Upon reaching his bunker, Andy took a moment to survey his surroundings. The room was plain and utilitarian. The small bed offered a semblance of luxury, positioned above a conjoined shower and toilet unit, despite the shower’s modest height. The absence of communal showers, a norm in most military vessels, was a rare indulgence for Andy.

As he prepared for the upcoming briefing, the sights, sounds, smells, and sensations of his surroundings enveloped him, a constant reminder of the contrasting worlds he inhabited.

In the dimly lit bunker, a worn manila envelope, its contents detailing the next mission occupied the center of the floor. Andy hesitated to touch it, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the musty scent of the air. He discarded his uniform into the laundry shoot; the clatter echoing in the narrow space. Seeking solace, he stepped into the lukewarm shower; the water cascading over his weary body.

A sudden surge of pain erupted as Andy stubbed his toe on the unforgiving side of the toilet, his curses mingling with the low orange glow that bathed the room. The war loomed heavy in his thoughts, its presence suffocating.

He cursed Red, his comrade whose quick thinking had saved his life but left him vulnerable to the venomous bite of a Crek. He cursed his own luck, wishing it had been him instead. At long last, Andy permitted himself to feel a wave of agonizing grief.

With time slipping away, Andy hurried through the lower quadrants, the hallways, and doors adorned with evidence of their educational purpose. The manila envelope, neatly rolled up, pressed against his back pocket.

Upon entering the playroom, a vast dome enveloped him, filled with the sounds of children’s laughter and joyful screams, blissfully ignorant of the dangers their world faces. Parents lingered about, adding to the boisterous environment with their own chatter and laughter.

Andy’s focus shifted, his eyes scanning the room for a young girl with black micro-braided hair, her ponytail bouncing as she moved. Her light ebony skin mirrored that of her father.

“UNCLE ANDY!” Latisha’s voice pierced through the commotion, her small hands clutching onto Andy’s cargo pants. Her tuffet Uvut tail, shorter than a full-blooded Uvut’s, swayed back and forth, a visible sign of her happiness.

“Is Makat here?” Andy bent down to pick her up, his face forcing a smile to match his relaxed expression. “No, Tisha, your mom’s a little busy today. Your grandma said she could watch you until your mommy’s finished.”

Tisha, with her more human appearance, stood out among the intergalactic Uvut race. Yet, now and then, subtle traits of her Uvut heritage would manifest. When something upset her, her nose would twitch involuntarily, or she would tilt her head inquisitively. As they conversed, Andy’s eyes caught her attention. “Uncle Andy,” she asked, “why are your eyes so red?” Her scent reminded Andy of her mother’s favorite lavender perfume.

“I got water in them when I took my shower. Come on, let’s get you home.” Tisha’s unit was closer to the debriefing room, a fact that Andy was grateful for as they made our way through the military base. The sight of the bustling soldiers and intergalactic beings filled the corridors, a vibrant mix of uniforms and unique features.

Despite the subtle dislike that many humans held against these intergalactic races, Tisha’s grandmother, an Uvut woman, was a friendly presence. The war had forced the military to cooperate and learn from these other forces, despite their reservations. Not all humans held such animosity, and children like Tisha resulted from this unlikely unity.

Before he leaves, Tisha hurriedly offered her sequence scrunchy, placing the scratchy material in his hand. “Can you give this to Daddy? It’ll help him get better.”

“Yeah, baby girl. You better get inside. Wait for your mommy to come home.” Andy excused himself, heading to the scheduled debriefing room.

As Andy entered the room, he found himself surrounded by his team, their reduced numbers a stark reminder of the toll the war had taken. At the far end of the rectangular conference table sat an unknown Uvut male, his presence instantly noticeable. The sight of his pearlescent skin, fur adorning his neck, and black nails added to the unique ambiance of the room.

A sharp intake of breath from the Uvut male accompanied the moment their eyes met, his tail freezing momentarily and his nose twitching involuntarily. It was clear that Andy’s Crek-marked eyes unnerved him, a reminder of the battle Andy had fought and conquered where most failed.

Next to the Uvut male sat Anya Clarke, her long brunette hair neatly tied in a ponytail, contrasting with the harshness of the metallic mechanical leg that replaced her own leg below the knee. A constant, rhythmic thud echoed in the room when she walked, her limp a testament to her past encounter with a Crek. Despite the slight limp, she exuded confidence, her fists ready and her analytical unlocking abilities finely honed.

Her keen eyes were the first to notice the scrunchy on Andy’s wrist, and with a quizzical expression, she inquired about Red’s condition. The team’s focused expressions turned despondent as Andy, unable to voice the words, hung his head and sat down, the weight of the situation palpable. He placed his paperwork on the table, the sound of it settling like a heavy sigh.

A moment of silence hung in the air before the room suddenly came alive with the sound of Tom’s hurried footsteps. He entered the room, carrying his command tablet in hand, a wise choice considering the dim lighting that made reading direct paper difficult. Tom stood at the head of the table, his presence commanding attention. The room seemed to hold its breath as he began speaking.

“I take it you’ve become acquainted with Nallen Khalil?” Tom’s words were accompanied by a nod from the Uvut, who touched his two fingers to his lips in the Uvut greeting, a subtle gesture that added to the atmosphere of inclusivity.

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“The Intergalactic Planetary Union has, let’s say, eloquently requested that we become more inclusive in our elite squadrons. They have graciously volunteered the recruit Khalil’s time. Though, In spite of the slight setback last week, your team will be dispatched at O eight clicks for a rescue and recovery mission to UNV Pinnacle.”

The room buzzed with a mix of surprise and outrage, the explicit implications of the request filling the space. This was unexpected. Regulations had always allowed IST squads time to recuperate, relax, and mourn, especially after a significant loss.

“Why not send Kratos’ IST? They’re closer!” Thomas Powell’s frustrated voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his words tinged with exasperation. The bunker, dimly lit and filled with the smell of stale air, seemed to grow even more suffocating.

Thomas, his dark hair neatly trimmed, anxiously tugged at the collar of his cargo shirt. The sound of his breathing, quick and shallow, echoed in the confined space. Beside him, Elliot Powell, a near-mirror image with his tousled black hair and towering stature, sat with pursed lips. The two were inseparable, despite differing parents. They shared bunkers, clothing, barber, food choices, and preference in women.

Tom, his eyes avoiding the gaze of Andy’s teammates, felt the weight of their anticipation. His hands trembled slightly as he revealed the grim reality. Kratos ITS had already been sent. The team had lost all contact with the command station after they encountered the enemy, their silence a haunting void.

Tom continued, his voice laden with sorrow as he unveiled the gravity of the situation. The Pinnacle, a vast facility buzzing with activity, housed a groundbreaking research project focused on the enigmatic Crek. Three brilliant scientists were on the verge of a breakthrough. A breakthrough that might halt the Crek’s reign of terror.

They sent an emergency beacon warning of an oncoming Crek swarm - a Scraicro, or a command ship surrounded by two-three hundred fighter jets. With the Pinnacle overwhelmed, they lost all communication after the scientists sequestered themselves into a dusky safety vault.

Andy’s mind involuntarily flashed to his older sister, hidden away in a similar research facility. She had devoted her life to this cause, her determination a beacon of hope in the face of darkness. As Thomas’s words hung in the air, the weight of their mission settled upon them all. The sights, sounds, smells, and emotions of their surroundings served as a constant reminder of the daunting task ahead.

The team sat in silence, their eyes wide with shock as they absorbed the new revelation. After the door swung open abruptly, creaking loudly, a young boy with a uniform too large for his skinny frame came tumbling in, landing on his hands and knees with a thud. The sound echoed through the room, causing Tom to shut his eyes tightly and exhale, the tension in his body apparent. The boy’s arrival felt like a blundering disruption to the atmosphere.

As the team processed the boy’s presence, a mixture of scents filled the air - the musty smell of the old room mingled with the faint scent of sweat emanating from the boy. The room seemed to grow tense, filled with an uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of the boy’s heavy breathing as he tried to regain his composure.

Tom lifted his head, his expression showing a mixture of annoyance and disbelief as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He revealed the harrowing truth in a tight tone. “And this is your new team member, Shay Owen.” The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. The team members shifted uneasily, their arms crossed as if to shield themselves from the unexpected news.

Haiden Krueger, one of the newer team members, abruptly sat up from his slouch, causing the chair to scrape against the floor, creating a grating sound that added to the tension. His voice trembled as he spoke. “Owen? Owen, as in the boy who shot Granger in the..” Immediately, he turned far too green.

The room seemed to grow even quieter, the only sound being Haiden’s slight gag. Khalil, sensing Haiden’s discomfort, slid his chair a few inches away, the scraping sound breaking the silence once again. Shawn Owen, his face pale and freckled, turning the same shade as his fiery red hair, shrunk under their intense gaze.

“It was an accident. And it was his leg,” he squeaked, the sound barely audible.

“The fucking twit doesn’t even have any facial hair! Is this even legal?!”

Andy, trying to diffuse the mounting tension, interjected quickly, his voice breaking through the heavy air. “Owen is the first to volunteer for this team division in four years.” Turning to Owen, Andy continues, “You are taking a very brave step. I just wish there was more time to train before the first mission.” The sound of his voice brought a momentary relief, the team members visibly relaxing, though still on edge.

Owen, with wide eyes and a grin that stretched too wide for his face, picked himself up from the ground, the sound of his movement breaking the stillness. His excitement was almost palpable, filling the room with a sense of energy. The team members couldn’t help but feel a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. “Thank you, Sir Worthington. I’m so excited to finally meet you. I..”

“You have got to be shiteing me.” Elliot uttered in astonishment, red adorning his bloodied lips. “Kid, you ever come face to face with them green-eyed Crek-demons? The ones that wear your friend’s faces as they skewer you with their biomagic weapon thinger-majig.”

Frustration washed over Andy, causing him to pinch the bridge of his nose. Feeling the pressure against his skin, Andy responded. “Elliot, you know it’s not biomagic.” Turning to face Tom, he assented. “We will be at the deployment docks.”

“Thank you. If it’s any consolation, Khan volunteered his team as a spotter. I’ll see everyone in the morning.” Tom made his way towards the exit, but before leaving, he cast one last glance at Owen, whose smile seemed out of place amidst the chaos. “And catch him up to speed.”

Vincent Khan, a seasoned sharpshooter, led one of the best squads in the platoon. Sharpshooters typically provide cover for ground units, such as infantry and fighter squads, by eliminating enemy threats from a distance. Grunts, with their heavy boots and bulky armor, often engage in fierce battles on the dusty surfaces of planets.

On the rare occasions when Crek fighters managed to penetrate Earth’s defenses and reach civilian areas, the grunt teams were sent in to deal with the threat. These guards serve as a crucial defense mechanism against enemy boarding parties on civilian vessels. As fighters take to the field, it’s the sharpshooters who take up their positions at the vessel’s long-range laser missiles and impact canons, their keen eyes focused on the enemy.

When the situation demands it, they offer their support, securing the escape pods and providing cover for the IST squad during a hasty retreat, a rare and risky task. Khan’s team has been a reliable support system for Andy in the past, and their assistance this time provides a much-needed relief from the burdens he carries.

The chair’s sharp, metallic scrape echoed through the room as Clarke stood up. “I’ll catch the poor kid up. Come on, Squirt.” This started a chain reaction. Everyone stood, offering a parting goodbye.

Andy carefully peeled back the flap of the manila envelope, a quiet snap echoing in the room as he heard Owen’s anxious question, “Is Worthington okay?”

A hint of sadness flickers across Clarke’s face as she offers Owen a smile. “No, Squirt. No, he’s not. “I don’t think any of us are ok,” she said, her voice filled with worry. With no further words, they all left Andy to finish his preparations.

It wasn’t long before he too headed back to his bunker. For Andy, sleep had become a distant memory, a pattern that began last week and worsened, particularly today. This birthday ranked as one of the worst he had ever experienced, leaving him feeling utterly dejected.