Early winter, 2073

Almost nine years later, as the world lay dormant beneath the frigid grasp of an exceptionally cold winter, a young colonel stood on a concrete platform as an icy wind cut through him, sharper than any knife.

Snow streamed from the sky. It had begun to accumulate, sprinkling his hair and decorating his uniform with spotty emblems of white. Yet still, he didn’t move.

He’d come here to watch a man die today—several, in fact. Traitors, the lot of them.

Leaking information to the enemy was a crime worthy of prison for the enlisted, and death if committed by officers. These men had all held the rank of captain or higher, so after a brief court martial in the field they’d been sentenced to execution by hanging, since ammunition was in short supply.

They’d been caught conspiring together, but the Colonel knew why they’d done it. They were fighting for the losing side. He almost couldn’t blame them, but he stopped short of saying such things, lest he meet the same fate.

It wasn’t his place to dole out this sentence, but it was his to witness, so he stood there, unfaltering, his face as blank as the sky above, and he remained unmoving as snow swirled about his feet, whipped into small eddies that twisted and turned and wove until they met a short wall and vanished, vaporizing into nothing before those newly condemned men.

He watched the snow fall, just as he watched them die, and he didn’t say a word. He knew what to expect, because it was always the same—violent, yet somehow quieter than one might think. Not a hallowed sort of silence, though, but rather the unbearable kind. These were no different.

He outranked all three, so it was his duty to observe and maintain some semblance of decorum. It felt a bit farcical, though, as he was younger than all but one.

Before the war, a twenty-six-year-old colonel would’ve been unheard of, but not now. He didn’t appear out of place here, though, because he looked older than his true age, and felt older still.

He’d shot up through the ranks, but every promotion felt empty and hollow, because he knew he’d only received them to replace someone who’d died.

He was no stranger to death. It was an old friend, and it called to him now, issuing a greeting he’d rather ignore. He’d witnessed it many times over, far more than just these. He’d attended those funerals. He’d cried himself to sleep over it at first, but gradually, over the years, the tears had decreased until he’d stopped crying altogether.

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The war responsible for taking all those lives was a greedy bastard. It raged on, insatiable, not far from where they stood. As soon as proceedings were complete, they’d return to it.

It had barely been anything of note at first, starting small, as most conflicts do. Just a simple spark—a minor dispute which would be resolved quickly, according to analysts and senior advisors. It was easy for young cadets to ignore, sleeping in warm bunks and sitting in well-lit classrooms, listening to vague promises of bravery and battlefields awaiting beyond.

The Colonel had always known of the possibility, even as a young man. He’d thought he understood. However, it was a bit more difficult to ignore the full reality of it as a field commander, living amidst the fighting rather than sitting in an office.

That spark had ignited a raging blaze, destroying everything in its path, and he’d seen the worst of it—watched it spiral out of control until it became a major conflict involving multiple superpowers, military agencies, corporations, and colonies. That voracious monster of a war, which now spanned nearly a decade, had consumed endless lives, and still, it hungered for more.

He knew why the average age of officers was trending downward. He knew why the Council, which was historically made up of generals in their fifties and sixties, now had members in their thirties and forties. He knew why there was a dearth of talent to fill the revolving door of vacancies.

The reason was hanging up there on that platform, dead before him.

He knew he’d never be discharged for the conduct that had gotten him expelled as a cadet. Not anymore. They couldn’t afford it. It was the most bitter victory he’d ever celebrated.

But today, there were no victories of any sort to be had.

Those men were quite still now, and had been for a while. A pulse was taken: none. A time was recorded: 15:05. They were quickly cut down.

But the Colonel wasn’t cleared to leave. Not yet. After this event’s conclusion, another was scheduled directly after, transpiring on the same platform which hosted death a few minutes prior.

He was due to stand up there next, because on this particular afternoon, he was receiving yet another promotion. That ceremony was set to begin immediately—as soon as the bodies were cleared.

He was going to become a general. A wartime general.

It wasn’t because he was the best or the brightest. It was because they had no one else to put there.

He knew their leadership was desperate; they’d already lost several of their highest-ranking officers. But he hadn’t realized how truly dire the situation had grown until General Frederick Gray had been killed in combat a few months prior, and his father, General Richard Gray, had come out of retirement to replace him.

A man well into his seventies.

Richard Gray had set a record by becoming the Space Corps’ oldest sitting general, and now, that same year, they were set to gain their youngest—this twenty-six-year-old field commander. He’d be serving in tandem with someone nearly fifty years his senior.

He’d cried that morning, before that ceremony, alone where no one could see. He thought he couldn’t anymore, but he was wrong.

His only desire, back when he was a cadet, was to receive this promotion eventually, but no longer. He didn’t want it. Not like this.

But even so, his eyes were dry that afternoon as that pin was fastened to his uniform, and he took that oath of office, swearing to uphold the code of conduct, serve the organization, lead to the best of his ability, and protect those who served beneath him.

And that was the day on which General David Harlow assumed his command.