Salvador, by some standards, was alive. He didn’t feel like the word could refer to him, but his heart was beating and that would’ve meant something to anyone else. But not to him. The organ was a lingering burden, something that should’ve stopped long ago. With each clang of his boots, he went through the processing area and into the umbilical, mind numb to the paperwork he signed. It was in the shadows, where lights flickered than a figure stood. A figure that matched Sal’s every feature, down to the anger that creased his brow.

  “Why?” A voice echoed around his skull.

  “Why, what?” Sal responded

  “Don’t play dumb. Why are you doing this? You know the only way this ends. You’re choosing a worse option to punish yourself out of some stupid sense of weakness.” The voice, his own, said.

  “It’s what I deserve.” Sal could only muster the strength for a simple answer.

  “You know that’s bullshit, even more than I do. You just want some way of denying any form of attachment, that your grandiose ‘self-confidence’ makes you a better man. Well, if you want to keep lying to yourself, fine. But we both know that you’re trying to hide away any past connection out of some perceived ‘weakness’ on your part. Citra and Mom pissed off and Dad died. Sucks to suck. We know that.”

  “Of course I know that!” the bitter part of Sal was furious at the self-reflection. “I know that better than any part of you does. You want to open us up to more pain, more suffering. Well, I don’t. I want an easier life, a happy life I-“

  “Happy life, you call this a ‘happy life’? You’ve betrayed your team, spat in the face anything Dad would have wanted for us, and proven Citra and Mom right by your own admission. Oh, and broke the heart of Xeena. Great job. Real ‘happy life’. Not wanting to risk getting attached to anyone? That sounds like weakness to me.”

  “Shut up, shut up! You’re not the one in control. You’re not Salvador, I am! I got us through Tartarus, I kept us-”

  “Oh, you want to think about Tartarus? Fine then. You’re the one who almost killed us, thinking that suicide on your own terms was some grand achievement. Well done! I should thank you! Our entire life, ever since Dad died, you’ve just coped with the truth, never accepted it. Xeena proved to us that the scar, your little remembrance of our doctrine, was a sham. It’s just damaged tissue, end of the story.”

  “That was a fluke, it came from another person doing it... I…” He was losing the battle. He had to get onto Marshstrider before he capitulated. Then, it wouldn’t matter.

  He picked up the pace, the figure hounding at his side.

  “It was never real,” It said. “It’s just a figment of your conceited effort to stay alone. And let’s not just talk psychologically. Let’s talk reality. We would have died if we relied on only ourselves. You think you could’ve gotten the door open on Ruby Eye without Michaels or Fae helping? You think we could’ve disarmed the bomb on Starheart without Xeena? Didn’t think so. By every aspect, you are the one hurting us. In the end, you’ll kill us.”

  “Fuck off. You don’t get a choice here. It’s nearly done.”

  Ahead of Sal, a few workers from H&H were checking on the thin stream of returning employees. Their white suits gave them a clean impression that stood apart from the dark rubber of the umbilical.

  It was time. He had to leave before it was too late.

  Xeena was following the group, their solemn trudge back into Fifth Spoke’s hallways punctuated by silence. Their downcast faces told all nearby that weren’t in the mood for light conversation. It was Xin who cracked the quiet apart.

  “Yeah, you know what. Fuck him. Fuck Sal. We don’t need him.” Xin’s tone was aggressively angry, worn as a shield.

  “Xin, it’s ok to be upset.” Abel was trying to console her, patting a shoulder.

  “No, no. Screw him. He can rot. We did everything to help him, to put up with his shitty behaviour and this is what we get? Hey, you know what, Big S, you want the name Salvador? It’d stop us getting mixed up with you and Stannock, eh?” The others in the group just looked away, the sight heartbreaking.

  “Xin, I don’t think things are that-“ Dusty desperately tried to ease her down.

  “No! He lied to us. He gave us a dream, a team we could rely on, and he’s spat in our faces. He… he…” Her acrid tone dissolved into sobs as she slumped to the side of the corridor.

  “Why… why, Sal?” She crouched, leaning against the wall, Abel giving her support.

  “Hush, sister. It’s ok.” Abel stroked her hair. “As long as we have each other, we’ll be fine.” Still, Xin’s cries continued.

  The tender moment was shattered by a distant popping sound filling the air, screams following afterwards. Marcus turned, looking around for the source. From around the nearest corner, a security officer and their Cambiar companion ran.

  “Move! Everyone! Get to safety, move!” He waved and herded the growing crowd along the hallway the Torchers had been moving through. Desperately, Marcus made his way through the crowd until he gripped the officer by the arm.

  “What’s going on? Who is it?!” Frantic rage outlined Marcus’ voice. Xeena had never seen the man so violent looking.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Not sure, but… I think it’s Heaven’s Doctrine. Now, we have to move before-“

  A louder series of pops rang out, and cried of pain joined the cacophony. From the end of the corridor, walking in plain view and switching clothing to a red and gold uniform, stood a pair of clan soldiers, eyes wide with glee.

  “Let’s make the Emperor proud, boys!”

  Elijah Meyer was hidden behind cover, bullets ripping apart the faux wooden counter around him. Slowly, smoothly, quickly, he slotted a new magazine into his pistol and took aim. Steadying his prosthetic arm, he took aim and fired. It wasn’t his best performance, but the shouts made it clear he had hit at least two of the four attackers. Yet, leaning out of cover for a second was enough for the bullets to fly once more. He rolled, moving to a pillar, feeling shots pass through his cape.

  “Damnit boys, I just got this replaced.” He growled.

  He still had some bullets left in the magazine, and he couldn’t waste the time reloading. People were screaming around the food court of First Spoke and Elijah wouldn’t let anyone else die there. The instant that H&H had docked, disguised traitors, the ones lurking amongst them all along, finally revealed themselves. All he could do now was hold on until more help arrived. Or until he had cleared them out himself.

  A clink indicated he was positioned too far from the cover’s centre as a shot ricocheted off his prosthetic limb. Checking the wiring quickly, he resumed combat. With swift, calm breaths he sniped the last two soldiers in vulnerable spots, their red armour lacking protection around the neck and joints. That, and Elijah’s Wristbreaker was packing some serious ammo, and would probably have blown through them armour or not. Breathing heavy, the firefight had concluded, and he looked around the room.

  “Looks like they’ve made their move,” he grunted, shuffling towards the approaching sound of more battle cries.

  Titus Fornax delivered a final strike to the mad clan warrior before him, pulping his face against the wall. Thankfully, the clan these madmen belonged to abided by one of the stricter honour systems. They appeared to respect melee combat, which worked fine for Titus. He hadn’t received more ammo for his gun yet, and honestly preferred hand-to-hand fighting. Of course, it was much easier evading blows and punching men to red mist when most of your body had been augmented. Admittedly, Titus no longer had his high-performance gear; H&H had limited him to a lower grade set of cybernetics when he moved to the Expedition Fleet.

  Shaking blood from his hand, he surveyed his handiwork and recounted his steps back to O’Malley’s. Hopefully the dozen or so bodies lining the hallway would be warning enough for any more who came that way. Being kicked out of the communications system had left him blinder than ever, but that didn’t stop him from recognizing an assault before his eyes. It was likely anywhere the crew had been positioned, mostly the middle-positioned Spokes and perhaps the outer Rim ships were at highest risk of traitors.

  Entering the bar, he saw frightened humans and aliens alike, huddled in fear. For a moment, they appeared to see him as one of the clan warriors, his suit covered in blood and cameras where his eyes should have been glinting red. He appeased them with some calm words and took a seat.

  “Anyone got a comm-device? I need to send a message out immediately.”

  A frightened shrew of a woman slid hers across to him and retreated behind the bar. Sliding an authentic cigarette from his suit and into his mouth, an item regarded as contraband by H&H policy, he lit it with an inbuilt lighter in his hand and initiated hacking the device. He hoped his message would get to everyone in time.

  Keeper Thomas was pinned by a horde of screaming men, men who had not five minutes before appeared like a rather charming crowd of partygoers. Connecting to Fifth Spoke’s utility network, the one his Cambiar allies had granted him access to after they removed his restrictions, he was ready. In a few milliseconds, he was able to redirect a lucky pipe spread above the hallway to shoot pressurized steam downwards. The resulting cries of agony were difficult to hear, but he needed to save his own life. Thomas had found a reason to live.

  Surveying the damage, he stood. Fearful that H&H was ready to take him in if he refused their orders, he had fled to Fifth Spoke when the announcement was made. Now, surrounded by monsters and murderers, he was slightly regretting his choice of locale. It was as he stood there, befuddled at his current predicament, that he felt the telltale signs of S-Drive disruption; something was preparing to jump into the system, something huge.

  He didn’t have much time to think. Darting for the nearest officer’s lounge, he needed to let everyone know. Thomas hoped that those still on board the Cambiar ship would be loyal to staying with the aliens and not turn him in. Or at the very least, not been clan warriors. However, he was dismayed to find that upon opening the door that a group of officers were mid-way through changing into their red armour, each emblazoned with their clan sigil. A moment was held as they looked at each other.

  “I told you idiots to lock the door!” one of them cried in the main Doctrine tongue, drawing a blade from its sheath.

  Thomas’ day had gotten even worse.

  Salvador walked along the gangway, meeting the H&H workers.

  “Welcome to Marshstrider! Ready to board, sir? I can assure you that you’ll find Titanlock will be able to provide you with all the amenities you need, and will be in much better shape than whatever cells these aliens have been keeping you in!” The chipper tone of the man made Sal want to deck in him in the face.

  Sal passed his documents over and leaned on the railing. It was the end of the line, no more choices to make. His life of indecision and pain would now be a simple one – look out for himself, no matter what. No friends, they only hurt in the long run. No girlfriends, love was a distraction from the pleasure of one’s own company. No family, not that they ever needed him.

  From now on he-

  His comm-device buzzed. Flicking it open, a simple message read:

  ‘Titus here. Doctrine attack. All ships. Stick together. Fight on. Trust those close to you. Godspeed‘

  It was simple, only sixteen words. And yet, those words were seared in his vision. He was held in place, unable to process them for a few seconds. The figure stepped into his vision, ready.

  “So, happy yet?” It whispered in his head.

  “No.” He replied, unable to deny it anymore. The scar’s burning faded to a light sting.

  “Then what are you waiting for? You know it, I know it. You have to make the choice now.”

  “I’m too weak.” The scar held its intensity.

  “Did the Torchers ever think you were too weak? Did the people of Starheart you saved? Did Xeena?”

  “…No.” Admitting it made the scar sting turn into an itch.

  “Then, as you said to Dusty all that time ago: Clench those fists, grit those teeth and hold on. What do you want to fight for?”

  “Them.” The scar dulled to a numb pain.

  “Who?”

  “Her. Xeena. Everyone.” The scar, the mark of his heart, his weakness, his pride, was gone.

  “Then you know what to do.” And the voice was gone, a part of him he had finally accepted.

  It was only when the H&H worker reapproached him that he could act.

  “Thank you sir, if you’ll please come wi-“

  Sal turned back to Starheart, sprinting as fast as he could.

  “Sir! Wait, read this message, it’s not safe back there!”

  He knew. And that didn’t matter. He was charging into chaos, into probable death. And that didn’t matter. Salvador Vigino had fallen twice, once on a station in the middle of remote space, ready to die, and in the lobby of a colony ship, ready to give in.

  Now, he was ready to live.