Change is frightening when comfort is all someone has ever known. But sometimes change is the only thing that can push a person forward… the only way to move on.

  The scene returns to Jackson, sitting on a bed aboard the ship. His hands are folded behind his head as he stares up at the cold metal ceiling. The steady hum of the vessel vibrates softly through the frame beneath him, a constant reminder that he is no longer on the ground he once called home.

  After a while, Jackson slowly pushes himself upright, the thin mattress shifting beneath his weight. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises, the cold metal floor pressing through the soles of his feet as he takes a cautious step forward to look around the small room.

  Only a few steps in, his hip collides sharply with the corner of a metal desk. The impact sends a dull jolt through his side, forcing him to recoil with a sharp breath as he instinctively grabs his hip. He takes a step back, steadying himself while the ache lingers.

  As he lifts his gaze, he notices the desk properly for the first time. A single drawer sits slightly misaligned beneath its surface. After a moment, he reaches forward and pulls it open.

  Inside rests an unopened letter, neatly placed and addressed to him from his mother.

  Jackson turns the envelope over in his hands, studying the worn paper and the careful handwriting that marks it as his. His thumb traces the edge of the seal as he begins to reach for it.

  Before he can open it, something else in the drawer catches his eye.

  He pauses, fingers hovering for a moment, then slowly reaches inside and pulls out a smaller folded note resting beneath the envelope. The paper crackles faintly as he unfolds it and begins to read.

  Note:

  Jackson. I wished I could have given you a proper farewell. I understand that your journey from here on will not be a light one. Know that I and everyone else will miss you dearly. I have given you a letter to read if you ever feel as if you have nowhere else you can turn to.

  Love, Your mother.

  A tear slips from Jackson’s eye, falling silently through the still air before striking the metal floor below. The droplet trembles against the steel surface, faintly quivering with the steady, rhythmic vibration of the ship beneath his feet.

  He remains still for a moment, the note held loosely in his hands. Then, with careful movements, he folds the paper along its original creases. The envelope follows, set neatly beneath it.

  Jackson places both the folded note and the sealed letter back into the drawer. The papers settle softly against the cold metal interior. After a brief pause, he gently pushes the drawer closed until it slides into place with a quiet click.

  Jackson draws in a slow breath, lifting a hand to brush the tears from his face. His sleeve drags lightly across his cheek before he lowers his arm and steps away from the desk.

  As he approaches the door, it slides open with a smooth mechanical hiss. Jackson steps through without hesitation, his footsteps echoing faintly along the narrow metal hallway as he wanders without any clear destination.

  The ship hums quietly around him as he moves through the corridors. After some time, the hall opens into the lunch area.

  Inside, several of the other Liquidators have gathered around a table, a scattered deck of cards spread across the surface. Laughter and casual chatter fill the room as they play, some leaning back in their chairs while others slap cards down dramatically.

  Off to the side, Sergeant Keal has Corporal Ash trapped in a loose headlock, his knuckles grinding playfully against the top of Ash’s head in a relentless noogie. Ash struggles against it, twisting and trying to pry Keal’s arm away.

  Nearby, Sergeant Mara leans back in her chair, idly chewing her gum as she watches the scene unfold, her gaze fixed on the two without saying a word.

  Jackson moves through the room quietly, slipping past the table where the others are gathered. The laughter and card slaps continue behind him as he walks by without stopping.

  Mara’s eyes briefly meet his as he passes. Her gaze lingers for a moment, sharp and unreadable, before she turns her head away with a small, dismissive motion.

  Jackson continues across the lunch hall until he stops in front of what appears to be a coffee machine mounted against the wall.

  He studies the panel for a moment before pressing one of the buttons. The machine responds with a short, disapproving beep.

  He tries another button. Then another.

  Each attempt is met with the same flat, mechanical series of failure beeps from the machine.

  A soft chuckle rises from behind Jackson, low and brief.

  Jackson turns, his gaze landing on Captain Rourke standing a few steps away.

  Cpt. Rourke: I know we are a bit advanced. Though I’d thought you would at least know how to use the coffee machine.

  Rourke steps forward, moving up beside the machine. Jackson instinctively shifts away, creating a small gap between them.

  Rourke glances at the control panel and casually presses a sequence of buttons in quick succession.

  The machine hums to life. A moment later, a steady stream of dark coffee begins pouring into the waiting cup beneath the dispenser.

  After a few moments, the cup finishes filling, the stream of coffee tapering off before the machine gives a soft click and falls quiet.

  Cpt. Rourke: You want some cream or sugar with that?

  Jackson pauses for a moment, considering it, before giving a small shake of his head.

  Rourke shifts slightly and leans back against the nearby wall, folding his arms across his chest.

  Cpt. Rourke: You don’t talk much for someone who was so fired up before.

  Jackson Cross: Yeah… Sorry. I just have quite a bit… to think about.

  Jackson lifts the cup and takes a cautious sip. Almost immediately, his face tightens as the bitter taste hits him. He pulls the cup slightly away, recoiling with a clear look of disgust.

  Rourke notices and lets out a faint smirk before reaching over and sliding the creamer container across the counter toward him.

  Jackson picks it up and tilts it over the cup, pouring a small stream into the dark coffee.

  Jackson Cross: So where are we going now?

  Cpt. Rourke: We’re going to the Citadel. It’s like an HQ mixed with a supply station.

  Jackson nods, setting his cup down and beginning to step away, but Rourke’s arm swings lightly around his shoulders, halting him in place.

  Cpt. Rourke (with a smirk): Not so fast, hot shot. If you’re going to be accompanying us, you need to meet all of us.

  Rourke guides Jackson gently toward the table, the pair moving through the room as the sounds of laughter and card games continue around them.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  As Rourke nears the table, the room quiets instantly. All eyes turn toward the pair, the laughter and card shuffling halting mid-motion.

  Cpt. Rourke: Alright lads, if you haven’t met already, this is Jackson, the farm boy we picked up. He’s going to be joining us from now on. Go ahead and introduce yourselves!

  Sergeant Keal is the first to step forward, extending a hand with a friendly grin.

  Sgt. Keal: Ah, I recognize ya. You’re the kid I patched up! Twice. Names Keal. I use the Aegis Unit. I’m the medic of the squad.

  Jackson shakes Keal’s hand, the grip firm but brief.

  Before Keal can say more, Ash shoves him lightly aside, grabbing Jackson’s hand with a wide, enthusiastic smile.

  Cpl. Ash: Name’s Ash! I use the Specter Unit! I’m the Scout! Excited to have another member!

  Jackson glances past them and notices a faint pop sound, drawing his attention.

  Mara sits off to the side, blowing bubbles from her gum, her expression unreadable and cool.

  Sgt. Mara: Name’s Mara. I use the Vanguard Unit. I still haven’t forgiven you for punching the Captain, kid. Watch yourself from now on… or you might get hurt.

  The room falls silent for a few seconds, the tension from Mara’s words lingering in the air.

  Cpt. Rourke: Anyways, you should have already met Lieutenant Elias. He’s up in the cockpit driving the ship… or hiding from us. Not sure which one. He uses the Warden Unit. He’s more of a “whatever you need him to be” kind of guy.

  Jackson takes a moment, absorbing the introductions and the dynamics of the group.

  Jackson Cross: What about you? Are you just the squad’s leader?

  Cpt. Rourke: Yes. I use the Reaper Unit. I’m the front-line attacker.

  Jackson stands quietly for a moment, the introductions settling in his mind. As he processes everything, the armor units, their roles, the structure of the squad, his expression slowly shifts into one of clear awe.

  Cpt. Rourke: Now then. Go ahead and give us your full introduction.

  Jackson stiffens slightly at the sudden attention. He pauses, his eyes lowering briefly as he gathers his thoughts.

  After a moment, he draws in a steady breath and lifts his head.

  Jackson Cross (taking a breath): My name is Jackson Cross. Son of a farmer. Thank you for having me. I want to learn as much as I can from you… the truth about this world… well, I guess the truth about the galaxy. I also want to avenge Jane… against those… creatures.

  Cpt. Rourke: While revenge is an open option that you can pursue, it is easily corruptible. Our goal as the Liquidators is to prevent the deaths of the human race. So then… Private Jackson Cross of the Liquidators. Will you join us?

  The room grows quiet again as the question hangs in the air. The others watch from around the table, their attention settling on Jackson.

  Jackson stands still for a moment, his posture stiff as he processes the weight of the words. His hands slowly tighten at his sides before he lifts his head, meeting Rourke’s gaze.

  Jackson slowly raises his hand, reaching out to shake Rourke’s.

  Before their hands can meet, a sharp alarm suddenly blares through the ship. Red emergency lights flash to life overhead, washing the room in pulsing crimson as the intercom crackles.

  Lt. Elias (over intercom): Everyone report to the bridge! Now!

  In an instant the relaxed atmosphere disappears. Chairs scrape loudly across the metal floor as everyone pushes up from the table. Cards are abandoned where they lie, forgotten.

  The squad moves quickly toward the exit, their pace urgent and focused as they head for the bridge.

  Jackson lingers for half a second, glancing around the suddenly emptying room before hurrying after them, keeping close behind so he doesn’t lose his way through the ship’s corridors.

  After a few hurried moments, the narrow corridor opens into the ship’s bridge.

  Inside, Lieutenant Elias sits at the forward console, the glow of instrument panels reflecting faintly across his face.

  In the center of the room, a circular table hums softly to life as the squad enters. Bands of light ripple across its surface before a holographic projection rises from the middle.

  The projection forms into a three-dimensional map of terrain, rolling hills, forest lines, and the small clustered layout of a town.

  Jackson studies it closely. It looks like Bright Fall… but something about it is different.

  At the very center of the hologram, deep beneath the surface layer of the map, a single yellow dot pulses faintly underground.

  Lt. Elias: We just got a ping for assistance. HQ has lost contact with the Liquidators covering this quadrant, and they’ve sent us the last known location of the team.

  The hologram slowly rotates above the table, its pale light reflecting across the faces gathered around it.

  Rourke studies the projection, his expression hardening. Around the table, the others grow noticeably quieter as they look at the map.

  Jackson Cross: Is there something wrong? Why do you guys look like that? Should we not be happy about helping the people there?

  For a moment, no one answers.

  Mara’s jaw tightens as she stares at the glowing projection. Her hand curls slightly at her side, tension running through her posture as if she’s about to snap.

  Rourke reaches over and places a steady hand on her shoulder.

  She exhales sharply through her nose, then pulls away from his touch and turns her head aside, the anger still clear on her face.

  Cpt. Rourke: We are going to assist the Liquidators stationed there. However… there is no one else to help.

  Jackson Cross: What do you mean “no one else to help”?

  Rourke lets out a quiet sigh, his eyes still fixed on the hologram.

  Beside the table, Mara suddenly turns and storms out of the bridge, the door sliding open just long enough for her to disappear into the corridor before sealing shut again.

  Cpt. Rourke: That place is known as Delta-13. Also known as the Lost Civilization. There is no one else to save.

  He gestures toward the glowing map, the yellow marker pulsing beneath the surface.

  Cpt. Rourke: All we can do is find out what happened to the Liquidators that were sent there… and see if they’re still around.

  Lt. Elias: It was also home to one of the biggest Chthryx nests we have ever seen. They even started evolving.

  The hologram flickers softly as the yellow point beneath the surface pulses again.

  Jackson stands near the edge of the table, staring at the projection as the weight of the information settles in. The glow from the map reflects across his face as he processes what he’s hearing.

  Jackson Cross: Is this… still a problem?

  Elias slowly shakes his head, though his attention remains fixed on the display.

  Lt. Elias: No. The nest was believed to be destroyed. HQ should have made sure of that.

  Jackson glances between the others gathered around the table, noticing the uncertainty lingering in the room.

  Jackson Cross: You don’t seem so sure of that.

  Elias leans forward slightly in his chair, resting one arm against the console as he watches the pulsing marker beneath the holographic terrain.

  Lt. Elias: Well… now we have a signal requesting help.

  The yellow dot pulses once more beneath the simulated ground.

  Lt. Elias: I’m not sure what to believe.

  A long moment of silence settles over the bridge, the only sound the low hum of the ship and the faint pulse of the hologram hovering above the table.

  Cpt. Rourke: Alright then. Everyone to your seats. Set coordinates to Delta-13 and get ready to jump.

  Jackson Cross: Jump?

  Rourke moves toward the command chair at the front of the bridge and lowers himself into it. He pulls the restraints across his chest, the buckles snapping into place.

  Around the room, the others move quickly to their stations. Panels light up as systems come online.

  The deck beneath Jackson’s feet begins to tremble as the engines spool up somewhere deep within the ship. A rising, high-pitched vibration fills the air.

  Rourke glances back over his shoulder, his expression firm and serious.

  Cpt. Rourke: That’s right. Jump.

  Jackson hesitates for a brief moment before moving toward an empty seat along the side of the bridge, lowering himself into it as the ship continues to build power.

  Elsewhere in the vessel, far from the bridge, Mara sits alone on the edge of her bunk. In her hand is an old photograph.

  She studies it quietly.

  The picture shows her standing beside someone else… though the other figure is swallowed by shadow, their face hidden in darkness.

  Back on the bridge, the ship begins to accelerate.

  At first the increase in speed is gradual, but it quickly builds. The low vibration running through the deck grows stronger, the engines somewhere deep within the vessel roaring to life. Jackson grips the arms of his seat as the sudden force presses him back.

  Outside the viewing glass, the stars begin to blur slightly as the ship moves faster… and faster.

  Then suddenly-

  The vibration stops.

  The ship becomes perfectly still.

  For a brief moment, everything feels strangely normal, as if the vessel has frozen in place within the void.

  And then it happens.

  With a violent surge of power, the ship launches forward in a burst of speed unlike anything Jackson has ever experienced. The stars outside stretch instantly into long streaks of white light, racing past the ship in endless glowing lines instead of distant speckles.

  The overwhelming rush floods through Jackson’s body, the sudden force sending his senses spinning. The pressure builds behind his eyes as the world around him blurs.

  For a moment, his vision tunnels.

  Then darkness takes him.

  Several moments pass before his eyelids twitch faintly. Slowly, his eyes flutter open.

  Blinding brightness floods his vision, forcing him to squint as his eyes struggle to adjust.

  As the glare fades, the scene beyond the bridge window comes into focus.

  Jackson’s eyes widen in stunned silence.

  Before them floats Delta-13.

  Like Bright Fall, it sits within a massive dome built over a hollowed meteor, but the structure is shattered. A massive crack splits the dome open, jagged fragments of its shell drifting slowly in the vacuum around it.

  Through the broken opening, the interior of the colony is visible.

  It is dead.

  Rows of buildings lie collapsed or half-melted, their skeletal frames casting long shadows across the ruined streets. Blackened scorch marks spread across the terrain as if something burned through the city with violent force.

  The devastation stretches across the entire settlement.

  It reminds Jackson of the war images he once saw in old history books at school…

  Only this looks far worse.