Beyond Light

Return the Favor.

John’s eyes spread and got illuminated by the crackling fire of that dark, sultry room. The stench of blood, lead, and burnt metal penetrated his lungs as he was on his knees, his bloody hands tied behind his back.

His vision unblurred. Three wide figures wearing black camo, gas masks, and incomplete exoskeletal armor held tight their TR6 bullpup rifles, having John and his companions hostage. Rico, West, and Musa didn't look any better than him; their faces were covered by mud and dry blood, their mauled cadet uniforms revealed their crusty, scraped skins.

Phillips was on John's right, pinned down where a puddle of her own blood was getting tangled on her brown hair. Her expression stared nowhere, coagulated blood spilling from her mouth and nose. Her pupils didn’t respond to the tenous light of the fire stains around.

John closed his eyes again, damning everything he couldn’t do to get caught in that situation. What did they do to deserve that? It was going to be a simple drill! They would go to the disputed territory of Kgomotso on the dwarf planet Orcus to run combat games, where no one would end up being hurt other than some bruises and scratches.

But everyone still thought it was just a drill when the sirens screamed. The ships' weapons could not even react before an unknown armed force boarded them. They murdered Sargeant Klein and Captain Reynolds, and soon everyone in their path got slaughtered too. What did they want?

Some cadets and crewmen tried to hide, getting killed in the act. John saw them. Most of the people in his platoon that he used to share dorms with and considered family died in the blink of an eye.

And it was now clear that he was about to meet the same fate.

“Rodriguez, where are you?” a granulated voice sounded through a communicator. One of the three armed men put his exposed finger on his earcom and spoke. “We're cleaning the area. The third deck is almost clear. What’s your status?”

John looked at his left; there was a broken knife behind West. The cadet in glasses launched him an eye nod and then the knife with the sole of his boots. John took it in the most discrete way possible, If they saw something strange he’d be dead.

“We just fought some real soldiers down here on the second deck. They were no match. Popov is arming the bomb. Get ready to do what you must because we’ll leave in short,” responded the raspy voice. John swiftly began to cut the noose wrapping his wrists.

“You’ve heard him,” the armed man told his companions as he released his earcom. He then reached for his waist and pulled out his AM1 pistol. “let’s finish this.”

He walked towards Rico, the tall boy of tanned skin. He put the barrel of the gun on his forehead.

“W-wait!” cried the cadet. “W-why are you doing this?!”

His question seemed to trigger something personal on the assaulter. “Because there’s a government that has never cared about us!” he slapped him with the side of the round pistol. “And has begun to take the few we’ve got, kid!”

He slammed his fist against Rico's face, blood bursting alongside a pained wail from his mouth. John kept sawing the rope, doing it in a very slow manner to avoid getting detected.

“G-go to hell!” yelled Rico.

The bulky man put the barrel harder on his forehead, but he ended up raising his weapon. No less than a second after, he slammed the butt of the pistol against Rico's skull, making him fall to the floor.

“You go f*****g first! Unionist piece of s**t!” The boarder raised his bulky boot and violently stepped multiple times on Rico's head.

John and his companions closed their eyes. Bones getting broken and meat getting grinded screamed one after the other, sounding like an egg getting cracked open at the end.

Only a puddle of blood and skull and brain bits remained on the floor where Rico fell. Tears spilled through West’s dirty face. The black Musa breathed hard. John bit his own teeth but continued cutting the rope. Freeing himself and doing something would be the only way of stopping them from taking another life.

“Dispose of them,” ordered Rodriguez, their apparent leader, crossing to the sliding door ahead and getting out. “Reunite with me when you’re done.”

“Yes,” responded one of the two men. He raised his TR6 rifle and took a step closer to the hostages. John felt and heard each of his heartbeats rushing to his head and ears. He stopped cutting for a moment.

The armored man raised his weapon and put his finger on the trigger. He looked at the three hostages for a moment that felt like an eternity. He then pointed at Musa.

“Wait! N-No!” He cried. Light dazzled and bullets thundered.

John closed his eyes. The man sprayed the young cadet all over with 5.98mm kinetic rounds. Musa looked at the ceiling with popped eyes and a breaking mouth before falling dead to the ground. His torso was crammed with dozens of small holes that began to make a red puddle around him.

“T-this is the end!” cried West. John kept cutting. Only a few more and he could clamp the noose away.

The murderer took a step closer to West. The other one limited himself to listen and watch close to the entrance.

“Joining those pigs was your last error, kid,” he raised his TR6 once again.

The cadet closed his eyes and looked away. But the noose yielded, and John’s hands were free again. He lounged against the man and pushed the rifle away.

Hitting the wall, the assaulter was about to react; but John was faster. He raised his knife and stabbed his exposed neck. The masked man let out silent screams and immediately grabbed himself with both hands.

“You bastards!” yelled the other man. He raised his rifle, but John plunged the TR6 from the agonizing man's hands before pushing him against his companion.

The man shot and thunders dazzled, accidentally impacting his fellow and getting pushed away by his weight. He was about to react, but a stream of 5.98mm polonium-titanium projectiles splashed on his chest. He dropped his gun and sliced it down on the wall, leaving a spilling bloodstain on it.

Time froze for John for a second. He looked at the black rifle on his hands and then at the dead bodies. He had just taken two lives; his first two kills. But it was no time to feel bad or meditate. He put the knife out of the neck of that man and then moved down to the gagged West.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He got behind him and cut the noose.

“Man… This is f*****g madness,” he breathed hard.

“C’mon. Let’s go,” John tapped his shoulder and helped him get up. He moved to the dead assaulter and picked his TR6. He passed it to him.

“Damn,” West grabbed his brown hair with both hands, looking at his mates who had not been lucky enough. “Musa, Rico… Philips...”

John looked down, feeling adrenaline rushing through his blood. Seeing them like that made his chest contract on the blindest knot, but it was no time to mourn. He was still alive and still had a chance. He and West would demonstrate that they didn’t die in vain.

“C’mon. Let’s go,” he said. “let's check out if we can get any of those exoskeletons outta them. We’ll need them.”

They checked both dead men but didn’t have any luck. Their armors were pressure sealed, and the only way of putting them out of their bodies would be with hydraulic tools or an armor chamber, where they were specifically put on and off. They left the room.

The T corridor ahead was covered by a mild cloak of smoke, the white walls covered by bloodstains and bullet holes. Dead people laid around, none with any weapon in their hands that showed they could defend themselves. It was a m******e.

“C’mon,” whispered John, raising his rifle. “the escape pods are located on the first deck.”

They crossed the passage, but two figures appeared as they were to turn around the perpendicular corridor. One of them was Rodriguez, the man in the gas mask who took them captive inside. John couldn’t press the trigger. The man pushed his rifle away and punched his face with his metallic gauntlet.

John plummeted, seeing stars and feeling his face burning. Blood began to spill once again from his nose and lips. Barely being able to see, he noticed that West was also on the floor.

“Look at these little rats,” mocked Rodriguez. “I must say I’m impressed. But I committed foolery for letting those two finish the job."

He nodded to his masked companion in front of West. The terrorist raised his TR6.

“N-No! Please!” yelled West, but the man pressed the trigger. Grinding metallic hits slammed all of his chest and stomach. The young boy stopped shrieking when he released the trigger, plummeting to the floor. His face stared with horror at the white ceiling. Blood began to engulf his area.

“Motherfuckers!” John growled. "You're all gonna f*****g die!"

“Uh,” Rodriguez took a step ahead. “This one seems to be less of a coward. Nothing personal, kid. You know we have a job to do. Makemake belongs to her people, not any corrupt union like yours.”

He drew out his AM1 and pointed it at him. John looked at the weapon’s barrel and saw his life reflected on it. The weapon lighted and rumbled, and then he felt something warm on his stomach. He looked down, and there was a hole transversing his shirt and flesh. Blood came out.

He fell. But before it was all over, sneaky figures rushed to the backs of the terrorists: four soldiers in black armor of light plates and iconic drone bee visor helmets lounged and put Rodriguez and his henchman against the floor.

The SolOps: elite units trained for high-risk operations. Two pointed their ROW-0 SMGs at terrorists while the other pair kept them immobilized.

“Sargeant Star, sector clear,” said one of them. “Wait. We have one alive!”

They noticed John, frowning on the floor with a hole near the appendix area. They approached and kneeled next to him.

“Honeybadger-4 team,” said one of them. “INSU. We are here to save you. Are you alright? Can you walk?”

“Give me… give me some…” John tried to speak, but adrenaline had faded away and a pulsing, burning pain began to kick on his stomach.

He tightened his teeth and grabbed himself. It was one of the worst sensations he had ever felt. The fifth commando with a red medal on his chest arrived from the corridor. He unpolarized his helmet, and one of the faces that John was the most familiar with but expected the least shined through it.

“John?” It was Blair. “Damn man. You're alive! Are you alright?”

John felt relieved to see him again. He and his team were like angels sent to save him from the claws of hell. But he could not respond. A poisonous projectile was on his body and he was slowly bleeding to death.

“Damn. This is bad. How’s the bomb, private?” Blair asked through his earcom.

“Bomb defused, Sarge. Mission accomplished!”

Blair nodded and looked at his soldiers. “Take this trash outta here. A military trial awaits them,” they raised the two men walked with them away, their hands spoused. "Like us, the most likely. You’ll be alright, John. We'll take you outta here.”

Blair put his hand on John's shoulder before launching a hand signal at his companions. They got John off the ground.

•••

“Commander Star?” LIBRA’s voice woke him up. “It’s the 800 hours, the exact time you told me to wake you up. I detect your biosignals agitated. Are you feeling alright? Were you drinking again?" he joked. "Do you want me to call doctor Winslow?”

“No, LIBRA. It’s fine,” John sat up on the bed, covering his spinning head.

He raised his black shirt, and the scar where he was shot when he was 19 years old was still there. To think that after all those years he still could not forget. Rage rushed through his veins. He still hated that terrorist man named Joao Rodriguez, the responsible for the attack on his ship, and the death of all of his platoon. Even if he had died nine years ago, condemned to statuification on Triton’s surface, John felt as if his punishment was too soft for what he did.

His friends, family, companions… Everyone dead in less than a few hours. Those terrorists planted a nuke on his ship and were going to crash it against New Warsaw on Neptune, making the reversal buoyance capacitors collapse and kill more than three million people.

But they failed, thanks to Blair’s SolOps team. He not only saved all those innocent people, but he also saved John too. He and his team were on a much more important operation but decided to disobey orders and board the ship nonetheless to neutralize the bomb and try to find someone alive.

But only John survived. What was his subconscious trying to tell him?

He understood it. It was a revelation: a reminder of how Blair had saved his life once. It was time to return the favor.

“Oh, and Commander,” LIBRA spoke once again. “We’ve reached the orbit of Hawking-616e. Everyone is celebrating on the bridge. They want you to see the planet personally.”

John nodded. “Thanks, LIBRA. I will be there soon.”

He got up from the bed and reached for his personal wardrobe. The next step in their mission was about to begin.