His finger was on the trigger. It wasn’t squeezing.

  Jax was an unmoving shape against the wall, armor caved in along one side. Vos was out cold somewhere behind a pile of shattered crates. Tanaka was on one knee, one arm hanging wrong, shotgun just out of reach. The Reaver turned its blank helm toward them and started to raise its weapon again.

  Kaden’s hands shook so hard his sights jittered.

  Move. Shoot. Do something—

  His glove brushed the hard cylinder clipped to his rig.

  Combat stim. For patients. For marines bleeding out and about to die.

  We’re about to die.

  He yanked it free, jammed it into the port inside his forearm plating, and hit the trigger before he could talk himself out of it.

  Hiss.

  CHEMICAL: COMBAT STIM – ADMINISTERED

  TEMP EFFECTS: ALERTNESS ↑ / STRESS TOLERANCE ↑

  DURATION: 120 SEC (SIM)

  Heat burned up his arm and into his chest. His heart hammered even harder, but his vision stopped closing in. The panic didn’t disappear, but it slid off his hands and out of his trigger finger.

  “Mercer!” Tanaka barked. “Bad knee! Navarro, the other leg! Keep fucking shooting!”

  His voice was frayed and pissed off, but it was orders. Kaden latched onto it.

  “Copy,” Kaden said. His voice still shook, but it stayed level.

  Navarro dragged in a ragged breath. “Yeah. Okay. I’m on it.”

  The Reaver’s weapon kept climbing.

  Tanaka rolled, grabbed his shotgun with his good hand, and used the mangled stump of the Bulwark base to shove himself into a half-standing crouch. His left arm hung stiff and wrong, armor spiderwebbed where the blow had landed.

  The Reaver stepped in, weapon head dropping in a brutal overhead arc.

  “Move!” Tanaka snapped.

  Kaden threw himself sideways. Navarro dropped the other way. The weapon slammed into the deck where they’d just been, tearing another gouge in the plating. The shockwave jolted through Kaden’s bones, rattling his teeth.

  He slid, came up on one knee, stim burning a hard edge through his veins, and snapped his sights onto the same knee they’d already chewed.

  He fired.

  Rounds sparked off the wrecked armor and bit deeper, tearing into pale structure beneath. Navarro’s fire snapped in from the side, too fast and short, but still punching into the Reaver’s other leg.

  The Reaver took it.

  This time, its next step landed heavier. The damaged leg didn’t bend right. Its stride turned into an ugly, uneven lurch.

  “Again!” Tanaka snarled. “Don’t let it reset!”

  Kaden dumped another burst into the ruined joint. Navarro forced herself to line up and shoot, breaths hitching too loud over comms. Tanaka staggered sideways and fired a blast straight into the same knee. More armor blew away. Something fibrous and wrong tore loose.

  The Reaver answered with a low, sweeping swing. The head of the weapon ripped through what was left of a crate stack, annihilating cover and showering them with metal fragments.

  Navarro yelped and flinched back. Her next burst skated off the ceiling.

  “Shit, it’s not going down—” she screamed.

  “Keep shooting!” Tanaka snapped, harsher than Kaden had ever heard him. “You stop, we’re done!”

  Kaden’s heartbeat roared in his ears. The stim kept his hands just steady enough. He leaned out again, found the same wrecked mass of metal and bone at the Reaver’s knee, and emptied the rest of his mag into it.

  He slammed in a fresh magazine without looking.

  The Reaver planted its good leg and pushed forward, dragging the ruined one, helm locked on Tanaka. It raised the weapon again, slower now but still lethal.

  “Shit,” Tanaka muttered.

  It brought the blow down with everything it had.

  The head of the weapon smashed into the deck. Metal shrieked as it buried itself deeper than before, punching through plating and into the simulated structure below. The floor buckled and cratered. This time the weapon didn’t rebound.

  The haft shuddered in the Reaver’s gauntlets. It hauled, armor creaking.

  Nothing.

  For the first time, the Reaver looked off-balance.

  Tanaka saw it. “Now!” he roared.

  He pushed off the cracked deck, half-running, half-staggering. Pain Conditioning held his body together for the few seconds it wanted to fold. He reached the Reaver’s ruined knee while it was still braced over its stuck weapon.

  He jammed the shotgun muzzle deep into the gap they’d opened in the joint.

  “Fuck. You,” he growled.

  He pulled the trigger.

  The blast at that range turned the knee into shrapnel. Armor, inner supports, and whatever passed for bone all went out in a messy cone. The joint stopped existing.

  The Reaver screamed—raw and mechanical, a sound that made Kaden’s skin crawl—and pitched sideways.

  The weapon, still embedded in the floor, acted like a hinge. The Reaver’s massive torso twisted and crashed onto the deck, armor shaking the floor under Kaden’s knees. Its remaining leg kicked once, searching for leverage it didn’t have.

  “It’s not done!” Kaden shouted.

  The Reaver clawed at the deck, dragging itself. Even on its side, it was still too much armor and too much weapon if it got loose.

  “Neck!” Tanaka coughed, stumbling back from the wrecked knee. “Hit the gap!”

  Kaden swung his sights up. Plates overlapped at the neck, but there were seams—thin lines where the armor had to move.

  He stitched a line of fire into that seam.

  Rounds chewed into the joint, punching under the plates. The Reaver twisted, torso trying to follow, one gauntleted hand scraping deep furrows in the deck.

  Navarro’s shots joined his a heartbeat later. Her breathing was ragged, too fast, but she forced each burst where it needed to go.

  The Reaver’s thrashing grew weaker. Its hand scraped the deck again, fingers gouging metal, then slipped.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Kaden reloaded on instinct, slammed another magazine home, and kept firing until Aurora finally threw a line across his HUD.

  TARGET: REAVER – STATUS: DISABLED (SIM)

  The big Opp convulsed once and sagged, weight settling into the cratered deck.

  For a heartbeat, nobody moved.

  Then something slammed into the side of Kaden’s helmet and the world went sideways.

  A single round came in from above and clipped his helmet at an oblique angle. It didn’t punch through, but it hit hard enough to whip his head around and flip him off his feet. His vision blew out white for a heartbeat. Sound turned into one long, angry ring.

  He hit the deck and rolled, SMG still in his hands only because his fingers didn’t know how to let go.

  A HUD warning flickered at the edge of the haze.

  CONCUSSION RISK: MODERATE – MONITORING

  He couldn’t make himself read more than that. His stomach lurched. The room tilted.

  “Son of a—” Navarro’s voice hit his ears, half snarl, half panic. “Up top!”

  She wasn’t talking to him.

  Her rifle barked three times in a tight, furious burst. Even dazed, Kaden saw the last balcony Opp jerk and topple back out of sight. The tag vanished from his HUD.

  “Balcony’s down!” she snapped, breathing too fast.

  Kaden forced his knees under him. The world wobbled and then steadied, the stim shoving the worst of the daze into the background.

  “Right side!” Tanaka rasped.

  The rifleman by the crate had finally picked a direction and gone for it—straight toward the blown-out command doorway.

  Kaden’s head still throbbed, but his hands remembered what to do. He and Navarro fired together. The Opp folded mid-stride and plowed face-first into the deck.

  Silence rushed in.

  Kaden realized he was panting, his ears still ringing from the helmet hit. His legs felt hollow. The stim kept his hands steady and his thoughts from spinning apart, but it felt like standing on the edge of a drop.

  “Sound off,” Tanaka said. His voice shook, but he was still the one pulling them together. “Who’s still with me?”

  “Navarro,” she said. “Arm’s trashed, but I’m here.”

  “Mercer,” Kaden managed. “Helmet got tagged. I’m up.”

  “Vos is still out,” Tanaka said. “I’ll check him.”

  Kaden’s gaze snapped to Jax.

  She was still slumped against the wall, armor caved in at the chest and shoulder. Her breathing was shallow and hitching. Her tag sat ugly in the corner of his HUD, but not black.

  He pushed himself across the cracked deck and dropped to his knees beside her.

  “Sergeant?” he said. “Jax, you with me?”

  Nothing. Her visor stayed dark. Her chest moved in shallow, uneven rises.

  Aurora gave him data in a rush.

  THORACIC IMPACT – MULTIPLE RIB FRACTURES (PROBABLE)

  PULMONARY CONTUSION – POSSIBLE

  INTERNAL BLEED – RISK: ELEVATED

  Bad. Not instantly terminal.

  “Field Stabilize,” he said.

  SKILL – Field Stabilize (R1)

  AP: PFC MERCER 1/5

  Stim buzz and System focus slammed together until everything around her chest wound felt too sharp. The asymmetry in her breathing, the spikes in heart rate when he touched a bent plate, the way one side of her lungs lagged—all of it lined up in his head.

  He popped the catches on her chest plate, easing pressure without stripping it, and slid a rigid brace between armor and undersuit to keep the metal from sinking further into her ribs. Then he wrapped a compression harness around her torso, snugging it until Aurora flagged a more stable range.

  Her vitals ticked a fraction away from the bad end of the graph.

  STATUS – CRITICAL → UNSTABLE

  “If this was real, you’d be on a stretcher,” he muttered. “But you’re not crashing in the next minute.”

  The extra clarity bled away.

  SKILL – Field Stabilize (R1) – ENDED

  His head throbbed in time with his pulse. The ringing in his ears faded to a background whine instead of a full takeover.

  “Kenji?” he called. “Vos?”

  “Breathing,” Tanaka said. “Concussed but pupils reacting. He’s not waking up without help, but he’s not circling the drain.”

  “Jax will hold,” Kaden said. “For a bit. She’s not good, but she’s not dropping right now.”

  “Then we’re not done,” Tanaka said. “We still don’t have forward control.”

  Kaden looked toward the ragged hole where the command doors had been. Beyond, Aurora outlined the forward-control compartment in faint blue.

  Navarro let out a strained little laugh. “We’re really going in there like this?”

  “Yeah,” Tanaka said. “Because if this wasn’t a sim, that room’s how you stop more of that walking around.” He jerked his chin toward the dead Reaver. “We weren't put in Theta so we could quit in the hallway.”

  He hauled himself upright with a grunt, favoring his side, and scooped up his shotgun with his good hand. His bad arm stayed clamped tight to his ribs.

  “Mercer, can you walk?” he asked.

  Kaden pushed himself up. The bay swayed once, then settled. The stim pushed the dizziness down far enough to function.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.”

  “Navarro?” Tanaka said.

  She flexed her strapped arm and winced. “I can still shoot. That’s all I’ve got.”

  “That’s enough,” Tanaka said. “We stack, we clear, we touch whatever Aurora’s glowing for us, and then we let the corpsmen and officers yell. Move.”

  Kaden took one last look at Jax and the faint, ugly bars next to her name. Vos’s tag still blinked red but steady behind the crates.

  They limped toward the torn doorway—three battered marines, no shield, squad leader down, tech unconscious, medic riding a stim high and a helmet hit.

  Forward control was cramped: low ceiling, banks of Opp consoles and interfaces designed for hands that weren’t human. Two Opp were inside. One stood closer, halfway through turning with a weapon. The other was at a console, head snapping up at the sound of boots.

  Tanaka didn’t count down.

  He stepped through and shot the nearer Opp in the gut. It folded and dropped.

  Navarro slid past him, braced her rifle against her good shoulder, and put three short, sharp shots into the console tech’s upper chest. The Opp jerked and slumped over the controls.

  Kaden’s HUD lit up a central pedestal in blue.

  OBJECTIVE: FORWARD CONTROL – INTERFACE REQUIRED

  “Mercer,” Tanaka said, leaning on the doorframe. “You’re the only one not half-crippled. Hit it.”

  Kaden staggered forward. His head still rang, but his feet kept moving.

  He slapped his palm down on the highlighted surface.

  Aurora answered with a rush of neutral data and sim flags.

  OBJECTIVE: FORWARD CONTROL – SECURED

  SIMULATION: EVALUATION – COMPLETE

  The world eased.

  Threat tags vanished. The Reaver’s icon dimmed to gray. Gunfire ghosts blinked out, leaving only scorch marks, wreckage, and the ache in his neck where the helmet had snapped sideways.

  Overhead, Okafor’s voice came on the shipwide channel, steady and dry.

  “Simulation terminated,” he said. “All Theta squads hold in place for sim rollback.”

  The bay lights flickered, brightened, then softened. The ruined decking, shattered crates, Opp bodies, and the hulking corpse of the Reaver all shimmered and dissolved into the neutral gray plating of the sim chamber. Jax was suddenly back on her feet where the wall had been, not broken—helmet on, armor intact—but breathing hard. Vos stood near the crate stack that no longer existed, one hand flat against the smooth wall, blinking like someone had shaken him awake.

  Kaden’s muscles still remembered falling. His head still rang. His HUD threw a soft banner across his vision.

  EVAL COMPLETE – DATA UPLOADED

  Vos scrubbed a hand down his faceplate and let out a low whistle. “So,” he said. “Which one of you assholes pissed off whoever designs these sims? Because doors shouldn’t be a projectile type.”

  Navarro snorted, the sound coming out a little hysterical. “You looked majestic, getting flattened like that.”

  “Majestic concussion,” Vos said. “Great. Love that for me.”

  Jax turned, taking them all in with one sharp sweep. There was no visible damage now, but Kaden saw the ghost of the impact in the way she rolled her shoulder once, as if the phantom pain was still there.

  “Well,” she said. “On the plus side, now you all know exactly how hard a Reaver hits. On the minus side, now you all know exactly how hard a Reaver hits.”

  Tanaka gave a rough laugh. “You went airborne, Sergeant.”

  “Yeah,” Jax said dryly. “I noticed. Next time one of those things gets within melee range, I expect you to throw yourself under it sooner.”

  Tanaka snorted. “Already did, remember? Shot the bastard’s leg off. You’re welcome.”

  Jax’s visor turned toward Kaden. “Mercer. Good work keeping people in the yellow instead of black.” She tilted her head. “We’ll have words later about you sticking stims in yourself, though.”

  He swallowed. “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Vos pointed a gauntleted finger at Kaden. “Also, nice helmet catch. That ricochet sounded like it sucked.”

  “It did,” Kaden said. “Would not recommend.”

  Another voice cut across the channel. Deeper, rougher.

  “This is Captain Gaunt,” it said. “All Theta platoon personnel will assemble in the main auditorium in thirty minutes for after-action review. You will arrive in duty blacks and be ready to talk about what you did and why. This was not a playground drill. Gaunt out.”

  Tanaka let out a breath that sounded like it scraped his ribs, even though the sim had given him a fresh set. “You hear that? Story time with the captain.”

  “Fantastic,” Vos said. “Can’t wait to explain to a Tier Three why I lost a fistfight with a door.”

  Navarro bumped her shoulder lightly against Kaden’s. “And you get to explain why your idea of self-care is mainlining combat stims.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Kaden said. “Really.”

  Jax rolled her neck once, plates shifting. “Hit the lockers. Hydrate. Don’t throw up in your helmets on the way out. We’ll deal with the rest in the auditorium.”

  Theta-3 filed toward the sim chamber exit, armor whole and weapons clean, phantom aches and fresh memories ghosting just under the surface of the reset.

  They’d just gone toe-to-toe with the worst thing the Opp could throw into a confined space and were still walking. How much that would impress Gaunt, they were about to find out.