Stan returns from a mission that left a mark on him, though no one can tell what he truly brought back besides silence and heavy thoughts.
Something in his eyes suggests he has seen more than he is ready to share. Has he changed? The truth was handed to him, but what to do with it remains his burden alone. Torn between choices that could reshape everything, he finds himself haunted by shadows of the past and uncertain whether those closest to him are allies or threats.
When Stan opened the cabin door, his hand instinctively reached for the sidearm he no longer carried — and froze.
There, just a few paces in front of him, stood a robodog.
Its metal limbs gleamed faintly in the dim light, its red eyes pulsing with mechanical rhythm. It didn’t growl. It didn’t move. It merely watched him, head tilted ever so slightly, like a predator measuring intent.
Stan knew robodogs well. Knew the sharpness of their reflexes, the unforgiving speed of their pounce. In close quarters, without armor or cover, even a seasoned fighter like him stood little chance. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. But every nerve in his body tightened, ready to spring, to twist, to fight to the last breath.
---
Stan stood a few steps away, his eyes drifting toward the horizon… and then to Niam. He hadn’t spoken yet, but his posture was tense, his intention already clear.
“I need to go back to the city,” Stan finally said, his voice steady but heavy. “My men need me.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Niam said quietly, her voice cracking just slightly. “But… I understand.”
Stan turned to her, taking her hand gently in his. “I know how you feel,” he said, his voice softening. “It’s the same way you used to wait for your husband. Wondering if he’d return... fearing that he wouldn’t. But this time, it’s even worse. You know there’s a chance I might not come back.”
“You’re brave, and you’re strong,” he whispered. “I know this—this chaos—makes you sick with worry, and I’m sorry. You deserve better. And I swear, one day you’ll have it. In everything I do, I carry that thought with me.”
A quiet resolve settled over the group. Stan hadn’t asked to lead, but something in him had shifted. He radiated calm authority now, and everyone felt it. They didn’t need orders; they simply knew what to do.
Niam remained under Phoenix’s watch and Stan’s small band of loyal fighters stood ready to defend the group,
---
Captain entered the medical facility with the force of a storm barely contained. His heavy boots struck the tile floor like hammer blows, echoing through the sterile corridor. The medic who had been checking Stan’s vitals vanished as soon as he saw the Captain’s expression.
“I want you on your feet by the end of the day,” Captain barked with venom. “Be useful for a change.”
He didn’t pause. He didn’t blink.
“As I can see, the operation was yet another failure. You’re stacking disasters like trophies. I hope, for your sake, that you’ll salvage whatever dignity you have left by helping restore order in our city. If you fail again, Stan... that will be your final failure.”
Stan remained silent for a moment, then replied calmly, “For a successful operation, I’ll need my men.”
Captain’s lip curled. “That’s all you have to say?”
His voice rose with contempt, pure disdain dripping from every syllable.
“No. You’ll be assigned real soldiers. Men forged in steel, not the soft-hearted, half-loyal defectors you’re used to leading. I want you in my office in one hour.”
He turned on his heel and left without waiting for a reply, the door slamming behind him.
Stan stared at the spot where the Captain had stood. “It’s good to know they’re alive,” he thought. “I don’t know their condition, but that doesn't matter as long as they’re breathing.”
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself.
"Sharpen your senses, Stan. This will be a rough ride."