> Metro Station Day: 1,830 (Seconds after arrival at the Spaceport Platform)
---
> "This platform is our Alamo."
The Sergeant's words struck like a hammer.
The men were already moving—arming traps, checking clips, calling out formations—but Lili just stood there.
Frozen.
---
Her fingers gripped the edge of a rusted terminal. Her breath fogged inside her mask.
> The Alamo.
She had heard the name before. Long ago. One of Garr's old stories. Told in the hush of night, with a broken lamp glowing behind him and steam from the stewpot curling in the air.
> "It was an outpost. Thousands of years ago. On Earth."
> "What happened to it?" Lili had asked.
Garr's voice had gone low.
> "They died. All of them. But they didn't run. They held the line."
Now the word was back. Spoken like it meant something final.
Was she going to die here, too?
---
A Memory of Light
The metal faded away.
The platform fell behind her.
And Lili remembered.
---
Five Years Ago – Mikri Poli Metroline 1
She was very small. No older than four. Her legs dangled above the seat, swinging idly as the Metrocar hummed beneath her. Her mother sat beside her, smiling softly, one arm around Lili's shoulder.
The car was full of life—businessmen in crisp uniforms, students laughing over holobooks, elderly women with shopping bags in their laps. Light spilled in from the side windows as they rushed through sunlit tunnel glass.
Everything was clean. Everything was alive.
Lili rested her head against her mother's coat and listened to her voice.
---
> "See that woman there?" her mother said, pointing across the aisle.
> "She's a technician. She fixes the escalators. And that man—he's probably on his way to the central processing hub. Maybe he's a food inspector. Or maybe he's just picking up flowers for his wife."
> "How do you know?" Lili had asked, eyes wide.
> "I don't," her mother said. "But it's fun to imagine, isn't it?"
> "What about that man?" Lili pointed at a stern, tired-looking worker with dirt-stained boots.
Her mother smiled.
> "He works in the soil farms. Probably grew the strawberries we had for breakfast."
> "He did a good job."
> "He did."
---
The train glided to a smooth stop.
The doors hissed open.
Her mother took her hand.
> "Come on. We're going to surprise Daddy."
---
The Park
It was a small space above the central district—a green triangle surrounded by cafes and tower-glass. It wasn't much, but to Lili, it was the world.
They sat on a bench. Birds chirped in the tall, trimmed trees. A fountain bubbled nearby, its soft spray catching the sunlight like floating glass. Children played. Workers passed by. Music played faintly from a street performer's speaker.
Her mother bought her ice cream—strawberry, cold and sweet, soft on her tongue. She remembered licking too fast, the cold stinging her teeth.
Her mother wiped her cheek with a napkin.
> "You'll give yourself a brain freeze."
> "Worth it," Lili giggled.
They waited for her father, watching the city's pulse flow past them.
> "Do you know how it all works?" her mother had asked.
Lili shook her head.
Her mother tapped her temple.
> "It's all connected. The Metro, the vents, the security towers, the lights—even the music. The city is like a living thing. It breathes. It feeds. And right now, it's watching over you."
> "Like a giant robot?"
Her mother laughed.
> "Exactly."
> "Does it talk?"
> "Sometimes. If you're very polite."
---
Lili didn't remember what her father said when he arrived. She just remembered him lifting her into his arms, spinning her once in the park's afternoon light.
She had felt weightless.
Whole.
---
Back to the Present
The scream of a distant infected snapped her back.
She was on the platform again. Cold steel. Blood on the wall.
But the memory stayed with her.
And with it—something else.
Not fear.
Not quite.
> Defiance.
---
She turned toward the Sergeant.
He was setting a proximity charge near the platform door, silent and grim.
> "No Alamo," she whispered.
He looked up.
> "What?"
> "No dying here. No last stand."
She squared her shoulders.
> "We run. We seal the doors. We make it."
---
The Corporal turned.
So did Garr.
So did the others.
And in that moment, like some unspoken understanding had passed through them all, the Sergeant gave a single nod.
> "Alright then."
> "No Alamo."
> "We go."
---
They began the sprint.
Toward the trench. Toward the ruins. Toward whatever gods still listened.
But not to die.
To live.
***
> Metro Station Day: 1,830
Objective: Escape the platform, ascend to the surface, reach the main spaceport gate
---
The bulkhead doors hissed open one last time.
Beyond them, the stairwell yawned upward—steep, dark, ancient. No lights. No safety rails. The air was thin and bitter, rolling down the steps in slow, choking gusts.
The Sergeant was the first through.
> "Eyes up. No talking. We move in two-man intervals. Garr—rear guard."
The others followed without question.
Lili stood for a moment on the threshold, one hand brushing the wall where she'd painted stars once, years ago.
Then she stepped forward—and left it all behind.
---
The Climb
The stairs twisted upward in a tight coil, built like a fortress shaft—each step armored with ceramite and thick grooved plates.
No power meant no lifts. No working lights. Only the cold.
They moved by lightstone—each one tied to armor or helmet, flickering faintly against frost-covered walls.
Every breath fogged inside their masks.
Every step felt like a countdown.
> "We're going up now," Lili thought.
> "Really up."
---
Her heart beat faster.
Not just from exertion.
From memory.
---
Flashback – Going Up With Mother
She was small again.
Holding her mother's hand, feet kicking at the moving escalator as it hummed beneath them.
The walls were white stone, clean and bright.
A screen overhead showed the weather: sunny, mild wind. The music in the air was soft—a children's tune she couldn't remember the words to anymore.
> "Where are we going?" she'd asked.
> "To see Daddy," her mother said. "He finishes early today."
> "Do we get ice cream?"
Her mother smiled.
> "Only if you race me to the park."
---
The memory ended abruptly.
Replaced by cold metal beneath her boots, the sound of rasping breath in her ears, the slow crunch of frost.
---
The Top – Surface Hatch
The stairwell ended in a massive circular door.
Crackshot was already at the panel—his hands fumbling with frozen tools, fingers raw even through gloves.
> "Override's dead. We're going to have to blow it."
The Sergeant nodded. "Do it."
Crackshot planted a shaped charge. The rest of the squad pulled back down the stairs, Lili clutching Arlen's hand, trembling despite the warmth of her lightstones.
> "Three seconds!" Crackshot called out.
> "Brace!"
The blast was short, sharp—controlled.
The door buckled, then fell outward in a groan of tortured steel.
---
Cold air rushed in, howling like a beast unleashed.
They stepped through.
---
The Surface – What Was Left
Lili was the last to rise over the threshold.
What she saw stole the breath from her lungs.
The city was gone.
Not ruined. Not broken.
Gone.
---
Where once stood glass towers and gardens were now skeletal remains, buried in white ash. The snow was thick and gray, clinging to everything like rot. Entire streets had collapsed inward. Vehicles lay half-consumed by frost. Concrete buckled in jagged waves from distant shockwaves.
Blackened bones stuck out of the snow like fence posts.
And in the distance—looming in the ashstorm—the spaceport stood like a broken cathedral.
Cracked, hollow, towering.
A ruin.
But still intact.
---
They stood in silence.
Even the Sergeant.
For the first time in years, they felt the sky—even if it was dead.
Even if it was choked in ash.
They had made it.
---
Seal the Doors
"Garr. Crackshot. Seal it."
The two men turned, dragging the broken Metro door upright and locking the inner brackets. Brandt and Reeve piled debris over it—rebar, metal sheets, rubble from a nearby arch.
> "It won't stop them forever," Garr muttered.
> "We don't need forever," the Sergeant said.
> "We just need time."
---
The Cry From the Sky
Then—a sound.
High.
Sharp.
Like a blade slicing the clouds.
They all looked up.
Something circled above.
> "Contact!" Vale shouted. "Movement—twelve o'clock!"
---
It dropped like a bomb.
A shriek tore the air as the flying beast descended from the gray clouds. Its wings were torn leather, grown from infected tissue, its body once-human, now stretched and fused with fungal armor. Its head was a swollen skull, and from its gaping jaw came a sound like a child laughing and screaming at once.
> "Eyes up!" the Sergeant roared. "Drop it!"
Crackshot raised his revolver—fired twice.
Missed.
The thing twisted in air, unfolded a second pair of wings, and dove.
Garr yanked Lili behind a scorched APC shell just as the creature hit the snow like a mortar, shattering frost and flipping Vale into the air.
---
The Attack
Reeve tackled Vale mid-flight, breaking his fall, but not fast enough.
The creature was already moving—crawling with its wings, slashing with barbed claws.
It grabbed Reeve by the leg and ripped upward, the armor peeling like paper.
The Rifleman screamed as blood sprayed across the snow.
Lili gasped, running forward—but the Medic yanked her back.
> "Not yet. You'll get us all killed."
---
Garr charged.
No words. No war cry.
Just fury.
He tackled the beast full-body, wrestling it into the snow.
Crackshot fired—two shots to the chest, one to the throat.
It kept screaming.
The Sergeant closed in with his blade, driving it into the creature's exposed spine, twisting until the scream stopped.
---
Reeve lay twitching.
The Medic reached him.
Vale dropped beside them, face pale.
> "How bad?"
The Medic peeled back armor.
Winced.
> "Femoral artery. I need—"
Lili was already there.
Kneeling. Breathing hard.
Her hands shook as she pressed them to the wound, her lightstone blazing bright.
Heat poured into the wound. Blood slowed. Muscle knit. Skin sealed.
Lili gasped—energy draining fast.
But Reeve lived.
---
They Moved Again
They didn't wait.
They dragged Reeve between them.
Arlen supported Lili.
Garr took point.
And the Sergeant whispered one word:
> "Go."
---
They sprinted through the ash.
Toward the gates.
Toward the unknown.
***
Day 1,830 (Late Evening)
Location: Mikri Poli Spaceport Outer Grounds
The snow bit at their ankles as they ran.
It didn't fall like normal snow. It drifted sideways—ash-thick and chemical-tainted, layering over everything like decay made visible. The cold was real now—lethal, not just uncomfortable. Each breath stung the throat. Every exhale hung in the air like a final word.
Lili ran in the middle of the formation, her hood pulled low, her mask frosting from the inside. The lightstone at her chest flickered weakly with every step—her energy almost gone.
Still, she ran.
Because stopping meant dying.
The Port Perimeter
They reached the outer wall of the spaceport compound—massive ceramite plating, pocked and scorched by old explosions. A long ramp led up to the east gate—a titanic blast door, half-open, stuck at a crooked angle. The steel supports groaned in the wind.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
No infected.
No beasts.
Just the snow.
And the towering shadow of the structure before them—Mikri Poli Spaceport.
"Garr, with me. Corporal, check the flanks. Vale, Crackshot—rear eyes."
The Sergeant issued orders in a low growl, his voice calm despite the tension.
They moved up the ramp in a wedge, rifles up, boots crunching softly.
Lili stumbled once.
Arlen caught her before she fell.
"Almost there, starshine," he whispered. "Almost there."
Inside the Port
They breached the door in a slow, controlled push—flashlights sweeping wide.
And stepped into a graveyard.
The entrance hall was massive, its ceiling rising twenty meters overhead, held aloft by thick, white pillars streaked with age and blackened by soot. Everything echoed—every bootfall, every click of a rifle, every breath.
Abandoned luggage lay frozen in place. Benches torn from their anchors. A statue of the Emperor himself stood collapsed near the reception counter, one wing cracked off, his sword half-buried in snow and ash.
Frost clung to every surface.
Blood smeared the glass.
And here and there—bodies.
Fused to the floor. Half-frozen, mouths open in eternal screams.
They Held the Line Here
Lili saw the signs.
Imperial Guard markings on the floor.
Bullet holes in the walls.
Lasburns, shell fragments, smashed helmets.
"This was one of the last strongpoints," the Sergeant said quietly.
"They tried to hold the entrance."
They had failed.
Deeper In
The squad moved inward, past the shattered information desk, deeper into the central concourse. It was like a city inside—a cathedral of corridors and branching halls. High windows now cracked and snow-frosted. Vast walkways overhead that once carried thousands of travelers.
All now empty.
Just shadows.
Just echoes.
"What are we looking for?" Lili asked softly.
"A terminal," the Corporal answered. "Anything that can tell us if there's a ship still here."
"Any ship."
"Even a dropship?" Lili asked.
"Hell, I'd take a toboggan with thrusters right now."
Crackshot grunted. "Don't tempt fate."
The Lounge
They found it on the second floor of the west wing—an old passenger lounge sealed behind reinforced glass. The airlock still worked.
Garr powered the door open with a manual crank. The inner room was intact—dust-covered, dimly lit, undisturbed.
Dozens of chairs sat in quiet rows. A few husks of people were still buckled in, bones and mold wrapped in flaking uniforms.
But the terminal in the corner was whole.
Crackshot moved fast, slicing the panel open, rerouting power from a nearby emergency fuse.
"Please…" he muttered. "Just give me something."
The screen flickered to life.
Lili stepped close, staring wide-eyed at the faint blue glow.
Then the voice came.
"Welcome, valued passenger. Your patience is appreciated."
The same polite, robotic tone. Echoing through the stillness.
"All outgoing flights have been suspended due to high traffic and unexpected infection protocols. Please remain calm. Help is on the way."
Crackshot typed quickly. The UI was slow, fragmented.
"Pulling ship registry logs… sorting by bay number…"
The screen listed them, flickering, glitching:
Bay 61 – Destroyed
Bay 62 – Inaccessible
Bay 63 – [UNKNOWN STATUS]
Bay 64 – Empty
Bay 65 – Destroyed
The Corporal exhaled.
"Unknown status means it might be intact."
"Where is it?" the Sergeant asked.
Crackshot pulled up the map.
"Back concourse. South end of the port. Long way."
"How long?"
"Fifteen minutes if we sprint."
"Twenty if we stay tactical."
"Twenty-five if Lili faints," Crackshot added.
"Hey!"
The Sergeant closed his fist.
"We move. Now."
Then—a sound.
From below.
In the atrium.
A scraping. A dragging noise.
Something was crawling up the outer wall.
Lili turned slowly, eyes wide.
A shape moved past the frost-covered window.
Pale. Twisted. Winged.
"One of the fliers," Vale whispered. "Patrol pattern?"
Then it stopped.
It turned.
Looked in.
Straight at them.
It opened its mouth.
And screamed.
"They know," the Medic said.
The Sergeant raised his rifle.
"We run."
And they did.
Into the dark halls.
Toward Bay 63.
Toward the last flicker of hope.
And behind them—the monsters howled.