Chapter 8: Into the Abyss

The Ironsight docked at the station with a grinding noise that echoed through the hangar bay. The station had taken heavy damage from the Necrolythian assault—jagged holes tore through its outer walls, fires still burned in several places, and the whole structure seemed to groan under its own weight.

As the ramp lowered, Rhys and Jax stepped out into a scene of barely contained chaos. Medics rushed between wounded soldiers, dragging them onto stretchers or wrapping makeshift bandages around their limbs. Technicians scrambled to patch up broken systems, their faces streaked with sweat and grime. The air smelled of burning metal and chemicals, a sharp reminder of how close they had come to losing the station entirely.

"Looks worse up close," Jax muttered, eyeing the wreckage.

Rhys just grunted in response, his eyes scanning the crowd. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, but years of instinct told him to stay alert in places like this. Even in victory, danger lurked around every corner.

They were approached by a tall man in a Federation uniform, his dark hair slicked back and his face set in a grim expression. His rank insignia marked him as a 2nd Commander, and the way he carried himself made it clear he wasn't someone who took kindly to failure.

"You two are from the Ironsight?" the Commander asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Rhys gave a short nod. "That's us."

The Commander's sharp gaze flicked over them, assessing. "Well fought out there," he said, though there was no warmth in his tone. "You did more than most."

Rhys gave a short nod, still surveying the wreckage around them. "Doesn't feel like we did enough."

The Commander's expression remained unchanged. "You demonstrated exceptional combat skills. That will suffice for now. Follow me. We need to talk."

As they walked through the station's damaged corridors, the Commander spoke with the clipped tone of someone used to delivering bad news. "The Federation is structured around a strict chain of command. At the top, we have the Chief General, who commands Titan-class ships like the one you just helped destroy. Below them are the High Generals, who manage Cruiser-class ships, and then Generals, who command Frigates. First Commanders handle Corvettes, and I'm a Second Commander, which means I run a Cutter-class ship. Third Commanders take care of auxiliary crafts."

Rhys absorbed the information, despite ranks and titles mattered little to him. In his line of work, survival came down to skill and luck, not who outranked whom.

They were led into a dimly lit room, its only light source a glowing blue holographic display in the center. The flickering map showed the sector, with several red points marking recent Necrolythian movements. The room was cold and sterile, with a sense of urgency hanging in the air.

"You both showed exceptional combat skills," the Commander said, gesturing to the map. "We need people like you for a critical mission."

Rhys crossed his arms. "What kind of mission?"

The hologram zoomed in on the edge of known space, beyond Federation control. "We need a small forward squad to track the Necrolythians back to their base. This is a recon mission. Gather intelligence on their forces and report back."

Rhys's instincts told him to say no immediately. "What happens if we're caught?"

"Then you won't come back," the Commander said bluntly. "But we'll equip you with the tools you need. You'll be provided with a new auxiliary craft, fitted with an experimental propulsion system—fast, maneuverable, designed for stealth. And there's a reward: you keep the ship and earn 10,000 credits upon successful completion."

Rhys's hesitation evaporated at the mention of the credits. That kind of money could make all the difference, bringing him one step closer to his dream—a cruiser-class ship of his own. He glanced at Jax, who already seemed resigned to the decision.

"We'll do it," Rhys said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Jax sighed, shaking his head. "Why am I not surprised?"

After the briefing, they were led to the staging area, where the other teams for the mission were preparing. The large bay echoed with the sounds of ships being prepped for launch, and the air was thick with anticipation. The first team they met was Team Alpha—three grizzled veterans who looked like they had been through more battles than most. They acknowledged Rhys and Jax with little more than a curt nod, their attention focused entirely on the mission.

Team Beta, however, was a different story. The Captain, a broad-shouldered man with a pipe clenched between his teeth, greeted them with a smile. His rugged appearance, combined with the worn uniform, made him look like he belonged in an old war log.

"Captain Jack," he said, shaking Rhys's hand. "This here is Simon"—he gestured to the nervous-looking kid behind him—"and Alethia," he added, with a nod to the woman beside him. Her dark eyes sparkled with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

They exchanged introductions, and while Alpha kept to themselves, Beta was happy to chat. Jack, with his gruff but friendly demeanor, shared stories of past missions. Alethia, with her calm presence, described the various planets they had visited, while Simon mostly fidgeted with his equipment, clearly nervous about the mission.

Before long, the command came over the comms, instructing them to board their ships. Rhys and Jax headed toward their new auxiliary craft, admiring the sleek design and the faint hum of the experimental propulsion system. This mission, despite its dangers, was definitely worth the risk.

Once settled into their seats, the tension between them was palpable. Jax was uncharacteristically quiet as he went through the pre-launch checklist. Then, he broke the silence.

"Do you think it's our fault?" Jax asked quietly, his voice heavy with doubt. "That the Necrolythian Titan-class ship tracked us and attacked the station? All those people… gone because we were here."

Rhys didn't answer immediately. The question gnawed at him too. The station had been their base for years, a place of relative safety amidst the chaos of space. Now, because of the attack, that safety had been shattered. So many had been killed, and the weight of that guilt pressed down on them both.

"I mean…" Jax continued, hesitating as he searched for the right words. "We were just doing our job. We didn't know things would escalate like this. But… maybe if we hadn't gone on that mission, maybe if we didn't follow the orders to take out those pirate bases, they wouldn't have tracked us back to the station."

Rhys exhaled, the frustration bubbling up. "We didn't have a choice, Jax. That was the mission."

Rhys clenched his jaw. Could they have avoided this disaster if they hadn't accepted the mission?

"We didn't know," Rhys finally said, his voice softer now. "There's no way we could've known a Titan-class ship would come after us. We weren't hunting Necrolythians."

Jax nodded, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Still, all those people on the station… they didn't sign up for this. They didn't expect a damn Necrolythian Titan to come tearing through their home."

Rhys fell silent, staring into the cockpit. The destruction caused by the invasion replayed in his mind—the wreckage, the fire, the bodies. The station had been shredded as if it were nothing, and all those lives… gone. Could they have prevented it? Could they have stayed out of the fight, stuck to the mission, and avoided being tracked?

"Maybe it's not about knowing," Jax said quietly. "Maybe it's about what we chose to do, what we signed up for. We took the mission. We went after the pirates. And because of that… people died."

Rhys felt a surge of anger rise in him, but he pushed it down. Arguing wouldn't change anything. The truth was, he didn't know if it was their fault or not. They could speculate all day, but in the end, it wouldn't bring back the people who died, and it wouldn't undo the destruction of the station.

"We did what we had to do," Rhys said firmly, though there was doubt creeping into his voice. "It wasn't just us. We were following orders. And if it wasn't us, someone else would've taken that mission."

Jax turned to him, his face tight with frustration. "But we were the ones they followed! We're the reason the Necrolythians attacked the station!"

Rhys wanted to respond, to reassure him, but the words caught in his throat. Could they have done something different? Should they have seen the signs?

"We took a job. We did what we were supposed to do," Rhys finally said, trying to convince himself as much as Jax. "This war isn't going to wait for us to figure things out. People are going to die, no matter what we do."

Jax's shoulders slumped in defeat. The weight of their choices, the uncertainty, the guilt—it was all too much. For the first time in a long while, Rhys felt that same weight pressing down on him, and it suffocated him. He had always believed in doing what was necessary, but now, for the first time, he wasn't sure if he could live with the consequences.

"I don't want to be the reason innocent people die," Jax said, his voice hollow.

Rhys sighed, gripping the controls tighter. "Neither do I, Jax. But sometimes, it's not up to us. We're not in control of what happens next. We just have to survive."

Jax fell silent, staring out into the blackness of space. The past hung over them like a shadow, heavy and unshakable. 

As the engines roared to life, propelling them forward into the unknown, the doubt clung to them like a second skin. The destruction they left behind was more than physical—it was the weight of their choices.

And Rhys wasn't sure if he'd ever shake it off.