The spacecraft QuaZ-007 drifted in eerie silence through the folds of a quiet wormhole—space stretched into ribbons of dim light and distant echoes, like reality itself had been pulled thin. Only two minutes had passed since departure from the Milkyway Blackhole Station, yet the ship had already carved a third of the journey toward the distant Canis Major Galaxy. Inside the command cabin, Mexina leaned back in her chair, one leg draped over the other, posture loose but presence heavy. The faint glow of the wormhole reflected off her pale armor, sliding across its smooth surface like liquid light. Her eyes were half-lidded, bored. Then— A soft chime. A holographic projection flickered into existence in front of her. The TT—Transmission Terminal—materialized as a floating interface, its voice neutral and artificial. TT: “Commander Mexina of Crew C-001, incoming directive from Milkyway Station.” She didn’t move at first. Just sighed. Mexina: “Make it quick. I’m not in the mood for delays.” TT: “A new recruit has been assigned to your unit. Requesting immediate pause of QuaZ-007 trajectory. A support craft is en route to dock.” Her eyes sharpened slightly. Mexina: “…You’re joking.” TT: “Negative. Orders confirmed.” She leaned forward now, elbows on her knees. Mexina: “Who approved that? And why wasn’t I informed?” TT: “Information classified.” Her lips curled faintly. Mexina: “Then un-classify it.” TT: “I am only a transmission terminal. Detailed recruit data is restricted. You will be briefed upon arrival.” Silence stretched for a second. Then she scoffed. Mexina: “Useless.” With a flick of her hand, the hologram shattered into light and vanished.A moment later, another interface lit up—this one manually triggered.General Upper Albert Hyno appeared, his figure rigid, expression carved from authority. Mexina: “You’ve got some nerve.” Albert Hyno: “Commander.” Mexina: “Sending recruits to my unit without my consent? Since when did I lose control over my own crew?” His gaze didn’t waver. Albert Hyno: “Since we started running out of bodies.” Her eyes narrowed. Mexina: “I choose who survives under me. Not you.” Albert Hyno: “And right now, survival requires numbers. You’ll take the recruit.” A pause.Then— Mexina: “What is it?” A slight hesitation. ;Albert Hyno: “Metumen.”* The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Mexina: “…A Metumen?” Her voice sharpened, disbelief cutting through it. Mexina: “You’re assigning me a thinker? Not even a Hydumen?” Albert Hyno: “You don’t have the luxury to refuse.” She stood up now, slow, dangerous. Mexina: “Watch me. I’ll deny the transfer… or better—dump him into the wormhole before he even steps in.” His tone hardened. Albert Hyno: “Careful, Commander. Don’t cross the line.” A beat.Then the transmission cut.A knock echoed against her cabin door. Crew Member: “Commander… requesting permission to allow docking. Rescue craft has arrived.” She didn’t answer immediately.Her jaw tightened. “…Let them in.”

Flashback — Two Months Ago The Canisian Galaxy burned in fractured light. Her unit had been on patrol—routine, controlled. Then the signal came. Outsider conflict. Canisians divided. Metumen allies stepping in to “assist.” It turned into a trap. A hive.A living, breathing swarm of rebel Canisians—anti-Earthers—burst from nowhere. Ships tearing through space like predators.No pattern. No warning.Just slaughter. Her crew—elite, hardened—were erased in minutes. Screams cut short. Signals lost. Blood turned to drifting particles in vacuum.Ninety-five percent gone.Because of a miscalculation.Because of outsiders.Because of them.

Present Mexina stood in the airlock chamber, arms crossed, posture rigid.The docking sequence completed with a low metallic hiss. The rescue craft latched on, and the inner doors slid open slowly.A man stepped out first—uniform clean, posture professional. He gave a casual nod, extending a hand. Rescue Officer: “We usually handle retrievals, not deliveries… but orders are orders. This one’s yours.” She didn’t take his hand.He chuckled awkwardly and pulled out a digital pad.* Rescue Officer: “King’s directive. Just sign, and we’re done.” Without a word, she grabbed the pad and signed.No hesitation.No interest.The officer stepped aside.Behind him— The recruit.Not bulky. Not overwhelming. Not built like a Hydumen.At a glance… almost ordinary.Which irritated her more than anything.The officer gave a brief salute. Rescue Officer: “Transfer complete. Good luck.” Then he turned and left, his crew sealing the craft behind him.The airlock fell silent again.Just Mexina.And the new addition to Crew C-001.

She stepped forward slowly, eyes scanning from head to toe—calculating, unimpressed.Then she stopped right in front of him.Close enough to feel the pressure of her presence.Her voice dropped—low, sharp, edged with mockery. Mexina: “So… this is what they sent me?” A slow tilt of her head. Mexina: “You don’t look like you belong here.” She circled slightly, studying him like a weapon she didn’t trust. Mexina: “Metumen, right? Let me guess—brains over body.” A faint smirk. Mexina: “Hope that brain knows how to survive a death unit.” She stopped again, directly in front of him.Eyes locking in.Heavy. Testing.* Mexina: “Tell me something…” A pause. Mexina: “Do you actually think you’ll last here?”

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