u/Eye_Yam_Stew_Pied

I stood alone with Commander Valen Stryke when I gave my report. No witnesses, no noise—just the quiet hum of the console and the weight of what I brought back. I told him everything: the bunker already breached, Legion moving faster than anyone expected, the data mostly gone. Mostly. What I placed between us wasn’t complete, but it was enough to matter—a fragment, a physical trace that shouldn’t have survived a proper extraction. The facility had still been running when it should’ve been dead. Power where there should’ve been none. That was the part that stayed with him. That, and the fact that something had been left behind.

He didn’t get the chance to question it further.

The door opened without warning—not forced, not announced. Authorized.

Two figures stepped in like they already belonged there. The first moved with controlled certainty, scanning everything in a glance—Centurion Kade Rhyven. Behind him, an engineer in a sealed visor, silent but already interfacing with the room’s systems as if verifying something unseen. They didn’t ask. They didn’t explain.

Outside, a transport was already waiting.

Stryke didn’t stop them. That was the only answer I needed.

The ascent was quiet. No unnecessary talk, no introductions. Rhyven remained standing, steady even as we broke atmosphere. The engineer stayed connected to the ship’s systems, running checks I couldn’t see. It felt less like a transfer and more like I had already been moved before I even stepped on board.

Orbit came quickly.

And waiting there—motionless, deliberate—was the Knightfall vessel.

Docking was immediate. No delay, no inspection beyond confirmation. Inside, everything felt measured. Not militarized in the usual sense—there was no noise, no excess—but every movement had intent behind it.

They led me straight to the command chamber.

Captain Elias Varn didn’t rise when I entered. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

“So,” he said after a single pass through my file, “you’re the one who walked out of a sealed moonsite with something multiple teams failed to secure.”

“I didn’t take anything they didn’t already have,” I answered.

He paused—not doubting, just assessing.

“That’s usually what people say before we find out they’re wrong,” he replied. Then, quieter, “But you’re still here. That makes you relevant.”

That was the end of it. No long interrogation. No pressure. Just a quiet understanding that whatever I had been involved in was already being processed at a level beyond me.

The days that followed didn’t feel like time off. Every system, every movement, every silence felt like part of an ongoing evaluation. Not of what I did—but of what I had been exposed to.

Then came the descent.

Erebus Prime didn’t look like a base.

It looked like something built to hold things in place.

Commander Seraph Dain Valcor was already waiting when I arrived. He didn’t greet me. Didn’t welcome me. He just watched, like he was confirming something he already knew.

“You’ve been brought here because what you recovered exceeds Shellguard’s handling threshold,” he said.

“Threshold?” I asked.

“You are not a transfer of authority issue,” he replied. “You are a containment classification issue.”

That was when he showed it.

Shellguard authorization. Transfer logs. My status—rewritten, not erased.

Cross-domain containment transfer.

“So I’m not released,” I said.

“No,” Valcor answered. “You’ve been reassigned.”

He let that settle before continuing.

“Knightfall does not outrank Shellguard. We are not above them. We operate in parallel jurisdictions.”

I didn’t respond.

“What you are involved in—Project 42, Legion activity, and the bunker system—creates cross-domain risk overlap,” he said. “Shellguard cannot safely retain you. Not because they failed. Because keeping you increases exposure.”

The projection shifted again—formalized, final.

“They handed you over under containment protocol.”

Not promotion. Not punishment.

Containment.

He didn’t leave it there.

Instead, he turned and began walking. I followed.

“Erebus Prime is structured in layers,” he said as we passed through the main entrance corridor. “Nothing inside moves without clearance.”

We moved upward first.

“The upper level houses the shield generator. If the perimeter fails, this maintains structural isolation.”

Then we descended.

The first basement level felt different—more human.

“Left wing,” he said, “bar. Controlled downtime.”

There were people there, off-duty, but still alert in the way that never really goes away.

“Right wing—Sickbay.”

Inside, Dr. Ardent Kess was already at work. Focused. Precise. She didn’t stop when we entered, only acknowledged us briefly before returning to her diagnostics.

“No emergencies,” Valcor said. “Which means it’s working.”

We went deeper.

The next level shifted again—less human, more operational.

“Left side—storage,” he said.

The space opened into a secured facility stocked with everything needed to keep the outpost running—weapons, materials, fuel, even stabilized fluids. Enough to sustain isolation.

“Right side—briefing room.”

Holographic systems activated as we passed. Maps. Data. Layers of information waiting to be used.

Then further still.

The air changed. Heavier. Quieter.

We stopped in front of a reinforced door. A keypad sat beside it—simple, unmarked.

“Server core,” he said.

He didn’t touch it.

“Only I have access.”

That told me everything.

We stood there for a moment.

“This is not a base,” Valcor said.

“This is where things go when they can’t remain anywhere else.”

I looked at the door. Then back the way we came.

Shellguard hadn’t lost me.

They had moved me.

Not up. Not down.

Just somewhere I couldn’t leave.

(Sorry guys, i like to post here but i am pursuing my academic study i hope whoever reads this and make it down here understand that i am a human too, thank you for understanding!)