Classified Transmission

[Pale Rider]

The room quieted as Lieutenant Fletcher stepped to the podium, datapad clutched so tightly the edges dug into his palms.
Dozens of Devil Dawgs stared back at him: helmets off, sleeves rolled, expressions flat and expectant.

Soles stood a half-step behind him—silent, immovable, the calm shadow that kept the universe from collapsing on the LT.

Fletcher cleared his throat.
Too loudly.

“Uh—good… good morning, Marines.”

It wasn’t morning, and everyone knew it.

He glanced down at the datapad, scrolling past the first page by accident.

“We—we have been, um… tasked by Regimental Command with—”
He blinked.
Paused.
Scrolled the wrong way again.

Soles didn’t move. He just tapped a single finger against the podium’s right edge—once.
A subtle cue.

Fletcher swallowed and tried again.

“Tasked with… a mission of high, very high, strategic… uh… significance.”

A few Marines exchanged looks.
Troy raised an eyebrow.
Marcella winced sympathetically.

Fletcher’s voice wavered.

“You’ve all, uh, all seen the… the screens. The object. The meteorite. The—uh—thing. The big thing.”

Soles’ jaw flexed, but he said nothing.

“It’s—” Fletcher stammered, “—it’s coming in from the outer Zenus plane and, uh, and it’s hollow. Apparently.”
He shifted his weight, knocking the microphone with his elbow.
The resulting thump echoed like a depth charge.

A ripple of suppressed laughter moved through the room.

Fletcher’s ears reddened.
He pushed on.

“Gateway Station flagged it as a—a potential hazard. No, wait—” He checked the pad.
“—as a significant potential hazard. With… with gravitational anomalies and… blinking.”
He squinted at his screen.
“Internal… blinking.”

Silence thickened.

He looked up, panicked.
“That—that sounds worse than it is.”

No one believed him.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

Behind him, Soles shifted just enough to be seen out of Fletcher’s peripheral vision.
The LT latched onto the grounding presence like a drowning man reaching a raft.

“Uh—right. Okay. So! The mission.”
He stood straighter, imitating Soles’ posture without realizing it.

“We, uh… we are to intercept the object before it… gets anywhere dangerous. Yes. Intercept. That’s correct.”

Soles tapped twice on the podium—another signal.

Fletcher looked down, found the next section, and regained a shred of composure.

“Our job is recon. External survey. Containment if necessary.
And-and if things go… very wrong, we have authorization for Directive Black—Black… Sun.”

Someone in the back whispered, “Oh, hell.”

Fletcher nodded too many times in rapid succession.
“Yes. Yes, that one. But we—we we won’t need it. Probably.”

Soles inhaled slowly through his nose.

Fletcher took another shaky breath, then found his footing—just barely.

“We leave in two hours. Gear up, prep EVA rigs, follow all biohazard protocols… and, uh… and stay together. No improvising. No… wandering.”

He looked to Soles for rescue without even trying to hide it.

Soles gave the faintest nod.

Fletcher straightened his shoulders and delivered the line he’d practiced:

“Dismissed to gear-up stations. Master Sergeant Soles will… clarify any tactical details.”

That part came out much smoother.

The Marines rose, murmuring as they gathered their kits.
Some smirked.
Some worried.
Most simply accepted it—because Soles was already stepping forward to take over the real brief.

As the room emptied, Fletcher let out a long, shaky breath.

Soles leaned in just enough to be heard by only him.

“You did fine, sir.”

Fletcher looked embarrassed and relieved all at once.

“…Did I?”

Soles gave him a gentle clap on the back.

“You didn’t fall down. That’s a damn good start.”

<Tag Everyone>

[LT_Chun]

Henniger sighed and nodded to his teammates as he walked from the briefing hall. He made the "assemble" gesture and pointed outside into the corridor.

Once his Marines had separated from the rest of the platoon and were mostly out of earshot he began.

"EVA," he began. Shaking his head he continued.

"Gear ready in..." he checked his watch. "Twenty minutes. Grab chow if you haven't, keep it light we'll be null-g. I'll see what I can get out of the Sergeant Major while we prep."

He paused and thought.

"Flame units are a hazard in null-g, but if we find ourselves in gravity we'll want it, grab one and sling it. Two motion trackers, I'll carry one. Besides that bring your good luck stuff. Things that have kept you alive to this day."

He nodded in finality and sighed.

"Let's get this done."

<Tag 2nd>

Henniger followed the general throng towards their gear stations.

[Pale Rider]

“Soles’ Bay Briefing: Cerberus & Fenrir”

The locker bay vibrated with the deep hum of the Kublai’s Spear as Marines snapped plates into place, ran pressurization checks, and slapped magazines into pulse rifles.
The air smelled of gun oil, sweat, and the cold metal tang of the unknown.

When Master Sergeant Soles walked in, everything softened to a controlled murmur.

He set his helmet down on a bench.

“All right, Dawgs. Eyes up.”

The room shifted as Marines turned toward him.
Soles scanned the faces—veterans, rookies, the shaken, the cocky—and nodded once.

“For this op, we’re running with two teams. Names are set. The structure is final. You’ll move as packs—tight, disciplined, lethal.”

He motioned to his left.


---

“Team Cerberus — step forward.”

Four Marines assembled:

Cpl. Josh Henninger, steady and composed even before receiving the title;
PFC Marcella “Grim” Alvarez, smartgun resting across her chest like a steel predator;
PFC Troy Hooper, trying to mask nerves with focus;
PFC Kal Skirata, posture sharp, almost aggressive, hungry for the mission.

Soles walked down the line, slow and deliberate.

“Henninger — you’re Cerberus Lead. Three heads, one bite. You call the plays, and your team executes before their brains catch up.”

A nod from Henninger.

“Grim — you’re the firestorm. Anything moves wrong, anything twitches funny, you erase it. Don’t wait for permission.”

Grim’s smartgun whirred in acknowledgment.

“Troy — you’re their forward spine. Keep your left clear, keep your head down, and keep your fear in your boot where it belongs.”

Troy straightened.

“And Kal — you’re the right-hand rifle. Keep it steady. No hero shit. If your team moves, you move. If they stop, you freeze solid.”

Skirata gave one sharp nod.

Soles stepped back, sweeping his gaze across them.

“That’s Cerberus. Break one, the whole beast goes down.”


---

He pivoted, turning toward the opposite side of the bay.

“Team Fenrir — front and center.”

Four figures stepped forward:

LCpl Robert “Eyeball” Paulson, posture loose, grin loaded;
Cpl Sonny Black, Corpsman, medkit strapped tight, eyes assessing everything;
LCpl Mark Giosso, ComTech, wrist port blinking with sync-runs;
PFC Jeremy Ames, rifleman, quiet but steady.

Soles walked their line next, boots clacking softly.

“Paulson — Fenrir Lead. You’re cunning, fast, unpredictable. Good. Use it. But when you get clever, make sure it’s clever enough I don’t have to drag your frozen corpse back.”

Eyeball smirked.

“Black — you keep these idiots from dying. Patch fast, move faster, and if someone gets their eye ripped out by the unknown? You make the call I can’t.”

Sonny’s expression didn’t change, but he nodded with conviction.

“Giosso — you’re the team’s brainstem. If the rock blinks at us again, you’re the one who sees it first. Don’t get quiet. Quiet kills.”

Giosso swallowed, nodding.

“Ames — rifle. Clean, simple, effective. Hold your angles. Don’t let Fenrir lose a limb.”

Ames gave a crisp nod.

Soles stepped back again, taking both teams in.

“Cerberus. Fenrir. Two heads of the same monster. You move separately, you survive together.”

Behind him, the holo of the meteorite flickered once—another pulse, like a distant eyelid closing.

He didn’t turn.

He lifted his helmet and spoke clearly:

“We drop in twenty. Gear tight, mags full, seals checked. Stay with your teams. Trust your leaders. And remember—this rock’s already looking at us.”

He locked the helmet to his plate.

“Let’s go meet a blinking star.”

[SpectralDragon87]

Marcella gives her rig final adjustments and pulls a pack of gum out of her pocket and pops a piece into her mouth before offering a piece to Hooper.

"Well, let's get this shit show started eh?"

<Tag Hooper>

[LT_Chun]

Henniger looked over at Paulson. "We ride again man, been a long time." And in a quieter tone he continued. "This new formation, sounds like how they roll up at Ops." He stuck his fist out. "Let's get this done my man."

<Tag Paulson>

He moved around the other four Marines and swept his eyes over their kit and weapons. He stopped next to Grim.

"I'm hauling extra ammo for your pig in my ruck, you need it just sing out."

<Tag Alvarez>

He slapped Giosso on the shoulder paldron. "Here we go again." He smiled.

<Tag Giosso>

He looked Hooper up and down mechanically. His armor and kit were in good shape.

"You got this kid, welcome to the Dawgs."

<tag Hooper>

He caught Soles' eye and gave him a single nod, Alpha-Five was five-by.

[eyeball]

Paulson winced as soles read out the squad make up, he was not a confident leader and that was probably why promotion hadn't quite made it too him. Henniger seemed more comfortable in the role and Paulson made the consious effort to listen to both him and Soles as often as he could but sometimes it was down to him and he did the best he could.

Soles pep talk over he pulled his little 4 man team aside and gave his own. " ok you all heard the sarge were lean and mean, lets support each other and get this done. cpl Henniger makes a good point flame in null g will not be safe we will only take one. I know i normally carry but am happy to switch if some one has the burning disire." he winced at his own unintended pun.

"give me a run down of your weapon loadouts so we can carry spare ammo if needed. we dont have a smarg gunner with us today so all take atleast one extra mag for that supressive fire if we need it otherwise your kit choice is your own." Paulson requested.

<tag fenrir Squad>

(flamer or pulse rifle if someone else takes flamer their prioity)
(motion tracker)
(two frag grenades, two flash bangs)
(6 pulse rifle mags or two fuel canisters)
(pistol and two mags ammo)

[LT_Chun]

Henniger could almost hear his oldest friend in the unit's thoughts. Paulson was a great leader, the only reason Henniger had made corporal first was that a few ops back, his squad leader had gotten eaten and he'd done an okay job running things for most of a mission.

Fenrir loosely gathered around a large steel table covered in gear and magazines/flame unit fuel canisters.

"I've got my M41, spare mags, spare racks for the M56, a tracker to back up Giosso's..." as he spoke he laid each piece carefully out in an empty space in front of him. "...my service pistol, underslung grenades, K-Bar, two spare portable oxygen generators..." these last were about the size and shape of a flame thrower fuel canister but painted a deep blue. "...Armory kit for the pulse rifles, two boxes of flares, water packs, my ruck, tac tape, and EVA tape'n'seal."

He had a somewhat organized parade of equipment in front of him now.

<Tag Alpha-Five>

He turned and pulled his headset, which was currently loosely dangling around his neck, up to his face.

"Dawg 5," he said quietly and directly to Sergeant Major Soles, "any chance we can get the support or main body to lug a few sentries in for us?"

<tag Soles>

He looked at the other four Marines expectantly. Paulson had a good point, laying all their trash out would visually ensure they neither carried too much, or more importantly missed something they'd need.

[LT_Chun]

Henniger reached over to his gear locker and brought a hand welder and spare bypass kit back to the long table and laid them out with his loadout.

"And a partridge in a pear tree."

[Pale Rider]

"Corporal Henniger, we will lug what we can in the Cheyenne. It will be largely used as a supply depot."

Soles, moved around collecting what he felt would be needed the LT was remaining on the main vessel. So Soles and Pope would be the main backup for the two Squads

<Tag Henniger>

[LT_Chun]

"Copy Sarn't Major."

He turned to Paulson.

"Keep the gear checks going, I'm going to lug a few sentries to the staging area."

<Tag Paulson>

He walked briskly to the armory and loaded four sentry gun cases onto a pallet jack. He pushed the hand truck out into the corridor and to a staging area marked off with red and white tape on the deck for a loader to pick up.

[Corporal Hicks]

Troy shook his head and his face soured with disgust as he listened to his new Lieutenant. Come all this way and put a baby in charge when there were real experienced adults putting their lives on the line. It pissed him off so much that he struggled to follow the mission briefing. But Troy Hooper was a Private, and so he kept his annoyance to himself.

Marcella gives her rig final adjustments and pulls a pack of gum out of her pocket and pops a piece into her mouth before offering a piece to Hooper.

"Well, let's get this shit show started eh?"

Troy gave a slanted grin and snatched the gum with a clumsy paw. He shoved it into his mouth and smacked loudly. "Let's fuckin' go. I'm tired of standing around." The thought of doing E.V.A. did not actually sound very pleasant. Space walks were usually both boring and dangerous, but he saw no benefit to complaining. Private Alvarez made him feel a bit more comfortable. At least he had somebody to pal around with during the upcoming dangerous bullshit. He gave her a friendly shove.
<Tag Alvarez>

He looked Hooper up and down mechanically. His armor and kit were in good shape.

"You got this kid, welcome to the Dawgs."

Hooper nodded, "Thanks, Corporal." He was a bit intimidated by the older guy, clearly more experienced and very comfortable in his own skin. Troy would do his best to impress Corporal Henniger. It was a relief that his squad leader and platoon sergeant appeared to be trustworthy, even if the Lieutenant was incompetent.

[JuanPerez]

Sonny listened to the briefing, whispered at least twenty times "what-the-fuck" to himself, shook his head at least twenty times. So, mummys little boy plays lieutenant. He needed a second to regain composure, shrugged his shoulders and thought to himself "what-the-fuck".
He strolled over to his locker, grabbed his medical gear and other stuff. Same shit, different day.

He looked for his squad mates.

<tag Fenrir>

[eyeball]

Paulson wasn't sure he saw one on the table that had become an organised pile of fenrirs gear so he held up a hand welder and stated "better add one of these just on case" "other wise we are looking good. get on that eva gear and secure your equipment the walk over will not be fun"

"we are down to ten mins people gear up and double check each other no accidents today"

[LT_Chun]

Henniger returned the hand truck to the stowage and was about to rejoin the team at the table when he got a text alert from the sergeant major. They'd wrangled a corpsman and a few other warm bodies and were making two teams. He forwarded the text alert and roster on his suit wrist unit and returned to the table.

[LT_Chun]

Having sent out the updated orders, Henniger repacked his gear and set his short range com to rearrange his team.

"Alvarez, Hooper, Skirata, radio check."

<tag Cerberus>

"Final PCC's and PCI in three minutes, stand ready to load up."

He grabbed a flame unit and spare canister from an armory rack and strapped it down vertically to the side of his rucksack. He stuffed the spare canister, batteries for his suit and personal lights, and marking flares down into his ruck and sealed it up tight.