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Private First Class Terrence Ferro stood at attention in full dress uniform, the fine pleats on his slacks at an almost blade-like crease. His boots were waxed and the black leather and polished gunmetal glinted powerfully in the harsh fluorescent lights. Emblazoned on his left pectoral was a pair of medals, one for being wounded in action, the other for acts of bravery above and beyond the call of duty. They were fresh, and similarly had seen attention to make them more presentable.

Ferro was one of fifteen others arranged in crisp rows; survivors of the Battle for Prontero. The 113th had been all but devastated in the assault, the soldiers, five each in three rows, were all that remained of over a hundred and thirty from Beta Company. Alpha and Theta Company were ashes. Ferro now knew the odds for first-timers in combat. While he waited, posture stiff like rigor, he worked the math out in his head. Something considerably less than a full percent, he figured. The stuffy audience chamber aboard Triumphant Return, the C-Class Destroyer that Ferro's regiment arrived planetside on, was cramped from low ceilings and poor lighting. The definition of a military ship. The door on the far side of the room slid open with the characteristic sound of hydraulics, and the assembled soldiery snapped into salute. A familiar face marched solemnly into the chamber, a pair of service pistols holstered at her waist. Sergeant Taylor, now Captain Taylor, turned on her heels to face the stoic masks of the few survivors to come out of the fire unscathed. Trailing faithfully behind her was the NCO from Skor Battalion, judging from the iconography stitched into her uniform and the rank insignia emblazoned on her bicep. Taylor sighed and let her shoulders relax, sinking a few inches.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the courage and loyalty with which our brothers and sisters served our Mighty Saints." She began, clasping her hands in the small of her back. "In service, they are released from the mortal coil and go to join the Ancients in the Life Beyond. It would be illogical and perhaps inappropriate to eulogize every soldier whose life was lost, but we shall pay them honor in the best way we can." She walked in front of the assembled group, proud of their cold, emotionless expressions. "And the best way we can is through completion of out duty. As you already know, I have been promoted to Captain, and will be taking command of Skor Battalion." She said, nodding towards the lynx woman who had followed her in. "This is Sergeant Major Burienne, our attaché from Skor. She knew Captain Wilhelm before he lost his life during the siege, and it is my privilege to follow in the footsteps of his great accomplishments." The Sergeant Major bowed her head curtly before Taylor continued. "I understand some of you may have memories of the 113th you wish to forget. In spite of this, if you wish to be shipped to another unit after this disbanding ceremony, step forward now." There was a silence still like the crushing weight of an iron pulverizer, and Ferro heard a pair of boot steps clacking forward. He ventured a glance sideways, and made out Privates Fergus and Phoebe, old buddies from before conscription. Taylor nodded knowingly and set her hand on Phoebe's shoulder. "Alright. We'll have you two shipped to the core for reassignment." The two soldiers stepped back into rank and Taylor moved to the center of the group. She picked up her shoulders and reassumed a commanding posture. With a hearty salute, she uttered, "The 113th Eritrean Ground Regiment is hereby disbanded!" and let her hand fall sharply to her side. "Dismissed!"

* * *

The food served in the mess hall was usually horrible, ill-suited even for guttersnipes. Terrence Ferro always felt it said something about his station in life. I eat worse than a peasant. And they starve for a living, he thought, disappointedly scooping a hemispherical glob of mashed, vitamin-enriched gruel onto his tray. He slid the plastic, rectangular plate further down the serving line, sampling the other featureless, vitamin-enriched gruels. In basic, they'd said the food wasn't all that bad. It had flavors, they claimed.

"Horseshit." He grumbled, and the rookie standing in line beside him recoiled slightly. Ferro didn't feel like going out of his way to adjust the mistake. He turned at the end of the line, and sought the table where his old squad used to sit. His white shirt and gray sweatpants were uncomfortable, just like everything the Imperiate assigned to grunts. As he walked through the rows of plastic, white-washed seating areas, he settled and steeled himself for the bitter taste and worst texture of the slimy fare. He placed his hands together and began to pray, offering his thanks for another day alive and for his pseudo-food. "Where I am, there was once before. Where I will go, there shall be. Where I have been, there always was. The Ancients in my heart, so hear my prayer. Dasia." His fingers unlaced and he went for the rough-hewn spoon he would use to consume the detestable goo. Across from him sat down Private First Class Juichi, a Chameleon likewise conscripted from Ferro's world when the Imperial Fleets came through their system. He too had survived the battle, and had some nasty scars that were still healing to prove it. Ferro couldn't help but stare at the crater-like indentation in Juichi's forehead where a piece of stone had impacted into his skull. It hit him in such a way that his pain response was now somewhat diminished, at least that was what the combat doc had said. Ferro considered it a euphemism for non-lethal brain damage. Juichi hadn't said anything in days, and he sat across from Ferro grimly, likewise stopping a moment for prayer before digging in. Ferro quietly made his way through his meal, picking it apart as if he were dissecting the inconsistent form of an amoeba. As the minutes passed, members from his unit filtered in, sitting in random spaces all around him, until the fifteen seats were filled. A single seat sat empty to Ferro's right. None of them said a word until Juichi was done eating, letting a belch slip from his lips.

"Excuse me." He whispered. A few laughs sprung up from around him, and before long, light conversation began.

"So Juichi, you mentioned you were from Tartarus, right?" Ferro asked in his native tongue, his meal half-complete.

"Yeah. Nothing much there. It was just cottage industry until the Imperiate came along." He said, leaning on the table with his scratched up elbows. "Lots of jobs there, now. At least, that's what I hear." He trailed off. Ferro knew the story. Their world was named Rexxoren, after a prophet-figure from the popular religious structure. Shamanism was the way of their reptilian peoples, until the civilized envoys and missionaries from the galactic core came to convert them to a better way of life. That was what they had said, dressed in their crisp clothing and bearing shiny metallic, tubular weaponry. Most Rexxorens had a difficult time feeling either enraged or satisfied with the way their culture had evolved in the twenty years since first contact. Most Imperials still saw them as primitive, but they tithed warriors to the Council all the same, so no one could say they weren't playing their part.

"I haven't gotten a message from my folks in months. Last I heard, my mother was in the hospital again." Ferro mentioned, resolved to leave the puddle of decomposing matter on his plate alone. "Maybe something happened, you know?" Juichi seemed unfazed by Ferro's concern, and he wondered whether or not that knock on the head damaged some other, emotional part of his brain.

"It's the disease season, what do you expect?" Juichi stated flatly. Ferro felt anger for a moment, but he was beyond caring. The likelihood he would ever see his family again was slim, so he decided to not brood on it. The Imperial-speaking soldiers surrounding the two Rexxoren Chameleons occasionally glanced at the two speaking in their alien language of clicks and long vowels. Ferro noted the awkwardness and began to speak Imperial, struggling for the right sentence structure.

"Sorry am I, friends. Not great with Imperial words. Is this better speaking than before?" he said slowly, his accent thick with long vowels and the occasional unintended tongue click between words. The others smiled, and gave him a thumbs up, a sign he was familiar with. It would take a good deal longer than he expected to become fluent in Imperial, but if there was one thing he had right now, it was empty time. Conversation seemed to stop immediately as a red-furred fox woman sat beside Ferro. She looked around, a little stunned by the sudden silence.

"At ease, boys. We're off duty, here." Captain Taylor muttered with sarcastic inflection. Slowly and painstakingly, conversation resumed and she dug heartily into her plate of inconsistent vitamin-enriched snot. "Hey, Ferro. How's it goin'?" she asked, only looking up for a second.

"I am better." Ferro said awkwardly, then corrected himself. "I am good." He clenched his teeth in frustration over the language he could not seem to master.

"Look, there's somethin' I need to tell you. Drop by my quarters after meal time so I can give you the message, alright?" She continued to eat and Ferro didn't feel like there was much else to say, so he picked up his tray and offered a quick nod to his mates. After disposing of his tray, he stood at the elevator, pressing the already glowing 'UP' button with impatience. Another shape slipped up behind him and asked,

"So what was that all about?" the deep voice boomed in his ear. Ferro, surprised, spun around to face a broad-shouldered, ponch-bellied lupine with a coat of jet black fur and some grey creeping in at the edges. Ferro sighed angrily at Private First Class Gergio, who was known for being an awful gossip.

"It is... was, not a thing." Ferro said, satisfied with his Imperial. "The Captain said hello." Gergio chuckled at Ferro's childish speech, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Nah, I heard more than that. Said she wanted to see you in her quarters. Hmm? Guess a Macharian Cross is a one way ticket into the CO's britches." He said with a wide grin. Ferro had a hard time understanding what was being said, but after a moment a look of surprise came over him.

"No. That is... was not what Captain asked!" Ferro pleaded, his skin shifting from gray to a bright red. Most of the old squad would play with his emotions during basic; they found it entertaining to watch his skin alter with different situations. Red indicated thorough embarrassment. Gergio gave Ferro a playful shove, and the elevator door behind him parted. Ferro's heel caught on the edge where the lift didn't quite rise to the landing, and he tumbled over backwards. He hit the grated floor painfully. Gergio stepped over him.

"Always falling down. What a klutz." Ferro had heard that word before, 'klutz'. It implied he was clumsy, but every time he fell down it was from an explosion or some huge Aurochian Dragoon driving its fist into his back. He grew indignant before realizing it was a joke. He didn't quite understand Imperial humor, but he was starting to learn. Some of the jokes the others told were funny, but he laughed harder than he should have to prove he understood. Gergio helped him back to his feet, even as Ferro grimaced from his leg wound. The shrapnel did not go quietly, the surgeon had said. "What floor, buddy?" Ferro was familiar with what the phrase meant.

"Seventh?" he stated with the inflection of a question. Gergio tamped the button as well as the one marked 'Ninth'. The elevator doors closed and the chamber lurched, and then began to rise.

"I was just giving you a hard time." Gergio said, his muscular arms folded over his chest. Ferro cocked his head and considered the words.

"It is ok, Gergio." He said, a definite pause between syllables. Gergio's toothy maw curled into a smile and he scratched the long gray fur hanging down from his chin.

"Still, though. The Captain is a fine piece of ass. I like the tough ones." Ferro let the comment slide. He did not feel that way about the Captain. She was a good officer and she seemed to care about the well being of the soldiers under her command. His thoughts slipped strangely to that white-furred creature standing next to him at the ridge overlooking Prontero, his disarming eyes and the blood running down his face. Ferro shook his head. He wasn't sure why he was so obsessed with that stranger, other than his desire to thank him for saving his life. The elevator rang and came to a sudden stop, and Gergio stepped out, tugging his grey sweats further up his waist. "Do me a favor and hit that, will ya?" he said with a scoundrel's grin while marching down the corridor and disappearing into his dormitory. The doors closed and the elevator dropped another two floors, where Ferro stepped out past two soldiers he hadn't met before. They were tall. Younger than him, too; lupine creatures with long sharp muzzles and strong paws. They must've been the recruits they picked up planetside. In the days following Prontero, several units were formed from local militias who, for the most part, were comprised of young children and a few aging men. These two seemed in between, but still had that bright glint of naivety in their eyes. Ferro envied them, and he didn't say a word as he advanced down the cramped corridor towards his room. He held the identification barcode on the inside of his forearm to the reader beside his door, and with a humm, it slid open. He stepped into the desolate room and fell onto his bed. He flinched, regretting being so careless. His leg ached. After the pain passed, he checked the digital clock embedded in the wall above his desk, where some language books were stacked. He decided he would head down to the Captain's quarters in thirty or so minutes, and he took the opportunity to catch a quick nap. He closed his eyes, and within moments he was already drifting away.

He dreamt of a burning pyre, as he wept. There were tall, dangerous looking tropical trees in the distance, the massive fire burning in a large clearing. His long black robe was drenched with greasy rainwater and he looked deep into the flame. He could not understand what it was that made him feel such sorrow, but a reassuring hand fell on his shoulder, the long, chopstick-like fingers transferring a comfortable warmth into him. He took the hand, holding it like his one worthy possession, and looked up to face the figure to whom it belonged. An empty, white face greeted him, cold, but bearing a knowing smile. Long black streaks trailed down his face and mingled into the fur on his cheeks. Ferro arose, and embraced the figure. There was a long moment of silence before he awoke, the sounds of raindrops and the crack of kindling in the flame. Ferro sat up in bed, scantly remembering the dream, but a strange sadness took him.

He sat for a few minutes, trying in vain to decode the brief images he could recall. Something about a fire. He couldn't remember. I should talk to the trauma doc... I don't need this, he thought. He slid off the bed and cinched his sweats. The clock above his desk threatened to activate its alarm; it was one minute before his intended departure to meet with Captain Taylor.

He slipped out of the dormitory, and slyly made his way through the corridors and to the disused staircase that ran vertically alongside the soldier's quarters. He trudged up the steps, wincing every time he had to bend his wounded leg. Occasionally he would issue a short click and squeal; in Rexxoren it was a rather profane utterance. After what felt like a physical therapy session, he quietly unhinged the door that led into what the grunts referred to as 'The V.I.P. Club', or 'Vain, (self)-Important, and Prick-ish', or more simply, the NCOs' quarters. Ferro sighed with relief, praying lightly that Captain Taylor's room wasn't more than a few feet from the door. He let the hefty metal slab quietly click shut, and limped over to the control panel. He waved his ID barcode in front of the console, and a metallic voice issued forth.

"Oh, it's you. Come on in, Ferro," said Taylor in that expecting tone. The initially red LED turned a vibrant green, and the door slid to one side. Ferro carefully crossed the threshold, trying his best not to leave a foot impression in Taylor's shag carpeting. Immediately, Ferro noticed how much more decorated and spacious her quarters were. There was at least twice as much square-footage, even so far as to incorporate an adjoining room. There was a couch, a sink, even a television. The walls were even painted a drab olive-green, and a desk sat front and center, with some papers scattered on it and a digital pict-cube floating and rotating idly. Ferro noticed how tense his body was, even though Taylor was nowhere to be seen. He limped another few steps into the room and his heart shot into his throat as the door adjoining to the separate room whooshed open. Taylor marched in, but it wasn't that which startled him. She was hardly dressed. Nothing more than a loose fitting fatigue shirt and fire-red panties with a pattern on them. Her hair was down in her eyes, and Ferro struggled to look away. "Don't mind the getup, I'll make this quick." She stated, sliding into her leather, swiveling chair. She swatted a few papers to the edge of the desk and looked up, a little confused. "Notice something you like, Private?" she asked with a half-grin. Ferro had failed to stop staring, and his muscles stiffened more than he thought possible.

"No ma'am!" he barked, then sputtered. "I mean, yes ma'am!" his teeth clenched nervously. Women liked to be complimented about their figures in the Empire, at least that's what he'd learned from the others. Taylor issued a light chuckle, enjoying Ferro's awkwardness.

"Pull up a chair." She said, indicating a rustic wooden seat with vinyl upholstery. Ferro slid the chair toward the desk and sat down slowly, trying not to aggravate the damage. "Like I said, I'll do my best to make this quick." She said, folding her hands and setting them on the table. "Over Prontero," she began carefully, "you did very well. More so than you probably think. You were a shining example of what the Regiment was all about." She leaned back in the chair, hoisting a leg up to cross over her knee. Ferro gulped, catching a quick glimpse of the Captain's patterned panties. "So, before we're fully integrated with Skor Battalion, I have been ordered to promote you to Sergeant." Whatever arousal he felt was quickly overshadowed by the news. His head bolted backwards as if to escape his neck. He searched for the right words.

"Really? Ferro is Sergeant now?" he asked incredulously. Surely this was a prank or something. The Captain shrugged.

"You ran head on into enemy fire and came out on the other side. That's a fairly admirable quality in a soldier. You're an investment, and Brass noticed; they want to give you a squad of your own." She said, idly spinning once in her chair. Ferro could still hardly believe it. It was only a year ago he was plucked off his homeworld and indoctrinated into the Imperial Faith. He followed it without expecting anything in return, even survival.

"So the Captain isn't lying..." he said, letting it sink in. "So when does Sergeant Ferro meet squad?" he asked, his arms folded over his chest.

"Well, the truth is... my CO wants you to attend a briefing, along with your buddy Juichi from B-squad. It isn't for a couple of days, yet. The Return will be docking on Djan before Skar is deployed to another front, and when we do, you two will stay behind. Vice Admiral Dais will contact you once the Return has departed." She stared him deeply in the eyes. "Whatever it is, some powerful people think you're a big fish." She smiled and laughed lightly to put Ferro at ease. It was probably a lot to take in at once, she figured. Ferro couldn't help but feel miserable. It was an order, no two ways about it, and it meant he would have to leave all his war-buddies behind. Maybe that wasn't such an awful thing, he pondered, at least he wouldn't have to watch them die.

"Ok. Thank you, Captain." He said with malaise, forgoing the usual salute. He tried to stand, but Taylor was beside him before he fully rose.

"Let me help you out." She said, getting him to his full height, a few inches taller than her. Ferro noted how strong her hands felt. She had to be strong to be where she was, he stated internally. He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him. "You know," she started, "you don't have to go quite yet." Ferro turned and wondered at her meaning. His head involuntarily adjusted a few degrees in surprise. "Odds are we won't get another chance like this, Terrence," she said. Terrence. It had been a long time since anyone called him by his first name, and a strange warmth built in his chest. She was giving off a pheromone signature that translated slowly in Ferro's thick skull. She was aroused. "What d'ya say? We face death on a near daily basis. Sometimes, we get a little... lonely." She said, the last part a little coquettishly. Ferro found her sudden femininity both alluring and off-putting, but his body was already beginning to respond to the scent filtering through his snout.

His skin diffused from blue to a blazing pink.

Stay tuned for... Scene Three: "Lonely"