Dominic's footsteps echoed hollowly in the narrow hallways of the warship, each step heavier than the last. His mind was a battlefield of its own—a constant war waged against memories he couldn't escape, against a past he couldn't outrun. He had tried to drink it away, to bury it beneath the weight of the mission, the noise, the chaos. But the war in his mind had escalated, and the alcohol had done nothing to drown it out.
The faces of those he had lost flashed in his mind—Zara's face, stained with blood, her body limp in his arms, her voice pleading for him to continue the fight. The faces of other friends, others who had fallen beside him in this unending war. It felt like they were all calling to him, their ghosts haunting him at every turn, at every mission.
He couldn't run anymore. Not from the memories. Not from the nightmares.
His hands trembled as he brushed them through his disheveled hair, the weight of his own thoughts dragging him further into darkness. His eyes were unfocused, glazed, and the throbbing pain in his temples was a constant reminder that he couldn't escape the spiral.
He had to get out. Had to do something.
That's when he heard the call—a voice, distant but familiar.
"Dominic, we need you on the bridge. Now."
It was Colonel Hailey. He had heard the voice before, but this time, it had a sense of urgency.
For a moment, Dominic stood frozen, the fog in his mind making it hard to process anything. But there was no time to dwell. The war wouldn't wait for him to get his head straight.
With a heavy sigh, he pushed forward, forcing his body to move. His legs felt like lead, dragging him through the ship until he reached the bridge. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and he stepped inside, greeted by the cold, calculated efficiency of the crew members who were already at their stations.
The Colonel was standing in front of a holographic map, her face tight, her expression serious. She looked up as he entered.
"You're late," she remarked, her tone sharp but not unkind. "We've got a situation."
Dominic nodded slowly, his mind still not entirely clear. His gaze fell on the map, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the flashing red dots.
"CMC ships," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "More of them?"
"Exactly," Hailey replied, tapping a few keys on the console. "They've rallied another fleet. A major one. We've got to stop them before they break through the front lines."
Dominic felt a pang of something unfamiliar stir within him. His hand clenched at his side, and he fought to push the memories, the nightmares, down into the pit of his stomach. Zara was dead. The war was still here. And it was all he had left.
"What's the plan?" he asked, his voice steady, despite the chaos raging in his head.
Hailey turned to him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "We're sending out a strike team. Your squad will lead the charge."
Dominic's heart skipped again. A squad? He hadn't led anyone in so long. Not since… not since Zara had been by his side. He glanced over at the holographic displays, seeing the outline of the enemy fleet. They were vast, their sheer number a testament to the CMC's relentless hunger for power.
"Let me guess," Dominic said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "The usual. High-risk, high-reward."
Hailey gave him a grim smile. "Something like that. We're giving you a small squadron, but you're gonna have to act fast. We don't have much time."
Dominic didn't hesitate. He nodded sharply, moving toward the exit. "I'll get my gear. And a new mech," he added, his voice flat. "This one's falling apart."
The Colonel didn't protest. She knew better than to argue with him when he was like this—when he had that look in his eyes, the one that said he would do anything to avoid facing what was really on his mind.
Dominic stepped back into the corridors, moving with purpose, his mind now shifting toward the mission. He could feel his pulse quicken as the adrenaline slowly replaced the fog in his mind. The past couldn't hold him back now. He had a job to do.
The mission came first.
The hangar was a cacophony of noise as mechanics scrambled to ready the ships and mechs for battle. Dominic didn't waste time—he headed straight for his mech, the Titanus model that had been hastily repaired after the battle with the CMC Titan. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. He had no time to wait for something better.
As he climbed into the cockpit, the familiar hum of the mech's systems powered up. The neural interface kicked in, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The nightmares, the guilt, the pain—they all faded away as he focused solely on the battle ahead. The mech was a tool. A weapon. A shield. That was all he needed it to be.
But just before he sealed the hatch, the voice of the Colonel came through on his comms, sharp and clear.
"Dominic, I want you to keep your head. This isn't just another mission. We're risking a lot here."
Dominic's fingers hovered over the controls, his mind momentarily clouded with the echoes of Zara's death. But he swallowed hard, shutting out the thoughts that threatened to consume him.
"I'll keep my head. You just make sure the fleet's ready," he replied, his voice cold and controlled.
The last thing he heard was the Colonel's acknowledgment, and then the comms went silent as the mech's systems fully engaged.
The mission began.
Dominic led his squadron into the fray, his mech cutting through the darkness of space like a hammer crashing down on an anvil. His movements were swift, precise, the battle unfolding around him in a blur. The CMC ships appeared on the sensors—massive, menacing, and relentless. They wouldn't go down easily. But neither would Dominic.
The first enemy ship came into view, and Dominic gave the order to attack.
"Engage!" he barked into the comms, and his squadron followed suit, launching a barrage of missiles and laser fire at the advancing enemy fleet.
The battle was a frenzy of explosions, laser fire, and metallic screeches as mechs collided in midair, tearing each other apart. Dominic's heart pounded in his chest as he wove through the chaos, cutting down enemy units with calculated precision.
But as the battle raged on, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The flashes of Zara's death, her final words, her last breath—they crept back into his mind. The guilt was suffocating. The war was endless, and the loss would never fade.
Just keep going, Dominic. Don't stop.
The thought repeated in his mind like a mantra as he launched another strike, another blow to the enemy.
The war wasn't over. And neither was his fight.