Three months on the outer rim preforming a long-range geological survey on a dying world, three months too long. Maya ran her fingers over the comm console's worn keys, still warm from her nightly call home. Even across the void, Elena's laugh could make her chest ache with longing.

"The samples from the northern continent show promising mineral deposits," Dr. Sarah Kim announced to the small research team. "Command will be pleased. We wrap up tomorrow, people."Maya's pulse quickened. Three weeks in hyperspace, then Elena's arms around her again. No more static-filled conversations or sleeping alone in the cramped bunk. She could almost feel Elena's fingers tracing patterns on her back, the way she'd whisper complaints about Maya taking on dangerous assignments.

"Maya?" Sarah's voice cut through her daydream. "Secure the botanical samples tonight. I want everything locked down before we break atmo."

"Copy that." Maya forced herself to focus on the specimen containers, though her mind kept drifting to home. To safety. To Elena rolling her eyes and saying she worried too much about these routine missions.

If only she knew how right she'd be to worry.

Maya tossed and turned all night, her inability to sleep was beginning to frustrate her. This was the first time on an extraterrestrial mission, and her responsibilities included assisting the launch crew. She kept trying to convince herself that it was just her nerves, and there was nothing to worry about, but she couldn’t shake it.

On the other end of the ship, Jin wasn't just preparing his gear; he was running a full diagnostic. He believed that equipment didn't just need care, it needed interrogation. As he field-stripped the helmet's atmospheric filter, he paused. A faint, iridescent dust, almost like crushed mother-of-pearl, had collected in the primary intake valve. It wasn't the planet's ubiquitous red grit. He scraped a sample onto a slide. Under his field scope, it was revealed to be a complex organic particulate, a spore of some kind he didn't recognize from the mission briefs.

"Unidentified," he muttered, logging the finding with a photo. "Potential allergen or contaminant." He meticulously cleaned the filter, a prickle of professional unease running down his spine.

Later, he found Anna and Maya in the mess hall. Maya was nursing a cup of tea, her voice trembling as she described her anxieties.

“Every time I close my eyes, the ship explodes,” she said.

“Hey, everything will be okay,” Anna assured her, pushing a cup toward Jin as he approached. “Pre-launch jitters. It’s normal. Have some tea, it’ll calm you down.”

Jin waved it away. “Need to be sharp, not calm.” He looked from Anna’s well-meaning face to Maya’s genuine fear. “Anxiety is a warning system. Tells you to double-check your work.”

Anna sighed, a hint of frustration in her tone. “Or it’s just anxiety, Jin. Sometimes you have to trust that things will be okay.”

“Trust gets you killed,” he said, his voice flat and certain. “Training keeps you alive.” The look that passed between him and Anna was not one of animosity, but of a fundamental disagreement on the nature of survival. It was a gap that would prove impossible to bridge.

Maybe it was Maya’s mind playing tricks on her, but even Anna’s reassurance felt flat. As the calming properties of the tea finally kicked in, Maya finally got some rest. The alarm violated her wonderful dream of holding Elena and listening to music. She scrambled to get into her launch uniform, her excitement making the process a little more awkward.

Everyone reported to their stations. Anna locked her door, Jin buckled up outside of engineering. Dr. Kim put her research papers in the drawer, and secured it. Once the final conformations crackled through the comms, the order was given.

Maya kissed the picture of Elena, put it in her pocket, and said to herself, “I’m coming home, babe.” The lights on the console showed everything was nominal as the liftoff sequence was initiated. They were thirty meters off the ground when Maya noticed the first red light. She looked up, the trees were whipping back and forth under a bruised, purple sky. A strange, oily scent, like sweet rot, filled the air, thick enough to taste. A small panic washed over her, but she attempted to keep her calm exterior and just focus on getting off the planet.

The ship began to violently shake. Even Captain Pearl, a decorated combat veteran, started showing signs of concern.

“Sir, maybe we should abandon takeoff until this storm passes,” Ensign Taki’s voice was filled with concern, causing Maya’s calm exterior to start showing signs of panic. “Sir, he’s right, it’s the filters. They’re clogging,” Maya’s voice began to shake.

The captain thought for a second, “Ensign, attempt to increase power to the engine, maybe we can get above it before it damages the filters. We should be okay if we can get out of here with minimal damage.”

“We’re losing engine one, sir. We have to sit her down, now!” Maya’s voice betrayed her partially calm exterior.

Even the captain knew that escape was impossible now, the damage to the main engine was becoming too great. “Alright, put it —.” A loud explosion interrupted the captain’s orders, the concussive force knocked items off a shelf, rendering Anna unconscious. Jin and Dr. Kim braced for impact in their respective offices.

In the cockpit, everyone did the best they could, but it wasn’t enough. “Brace for impact!” Captain Pearl gave the order. Everyone got into their crash positions, Maya pulling out the picture of Elena and held it tight. She kept thinking that if she’s going to die, she wants the last thing she sees is Elena. “I love you.” Tears began streaming down her face, then nothing.

The swirling wind was the next thing Maya could hear, no Captain Peal, no chatter in the cockpit, just the sound of wind throwing anything that wasn’t secured at the ship. Blood trickled down from Maya’s head, her vision blurred as she slowly opened her eyes. Her moans were weak, but it was enough to remind her that she was alive.

Anna finally regained consciousness, she couldn’t walk. She crawled slowly to her first aid kid, bandaging the wound the best she could. She got the bleeding to stop, but she knew that if she didn’t get medical attention soon, she wasn’t going to make it. Anna didn’t have the strength to open her office door to go check on her patients, unaware of the scene outside. The storm punctured sick bay, The two men in the beds were reduced to bone. Their flesh ripped to shreds by the storm.

Jin slowly unbuckled himself, he looked through the huge hole outside his quarters, nothing but blue sky. “What the fuck happened?” He kept looking around for other parts of the ship, but couldn’t find anything. He looked back to the east, and saw the border of the huge storm. He watched bolts of supercharged lightning strike the ground with furious vengeance. He could see what the wind could do to a man. He walked back in his office, looking at the comms console, but realizing that the odds of anyone surviving the crash in that storm had to be low, and the electrical interference would render any attempts to make contact with others completely useless. Instead, he decided to wait it out, and hope for the best.

As her vision returned to her, she bandaged her wound with the first aid kit, and surveyed the cockpit. Captain Pearl was dead, impaled on a console, along with the ensign. She felt alone and scared. The only company she had was the picture of Elena, as the tears ran down her face.

Several hours later, the storm subsides just as quick as it began. It took mere minutes for Jin to start wishing the storm would hide the destruction again. For kilometers, smoke and debris. He wanted to start scouting to see if anyone made it, but between the temperatures and the lack of light, doing that at night was impossible. He settled in to his slightly disturbed office, making his way to the comms console,

“This is Jin. Can anyone hear me?” Complete silence, “This is Jin, did anyone make it?” His voice had an added desperation on the second ask. Nothing. He tried hailing the Imperial frequency to ask for help, but it wouldn’t catch. “Useless piece of shit.” He slammed the communicator down, knowing the console was broken beyond repair.

Maya tried to use her comms console, but the sparks flying out of the machine told her that escape, at least for tonight, was impossible. She would work on it in the morning, but first she had the grim task of removing the bodies from the cockpit before the smell of death invaded the space. She exhausted herself dragging the bodies out.

“As long as no animals come by, I’ll bury them in the morning. I just need sleep.” Every time she closed her eyes, she could see Elena. She’s crying over Maya’s grave asking herself why she let Maya go on the mission. Maya felt the weight in her chest, her breathing was labored at the thought of leaving the only person she’s ever truly loved behind. Elena was there when Maya’s parents died, holding her hand through her mourning process. Maya figured that Elena was already worried, it was past time for their nightly talk, and right now, Maya would sell her soul just to hear that sweet voice once more.

Anna was fighting consciousness, she knew the next time she closed her eyes, they may never open again. It took almost all her strength to get in her bed. The next morning, she hears tools hacking on her door. A loud voice snaps her from her exhaustive haze.

“We’re through. Checking for survivors. Doc! Over here, quick!” Doc Reeves makes his way over to Anna. “She’s fading. Medkit, NOW!” She lost her battle with consciousness, with the last image being a man with caring eyes strapping her to a board and loading her in to a hovercraft.

The shovel felt like lead in Maya's hands, each scoop of dead soil a monument to her failure. She was trying to carve a grave for Captain Pearl when a movement caught her eye. Two figures crested a dune, walking toward her not with the cautious gait of wasteland survivors, but with a smooth, unhurried rhythm.

Maya’s hand went to the emergency flare gun on her hip, her body tensing. The pair stopped a respectful distance away. They weren't weathered or scarred. They were clean. Impossibly clean. Their simple, off-white tunics were spotless.

"The storm has passed," the woman said. Her voice was a gentle, soothing melody, and her smile was a serene, painted thing that didn't waver. "It is time to come home."

Home. The word felt like a violation. "Who are you?" Maya demanded, her voice hoarse. "There's nothing out here for a hundred kilometers."

"The soil provides for those who listen," the man said, his eyes as calm and placid as his partner's. "We saw the fall. We have come to gather the lost."

Gather. Not rescue. Maya's mind raced, cataloging the impossibilities. Their health. Their clothes. Their unnerving calm. This was wrong. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but where? Behind her was a wrecked cockpit with two corpses. Before her was the promise of shelter, a promise delivered by people who shouldn't exist.

"There are others," Maya said, testing them. "My friends."

"They will be gathered as well," the woman assured her. Another hovercraft, as clean and white as their tunics, hummed over the ridge. "And the vessels that have been emptied... we will give them back to the soil. Nothing is wasted."

The phrase hung in the air, thick with a meaning Maya couldn't grasp but instinctively feared. She looked at their smiling, peaceful faces, then back at the grave. Dying here alone, or walking into the unknown with them? It was the illusion of a choice. With the picture of Elena feeling like a lead weight in her pocket, Maya let the shovel fall from her hand.

"Okay," she said, the word tasting like surrender. "I'll go."

Pain was a distant signal. His training slammed back into place before consciousness fully returned. Assess. Orient. Act. Jin unbuckled himself, his movements economical despite the ache in his ribs. The gaping hole in the hull showed a sky now clear and blue. He checked his suit's wrist-comp. The environmental sensors were flickering erratically, unable to classify the atmospheric composition. "Useless," he grunted.

He looked east toward the retreating edge of the storm front—a bruised, churning wall of purple and black. Supercharged lightning, the color of an angry welt, struck the ground. He saw what the storm had done to a nearby cluster of rock formations, scouring them smooth. His tactical mind made the choice for him: scavenging and scouting were impossible until the area was stable. Wait for full light. Conserve energy.

Hours later, the storm was gone, replaced by an unnerving silence. The sheer scale of the wreckage was now visible under the alien sun. He made his way to the comms console in his section. It was smashed beyond repair, but it wasn't the damage that caught his eye.

Coating the cracked screen and fried circuits was a fine layer of the same iridescent dust he had cleaned from his helmet filter hours earlier. He instinctively knew it was the same stuff. He cautiously touched it; it felt slick, almost oily. He thought of the clogged filters, the bizarre electrical chaos of the storm, and the unclassifiable air quality readings.

This wasn't just a storm. It was a biological event.

He wasn't just a crash survivor anymore. He was a soldier in hostile territory, facing an enemy he couldn't see and didn't yet understand. And his first priority was finding his sidearm.

For days, Jin had relied on his training, but discipline couldn't create water. His throat was a desert, his rations a memory. When he saw the three figures approaching, he didn't just run back for his pistol; he took a concealed position behind a slab of twisted metal, using a shard of reflective debris to watch their approach.

They moved with a calm, steady pace. Too calm. He could see the faint, iridescent dust clinging to the cuffs of their boots, the same dust from the storm, from his filter. His grip tightened on his pistol. These people were the source.

“Stop right there!” he yelled, his voice a dry rasp. He stepped from behind cover, pistol leveled at the lead figure. "Identify yourselves."

The man in the center stopped, holding up his empty hands. He wasn't afraid. He smiled, a serene, untroubled expression that made Jin’s skin crawl.

"I am Simon," the man said, his voice gentle. "We are from the Collective. We saw the sky break." He tilted his head, his eyes assessing Jin's cracked lips and the slight tremor in his hand. "That pistol won't help you with the thirst, soldier."

The word "soldier" hit its mark. They saw what he was.

"I've seen what raiders do," Jin retorted, his gaze flicking between the three of them. They weren't armed, at least not visibly. "I'm not giving up my weapon."

Simon's smile didn't falter. He didn't argue. He simply stood there, waiting, as if he had all the time in the world. The silence stretched, broken only by the wind. It was a battle of wills, and Jin knew his own was being eroded by dehydration.

"Raiders are a problem solved with violence," Simon said finally, as if concluding a simple thought. "They bleed. They hunger. They can be broken. A weapon is a tool for that kind of problem." He gestured vaguely at the serene dome in the distance. "You will find we have no such problems here."

The implication was terrifying. What kind of people had no need for weapons in a world like this?

Jin’s mind, a calculator of survival odds, ran the grim numbers. Die here of thirst in a day, his gun a useless weight in his hand. Or go with them, into the heart of the contaminant, and buy himself time. It wasn't a choice between good and bad. It was a choice between a swift death and an uncertain one.

He lowered the pistol, but didn't holster it. "I go, my weapons go."

"Of course," Simon agreed easily, too easily. "We have a secure place for them. An armory. Your tools will be kept safe until you choose to leave."

It was a lie, Jin knew it. But it was the lie he needed to hear to take the next step. He gathered his weapons, the scouts helping with an unnerving, silent efficiency. He held onto his pistol until they reached the hovercraft waiting near the settlement's airlock.

"I'm sorry," Simon said, his voice still infuriatingly gentle. "This is as far as it can go. For the peace of the community, no personal weapons are allowed inside. It is the only rule we cannot bend."

This was the final test. Jin looked at the sealed gate, the only source of shelter and water for a hundred kilometers. He looked at Simon's calm, smiling face. He was a prisoner, not a guest. But a living prisoner had more options than a dead soldier.

With a final, sharp exhale of frustration, Jin engaged the safety on his pistol and handed it over, grip-first. The moment the cold metal left his hand, he felt naked, a part of himself amputated.

Simon took the weapon and stowed it carefully. "Thank you for your trust," he said. "Now, let's get you something to drink. You are welcome here."