Bio-Mech Warrior

0600 Hours – Federal Military Quarantine Facility, Camp Francisco Hernandez, Acuzena City, Cornalian Region, New Sandesta

The scent of antiseptic hung in the air—sharp, sterile, unforgiving. Andrew Rowley sat on the edge of his bunk in a sealed room, boots still muddy, uniform stained with dried blood and ash. The hum of the decontamination vents was constant, grating, like the buzz of flies over a battlefield.

Tanya leaned silently against the wall opposite him, arms crossed, eyes distant. Mary was asleep on a cot nearby, her head resting on a folded jacket. Mikhail stood near the sealed door, occasionally glancing at the frosted glass panel that separated them from the rest of the world.

They had made it out.

But not all of them had.

Andrew's fingers clenched reflexively. Peter…

A sharp knock echoed from the outside. The door hissed open slightly, and two soldiers in hazmat suits stepped in, followed by a familiar figure—Colonel Gray, in his crisp mercenary dress uniform, flanked by a medical officer.

"Lieutenant Rowley," Gray greeted, his tone calm but heavy. "You and your team are under mandatory quarantine for five days pending full bioscreening. So far, your vitals have checked out."

"Peter?" Andrew asked, standing.

Gray nodded solemnly. "He's alive. But he's lost his left arm. Amputation was necessary to stop the spread. He's sedated and in stable condition."

Tanya exhaled in quiet relief. Mikhail closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer.

"He'll make it," Gray continued. "Thanks to Sergeant Tanya's quick thinking and your team's efforts."

Andrew's jaw tensed. "We lost too many, sir."

"You saved more than you realize." Gray reached into his coat and pulled out a black case. "Effective immediately, you're being promoted to Captain for valor and leadership under extreme conditions."

Andrew blinked. "Sir, I don't—"

"Save it," Gray said. "Orders from the high command. You earned it."

He handed Andrew the case. Inside was a silver-rimmed rank insignia—Captain's bar, gleaming under the sterile lights.

"That's not all," Gray added. "Corporal Peter Foreman is being awarded the Valiant Cross, and post-surgery, the Medal of St. Alphonsus. His actions during the engagement—especially his defense of the left flank and disabling of multiple Titans—were critical to your survival."

Andrew looked down, fists still trembling. "He should've never been bitten in the first place…"

Gray nodded. "Bio-containment failed. That wasn't your fault. What matters is your squad adapted and endured. That's what command needs right now."

He gestured to the medical officer, who stepped forward and handed Andrew a sealed data pad.

"That contains your debrief transcript, mission logs, and initial analysis of Operation Dawnbreak. You'll review it and submit your personal account."

"What happens next?" Tanya asked.

Gray turned to her. "We're facing a larger crisis. The outbreak at Sierra-Green was just the beginning. The Oceanic Union is coordinating with local forces. But Command is considering forming a Biohazard Response Division. Captain Rowley—if this goes forward, they want you to lead a unit."

Andrew exchanged glances with his team. Mary had stirred awake, and Mikhail's gaze had sharpened.

"We'll do what's needed," Andrew said at last.

Gray nodded. "Rest. Recover. Your war isn't over."

He turned and exited, leaving only the hum of the vents and the weight of the future.

0630 Hours – Day One

The walls were white. Too white. Sterile and smooth like a hospital, but colder. No windows. Just vents and hard lights that never dimmed.

Andrew Rowley sat with his hands folded, elbows resting on his knees. The ache in his shoulders hadn't left—not from battle, but from weight. Guilt. Loss.

Five survivors. One amputee. Six gone.

He hadn't even remembered some of their names until the list was recited to him during intake. That stung the most.

Across from him, Tanya had her arms crossed again, same as the day before. Mikhail paced slowly near the corner, muttering numbers to himself. Mary was half-asleep on a cot, again. They hadn't spoken much. There wasn't much to say.

Not until day two.

1300 Hours – Day Two

"I miss the sound of the wind," Mary muttered, staring at the ceiling.

Andrew looked up. "What?"

"The wind. Trees. Birds. Even gunfire. This place is too quiet. Like being buried."

Mikhail grunted. "Better buried here than outside, chewed to bits."

Tanya turned toward them. "She's right, though. This silence... it's not natural. It makes you think too much."

"Thinking's dangerous," Andrew murmured. "I can't stop replaying it."

"The tower?" Mary asked.

"The tower. The pickup site. Peter screaming. The Titans…" He stopped. "All of it."

Tanya leaned forward. "You did what you had to do."

"I made the calls. But people still died."

"You didn't send those bastards after us. Command did," Mikhail said flatly.

They all went quiet again.

1900 Hours – Day Three

Peter had been moved to a separate medical wing.

They weren't allowed to see him yet.

Andrew received updates: arm gone at the shoulder. Infection halted. Stable, but on heavy painkillers.

"He kept laughing," Tanya said suddenly that evening, breaking a long silence.

"Peter?" Andrew asked.

"Yeah. Even when he got hit. Even when he was pale as a sheet. 'Blown to kingdom come,' he said." She smiled faintly, the kind that hurts. "He made jokes even while dying."

"Gallows humor," Mikhail said. "Helps you survive."

"Helps you forget," Mary added.

"I don't want to forget," Andrew said.

They sat in silence, each lost in thought.

0900 Hours – Day Four

A knock came at the door. It hissed open slightly—only enough for a tray to be slid through.

Food again. Rations. Standard.

Andrew stared at the meal. Didn't touch it.

"You're not eating," Tanya noted.

"I'm not hungry."

"Doesn't matter. You have to keep your strength up."

"For what?"

Tanya stood and walked over, her tone shifting from empathy to steel. "For the next mission. For your team. For Peter. Hell, for yourself."

Andrew's hands curled into fists. "What if I screw up again?"

"You didn't screw up. We made it back. Most didn't."

"She's right," Mary said softly. "And we're still here. Together."

Andrew finally picked up the tray. "Yeah… together."

0800 Hours – Day Five

The door unlocked with a loud hiss. This time, Colonel Gray entered. He wore a sealed field jacket and gloves—still cautious—but no hazmat suit. His presence carried weight.

"Good morning, Captain Rowley."

Andrew stood. "Sir."

"I bring two things." He reached into a satchel and handed Andrew a sealed envelope. "First, your official promotion papers. Effective immediately. You are now Captain Andrew Rowley, Black Hounds Unit"

"Understood, sir."

"Second," Gray continued, turning to address the group, "your quarantine is complete. Your bioscans came back clean. You are cleared for debrief and return to barracks."

Mary visibly relaxed. Mikhail sighed. Tanya didn't react—she was watching Andrew.

Gray stepped forward and lowered his voice. "I also have an update on Peter Foreman. He's awake. He's asking for all of you."

Andrew's throat tightened. "Can we see him?"

"You can. He's being moved to the Officer's Medical Wing this afternoon."

Before leaving, Gray paused at the door. "Debrief is scheduled in seventy-two hours. But command is already discussing formation of a new Biohazard Rapid Response Task Force. I've put your name forward, Captain."

Andrew nodded. "We won't run. Not from this."

"I didn't think you would." Gray gave one final nod and left.

1400 Hours – Medical Wing, Officer's Quarters

Peter Foreman lay on a bed surrounded by monitors and equipment. He looked pale, gaunt, but very much alive.

When the team entered, his face lit up.

"Look who's still ugly," he rasped.

"Speak for yourself," Mikhail shot back with a grin.

Tanya went straight to him and adjusted his blanket. "You're lucky I didn't jab your other arm."

Mary stood at the foot of the bed. "You scared the hell out of us."

Peter looked at Andrew last.

Andrew stepped forward, trying to find the right words.

Peter beat him to it. "I'd do it again. No regrets."

Andrew nodded. "You're getting two medals."

"Guess I'm fancy now," Peter smirked.

"You're a damn hero."

"Only because I didn't die."

They all stood there for a while, saying nothing, just existing together—scarred, weary, but still breathing.

Still human.