Gestronio Day +4
The ALKEN ship drifted quietly toward Earth. Four days after the Gestronio incident, the crew hadn't spoken much. Not about the bomb. Not about the silence afterward. Even Taze hadn't cracked a joke. Something had shifted.
In the communications room of his London penthouse, Leonardo Ceccoli was practically foaming at the mouth.
He stared at the blinking terminal, teeth grinding.
"No signal. Again."
He hit redial.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
He slammed both fists on the table.
"LONDO! You intergalactic mule! Answer your damn comms!"
Silence.
Leonardo muttered, "One more time..."
Beep.
Still nothing.
He rubbed his face. "I'm gonna kill that shaved wall of ice myself."
Behind him, Caitlyn Teresa walked in wearing nothing but an oversized white shirt and mismatched fuzzy socks. Purple lipstick still on, despite the hour.
"Still ghosting you?" she asked, sipping black coffee.
"'Ghosting' implies there was once warmth," he growled. "This is straight-up diplomatic blue-balling."
She chuckled, then casually added, "Maybe he's dead."
Leonardo pointed at her without turning. "Don't. Even. Joke."
She shrugged, sipped again, and walked off. "Just saying... wouldn't be the worst thing for humanity."
Back aboard the ship, Kimberly sat by herself near the dining hall. She wore a cozy pink hoodie, socks, and had her hair tied loosely back. She scrolled her datapad with one hand while munching slowly on popcorn from a small bowl.
Steven approached, steps oddly precise.
He stood beside her and asked in a deep, flat voice, "Is... there something to chew here?"
Kimberly pulled one headphone out, surprised. "Uh, I guess. Popcorn?"
He took one. Bit down.
Paused.
Then thought to himself: "What is this divine anomaly?"
Without a word, he gently picked up the entire bowl and walked away.
"Wait," Kimberly called out softly. "I was still... eating that…"
Steven didn't look back.
He wandered into the rec room, dropped onto a couch like a rock, and began devouring popcorn like a robot experiencing its first joy.
Then, Lana entered. She was storm incarnate. Hair tight. Chest bouncing with each aggressive step. Her white combat uniform immaculate.
"Steven!" she barked. "Did you sleep on the damn couch again?!"
"Yes," he replied flatly, popping another kernel into his mouth.
"Don't eat while I'm talking to you."
He stared blankly at her. Swallowed. Then said calmly, "Could you repeat that? I didn't follow."
Lana froze for a beat, then raised her hand.
As it swung toward him—he caught it midair.
Gently.
"Um," he asked with confusion, "what are you doing?"
Lana blinked.
Blushed.
And then—kneeed him straight in the nuts.
"AGHHHHH—!!" Steven folded in pain. "Wh-why does it hurt so bad?!"
Lana turned away, proud. "Touch me without warning again, and next time I aim higher. Understood, darling?"
Steven collapsed onto the couch, groaning.
Taze walked in, holding a steaming mug. "Lana kicked your balls again, huh?"
Steven squinted. "Again? You mean this wasn't a first-time event?"
Taze just smiled and took a seat beside him.
From a distance, Anna had been watching.
She said nothing.
But her brows were furrowed.
Steven wasn't himself. Not even close.
He hadn't flirted. Hadn't made a single joke. No smirk. No ego.
Just... silence.
"What the hell happened to you?" she whispered.
Steven met her gaze—just for a second.
And she looked away quickly, unsettled.
The ship broke Earth's atmosphere around sunset.
As the descent protocols kicked in, Lana called for a team assembly.
They gathered in the main bay—uniforms neat, faces tired.
London below was grey and drizzly, as always.
The hangar doors opened with a hiss.
And there they stood.
Home.
Or what passed for it.
Londo greeted them with an exhausted nod.
"Debrief will wait," he said. "Rest. You've earned it."
Lana stepped forward with a datapad.
"One more update," she said. "We've been assigned a new field commander to assist me directly."
Footsteps echoed from behind.
A tall figure approached.
Dark brown hair tied into a low ponytail. Scar along his cheek. An eagle tattoo on his forearm. He wore a sleeveless field vest and gloves, and walked with calm control.
He stopped beside Lana.
"Name's Lasso," he said, voice deep and smooth. "Reporting in."
The room went quiet.
Even Kiarra—who was half-checking her nails—looked up and mouthed, damn.
Lana eyed him.
For a full three seconds.
Then—
"Test him," Londo ordered sharply. "Now."
The floor cleared.
A circle formed.
Lasso stood still. Hands at his sides.
Lana lunged.
A precise jab—he leaned away.
A spinning kick—he ducked.
A sweep—he jumped.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each time—he moved like water.
But he never hit back.
Not once.
Lana paused. Frustrated. Sweating.
"Why aren't you fighting?"
Lasso smiled.
"You're testing. Not attacking."
"So?"
"I figured I'd just dance."
She stared.
Then attacked one last time—a brutal mid-air sweep.
He caught her arm mid-spin.
Stopped her.
They froze.
His hand on her wrist.
Eyes locked.
He whispered, "You're really angry at me, huh? I just got here."
She flushed scarlet.
"Approved," she muttered, stepping back.
He winked.
Later that evening, the team was dismissed for a 24-hour rest period. Londo had said they "deserved a break before Venus turns into another nightmare."
Steven walked outside, still holding the now-empty popcorn bowl.
Everyone else had gone their separate ways.
Kiarra and Taze chatted near the base entrance.
"Hey," she said, poking him with her elbow. "You still owe me that drink."
Taze raised a brow. "Only if you promise not to spike it with anything that burns going down."
"No promises," she smirked.
Inside, Kimberly took off her hoodie and curled into a warm blanket on her bunk. She looked at her reflection in the tablet screen and whispered, "What's wrong with him?"
Anna stood by the window, arms crossed.
She didn't say a word.
But her thoughts spun like a storm.
Steven was broken.
Or replaced.
Or... something worse.
Meanwhile, Lana sat alone in her office, replaying the sparring match with Lasso in her mind.
His face. His calm.
The way he smiled.
And the way her heart beat just a little too fast.
As for Steven...
He didn't go home.
He didn't know where "home" even was.
So he walked.
Through alleys. Through fog.
And then, he saw them.
Two civilians.
Young couple.
Holding hands. Laughing softly in the rain.
He watched them.
Unblinking.
Then something inside his skin twitched.
Shifted.
The monster stirred.
His face—blank.
The air is thick.
A trail of slime hit the wet asphalt behind him.
He took a step.
The couple stopped.
Turned.
The girl asked, "Hey, are you—"
Silence.
To be continued.