Night Terrors & Consequences

Posted on Mon Jan 20th, 2025 @ 10:22pm by Captain Wolfe Sean & Major Samantha Snyder

2,185 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: Let That Be Your Last
Location: Sam's Quarters
Timeline: Current

Sam still wasn’t ready to return to duty, as she had several physiotherapy sessions left to complete. The journey to recovery had its ups and downs; there were moments of joy mixed with periods of discomfort. She experienced aches and sore joints, but she understood that healing takes time. Determined to regain her strength and edge after her injury, she felt frustrated by her recent inactivity. She despised being idle and missed the structure of her routine.

Sleep had become a rare commodity for Sam, often eluding her. Since the injury, she struggled to remember the last time she enjoyed a full night of restful sleep. Many nights were plagued by nightmares, replaying the chaos of the battle, the destruction, and the aftermath of her injuries. Sometimes she would wake up drenched in sweat, while other times, she would jolt awake, feeling the strain of her own effort. Bianca had mostly been there during these episodes, but there were a few occasions when she witnessed Sam's distress firsthand.

This moment, however, would prove to be the most incriminating.

The nightmare unfolded just like all the others, each movement replaying in vivid detail. Sam's heart raced as she darted from one building to the next. The acrid scent of charred materials filled the air, while the sharp crack of weapons fire whizzed overhead, with impacts striking walls and the ground, sending debris flying. She could almost feel the gritty, suffocating air in her throat as she sprinted for cover, rifle clutched tightly in her hands, the weight of her gear pressing down on her shoulders and belt.

Oblivious to the fact that her body was mirroring the chaos of her dream, she cleared one room after another, moving swiftly to the next house as her team wrapped up their task. It was in this next building that the night would take a perilous turn.

For Sam, the unfolding events felt like a strange dance, alternating between a slow crawl and a rapid rush, each moment stretching out with an electric tension. In reality, her breaths came in quick, deep gasps, her body trembling and quaking as it responded instinctively to every movement she made, mirroring the chaos around her. Oblivious to the fact that she was no longer alone and trapped in a nightmare, it only took one gentle touch to awaken her training.

Everyone understood the dangers of rousing a marine, yet love often compels people to take risks for the right reasons.

That single touch yanked Sam back to the present, but when her eyes fluttered open, she didn’t see Bianca. Instead, she was confronted by the Raider who had attacked her before the house collapsed.

Training kicked in as danger loomed unexpectedly, demanding immediate action. Sam pulled her attacker close, then swiftly maneuvered to bring them both crashing to the floor, delivering a sharp smack to the ear to disorient. A left punch followed by a right connected solidly with the Raider's face, culminating in a powerful elbow strike and a fierce headbutt. With the Raider reeling, Sam seized their throat and squeezed, but something felt... wrong.

One nightmare morphed into another. The Raider Sam had just assaulted flickered and transformed, revealing a battered and bloodied Bianca in its place. The horror of what Sam had just done to the woman she loved plunged her into a chaotic mental spiral. Words escaped her, her hands trembled as she released Bianca's throat, her mouth agape but only gasping sounds emerged.

Gradually, Sam stood up, still trapped in her turmoil, until a flicker of instinct broke through. Horrified by the sight before her, she raised her blood covered hands and fled her quarters, leaving Bianca bloodied and broken on the floor. Dressed only in a singlet and shorts, she sprinted through the ship, narrowly avoiding several crew members who had to leap aside to avoid being knocked over by the frantic woman.

Sam dashed into the Turbolift, her fingers clumsily working the wall-mounted panel, desperate to escape, to go anywhere but here, away from the blood she had left on the gleaming polished surface and the woman she'd just battered. By some stroke of luck or perhaps a frantic command, she managed to select the marine deck. When the doors slid open, she sprang into action, her instincts taking over as she raced down a familiar path she could navigate with her eyes closed. Despite the sharp pain from her injuries, she pushed through, the agony drowned out by the urgency of the moment. Tears streamed down her face as the harsh reality of her situation settled in, creeping in slowly and painfully.

Wolfe occupied the Major's office, diligently working on reports while still technically off duty, effectively stepping in as the MCO for the moment. Although he was eager to take on the challenge, it was a significant shift from managing a small, elite team to overseeing hundreds. He held onto the hope that his contributions would be beneficial to the Major and that any adjustments he implemented would receive her endorsement when she returned.

Wolfe found himself in the Major's office, immersed in reports while technically off duty, temporarily taking on the role of MCO. While he welcomed the challenge, it was a considerable leap from leading a small, skilled team to managing hundreds. He remained optimistic that his efforts would aid the Major and that the changes he made would earn her approval upon her return.

=^= Captain Sean, Priority. =^=

=^= Go. =^= Wolfe paused, tapping his badge as he shifted his focus entirely to the unexpected news. He had just learned that the Major had burst into the marine barracks, drenched in blood. Leaping to his feet, he hurried to the window, spotting the Major sprinting outside—a striking figure with wild blonde hair and an outfit that clearly didn’t belong. =^= Leave it with me. =^=

Wolfe dashed out of the office and raced down the walkway. "Clear the way!" he shouted as he pursued, signaling with his hand for 'medic', 'female', 'one of', and 'follow'. He noticed Sam dart into the changing area and shower rooms. Instead of charging in, Wolfe nearly came to a stop at the entrance to the changing area, mindful of the possibility of someone changing. However, given that they were all marines, professionalism took precedence; dignity was a luxury when donning the green uniform. Two female marines caught his attention—one wrapped in a towel but dry, the other struggling to remove a boot—pointing him in the direction Sam had gone.

The sound of running water filled the air, accompanied by sobs, cries, and heavy breathing. Wolfe proceeded cautiously, not wanting to startle Sam. It was evident she was in distress, and while the reasons behind it were unclear to him, his priority was to ensure her well-being. It was obvious where Sam was; only one shower was running.

Sam huddled in the corner of the shower cubicle, knees drawn tightly to her chest, her hands scrubbing desperately at the remnants of blood that stubbornly clung to her skin. Despite the water pouring down like a relentless storm, it felt as if the stains would never fade. Her hair, drenched and heavy, clung to her face, while steam enveloped the space, rising slowly to the ceiling like a soft, suffocating cloud. The only sound accompanying her sobs was the steady rhythm of the water, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within her. Sam felt utterly shattered, her heart and mind in a state of chaos she had never imagined possible.

Wolfe approached cautiously, each step deliberate and gentle, mindful not to startle her. He wanted to offer support, but he was acutely aware of her fragile state. As he drew closer, he noticed her hands moving in a frantic motion, scrubbing with an intensity that seemed almost frantic. "Sam..." he said softly, kneeling a respectful distance away. "It's Wolfe. What happened?" He hesitated, knowing that asking if she was okay would be futile given the evident distress she was in.

"It won't come off," Sam whispered, her voice barely audible as she continued to wash her hands, repeating the motion obsessively. Her skin was beginning to redden, a painful reminder of her futile efforts. Tears streamed down her face as she hung her head low, overwhelmed by the weight of her actions and the dread that consumed her.

Wolfe moved closer, his pace deliberate. "What’s going on, Sam? Can I assist? What won’t come off?" He was desperate for answers.

"I didn’t mean to," Sam cried, her voice trembling.

"It’s okay...we..." Wolfe began, but his words were abruptly interrupted.

"IT’S NOT OKAY!" Sam screamed, a flash of anger igniting in her eyes as she glared at Wolfe, but that fire quickly faded, replaced by overwhelming guilt.

Wolfe had never witnessed Sam like this before. He had experienced loss, seen friends and colleagues grieve, but this felt uniquely different. Her pain was palpable, yet there was an underlying issue that transcended typical disappointments like failing a recertification or missing out on a promotion. This was deeper. Wolfe edged closer, feeling the spray of water from Sam’s distress.

"Sam, I want to help. What’s going on?" He noticed the female medic he had summoned standing at the doorway. Concealing his hand behind his thigh, he gestured for her to hold back.

"I...I...I..." Sam struggled to form words through her tears. "Something..." More sobs followed. "I didn’t mean to."

"Is someone hurt?" Wolfe inquired, concern etched on his face.

"I never intended for this to happen," Sam gasped, her voice choked with emotion as tears mingled with the water cascading around her, saliva trickling down her chin, taking its time to be swept away by the relentless flow.

"Sam, whatever went down, I'm here for you. We can face this together, but I need to know if anyone's hurt. They might need our help too," Wolfe said, inching closer despite the drenching rain. He wasn't worried about getting soaked; right now, his priority was his friend, a fellow marine caught in a troubling moment.

Through fragmented sentences, Sam recounted the events, repeatedly insisting that it wasn't her intention for things to spiral out of control. The mere mention of Bianca sent her into another wave of despair, her shoulders heaving with each tumultuous sob.

Wolfe gestured to the medic. 'Quarters', 'casualty', 'Sickbay.'

When he turned back to Sam, he saw the devastation etched on her face. The once proud and commanding woman now resembled a shattered puzzle, her pieces scattered everywhere. Though he was aware of the bond between Sam and Bianca, he didn't know the details, yet he understood that harming someone you love was a grave matter. He feared for Bianca's safety, worried that Sam's combat training might have led to something terrible, and as Sam fled here, the situation may have only escalated.

Sam wept, utterly shattered. She felt like an empty shell, filled only with guilt and fear over her recent actions.

Wolfe settled beside her, also drenched by the steaming water, which felt uncomfortably hot against his skin. He knew that some women had showers set to temperatures that could scorch a man. "Sam, we should probably get out of here; people might start talking if they catch us together like this." He attempted to inject some humor into the heavy atmosphere. "How about I take you to the medical ward?"

Sam merely shook her head. "No, no. I can't be seen, I don't want to be seen." Her tears continued to flow without pause.

"I have an idea," Wolfe said, rising to his feet and approaching the waiting medic. "I need a blanket; she doesn't want to be seen."

"Leave it to me."

Wolfe received a blanket and made his way back to Sam. "Hey there. I'm going to drape this over you so that no one can see you, and you won’t have to see anyone either. Is that alright?" He held the blanket open, ready to cover her.

After nearly a minute, Sam finally reached up with a hand flushed red to turn off the water.

Wolfe stepped closer and enveloped Sam in the blanket, ensuring she was hidden from view. "All set," he said, offering her the edges of the blanket to grasp. He then lifted her into his arms, feeling the tightness of his uniform around his chest and arms from the water, but that concern faded in light of the moment.

A heavy silence filled the air, punctuated only by Sam's muffled sobs from within her cocoon of fabric. As he carried her out of the showers and changing area, he noticed the path to the medical ward was flanked by two lines of marines, each standing guard, facing outward to protect him and Sam.

Even in the darkest times, the marines rallied together to lift each other up, to offer support and healing. Rank, gender, combat experience, or accolades didn’t matter.

A marine would never abandon another, no matter the moment.

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