Deep Dark Deep Down.

Posted on Thu Jul 9th, 2026 @ 5:27am by Captain Wolfe Sean

1,977 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: The Hand That Rocks The Babe
Location: Velis III Government District.

The shattered skyline of Velis III's government district loomed overhead as Marine Captain Wolfe Sean knelt beside the fractured remains of what had once been a government administration building. Dust drifted lazily through the stale air, disturbed only by the occasional gust of wind weaving between skeletal towers of duracrete and twisted transparisteel. Weeks of abandonment had left the district eerily silent, yet Sean couldn't shake the feeling, a feeling, but what he couldn't put his finger on.

"Captain," Corporal Hayes called from several metres away, kneeling beside what appeared to be a section of collapsed monument. "I've got something."

Sean crossed the debris-strewn street and dropped beside him. Beneath layers of fractured stone and rubble was the unmistakable outline of a reinforced blast door. It was old military construction, designed to disappear into the surrounding architecture unless someone knew precisely where to look.

No one spoke for a moment.

"This wasn't on any of our surveys," Sean murmured.

The combat engineers moved forward, unpacking portable cutting equipment while the remainder of the platoon established a defensive perimeter. Minutes later, the ancient locking mechanism surrendered with a protesting groan. As the blast door slowly swung inward, a rush of stale, recycled air escaped from the darkness beyond.

Wolfe activated the light mounted to his rifle. A long staircase descended into the earth, illuminated poorly from flickering lights clearly shorting from electrical surges.

"Tactical formation," he ordered calmly. "Weapons free, eyes open." The Marines flowed into the darkness with practiced precision.

The bunker seemed to stretch endlessly beneath the city. Wide corridors branched toward residential quarters, medical facilities, command centres, storage rooms and hydroponic gardens. Emergency lighting still glowed dimly along the walls, casting long shadows across an underground city that appeared almost untouched by the devastation above, but where was everyone? Surely someone had to be here?

It was far larger than anyone had expected. Large enough to shelter thousands. There was debris scattered on the edges of walkways almost like someone was salvaging parts to fix other things, furniture and crates scattered about the place slowed progress.

Corporal Hayes looked around in disbelief. "They built an entire city down here..."

Wolfe remained silent. Something about the place felt wrong. His instincts sharpened immediately. "This bunker isn't abandoned," he said quietly over the platoon channel. "Stay sharp."

The Marines advanced deeper, clearing room after room. Empty dining halls. Sleeping quarters. Armories stripped long ago. Vast storerooms still filled with preserved supplies. Whoever had designed the bunker had intended it to outlast whatever catastrophe befell the surface.

Then Wolfe's sensors flickered. Movement. Multiple thermal contacts. "Contact!" he shouted. The warning came only a heartbeat before the corridor exploded into weapons fire.

Brilliant streaks of plasma tore through the confined passageway, forcing the lead fireteam backward as weapons fire lashed against wall and cover alike. Figures wearing a mixture of armour and combat gear emerged from concealed positions.

This had been a prepared ambush. Wofe threw himself behind a reinforced support pillar, returning disciplined bursts of fire toward the defenders.

"Push left! Cover and suppress!"

Grenades detonated farther down the passageway, filling the bunker with smoke and shattered concrete as Marines fought their way room by room through the sprawling underground complex. Every intersection became a battle. Every sealed doorway concealed another group of determined defenders forcing the marines back to the entry point again.

The bunker echoed with the relentless thunder of pulse rifles and screaming plasma bolts.

A medic dropped beside a wounded sergeant while two Marines laid down covering fire. Another fireteam breached a side corridor only to be driven back by concentrated resistance. The defenders knew every passageway.

They had the advantage.

Sean rounded a corner just as an armed security trooper emerged from an adjoining corridor. Neither hesitated. Both rifles fired simultaneously.

The defender collapsed instantly while Sean staggered as a plasma bolt struck squarely on his shoulder, the impact nearly knocking the breath from his lungs, then the pain kicked in.

"Captain!"

"I'm still standing," he growled, forcing himself upright. "Keep moving!"

Minutes of brutal corridor fighting followed. Every metre had to be earned. Every room cost blood. Then the defenders changed tactics. Sean barely heard the warning over the weapons fire.

"Explosives!" The detonation came not ahead of them—but behind.

The entire bunker shook violently as a deafening explosion rippled through the underground structure. Ceiling panels collapsed. Lights flickered wildly. Marines were thrown from their feet as dust and shattered concrete filled the corridors.

For one terrible moment, there was only silence. Then the reports began flooding over the comm channel.

"Wounded!"

"Medic!"

"Bravo's down!"

Sean forced himself upright, ignoring the ringing in his ears. "Rear security, report!"

Static answered first, then a strained voice. "...Captain... the entrance..." A pause. "...it's gone."

Sean sprinted back through the smoke-filled corridor until he reached the access tunnel they had descended only minutes earlier. It no longer existed. Hundreds of tonnes of collapsed rock, reinforced concrete and twisted structural supports had completely sealed the passage to the surface.

The realization settled heavily over every Marine present. They hadn't been lured into a firefight. They had been lured into a trap. Sean turned toward his communications specialist. "Get me the Dreadnought."

The Marine adjusted his equipment, cycling through emergency frequencies, encrypted Starfleet channels and Marine tactical bands. Nothing. He boosted power and tried again. Still nothing. Finally, he looked up. "I can't get a signal through, Captain. The depth... the collapse... it's blocking everything."

Sean slowly surveyed what remained of his platoon. Several Marines were wounded including himself. Two lay motionless beneath emergency blankets while medics fought to stabilize them. Ammunition wouldn't last if this got protracted. Medical supplies were dwindling. Somewhere deeper within the bunker, distant footsteps echoed through the darkness. The defenders were regrouping. Preparing for another assault.

Wolfe checked the charge remaining in his rifle before keying the platoon frequency. "Listen up." The exhausted Marines turned toward him. "We establish a defensive perimeter here."

He glanced toward the blocked tunnel one final time. "No rescue is coming, not yet. If command knows we're missing, they'll come. Until then..." He chambered a fresh power cell into his rifle with a metallic snap. "...we hold."

Marine after Marine took up firing positions along the shattered corridor hiding behind rubble and anything else they could use for a covered combat position.

Captain Wolfe allowed himself one slow breath before sighting down his rifle. "Let's remind whoever's down here..." he said quietly, "why trapping Marines underground was the worst decision they could have made." As the first defenders emerged once more from the darkness, the corridor erupted into weapons fire, buried beneath the ruins of Velis III, cut off from the surface, with no way to call for help.

Only the relentless flicker of failing emergency lights, the acrid smell of scorched circuitry, and the deafening rhythm of combat echoing through corridors never meant to become a battlefield.

The defenders came again.

They advanced in disciplined waves, using the bunker to their advantage. Every junction became a kill zone. Every doorway a potential ambush. They knew the layout intimately, slipping through maintenance passages and concealed accessways that the Marines hadn't even realized existed until weapons fire erupted from them.

Wolfe ducked behind the corner of a reinforced bulkhead as a volley of plasma bolts scorched the air where his head had been only moments before. Chips of concrete and debris showered over him. "Bravo Team, fall back ten meters!" he ordered over the platoon net. "Don't give them the crossfire!"

The response came instantly. "Moving!"

A pair of Marines laid down disciplined suppressive fire while the remainder of Bravo withdrew to the next defensible intersection. They moved with the precision born of countless drills, each trusting the Marine beside them to cover every step.

Even so...Not everyone made it. Private First Class Ramirez stumbled as a plasma bolt landed on his neck. He hit the deck hard. Without hesitation, Lance Corporal Bishop lunged forward, grabbing Ramirez by the drag handle on his kit and hauling him back behind cover while pulse rifle fire cracked overhead.

"Medic!" The cry seemed to echo endlessly through the bunker. It wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last.

Wolfe risked a glance around the corner and squeezed off three controlled bursts. One defender spun backwards into the wall. Another disappeared behind cover. A grenade bounced into the corridor. "Frag!"

The explosion slammed through the passageway, blowing lighting panels from the ceiling and filling the air with choking dust. Sean felt the blast hammer against his chest as he was thrown sideways into the wall.

His ears rang. There would be time to worry about injuries later.

If later ever came.

The fighting became increasingly desperate. Power cells dwindled and medical supplies disappeared one hypospray at a time. The defenders, though bloodied, showed no sign of abandoning the bunker. If anything, they fought harder with every passing minute. Wolfe couldn't blame them.

Whatever this place truly was...Whatever secrets it held...They believed it was worth dying for. Across the corridor, Sergeant McAllen fired until his rifle clicked empty before drawing his combat knife as two defenders rushed through the smoke.

The fight lasted only moments.

Brutal & personal.

When it was over, all three lay motionless on the bloodstained deck. Another Marine gone. Another name Sean would have to remember. If anyone survived to remember at all.

He found himself checking the sealed entrance again. Not because he expected it to open. Because hope was a difficult habit to break. Thousands of tonnes of collapsed earth remained exactly where they had been.

Immovable.

Silent.

Sean leaned heavily against the corridor wall during the brief lull that followed the latest assault. His Marines were exhausted. Faces hidden behind grime, blood and anything else that clung to them, yet the fatigue showed in every movement. The medics moved from casualty to casualty with grim efficiency, doing everything they could with supplies that should have run out long ago.

He looked at them. Every one of them, young marines and veterans. People who had trusted him enough to follow him underground without hesitation. A bitter thought crept quietly into the back of his mind. This might be it. Every Marine officer understood there might come a day when the mission ended not with extraction, but with a final stand.

Wofle had imagined moments like this before. Usually in passing. Never believing one would truly arrive. Yet here he was. Buried beneath a dying world, cut off and outnumbered. Watching the strength of his platoon ebb away with each assault. He reached into a utility pouch and withdrew a small, battered data chip no larger than his thumb. It contained nothing classified, just personal messages, letters never sent, and recordings from years of service. Habit had kept it with him through every deployment.

His thumb lingered over it for only a second.

Then he slid it back into the pouch. A tinge of pain that had been dulled by adrenaline made its presence known, the bandage that had been applied was red and soaked, he felt the uniform stick to his arm as it pulled on hairs with each movement.

Sean pushed himself upright immediately and positioned behind a slab of debris in a kneeling position, every trace of doubt disappearing beneath the instincts drilled into him over decades of service.

Wolfe raised his rifle. Then shadowed figures emerged once more from the smoke at the far end of the corridor, Captain Wolfe Sean drew a steadying breath.

Whether rescue came in five minutes or five hours no longer mattered.

His duty remained unchanged.

Hold the line.

Protect his Marines.

And if this truly was the end...

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