20. Josie
JOSIE
I step off the transport ramp into the Hellfighter base and immediately feel the shift—a quake of energy underfoot.
The central hangar pulses with activity: black-clad soldiers and aliens from a dozen systems moving in choreographed frenzy, tools clashing, armor plating rattling, engines humming.
It's military precision tangled with controlled chaos—like a wolf pack running a factory.
Dayn’s at my side, clean-shaven and still in full gear, his eyes scanning the scene. He nods. “Welcome to your new morning.” His low voice is the only calm in this storm.
I inhale the scent of hot metal, burnt circuitry, and layered sweat—sharp and electric. It smells like potential. I grin, roll up my sleeves, and push forward. Gear racks line the walls—their contents strewn about, mismatched and waiting for a miracle.
“Mind if I help?” I call over my shoulder, already kneeling beside a fallen drone rack.
Without waiting for an answer, I jump in. Sparks flare, cables twist, and before breakfast I've reconnected power lines, reprogrammed the AI calibration, and rewrote the inefficient diagnostic loop that’s been clogging their systems. The drone whirs back to life, motors singing.
I stand up, hair mussed and cheeks flushed with satisfaction, and catch Dayn watching me. His jaw is slack, a mix of disbelief and apprehension.
“Holy hell,” he breathes. “You're a force of nature.”
I flash him a grin. “Just fixing what’s broken.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Try not to break the chain of command while you’re at it.”
My gaze skims across a squad of armored Hellfighters drilling side-by-side—some in fluent Saurian, others in guttural Futarian. I tap a heavy-duty welder to my hip. “Protocol is a guideline, not a prison.”
As promised chaos unfolds around me, I wander deeper into their base: supply bay, comms hub, weapons locker—half the place screams “needs attention.” A handful of misfits—ex-cons with haunted eyes—watch me work.
At one point I hurdle a security barrier just to replace a crooked sensor turret.
A few alarms chirp, but I shut them off with a flourish before anyone notices.
Later, Dayn catches me in the mess hall—center of this organized lunacy. My hands are stained with grease and solder. I lift a tray filled with protein cubes and fermented algae pudding, face bright as a sun flare.
“Hope you’re hungry,” I say. “We’ll need fuel.”
He watches me scoop pudding into a bowl. “I am. You just busted three security protocols before breakfast.”
I pop a cube into my mouth, chew thoughtfully. “Define security.”
He arches an eyebrow, half-amused. “The kind that keeps you out. From armor lockers. By the way, someone screwed up and keys don’t fit now.”
I laugh, sauce flecking my cheek. “Ah. Never seen armor plates I couldn’t open.” I dab at the mess. “Give me twenty minutes, I’ll fix that too.”
He sighs. “Just—try not to get us court-martialed.”
I wink. “Worth it.”
He leans in, voice soft, low. “You realize they’ll break you before they bend for you.”
I meet his gaze head-on. “They’ll try. But I don’t break.”
He runs a hand along the armor at his belt. “So I’ve noticed.”
He knows. He’s still adjusting to how fiercely I move through this world—urgent, unapologetic, brilliant. He stands at the edge of this storm and watches me turn the gears.
Later, we're walking between workshop bays. Hum of welders, clank of armor. A Hellfighter sergeant stops us.
“Permission to do some actual work, Corporal? Or do you just wanna keep causing malfunctions?”
I grin murderously. “Depends. Think your exosuits could use a quick overhaul?”
He snorts. “They’re upgradable, but the acclimation protocols are… lengthy.”
I touch the plating. “I’ll make them better in hours.”
The sergeant steps back. “Fine. Don’t break the system.”
I wink. “No promises.”
Once he’s gone, I lean against Dayn, amused. I catch his eye. “See? They’re already scared of me.”
He rests his thumb where my belt meets my hip. “Not scared.”
“Aw,” I tease. “You love it.”
He smiles slightly, voice rumbling. “Terrified. But—mostly in awe.”
I tilt my head. “Good compliment?”
He steps close, voice husky. “The best.”
We kiss lightly—hot breath against the clang of armor suits. It’s a quiet promise in the roar of mayhem.
Later, I fix the security protocols—thread lines through digital locks, reroute authorizations, seal vulnerability exploits. All the while Dayn trains new recruits, his stance precise, authoritative, lethal grace.
I watch him transform before me—from caged assassin to commanding officer of ex-cons and misfits. And I feel… proud. Proud I helped build this. Proud I pulled him through futility into purpose.
When night falls and lights dim low, I curl next to him on a work crate covered with spare armor plates. My head rests on his shoulder. The smell of grease and metal is mingled with his cologne—pepper, rainwood, something fierce. I press a kiss to his neck.
He closes his eyes and murmurs, “We did good, engineer.”
I hum. “We did.”
He slides his arm around me. “Couldn’t have built any of this without you.”
I glance at him. “Couldn’t have done half my insanity without your scary restraint.”
He tightens his hold. “Let you run wild any day.”
I sigh contentedly. “Then I’ll keep running.”
He touches my hair. “Then I’ll keep running with you.”
In the quiet of that metal womb, surrounded by chaos harnessed, I realize I’m home.
I belong here—not just with him, but with this ragtag force forged stronger by purpose.
Together we rebuild broken things—hearts, armor, hope—and for once, I know this cosmic war may never end, but I’m not just surviving.
I’m thriving.
Through the noise, the crackle of welders, the promise of missions ahead, I sleep nestled at Dayn’s side, clutching purpose and possibility—crafted in steel, fueled by love—and ready for whatever comes next.
I step into the training bay and the air hits me with electric promise—metallic hum, ozone-laced sweat, the tension of bodies teetering on potential.
The Hellfighters, mid-brawl or recalibrating plasma rifles, all pause when they see me entering in grease-streaked coveralls and chipped boots.
I'm small in comparison—13-year-old girls could tower beside their exosuits—but my smile fills the room like sunlight.
“Morning, folks,” I call, voice bright. “Magnetic containment array—acting up?”
A seven-foot Odex arms a plasma drill and sneers, “Anti-grav drills, not your concern.”
I jokingly sniff the air. “Can’t hurt to offer supervision.”
He crosses his massive arms, tools jingling off his belt. “Fine, Boss Lady.”
The title lands heavy and warm. I nod, heels clicking as I move to the flickering power core they’ve abandoned—thermal drift, glitching resonance, but still salvageable.
I crouch and let my fingers dance across wiring, tuning resonance modulators, applying scavenged flux coils.
The low hum steadies, the core lights pulse in rhythm.
I step back, clothes smudged with carbon dust, a grin sketched in satisfaction.
My audience watches: amused, impressed, tentative.
“Good as new,” I say.
The Odex nods appreciatively. Others murmur. Dayn stands at the edge, the glow from the core reflecting in his eyes—awed, protective, maybe a little worried.
I stroll toward the common area, tray in hand—protein cubes and fermented algae pudding, the base’s staple. I sit at the tool-crate table and dig in, spoon clattering. Dayn stands beside me, arms folded.
“You’ll get us in trouble,” he murmurs around his teeth.
I wiggle my spoon at him. “Apparently I fix more things by noon than these guys do all week.”
He rolls his eyes affectionately. “Just... try not to get us court-martialed.”
I wink and pile on pudding. “No promises.”
Later, I lean over the drafting table, adding a few tweaks to their exosuit code—better stabilization, faster motor response. The recon specialist glances over and smirks. “Boss Lady’s in the code.”
I pat his shoulder. “Keep it up, soldier.”
In one swift motion, I challenge the crew to arm-wrestling. My palm meets glove-stripped hands. First two attempts, I win—easily—sending them into laughter and wide-eyed astonishment. Thin smiles become smirks; smirks become respect. Dayn joins a roundhouse of applause.
“Get used to it,” I whisper to him. “I did core. I code. I can dismantle your swagger too.”
His dry chuckle sparks between us like a promise. “Go ahead, I dare you.”
That afternoon, I slip into the VR bay and write a hidden Easter egg—each soldier's HUD flashes random motivational lines mid-simulation:
“Boss Lady says: You got this.”
“Courage is earned, not ordered.”
“Fight like you feed the kids tonight.”
Heads swivel. They smirk. A few tap their helmets in salute.
I lean against a workbench, arms crossed. “Consider it morale.”
They laugh—warm, rugged, alive. The tension dissolves. The team feels… bonded. I breathe it in: trust growing, fear melting into something stronger.
Dayn pulls me aside near the end of the day. Welders hiss nearby, plasma drills idle. He rests his hand on my shoulder plate. “You’re turning them,” he says quietly.
I glance at the exosuits, men, aliens as the evening light pools across the bay. “We’re all just machines waiting for the right calibration.”
He nods, eyes soft. “Calibration—and courage.” His voice husks. “You have both.”
He slips an arm around me. The factory dust clings to our coveralls as he kisses my temple. “Boss Lady.”
I lean into him. “Let’s rebuild tomorrow.”
Later, we stand by the hanger’s silent doors. I watch him move among their suits, his posture confident, changed. He’s accepts more now—not just an assassin, but a leader. Fear blindsided me into love with him. Now I see him stepping into someone larger.
Dayn closes his eyes. Breathing in the hum of loyalty, oil, purpose. “Couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
I turn and smile, sliding my hand through his gauntlet. “You would have done it anyway.”
He squeezes my fingers and whispers, “But I’m glad you did.”
We walk back into base—together—laughing at some inside joke. They call me Boss Lady again, louder this time, companionably. When I glance back, Dayn’s at my side, pride and pride and exosuit humming around us.
I inhale the scent of potential—oil, earth, rebellion, hope—knowing tomorrow brings missions that could shatter worlds. But for now, in this hanger full of warriors and misfits, I fit.
And under neon lights and powdered grease, I feel proof: rebuilding doesn’t come from orders. It comes from inspiration—sparked by a little engineer in chipped boots.
I step off the transport ramp into the base and notice the atmosphere has shifted—every sound sharper, every movement more precise.
Metal plates clank in rhythmic drills, exosuits hum as they recalibrate.
This isn’t Snowblossom anymore; this is a crucible of elite operatives.
I sense the weight of tasks ahead, lethal missions waiting in the wings.
I pull the sleeve of my coveralls over my grease-stained arm and run my fingers through my ponytail, tasting the metallic tang of machine oil.
I thought I’d inspire and rebuild, but now I realize how steep the cost may be.
In the mess hall later, the scent of algae paste and burnt coffee drifts through the air.
Hellfighters eat in silence, grabbing protein cubes and scanning screens for mission updates.
I slide in next to Dayn, tray clattering against the table.
He glances at me, muscles tight under his armor.
“How was the recon upload?” I ask quietly, lowering my voice.
He takes a measured breath before answering. “Done. We start tomorrow.”
My chest stutters at the brevity in his tone, senses tingling with unease rather than pride. “Us?” I venture.
He looks at me, expression unreadable. “We’ll talk later.” His words weigh like steel.
I swallow hard around my toothpaste-textured food. “Okay,” I say almost inaudibly.
He stands, knives of moonlight chipping through his calm facade, and walks away. I finish my meal, heart hollowed by his distance.
Later, the sparring ring beckons. I wear a soft padding vest and gloves as I face Dayn opposite me.
The dull roar of exos effectors and distant shouts fades into a tunnel around us.
Our swords clash—metal screeching against practiced parries.
He’s fluid, lethal, coiling moves around me effortlessly.
The scent of sweat, polymer coating, heated metal fills the air.
My lunges are strong, but every strike echoes off his defense.
My breath comes in ragged bursts, fear and adrenaline colliding.
I force myself to keep going, though doubt claws at me—will I always be the amateur wrench in his lethal code?
In the end, he disarms me with a swift twist and I stumble, sword clattering to the concrete. Panic flushes through me as I realize how wide the gap has grown between us. Outputting the final strikes in my heart, I drop his gaze.
His voice stops me as he steps forward to catch me. “Josie,” he murmurs, arms wrapping around me. The world tilts as his embrace presses steel to warm skin, and the ring’s tension dissolves in his grip.
My pulse races in his exosuit’s hum. He presses gently, whispering, “You are my home, Josie. Not this place. Not this fight.” Beneath his armored chest, I feel the subtle rise and fall of truth.
I press my forehead to the warm plates of his suit, tears bleeding onto synthetic fabric. “I believe you,” I whisper back, over the hum of the base.
He tilts my face up, brushing his fingers under my eyes. “Then come home with me. Tonight.” His voice wavers but remains steady in purpose.
I close my eyes, letting the echoes of the crew’s sparse applause drift around us. “I’m right where I belong,” I say.
He kisses my temple as the crew’s footsteps fade into background. “Good,” he breathes.
We drift away from the ring into the corridor, our fingers entwined through his armored gauntlet. The echo of steel and purpose hums softly around us. I taste his lips, salt and warm reassurance against the cold flange of his control systems.
“No matter where we are,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes. “Even here.”
He kisses me again, gentle beneath the weight of tomorrow’s missions. And for the first time, I know—this isn’t the end of us. It’s just another battlefield, and we’ll face it—together.
The soft whirr of exosuit motors surrounds us as we walk to our bunk compartment. I slip off the sparring gloves and curl against him, the steady thrum of duty and love lulling me into our newfound certainty. This place isn’t home— he is. And that makes all the difference.