The Federation's training chamber was a sterile hive of activity, its walls lined with holographic displays and weapon racks, the air sharp with the tang of ozone and sweat. Cadets in sleek exoskeletal armor moved with practiced precision, their movements a dance of discipline and dread. Yaning, his dark hair damp with effort, slotted a laser sword into his armor's weapon bay, only to sneeze violently, the sound echoing in the chamber's stark confines.
"Who's thinking of me?" he quipped, rubbing his nose with a grin.
"More like cursing you," Jingyi shot back, inspecting his armor's rear plating with a critical eye. She gave his back a firm slap, her voice laced with mock exasperation. "What were you thinking during the draw? Dead Omen Star? Really?"
Yaning's eyes widened, his tone indignant. "You all ducked the stage! My luck's always been rotten—remember the academy entrance exam? I was set for top three, then tripped on a pebble at the finish line."
Jingyi rolled her eyes. "Ancient history."
"I'm not taking the blame," Yaning said, his brow arching defiantly. "They shouldn't have put Dead Omen on the list."
Zhou Ying, clad in a black exosuit that hugged his lean frame like a second skin, approached, his presence as steady as a starship's keel. He clapped Yaning's shoulder, his voice dry. "Dead Omen's the worst of the lot. It's near the frontlines, barely a barren planet—soldiers sweep it for Starbugs regularly, and the casualty rate's brutal. Most die to bugs, but the environment claims plenty too. Your draw's a legend, Yaning."
"Enough," Zhou Jue cut in, his voice a quiet blade, silencing the banter. His dark eyes, usually guarded, held a flicker of resolve. "It's not anyone's fault. Electronic draw—blame the system."
The truth hung unspoken: space was a crucible of chance, where even mechs and tech couldn't shield against fate's whims. The cadets, elite by any measure, were still students, their battlefield experience limited to the prior exercise. Dead Omen Star, with its lethal terrain and ravenous Starbugs, was a trial they were ill-prepared to face.
The lead instructor, a grizzled veteran with a scar bisecting his brow, clapped his hands, drawing the cadets to a massive holographic screen. "Gather up. Time for the briefing."
Zhou Ying adjusted his gauntlets, taking his place at the front, his role as Federation commander undisputed. The screen flared to life, displaying a rotating planet cloaked in black, its edges wreathed in an eerie purple glow.
"Dead Omen Star," the instructor said, his tone grim. "A hellhole even frontline veterans dread. They'll call their families or pray online before shipping out. It's a brutal draw, but we're here. No backing out."
He gestured to the planet's violet sheen, his lips quirking. "Notice the color? Looks ominous, right?"
Zhou Ying sighed. "It's just observation tech. Different methods, different hues."
"Sharp kid," the instructor said, shrugging. "But this purple? It's life signs. Not human—Starbugs."
A murmur rippled through the cadets, their faces tightening. One raised a hand. "No human activity, right?"
"None," the instructor confirmed, his smile thin. "All bug."
Silence fell, the cadets' eyes locked on the glowing planet, some swallowing hard. The instructor waved, pulling up data: gravity, atmospheric composition, radiation levels. Then came the terrain map, a jagged landscape of craters and storm-swept plains. "Visibility's low, storms are frequent. You won't know your landing zone, so memorize this map—load it into your mechs, burn it into your brains. In a pinch, split into groups, piece it together. It could save you."
The cadets exchanged glances, their whispers hushed. The instructor rapped the wall. "Quiet. This is survival 101."
He leaned forward, his voice a low growl. "Dead Omen's unique. If you meet the Empire team, don't steal their kills or pick fights. There's enough prey for everyone. Priority one: stay alive. Call for rescue when you need it, withdraw if you must. Keep your senses sharp—don't blunder into a storm. Rescue can't always pull you out. Clear?"
His tone was paternal, urgent, as if shepherding fledglings into a predator's den. The cadets, sensing the gravity, shed their earlier levity, their faces etched with unease.
"I'm not scaring you for fun," the instructor said, scanning their expressions. "The fleet will sweep Dead Omen before you land, but the bugs are diverse and fast-growing. Two are 3S-grade: Redfeather Wagtail and Creeping Rose."
He pulled up an image of the Wagtail, a birdlike creature with long, clawed legs, its eyeless form chilling under crimson clouds. "Wagtails are weak individually—B-grade at best—but they swarm in thousands, coordinated. If you see them, hide underground, kill all light and sound, activate your mech's thermal cloak. They'll pass you by."
He switched to the Creeping Rose, a massive worm with coral-like ridges, its grotesque beauty evoking a microscopic horror scaled to nightmare proportions. Zhou Ying frowned. "Who named that 'Rose'?"
The instructor smirked, displaying an aerial shot of coiled worms dotting a plain, their patterns mimicking a warped garden. "Abstract, but fitting. Hence, Creeping Rose."
Zhou Jue's voice cut through, cool and precise. "Why 3S? What's special?"
"Two reasons," the instructor said. "Its mental attacks are toxic, hallucinogenic. And it's a nexus for symbiosis—other Starbugs orbit it, hunting for it, while it feeds and protects them. Think of it as Dead Omen's 'bug queen,' though not a true queen. It rules the swarm."
He tapped the wall, his voice firm. "Kill Roses if you can. We can't let them spread."
Yaning, scribbling notes, leaned toward Zhou Jue. "Where's Janice? She'd thrive here. We need her."
Zhou Jue, his eyes fixed on the screen, didn't write—his memory was a steel trap. "She's back soon. Military upgraded her system. No repeats of last time."
He vowed silently to avoid his own past mistakes, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders. Two days later, both teams boarded their starships, bound for Dead Omen Star, where the galaxy's perils awaited.