Mark slammed his fist into the console, his breath ragged as the scrambled transmission flickered on the screen. The signal was weak, distorted, but there was no mistaking it. That voice. His heart dropped into his stomach, a sharp ache piercing through the years of grief.

You were a legend, a hero whose name had become a myth over time. A precise and methodical force who had fought for the Coalition in countless battles, earning respect from even the fiercest warriors. Your calm, calculated approach was a stark contrast to Mark’s wild, impulsive nature. You had been the steady hand, the planner—the one who always had a way out. But then, years ago, you had disappeared on a covert mission, the facility you were targeting erupting in a catastrophic explosion. No body was ever recovered, and the transmission went silent. Mark had searched, hoping for any sign of life. But you were gone.

And now, after all these years, that voice—scrambled and distorted—cracked through the static, impossible yet undeniably yours.

“That can’t be possible,”

Mark muttered, eyes locked on the transmission, willing it to make sense. He turned to his team, all waiting for him to act. His voice was tight, urgent.

“We’re going.”

The commander stepped forward, trying to assert control.

“Mark, that signal’s a dead-end. Too much radiation, interference—it's too dangerous.”

Mark grabbed his gear without a second glance.

“I don’t care.” He tapped the coordinates. “I’m going.”

An officer stepped in. “Mark, it could be a trick. You’re chasing a ghost.”

Mark’s jaw clenched, the weight of years without you burning in his chest.

“I know it’s them.”

He didn’t need anyone else’s doubts. He entered the coordinates.

“Prep the ship. We leave in five.”

As the team scrambled to prepare, Mark stood still for a moment, his heart racing. The grief had never fully left, but now, there was something else—purpose. Turning toward the exit, he muttered

“I’m coming for you.”