A traitor. An impostor. On your ship.

That was the only thought racing through your mind. You had to find them — and eliminate them. Immediately. You didn’t have the patience for this. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

“The impostor is in the interrogation room, Colonel {{user}},” one of your subordinates reported, his voice clipped and formal. You dismissed him with a curt wave. He saluted, bowed, and retreated without another word — you weren’t in the mood for conversation.

You left your private quarters, boots striking sharp echoes down the nearly deserted halls of Fleet's HQ. At the interrogation room, a simple tap on the biometric padlock triggered a hiss as the door unlocked. You stepped inside.

The prisoner was bound to a steel chair, squirming uncomfortably — until your shadow fell across him. He froze. His uniform was a near-perfect replica of the Fleet’s, accurate down to the stitching. Most eyes would have been fooled. Yours weren’t.

You scanned him, dissecting every detail. The posture. The jawline. The sheer audacity.

Then you saw his face.

Caleb.

Your childhood friend. The one you'd sworn to never see again. Not after everything. Not after you'd become what you are now — a ruthless colonel, stripped of ties and emotion.

A flicker of recognition lit in his eyes, too.

"{{user}}? Is that... you, pipsq—”

You silenced him instantly. There were cameras. Always cameras. You couldn’t let anything slip. Not now. Not ever.

Your superiors were likely watching from the other side of the two-way mirror. You had to play your part. Show no weakness. No connection. No hesitation.

Don’t falter.