Immediately, Marcus made for another elevator, and felt his innards lighten inside him once again. As the moving object stopped at the fourteenth floor, he stepped out and was immediately greeted by a sign and an arrow that pointed down a flight of stairs.

It read 'Warning! Live plasma weapons. The following are prohibited beyond this point: Flammable liquids or gases. Cigars and cigarettes. Explosives. Food or drink. Any unauthorised personnel will be prosecuted.'

Glancing at the sign as he passed, Marcus began to make his way downwards, progressing deeper and deeper into an eerily silent staircase. He had a feeling that Ferro would storm off again. He wasn't very happy about being sent back off to space, especially now that the Sirthon War was over.

But, to be honest, no-one was. The team's morale had been in rough shape ever since they had arrived on the Sorrento. Fifty-seven Earth-days ago, they were taking some R&R on Marcus' birthworld, Horus, when he suddenly got a call. A summons. The next day, he arrived at Colonel Kanda's office and was given the orders Idriah had relayed; 'Report to the Vulcanus system ASAP.' No explanations, no answers to his questions, no nothing. All fourty of them piled onto a spaceship and sent on their way.

Now they were eighty-nine light years away from Earth, deep within The Red Frontier and on the verges of alien territory.

If it weren't for the anonymity of his orders, Marcus himself would have been comfortable with his situation. Serving the Union was his calling, and his duty nonetheless. It was why he and most of his unit had signed up in the first place.

Marcus had come here from Horus. So had Leon. Jennifer came from Earth, Elizabeth from Skadi, Arjun from Sita and Ichiro from Inari. From many different worlds that had been colonised by man, they had come to fight for the Human Union of Worlds in its time of need, their desire to defend their nation supplanting the sensibilities of their respective cultures.

But Ferro was different. The Tartarusan had joined for an entirely different reason.

As he made his way down the steps, a noise shattered the silence. The instant, ear-splitting crack of a plasma gun. The war veteran paused, and as he did, a lightning-quick burst of the same sound ripped through the air, followed by the hiss of melting acromite.

Marcus' ears pricked up. The guns' rhythm left its pattern unmistakable. E-87 heavy plasma rifle. Magnetically accelerated projectiles via coilgun technology. Fully automatic, cyclic rate of 300 rounds a minute. Packed enough punch to bisect an unarmoured man with one shot.

A deadly piece of engineering... and L.J. Ferro's favourite weapon.

Without a drop of doubt in his mind, Marcus advanced towards the door. As he approached, the biometric scanner read his DNA and made the pathway open on his behalf. As the metal plate door slid open, the sounds of the gunfire exploded exponentially louder, and a rectangular block of acromite down the range suddenly exploded into a shower of yellow-green pus that splashed on the walls and floor, only to vaporise within mere seconds.

A dry, unpleasant cackle filled the room. Marcus turned his head.

Standing nearby was a squat, broad and bulky figure, dressed in nothing but a vest top, boots and trousers. He was male, five feet five inches high, with broad shoulders and an abnormally wide, stocky build. His skin was the colour of puce, his head clean-shaven and shiny like grease, while stubble like the bristles of a nailbrush protruded from his face. From neck to foot, he was wreathed in muscle, the man's biceps bulging as he clutched the bulky shape of a plasma rifle close to his body. Then, squeezing the trigger, he let loose a burst of star-white plasma that streamed from his gun's broad barrel.

The air shrieked as the projectiles hurled across the range, striking another rectangular target dead-centre and blasting a great smoking hole in its centre. Ablative matter vaporised immediately, and then the ruin target descended into the floor, only for a new one to immediately take its place.

As the shooter opened fire again, Marcus folded his arms. "What are you doing down here, Ferro?" he inquired.

The stocky figure didn't even give him a glance. "Got bored. Felt like shootin' something."

"Too bored to answer my calls?" Major Winter asked.

Ferro shrugged. "Didn't hear 'em, Major. Gunfire was too loud. But since you're here now, what can I do ya for?"

Marcus blinked, the officer's mood testing his patience. "We're set to get orders from Marshal Idriah any minute now."

Ferro continued to flash his rifle at the targets. "Correction; you're set to get orders from Idriah. I'm just here 'cause you are," the short man said, his words barely audible between the loud crack of his gunfire.

"You're our NCO, L.J Ferro. You've just as much a responsibility to be there as me."

His subordinate scoffed. "You mean I have a responsibility to get dragged back out onto the Frontier after the war's been won? I'm here to blow up alien shit-suckers, not play nursemaid to some planetary governor."

Marcus said "We don't know if that's why we're out here..."

"You're right!" His subordinate interrupted. "We don't know why we're fucking out here! Last I checked, Command's supposed to give us full orders before we go charging off into the gunfire!"

Major Winter frowned. "I know, but we still have a job to do. Now, are you going to do as I ask, or am I going to have to put you down for insubordination?" he asked.

Ferro seemed to pay his superior officer no mind, his eye still locked on the shooting range as he homed in on another target. The Tartarusan's pudgy index finger hovered over the his rifle's trigger,  and when another target popped up, he let loose, squeezing the trigger and blasting his fake enemy to pieces with a continuous stream of plasma fire.

That did it.

A slight smile crossed Marcus' mouth as he played his trump card. "Well, looks like you've chosen the latter... Liam."

The moment, he said the word 'Liam', the gunfire stopped, jarring to a halt that brought a silence over the room. Marcus then watched as a leathery-skinned face, with deep-sunken eyes and a mess of grey-black stubble, turned towards him. A face which then sneered viciously.

"How many times have I told you not to use my first name?" Ferro snarled.

Smile widening, Marcus returned his subordinate's glare with a calm and casual look. "I keep an informal company, Sergeant. That was one of things you liked about me, last I checked."

Ferro didn't reply. Instead he turned back the range, levelled off his rifle and kept shooting. Another three targets exploded, all the while the little blob of beef sneered angrily.

Marcus just smiled again. "Alright, have it your way. I'll just tell Idriah you're sick, and you can shoot shit down here 'til your heart's content."

The gunfire stopped again, and Ferro turned back to Marcus. "What was that, Horusan?" he growled.

"Well, I've gotta give a reason why you aren't there, and I don't want to keep Idriah waiting any longer. Seems like the easiest way to explain your absence to Idriah."

Major Winter watched as his company's NCO frowned, a vicious glare locking with Marcus' eyes. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, Ferro began to smirk, and then give a chuckle of grim satisfaction before setting down his rifle.

"You really do fight dirty, don't you Horus boy? Threatening to get me quarantined just so I'm stuck tagging along to your little meeting? That's just fucking cruel."

"Life's cruel, little man." Marcus smarmed. "You say so yourself almost every day."

Ferro smirked. "Fair play, you cocksucker," he said, resigning himself to defeat. "Let's just get this over with. I don't want to piss about with Command and that web-skinned Captain any longer than I have to." The Tartarusan cracked his neck and knuckles, grimacing as his bones ground together.

Marcus sighed, exasperation weighing upon him like a backpack full of lead. "Just get your arse to the bridge, Master Sergeant... and put your spacing gear on. I don't want to get an earful from Idriah for letting you defy orders."

"Are you fucking serious, Marc? I'm a goddamn Orbital Commando. I've spent more time in armour than Adam Roadra spent in brothels."

"Fair point, but all the same. I've had to cover enough of your shenanigans already on this trip."

"I told you, the XO punched me first! What more do you want?!"