Tara’s visor had flashed red twice more, signifying the death of two more of her men. By the time she had popped her U-cord and stood, it flashed once more. She was seething with fury at the loss of five of her men, her soldiers, her family.

Her armor polarized and the boots gently gripped the hull as Tara drew her sidearm. Three more of her men had emerged from cover, echoing their commander’s movements. Around them, the battle raged on with cold, calculated precision. But this phantom was in their midst, killing her men.

It danced among them. Graceful motions dealing deadly blows at inhuman speeds. This warrior was unlike any she had ever faced. It’ll be a shame to kill him, Tara breathed.

Another flash.

Tara raised her oddly weightless pistol and fired. And missed.

In a swift, effortless motion, Tara’s nemesis spun and fired. The shot ruptured her helmet, exposing Tara’s surprised and lifeless face to the harsh nothingness of space.

On the bridge, a Field Commander’s visor flashed red.