The air in the detention block was thick with sweat, metal, and the smell of very old plasma burns. The room was small, barely large enough to accommodate the almost three hundred Starfleet officers trapped there, and every second wasted there ate away at their patience.

Commander Bolik Rax stood against the cell’s rear wall, arms crossed, his blue-skinned face unchanging as he gauged their guards. Two Cardassians, one older and one young and ambitious, stood inside the cell, rifles slung over their shoulders, far enough apart not to be reached.

Rax had been watching them for the past hour, studying their routines. The younger one was fidgety and nervous, and the older one was too complacent. That was an opening.

He adjusted his head by a fraction of an inch. Kellan and Loran waited beside him, holding their breaths, ready for the signal. Jorath waited just behind them, serene but ready.

Rax took a slow breath. “We make this quick. Jorath gets them distracted. Kellan, Loran—take the young one. I’ll handle the other.”

Loran tensed. “They’ve got disruptors.”

“We’re faster,” Rax said simply.

Jorath gave a slow nod, stepping forward. The Cardassians tensed as the Deltan moved, their hands hovering near their weapons.

“Something on your mind, Federation?” the older guard sneered.

Jorath permitted a warm, compassionate smile to play across his lips. He reached out to their minds, gently pushing against their resistance. Cardassians were known to have complicated minds to influence, even able to resist Vulcan mind-melds. But they were an emotional, passionate people. He needed to inflame that passion… subtly but enough to get them to engage with him.

“I was just admiring the manner in which you stand. You are quite fine warriors to be stationed here instead of out there among your brothers.”

The younger guard snarled. “That’s because we are.”

The older one chuckled. “Waste your breath. I know your kind. Deltans play with minds. Do you believe you can play with mine?

Jorath relaxed, voice dropping to a throaty growl. “Why should I? You already want to prove yourselves.”

The younger guard shifted, standing up straight. “Damn right. We—”

Rax was faster.

He sprang, grabbing the older Cardassian’s rifle and shoving an elbow into his throat. The guard choked as Rax wrenched the rifle from his grasp, turning to ram the butt of the rifle into his ribs.

Meanwhile, Kellan and Loran attacked the younger Cardassian. Loran drew his disruptor arm aside as Kellan struck him in the temple.

For a moment, it was good.

Then it all fell apart.

The older guard struggled free of Rax’s grip, kneeing the Bolian in the stomach and sending him stumbling back.

The younger Cardassian, stunned, panicked and backed away.

The sound of a disruptor bolt tore through the cell.

Security Officer Ra Kyong ran up to help his comrades, then quickly winced as the bolt hit him in the chest. He staggered, wide-eyed in shock, and collapsed to the floor.

Kellan screamed.

The senior Cardassian dived for his sidearm, grabbed it, and shot into Loran’s thigh. The Orion crashed to the floor, gasping.

Reinforcements arrived before Rax could react.

A punch to the jaw.

Jorath was slammed to the floor.

Kellan fought one last desperate swing before she was dragged away from Loran’s fallen form.

It was finished.

Breathless, Rax forced himself to look as the younger Cardassian stood over Ra Kyong’s corpse. The officer didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Rax clenched his fists. He had acted. And it had been a failure.

The older Cardassian pulled blood from his lip, glowering down at them. “Fools.” He regarded his men. “Tie them all up. We’ll see how much life they have left after we run them through proper interrogation. Maybe they will last longer than their Captain.” An insidious grin appeared on his bloodied face.

As the guards dragged them up, Rax’s eyes never left the body of Ra Kyong.

He had planned their escape… and Kyong had paid the price.

_____________________________________

Pain was a constant companion, one she had grown accustomed to.

Captain Day Renora didn’t know how long she had been lying on the cold, dark floor before they finally yanked her up again. Time blurred… punches, shocks, unanswered questions.

They had tried everything. Blunt trauma. Neural induction. Sensory deprivation. No matter how many times she was beaten, how many times she was left gasping on the ground, they had not broken her. They would never break her. It seemed these Cardassians had forgotten Bajoran resolve.

Two massive Cardassian enforcers dragged her forward. Her boots scuffed against the deck plates, her ribs burned with every breath. Her right eye was swollen shut, her tangled hair matted with dried blood. The metallic taste of it still clung to her tongue.

But she kept her head high.

They would not have it.

The room they dragged her into was unexpectedly lavish. Dark metal walls were covered in rich tapestries woven with geometric patterns of Cardassian design. Orange data streams crawled across the console screens, pulsing like lifeblood through a corpse.

And across from it all, the sigil of the Obsidian Order loomed over the room… its shadow stretching long and low beneath the sparse lighting.

At the center, standing with an air of complete control, was Kaela Orin.

Her features were unmistakably human… pale skin, high cheekbones, and piercing dark eyes that betrayed nothing. Her uniform was Cardassian, yet subtly different. Darker. Sleeker. It shimmered with ornate embroidery, and the sigil of the Order boldly on her chestplate.

She watched calmly as Day was dumped onto her knees, a slow, self-satisfied smile curling her lips.

“Captain Day,” she said smoothly. “You look… terrible.”

Day exhaled sharply, forcing a grin through split lips. “That’s funny,” she rasped, her voice ragged yet defiant. “I was just about to say the same thing about you.”

Orin raised an eyebrow, her smile deepening. “Still quick. Good. I was afraid my men had been too hard on you. But I see you’re as stubborn as your people’s reputation suggests.”

Day took a shaky breath, pain lacing through her ribs. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than this if you want me to give you anything.”

Orin sighed to herself, pacing slowly, deliberately around her, like a predator deciding how much effort its next meal was worth.

“Oh, Captain.” Her voice was soft, almost amused. “This was never about breaking you.”

She gestured toward a console beside her, and the main viewscreen flickered to life.

Day’s good eye widened.

The schematics of the Vallejo scrolled before her, overlaid with Cardassian tactical notations. A pulsing red signal blinked near the warp core.

Orin paced beside her, hands clasped behind her back, her tone almost cheerful.

“I wanted to illustrate something to you,” she said lightly. “That, Captain, is a Tzenkethi tetryon bomb. It is presently being mounted on your ship.”

Day’s blood ran cold.

“You see,” Orin continued, circling her like a vulture, “once repairs are complete, your ship will warp directly to Deep Space 47, reporting heavy damage, just barely holding together. Naturally, Starfleet will rush to assist.”

She turned, eyes gleaming.

“And then… it will detonate.”

Day felt the world tilt… from exhaustion, from pain… from sheer horror.

“You’re going to frame the Tzenkethi for an attack on Starfleet,” she whispered.

Orin smiled. “A sudden escalation. Starfleet will retaliate. Warships will be mobilized. Alliances will fracture.” She let the words linger before adding, her voice soft and cruel,

“And Cardassia? Cardassia will stand back, untarnished, watching two rivals tear each other apart.”

Day forced herself upright, the movement agony, but she didn’t care.

“Why?” she rasped. “Why does a human care about bringing back the Obsidian Order?”

Orin stilled.

For a brief second, her cold dark eyes revealed nothing. Then, slowly, she tilted her head, considering the question.

“Human?” she repeated softly as if the very notion was amusing.

She took a single step forward, crouching down so their eyes were level.

“I’m not helping the Obsidian Order, Captain,” Orin murmured, voice dropping to a whisper.

“I am the Obsidian Order.”

Day’s stomach twisted.

“What the hell does that mean?” she breathed.

Orin smiled.

“I was born Kaela Orin,” she said, rising slowly, her hands still neatly clasped behind her back. “Not on Earth. Not in the Federation. But on Cardassia Prime.”

Day’s breathing slowed.

Orin chuckled. “You still think too small, Captain. The Obsidian Order has been experimenting with surgical identity reassignment since before the Dominion War. You should know… your Starfleet Intelligence had files on us for decades.”

Day stared at her, realization settling in like ice in her veins.

“You weren’t just some agent, were you?” she said slowly.

Orin shook her head.

“I was born for this,” she said plainly. “Raised from childhood to be something more… a herald of Cardassia’s true future.” Her voice was steady. Unwavering. Zealous.

“I trained in silence. I served where I was placed. And when the war began I was embedded within Starfleet’s own ranks.”

Day’s jaw clenched.

“The Tecumseh,” she breathed.

Orin’s smile was slow.

“I see you’re starting to understand,” she murmured.

Day’s fists clenched, despite the tremors of exhaustion.

The Tecumseh. An Excelsior-class starship reported missing in action during the final days of the Dominion War.

“You were stationed on the Tecumseh,” Day whispered. “That was your ship.”

Orin inclined her head.

“And at the close of the war,” Day continued, her voice growing cold, “you were the one who killed the crew.”

Orin’s smile did not falter.

“I prefer to say I purged it.”

Orin turned back to the flickering schematics of the Vallejo.

“I have spent decades ensuring the Order rises again.”

Day swallowed against the fury burning in her throat. “You’re mad. You think the Cardassian people will just hand you power?”

Orin’s gaze never wavered.

“I don’t care what the people think,” she said simply.

For the first time, something about her voice sent chills down Day’s spine.

“By the time this is over,” Orin continued, “they won’t have a choice.”

She stepped closer, voice lowering to a whisper.

“Give me your command codes, Captain. Now.”

Day locked eyes with her.

And spat blood onto the ground between them.

Orin sighed. “Take her away,” she ordered. “We’ll see how stubborn she is after watching her crew die, one by one, in front of her.”

As they dragged her back, Orin’s voice echoed after her.

“This is inevitable, Captain.”