The simulated Breen vessel was a cathedral of darkness broken by glowing light strips and vibrant panels. Its interior bulkheads rose in jagged shapes, as though carved from volcanic stone. Walls were polished to a sheen so dark it looked like it was crafted from oil. Light arrive through thin fragments provided by cyan strips that ran overhead. Orange glyphs pulsed along control consoles. Green icons glowed faintly across dim screens. Everything lay swathed in a shadow thick enough to hide a platoon of Breen warriors.

Chief Petty Officer Naz Jadi raised her fist to halt the team. She crouched low against the ribbed edge of the bulkhead as her dark Bajoran eyes swept the chamber. She was small-framed, but carried herself like the combat veteran she was. “Set and ready,” she spoke in a hushed voice. Their suit were set to monitor each other’s communications. Commbadges helped them reach a second team, as well as the simulated Cardinal. CPO Naz monitored the positions of both teams through her helmet’s headset. She was responsible for this operation as squad leader.

The four members of Alpha team responded almost in unison. Each enlistee felt only slightly burdened by the heft of their environmental suits. Training constantly in them was making them feel more comfortable.

“Set,” replied Petty Officer Delox. His voice sounded slightly mechanical as it echoed off the breather clamped in front of his mouth. The rectangular device exhaled faint streams of vapor underneath the helmet of his environmental suit. A barely-audible hiss followed his every word. His Type-III phaser rifle was nearly as long as his blue forearm. The Benzite had customized it with a heavy thermal sight and a thickened cheek pad. It allowed him to stabilize his firing position while navigating the narrow angles of the corridor’s firefight. As Alpha team leader, Delox had a precise mind. He was cautious to the point of frustration for some. Naz valued his candor.

“Ready,” said Crewman Marcel Duval, the blond Frenchman. His Type-III gleamed with a polished under-barrel tactical light that threw a tight cone into the darkness. He was aggressive and quick-footed, often the first through a door.

“Stacked,” came the voice of Crewman Adebayo Obasanjo, a tall Nigerian with broad shoulders. His phaser rifle bore a compact holographic sight and vertical foregrip. The build favored rapid engagement at short ranges. He spoke in a clipped accent, voice calm and steady. Crewman Obasanjo was often placed in the fire team’s point position.

The last gruff voice rumbled with impatience. “Let’s move,” grumbled the Tellarite, Crewman Zhor. His Type-III carried an extended barrel shroud and a jury-rigged muzzle stabilizer. The surly man swore the latter increased his weapon’s accuracy. Zhor had a reputation for blunt opinions. His suppressive fire was as steady as any mounted turret.

Naz checked her wrist display to study the tactical schematic of the simulated Breen vessel. Their objective was to clear Section One, link with Beta team, then push into the engineering compartment. She thumbed her commbadge.

“Beta team, Alpha is advancing to the first chamber,” she whispered.

T’Vel’s even Vulcan reply came back without hesitation. “Acknowledged, Chief. Beta is advancing parallel, thirty meters south. Maintain synchronization.”

Naz signaled forward. Obasanjo slid towards the hatchway and crouched. He scanned the dark corridor that led towards the narrow slit of the interior’s horizon. He gestured the all-clear, and Naz gave the signal. “Breach.”

The hatch split open. Duval’s tactical light painted the first chamber in white-hot brilliance. Breen warriors burst from concealment. Brown garments covered dark armor plates. Angular helmets were lit by the internal flickers of their life support systems.

“Contact, front!” Duval shouted. His phaser spat ruby bolts that cut one Breen square in the chest.

Zhor took the left flank and unleased suppressive arcs in that direction. “Covering!” His heavy, sustained fire pinned two Breen against their own bulkhead. His weapon was set to rapid pulse mode.

Naz dropped to one knee as her phaser rifle leveled through the shadows. “Two right, staggered formation,” she called out. She squeezed off disciplined shots. Each blast hummed with the metallic recoil of a phaser set on high output. One Breen collapsed as smoke sizzled and curled upwards from his chest plate.

Delox advanced by inches, sight glued to thermal signatures through the rising haze. “Three more, ventral positions,” he reported in his raspy tone. His thermal optic pierced the darkness that Duval’s light couldn’t reach. He placed measured, surgical shots into the glowing shapes. Two fell immediately. Another staggered and crumpled against the bulkhead.

“Room clear,” Obasanjo confirmed after a sweep.

Naz exhaled and signaled. “Alpha, hold the perimeter.” She tapped her badge. “Beta, status?”

T’Vel’s calm voice replied. “Beta team has neutralized opposition in our sector. Advancing toward corridor junction. Synchronize movement.”

Naz motioned them forward. The first chamber lay littered with simulated Breen. Their armor steamed in fading holographic projections. The team moved to the corridor, rifles held at low-ready. Energy cells glowed faintly along each weapon’s power housing.

The corridor beyond was narrow. Black bulkheads were cut by glowing strips of cyan light. The space seemed endless, filled with alcoves where enemies could crouch and wait.

CPO Naz lifted her hand. “Standard wedge. Obasanjo point, Duval trailing right. Zhor trailing left. Delox, you’re rear security. Move!”

They advanced with textbook precision. Obasanjo took measured steps as his rifle swung in slow arcs. Duval’s light probed every shadow.

Zhor muttered under his breath, “These corridors are getting pretty narrow.”

Delox’s thermal sight scanned behind them. It studied an escaped burst from a gas unit that hissed a whistling call.

Halfway down the corridor, Breen charged from concealed alcoves with disruptor rifles raised.

“Ambush starboard!” Duval shouted. His light flared around three Breen caught mid-sprint.

Obasanjo dropped to a knee and fired rapidly, eyes focused through the holographic sight. Each phaser pulse carved a line of molten scarlet into the Breen’s armor. Two of them fell as their weapons clattered around them.

“Left flank, suppress!” Naz barked.

Zhor swung his Type-III and changed its firing mode. He released a storm of sustained beams in a Z-like firing pattern. The corridor filled with the howl of energy discharge and the sizzle of the impact against the Breen. The flood of enemies fired towards them, but were dropped before they could place accurate fire.

Naz moved up beside Obasanjo and fired two short bursts. The Bajoran’s dark eyes narrowed as she tracked every flicker of motion. She called adjustments as calmly as a range instructor. “Duval, shift fire low. Delox, finish off that left corner.”

“Engaging,” Delox confirmed confidently. His thermal sight locked onto the faint silhouette of a Breen crawling towards cover. One phaser bolt ended his motion.

Thirty seconds of chaos was followed by silence.

“Clear,” Obasanjo said.

Naz gave a curt nod. “Form back up. Keep moving.”

The team pressed on as the corridor bled into a third chamber. This larger space was ribbed with towering consoles. Light shined across orange panels, behind jagged shadows.

“The next wave is incoming,” Delox said as his eyes locked on his weapon’s thermal display. “Six hostiles, elevated positions.”

“Stack left,” Naz ordered. They slid into cover behind a console as their phaser rifles poked through gaps in the equipment.

Breen appeared on the upper ledge and fired down. Sparks rained from the console as disruptor blasts impacted.

“Obasanjo, conduct a bounding advance, ten meters. Duval, cover and move with him. Blind them with light.”

Duval rose as his tactical light flared like a miniature sun. The Breen hesitated as they searched through dazzled visors. Obasanjo sprinted low and fast, before he dropped to one knee beneath the ledge. He fired three precise bursts upward. Searching fire cut through two warriors before they could recover.

“Covering!” Zhor roared as his suppressing fire carved molten streaks across the upper balcony. Each round of shots reverberated in sets of six or eight.

Delox whispered calmly against the staccato fire of his comrade. “Target three, left balcony. Engaging.” His shot cut cleanly through the last visible heat signature.

The chamber fell silent once again.

Naz rose. She ran a scan through the tactical tricorder software keyed to her sight. “Room secure. Alpha team, hold.” She tapped her badge. “Beta, status?”

“Beta team is secure,” T’Vel replied evenly. The young Vulcan’s voice carried no trace of excitement, only the serenity of logic.

Naz felt a flicker of pride. At eighteen, T’Vel was barely old enough to be a cadet. Her discipline was unshakable. She had climbed to the team leader position within a year. Her plan was to eventually become a Tactical officer. She decided to enlist for a few years before the Academy.

“Section One clear,” Naz reported. “Proceeding to Section Two.”

“Affirmative,” T’Vel answered. “Beta is advancing. Rendezvous in corridor junction seventy-two.”

Naz lowered her badge and turned to her fireteam. Each man looked steady, rifles hot but operational. She gave a short nod. “Good work. Keep your spacing. Eyes front. We’re not done yet.”

The team re-formed, boots nearly silent as they crept along the Breen deck plating. The cyan glow above them seemed harsh against the shadows of the corridor ahead.

Naz’s eyes lingered on each of Alpha team’s members momentarily. She knew their strengths as surely as her own. M’kath promoted a customized approach to warfighting. Every crewman or ensign in the department had a say in developing their tactical loadout.

The pixie-cut haired Bajoran raised her rifle. “Move out.”

Together, Alpha team stepped back into the dark.

The corridor beyond Section One stretched out like the throat of some enormous beast. It was silent. The hum of the simulated starship’s systems seemed distant and oddly predatory compared to the familiar heartbeat of the USS Cardinal. Teal-turquoise overhead strips carved the black walls into fractured light and shadow. Orange glyphs along the ribs of the bulkheads pulsed faintly against dim backlighting.

Naz raised her fist and the fireteam froze. Each phaser rifle angled outward, muzzles aligned with likely avenues of fire. CPO Naz taught the squad that ‘slow is smooth, smooth is fast’. It was better to utilize precision than to rush.

Obasanjo took point. He led forward with his weapon pointed ahead. The Nigerian’s breathing slowed as he walked. His compact holosight scanned the group’s surroundings. Behind him, Duval shifted his polished weapon’s light to illuminate nearby sections of the deck. The beam traced over jagged walls and recesses that could hide multiple Breen.

“Where are they”, Zhor whispered to himself. He couldn’t contain his impatience as he covered the left flank. Delox brought up the rear. His thermal sight showed no signatures behind them. Necessary gasses hissed through the vapor-shedding regulator placed in front of his mouth.

They advanced twenty meters without contact. Only the faint hum of the holo-environment’s generators broke the stillness. They slowed as they turned the corner.

Phaser fire erupted from both flanks at once. Luminous disruptor blasts sent shattered sparks across the corridor. Breen warriors surged from recessed alcoves. Armor plates along their brown garments reflected light from the cyan strips. Four approached from the left, three charged from the right.

“Contact!” Obasanjo’s voice cut through the chaos. He dropped low and fired rapid bursts that carved molten lines into the advancing Breen. One went down instantly. Its chestplate erupted in simulated smoke.

“Stack right! Zhor, suppress left!” Naz shouted as she led her team to cover. She pivoted hard and posted up behind the corner of a bulkhead rib. Her Type-III rifle fired in controlled bursts of two. Each squeeze was a decision. She reminded herself not to waste energy cells, nor time.

Zhor roared as he let his weapon roar in sustained fire. “Covering! Covering!” Red arcs slashed the corridor. The shots burned through two Breen who tried to push across.

Incoming fire pelted the Federation fire team. Blasts erupted in front of them, sailed over their heads and sent sparks of duranium spiraling around them. A piece of shrapnel embedded itself within Duval’s visor.

Duval clicked on his tactical light to blind a warrior mid-charge. “Light them up!” he shouted as he fired into the white glare. The Breen staggered, toppled backward, and vanished into a simulated vaporization.

The enemy kept coming, as the holodeck’s simulation was programmed to trap them here. Another wave poured in from further down the corridor. Six more Breen approached in a tight formation, rifles raised.

Naz keyed her commbadge, voice sharp. “Beta, Alpha is pinned in corridor seven-two. Multiple hostiles are converging from both sides!”

The reply was delayed, faint under static. T’Vel’s calm Vulcan voice said, “Acknowledged. Beta is maneuvering. Hold your position.”

“Shift formation!” Naz barked. She knew the suggestion was the Vulcan’s way of telling her to survive. “Delox, rear guard! Zhor, left suppression! Duval, come with me on the right flank!”

The fire team moved like a single organism as it shifted without hesitation. Delox’s thermal sight cut through the haze of weapons discharge. He called out almost academically, “Two hostiles rear, twenty meters. Engaging!” His precise beams cracked the shadows and dropped both before they could close the gap.

Obasanjo leaned forward and used his size to shield Naz’s left. “Reloading!” he called as he swapped out a glowing power cell with practiced speed.

Duval’s light swept high and caught another Breen who vaulted from behind a ceiling strut. “Overhead!” he shouted. The blond Frenchman snapped a shot that clipped the warrior mid-air. The hologram disintegrated before it hit the deck.

Another heavy wave approached. Nine Breen converged as their helmets glowed with the light of internal life support systems. They fired in unison as their disruptor blasts sparked off bulkheads. Their shots seared against the team’s cover.

Zhor’s voice carried a growl of frustration. “There’s too many!” His phaser poured fire until it overheated. The tired weapon’s stabilizer hissed angrily. “I’m trying to hold, but they’re pushing hard!”

Naz made a quick tactical decision. “Rotation! Obasanjo rear guard, Delox center with me. Zhor and Duval, hold the flanks!”

Obasanjo didn’t hesitate. He pivoted back to the rear with long strides. His weapon was angled low and ready. His calm tone cut through the din. “Rear secure, watching six.”

Delox stepped up beside Naz as vapor misted around his breather. His shots were deliberate. Each one ended with a faint hiss of satisfaction as another Breen collapsed. “Enemy numbers are diminishing. Four hostiles remain,” he reported alongside the hiss of his breather.

Duval’s light blazed across the right flank to keep the Breen dazzled. “Push! Push!” he shouted as he fired in short bursts.

the sheer volume of incoming fire pressed them flat against the bulkheads. Sparks showered down. Naz could feel the thump of incoming blast slamming against the cover in front of her. For a fleeting moment, she calculated the odds. There were too many angles, and too many weapons pointed towards them. If any more waves followed, they could be overwhelmed in minutes.

Finally, new red light cut through the dark from the opposite direction.

From further down the corridor, four phaser beams roared out at once. Their fire was precise, controlled and devastating. The bolts carved through Breen ranks in perfect synchrony. One by one, the warriors disintegrated under the barrage. The entire last wave collapsed in less than ten seconds.

Alpha team froze, weapons raised as their fingers eased off their triggers. Their shapes blended into the haze of smoke and glowing light strips.

Four figures stood in full environmental suits. Like Alpha team, their armor was traced in deep crimson piping. They advanced in silence, phaser rifles raised and ready. They appeared as perfect specters of professionalism.

One figure stepped forward. Her visor revealed a calm, impassive Vulcan face. Petty Officer T’Vel looked to her squad leader impassively.

Naz lowered her rifle slightly, still breathing hard.

The young Vulcan’s tone carried no hint of exertion. “Beta team. Corridor secured.”

The rest of Beta held their formation as silent shadows.

Naz exhaled and finally lowered her weapon. The Bajoran’s brown eyes studied T’Vel carefully. “Good timing, Petty Officer. A little longer, and we’d have been overrun.”

T’Vel inclined her head. “Reinforcement was the most efficient option. Is Alpha team still operational?”

Naz nodded. “We’re intact. Section One is clear. The corridor is secure.” She tapped her commbadge. “Command, Alpha and Beta are linked up. Moving to Section Two, then to Engineering.”

Naz glanced back at her men. Duval stood with his tactical light flipped off. Zhor’s barrel was still smoking. Obasanjo looked relatively calm at rear. Delox inhaled the vapor emanating from his breather. Each crewman was ready to move again.

Her eyes returned to T’Vel, who stood like a pillar of Vulcan precision.

Naz nodded once. “Check your gear. We’re moving out. Section Two won’t clear itself.”

The two fireteams re-formed into one squad. They stepped forward together into the abyss.