To say that the atmosphere inside the runabout was tense as Commander Noli sat at the helm, monitoring the situation aboard the USS Hathaway, was probably a significant understatement. Ensign Udraa, Flyboy’s young and eager understudy, was seated at the pilot’s controls, watching as the sensor data and communication logs came in.

As they continued their journey, Noli’s eyes remained fixated on the console, reviewing the latest reports from the stranded Hathaway. The situation aboard the starship was dire, with crewmembers fighting for their lives against the relentless pursuit of the assimilated crew. Firefights erupted across the ship as the unassimilated tried to fend off their former colleagues.

“What the hell happened over there?!” Noli asked, glancing at her younger colleague who looked in disbelief but did seem to have some sort of clue.

“According to the sensor data, the ship received a powerful signal from Jupiter immediately before the chaos began,” Udraa revealed, pulling up the transmission on the display between them.

Suddenly, the signal from Jupiter disrupted the silence inside the runabout, somehow activated by the sensors that were analysing the data from Hathaway. Udraa’s eyes widened as the unmistakable Borg signature filled the screen and her head. Before they could react, the ominous words “Eliminate all unassimilated” echoed through the ship’s internal communications. Noli’s heart pounded in her chest as she turned to look at Udraa, only to see her eyes glazed over, her once vibrant personality replaced by the vacant stare of a Borg drone.

Gripped by an intense sense of terror, Noli quickly assessed her situation, but not before the young ensign lunged at her with mechanical precision, attempting to overpower her former commander. Noli’s training and instincts kicked in, and she managed to evade the drone’s attack during the frantic brawl. She knew she couldn’t overpower the now-enhanced Ensign Udraa physically, but she needed to protect herself and find a way to subdue the threat her colleague now posed.

Escaping from the ensign’s grasp, Noli made a dash for the nearby storage compartment at the back of the runabout’s cockpit, where she retrieved a hand phaser. Her heart raced as she pointed the weapon at the advancing drone, hesitating for a moment. She remembered the ensign’s bright smile, her eagerness to serve, and the potential she once held. But this was not Udraa anymore; this was a threat that needed to be neutralized.

Summoning all her courage, Noli fired the phaser, and a blue beam of energy lanced out, hitting the drone squarely in the chest. Udraa’s body went rigid for a moment before slumping to the ground, unconscious but still alive. Noli quickly rushed to her side, placing fingers on the youngster’s neck in order to check for a pulse. All the while, her mind was racing with what to do next.

She knew she couldn’t leave the ensign unattended, as she could wake up at any moment and pose a threat once more. She had to contain her somewhere, somewhere less dangerous. Dragging the stunned drone to the living quarters at the back of the runabout, Noli activated the most powerful forcefield the runabout could muster to keep her contained. It was a temporary measure, but it bought her enough time to resume their journey while ensuring they remained safe.

As she returned to the helm, Noli’s mind was reeling. The situation had escalated beyond her wildest expectations, and she knew she couldn’t handle this alone. She needed help, allies who could assist them in taking on the Borg threat and saving the Hathaway. But how far did this new threat spread? What if Starbase Bravo had been assimilated?

Accessing the LCARS database, Noli began searching for potential allies nearby. Her fingers flew over the console, seeking out any nearby Starfleet ships or installations that could aid them in their mission. The Federation had faced the Borg before, and surely there were those who would be willing to come to their aid? Minutes passed like hours as Noli scoured the sensor readings, praying for a glimmer of hope, a sign of something… anything…

The atmosphere around the Hellhounds was tense as they watched the chaos unfold aboard the USS Hathaway from the apparent safety of their defensive positions around the stricken starship. The relentless pursuit of the assimilated crewmembers had turned their once harmonious team into a battleground. Firefights had erupted between the unassimilated cremates and their ‘former’ colleagues, who showed no restraint, their cold voices echoing through the comms.

“Eliminate all unassimilated.”

“What the hell happened?!”

“Didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“That sig…”

“EMERALD?” The Squadron leader, SMURF as he was known due to his blue skin, called out to his young wingman, “EMERALD? You ok?”

Suddenly, no less than six of the squadron veered off, jamming the communications between Hathaway and the rest of the starfighter wing and began their assault on their unprepared teammates.

Lieutenant Varru, the Squadron XO, was in the thick of the fight within seconds, barking out orders and coordinating the defensive manoeuvres. She was a seasoned pilot, with arguably more combat experience than their squadron leader, and was respected by her comrades for her fierce courage and leadership. But the situation they faced now was unlike anything they had encountered before, and fear gripped even the most experienced among them.

As the battle raged on, the once bright and vibrant squadron made up of some of the most eclectic species out there, was being torn apart, both physically and emotionally. Friendships were being tested, and loyalties questioned as the Borg’s unrelenting pursuit brought out the worst in some of their former friends. Crewmates who had been with the squadron since day one, battling through the recent conflict in the Deneb system and putting their lives on the line for each other were now engaged in a fierce battle for survival. Each member of the squadron had to confront the harsh reality that those they once trusted were now trying to destroy them. Kill or be killed was now the order of the day, and it was devastating the elder members of the team, especially the squadron leaders who had seen these young pilots, some just fresh out of Starfleet Academy, that they were now having to destroy their subordinates, the very people they were supposed to be guiding through their careers. Now faced with the harrowing task of defending themselves against their assimilated friends, and with the enemy ships closing in for the kill, the oldest members of the squadron had no choice but to fire relentless barrages of energy weapons, trying to take down any assimilated targets in their path.

In the midst of the chaos, Lieutenant Varru’s voice came over the comms, calm and steady, giving orders and rallying the squadron to stay focused. She was a beacon of hope in the darkness, stepping up where Commander Ch’tosrik failed, her presence bringing a sense of reassurance to the other pilots that were left. But even she couldn’t anticipate what was to come.

As the battle intensified, Varru’s fighter came under heavy fire from an assimilated pilot, her protege no less. As ‘EMERALD’ closed in for the kill, Varru expertly manoeuvred her ship, evading the barrage of energy bolts with skill and precision. But the young Orion pilot was relentless, closing in with deadly accuracy.

“PROPHET, break off! We’ve got your back!” Cried BUGSY, ordinarily known as Lieutenant Casey Malone, called out over the comms.

But Varru was determined not to leave any of her team exposed. She knew that they were all in this fight together, and she refused to abandon any of them. With a swift manoeuvre, she turned her fighter to face the enemy head-on, engaging in a one-on-one dogfight.

The two ships danced through space, twisting and turning, each trying to gain the upper hand. Varru’s years of experience gave her the edge, and she managed to outmanoeuvre the enemy pilot. She fired a well-aimed shot, hitting the enemy’s ship in the port thruster assembly, causing it to veer off course. But the assimilated pilot was not done. In a desperate act, they rammed their ship into Varru’s, causing a devastating explosion. The shockwave sent ripples through space, and for a moment, all the other pilots were speechless, stunned by the loss of not only their XO, but one of their most promising young colleagues.

The comms were filled with calls of disbelief and sorrow as the Hellhounds tried to come to terms with the loss of their deputy leader. Varru’s fighter was reduced to debris, scattered across the void of space.

“She’s gone… PROPHET is gone,” one pilot murmured, his voice trembling with emotion.

With heavy hearts but no time to grieve, the Hellhounds regrouped and refocused their efforts, training their sights on their younger colleagues. Nothing was stopping them now from destroying their young brethren. Nothing but guilt, anyway. As the assimilated showed no mercy, the guilt quickly subsided and the elder members of the group bore down on their colleagues for one final attack run…