Ensign Roy Bancroft - Promise Me
Carter Schimpff
(( Outskirts - Breetia Township, Galaris IV ))
The sound came first – long, low, and mournful. A haunting siren rose through the mist like the ghosts of a thousand lost souls, echoing off broken walls and half-collapsed homes.
Bancroft: ::quietly, eyes darting back and forth:: Air raid siren? Intruder alert? Cultural symbol? Or just someone’s idea of an appropriate lunch bell?
Sadar: I-I, I don’t know. T-Tricorders out! Scan for any indication of incoming fire. Let’s go ask someone.
Cole: ::eyes adjusting to the limited visibility:: I’m not … ::Squinting:: I think I might see movement. ::gesturing a direction::
Bancroft leaned forward slightly, tracking Cole’s line of sight.
Bancroft: ::deadpan:: Unless it’s a kindly local holding a welcome basket, we might want to walk and wave at the same time.
Sadar: Wait! Wh-What’s going on? What does this sound mean?
Grunden Woman: Get into hiding, quickly! It’s them Hoppers again!
Sadar: ... ‘Hoppers’?
Bancroft: ‘Hoppers.’ ::chewing on the word:: That… really doesn’t sound friendly given the context.
Cole: Eye’s peeled; I got a bad feeling about this.
A concussive blast tore through the mist to their left – closer than anything had a right to be – and the mist lit up in eerie pulses of orange and red. The ground kicked up a tantrum of dirt and broken things, and Bancroft instinctively ducked, arm raised in a futile gesture of protection.
He caught a glimpse of Cole, already moving – putting herself between the blast and the team like it was second nature. Debris peppered her back and hair in a gentle but insistent reminder that this was real. Not a drill. Not a sim.
Sadar: Stay together! Get off the street!
Cole: ::grabbing Bancrofts arm:: Lets go crashcart.
Bancroft: Moi? You know, for someone who just yanked me like a piece of faulty wiring, that's… actually fair.
Another explosion cracked open behind them – closer now. The kind of closer that felt personal. Bancroft didn’t turn around. He was too busy being dragged.
Ahead, the Grunden woman disappeared into a structure that was trying its hardest to be a barn or farmhouse, but had already lost most of the argument to time and violence.
Roy’s brain, in a fit of unhelpfulness, tagged it immediately: Definitely Not Up To Code.
He pushed harder, lungs burning. Whatever "Hoppers" were, they were not on his list of things to meet today.
Cole: ::Yelling over the chaos:: Shelter ::pointing::
Sadar: Response
(( Ramshackle Shelter - Breetia Township, Galaris IV ))
The structure was more aspiration than building – half barn, half ruined farmhouse, with wood beams that looked like they’d lost an argument with time and stonework that had given up trying to hold the rest of it up. The roof wept in slow drips, and somewhere in the distance, a beam creaked in protest. But it was cover, and in that moment, that made it real estate worth dying for – proverbially, of course.
Bancroft stumbled inside, propelled more by Cole’s grip on his arm than his own sense of direction. It was a reassuringly firm grip, he decided – equal parts urgency and “you’re not dying on my watch, Crashcart. Too much paperwork.”
He made a mental note to never question Cole’s gym routine.
The Grunden woman they’d followed huddled in a corner, clutching a child to her chest – the same little girl from the street earlier, the one who had tried to “zap-zap” them into an early grave.
Sadar and Cole crouched together near the door, both with Tricorders in their hands. Roy made his way over to the Grundan woman and child, taking a knee next to them.
Bancroft: Protect your head and neck, the rest of your body will take care of itsel–
Then came the blast.
It hit like a god slamming a car door – loud, final, and without the courtesy of warning. The ground heaved. Something cracked. A rush of hot wind, a burst of orange light through shattered planks – and then the floor beneath Bancroft, the Grunden woman, and the girl simply gave way.
Sadar/Cole: Response
He landed hard, pain flaring up his shoulder as debris rained down around him. Dust filled his lungs and blotted out everything. The next few moments were soundless save for the high-pitched ringing in his ears. His vision swam. It was dark. Cold. The air was thick with the must of old wood and mildew.
He sat up slowly, wincing as his shoulder screamed a protest. A cascade of dust and grit slid from his hair and uniform in gritty waves. He spat once, wiped his face with a sleeve that didn't help much, and took the first proper breath since the blast.
Everything hurt. Which, ironically, meant everything still worked.
Bancroft: ::tapping his commbadge:: =/\= Bancroft to Sadar and Cole.=/\=
The commbadge gave a recalcitrant series of clicks, indicating that it was, at present, prepared only to be a very fancy paperweight.
Roy sighed, looked up at the hole in the floor above, and stood.
Bancroft: ::cupping his hands to shout:: Lieutenant Sadar, Ensign Cole! Are you okay?
Sadar/Cole: Response
He began to take in his surroundings, but paused at the sound – no, the feeling – of movement nearby. At first, he thought it was water, or perhaps conversation in some alien language.
Eventually the sound resolved into something unmistakable: a child sobbing.
Grunden Child: Mama… mama, wake up! Please – wake up!
The cry knifed through the silence. Raw. Panicked. Too young to carry so much grief.
The girl was curled protectively around her mother’s torso, her tiny hands trembling as she pressed against the blood-slicked tunic. A gash ran from rib to hip, jagged and dark, leaking life like an open spigot.
The air stank of iron and damp fear.
Tears carved streaks down the girl’s soot-streaked face. Her voice hitched on every syllable. Roy followed her eyeline and noticed she was staring straight at his medkit and the twin-snake caduceus symbol emblazoned upon it.
Grunden Child: You’re a healer ::lip quivering:: I know that symbol. Please… please save my mama. She’s all I have.
His stomach dropped. Somewhere up above, Lieutenant Sadar and Ensign Cole would be regrouping. Looking for him. Maybe even already climbing down.
He had seconds. Maybe less.
He didn’t think. He couldn’t think. He moved.
Dermal regenerator. Tricorder. Hypospray.
He worked in silence, jaw tight, hands steady. This was the part of him that didn’t hesitate. That didn’t crack wise. That didn’t think about protocol, or diplomacy, or directives. Just an oath.
The wound was nasty but shallow. He sealed the tear and stabilized her vitals with a low-dose compound – just enough to get her breathing easier, just enough to let her stay unconscious. He wiped the instruments down and tucked them swiftly back into his kit.
Bancroft: ::whispering to the girl:: She’ll live. She needs rest, food, and lots of water. But she’ll live.
A beat.
Bancroft: ::stern whisper:: Don’t ever tell anyone what you saw. Not her. Not anyone. Promise me.
The girl nodded, wide-eyed. Her lips trembled again, but she held her tears this time. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Bancroft: ::softer:: You were very brave. She’s lucky to have you.
His ears rang less now. The thunder of shelling above was retreating, the assault either moving on or finally over. The air down here was still, the dust floating in lazy swirls through shafts of pale light breaking through cracks in the floor above. Roy let out a long breath and leaned against a nearby beam – only then noticing the rest of the space around him.
It was a cellar. Nothing special. Stone walls, rotted shelves, a collapsed staircase. Bits of broken tools and rusted farm equipment lay strewn across the floor, half-covered in soil. But then–
He froze.
There, partially hidden by dust and the broken beam he'd just leaned against, was a metal door hewn into a small rocky outcropping forming one of the cellar’s walls.
Not wood. Not stone.
Alloy.
Shiny, new alloy.
He brushed it with one hand. Cold. Clean. Absolutely, unmistakably out of place.
He tilted his head.
Bancroft: ::muttering:: Well… that’s not local craftsmanship.
Bancroft: ::cupping his hands around his mouth:: Lieutenant Sadar, Ensign Cole… there’s something you’ll want to see down here. Could be nothing, but… it’s a door. A shiny, metal door.
Sadar/Cole: Response
TAG/TBC
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Ensign Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A202405RB1