Intelude Steve

"Imminent impact. Brace yourselves. This is not a drill."

Steve grabbed the doctor with one hand and used the other to steady himself against a shelf. The cultists, seeing the portal, rushed towards it. Steve couldn't blame them. It was so close. Despite the low gravity, being tossed about was more inconvenient than painful.

The leading cultist, the one who had spoken to Steve, was halfway through the portal when another quake hit. The portal simply flickered out of existence. For a brief moment, Steve could see the bare wall panel where the portal had been, and then blood gushed from the bisected body, painting it red.

One of the cultists screamed and ran out of the room in panic. Another just knelt on the ground next to the bisected corpse, wailing.

"Portals need a perfectly flat surface to exist. If it's disturbed, they decohere and ruin the Quantum Tunnelling effect," the doctor explained calmly. Her tone was cold and clinical, but it helped Steve clear his head. Perhaps that was her intention. Otherwise, there wasn't an appropriate time for a lecture on portals.

"We need to find another way out," Steve said, his mind racing. He scanned the room for alternatives, the urgency of their situation pressing in on him. "Doctor, can you walk on your own?"

"Yes," she replied, standing more steadily now.

"Good. Let's move. We go for the second closest portal," Steve said, taking charge. He guided the last remaining cultist and the doctor towards the exit, the sound of the alarms and the shaking floor reminding him of the relentless threat they faced.

The cultist walked like a zombie, completely out of it—sobbing and wailing.

"You should leave him," the doctor said, "he is just a burden now."

Steve bit back a curse. He didn't want to hear that. "We are all getting out."

"Such hopeless optimism could get us all killed. Triage is sometimes necessary. But so is avoiding arguments. Let's just go."

Steve nodded, suppressing his frustration. He gently but firmly took hold of the distraught cultist's arm, guiding him towards the exit. "Come on, we need to move. Stay with us."

The cultist, still sobbing, allowed himself to be led. Steve kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, alert for any further tremors or threats. The doctor and the remaining cultists followed, moving as quickly as the unstable ground would allow.

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, each step a battle against the instability and the growing tension. The distant sound of impacts and the relentless alarms heightened Steve's sense of urgency. He couldn't afford to let his guard down.

"Structural integrity in sector C-7 failing. This is not a drill. Breach imminent. All personnel in sector C-7, check your vacuum seals. This is not a drill."

Steve looked, and right there on the wall were brightly painted letters: C-7. He looked at the cultist in horror, dressed in nothing but a silvery robe.

Steve raised his hand to his helmet, intending to check the seals, but the doctor grabbed his hand. "Don't even think about it. Without a whole vacuum suit, it would not work. You are just going to die with him."

Panic surged through Steve. He glanced at the cultist, whose eyes were wide with fear. The cold reality of the situation hit him hard. They needed to get out, now.

"Move, move, move!" Steve shouted, pushing everyone forward. "We need to get to the next sector. Hurry!"

The cultist stumbled, nearly falling, but Steve caught him and dragged him along. The doctor followed close behind, her face set with grim determination. The base shook violently, and Steve could hear the ominous creaks and groans of the failing structure.

And then came the hissing, like a nest of snakes, growing louder and more menacing with each passing second. Steve's heart pounded as he realized what it meant: air was escaping.

"Come on! Faster!" he urged, his voice rising in panic.

Suddenly, a sharp, deafening crack reverberated through the corridor. Steve glanced back just in time to see a section of the wall buckle and collapse. A rush of air followed, pulling debris—and the unfortunate cultist—toward the breach. The cultist's silvery robe flapped wildly as he was sucked toward the gaping hole.

Steve's grip slipped, and the cultist was pulled away, his scream cut short as the vacuum of the moon's surface took hold. The hissing grew louder, turning into a roar as the breach widened. Steve watched in horror as the cultist's body began to freeze and contort, the rapid depressurisation and extreme cold taking their toll.

Steve barely had time to process what had happened when figures in black suits suddenly appeared from outside. It was as if they had been waiting for the perfect moment to invade the base.

His mind may have frozen, but his body reacted as he was trained. He pushed the doctor into cover and knelt next to her. He raised his gun and fired.

No sound of gunshots could be heard in the vacuum, but the bullet penetrated the body of one of the figures, creating a gush of blood that immediately froze into crystals, falling slowly in the moon's gravity.

As he moved to aim at the next target, Steve began to catalogue details as he had been trained. The long black coats, black vacuum suits, black masks. And the decorations—skulls, eagles, and swastikas.

Nazis? What the fuck were Nazis doing on the Moon?

He fired again, hitting another figure. The surreal nature of the situation threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced himself to focus. The doctor stayed low, her eyes wide with disbelief.

The invaders moved with military precision, their weapons gleaming under the harsh artificial light. Steve counted at least six more, all advancing methodically. He took aim and fired, dropping another one, but they kept coming.

The puff of dust was the only sign they were firing back. In the vacuum, there was no sound, making the whole gunfight like a silent movie.

Steve ducked. Even a graze could be deadly if it pierced his suit. Space was unforgiving.

Clouds of dust drifted in the low gravity, and Steve could feel the vibrations of impacts through his hand as he crouched behind the largest piece of broken wall that served as his makeshift cover.

He could not run. That would leave him in the open.

His heart pounded like a drum. His breaths were shallow and rapid, the only sound he could hear, amplified by his helmet. Time seemed to stretch, each second dragging on. From time to time, he risked shooting back, but there were too many of them. He barely had time to aim before being forced back into cover.

Each time they were closer, their shadows growing longer against the walls as they advanced. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. The harsh, cold light flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced around them. He could see the determined set of their jaws, the cold, calculated focus in their eyes.

Steve glanced at Dr. Smith, her face pale and drawn. But the old woman's eyes were clear and focused. She was frantically working on something, some device. Steve couldn't guess what it was, but he couldn't let them get to her. He wouldn't.

Another puff of dust erupted nearby, too close for comfort. He shifted his position, peering around the edge of his cover just long enough to spot an advancing soldier. He squeezed the trigger, watching as the figure crumpled to the ground.

The invaders returned fire, their shots kicking up more clouds of dust. The low gravity made the particles hang in the air, creating a hazy, dreamlike battlefield. Steve felt the thud of bullets striking his cover, the vibrations travelling up his arm.

One of the soldiers broke from the group, rushing forward. Steve aimed and fired, the shot hitting its mark. But that casualty was not enough even to make them hesitate. There were always more of them. The cold logic of their advance was terrifying, relentless.

He stole a glance at his ammo counter. It was running low. Too low. He needed a plan, something to turn the tide. But all he could do was hold his ground and protect the doctor.

Another burst of fire forced him back into cover. The enemy was nearly on top of them now, their dark figures looming ever larger. Steve's heart raced. He couldn't afford to make a mistake. Not now.

The invaders were within a few meters, their weapons raised, ready to finish the job. Steve took a deep breath, steadied his aim, and prepared for the final stand.

Steve's next moment was a blur of desperate action. As he fired another shot, one of the invaders moved with surprising speed and precision, stepping into the path of the bullet. The impact sent the soldier sprawling, but not before he absorbed the shot meant for his comrade.

Steve's mind raced. These Nazis were not only disciplined but willing to sacrifice themselves for their mission. Before he could fully process this, another soldier was already closing the distance, diving towards him with cold efficiency.

The surreal, silent chaos of the gunfight intensified. Steve fired again, but his shots seemed futile. Each time he hit one, another took their place. And now they were closer than ever.

A sudden, powerful impact struck Steve's arm, sending his gun flying. He barely had time to react before two soldiers were upon him, their grips ironclad. He struggled, but their training and coordination were evident. One soldier pinned his arms, while another secured his legs.

As he fought to break free, a third soldier approached, expressionless beneath his helmet. The soldier delivered a swift, precise blow to Steve's side, targeting a pressure point that made his body go limp. His vision blurred, the edges of his sight darkening.

The last thing he saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was the cold, calculating eyes of his captors and Dr. Smith's resigned face as she was dragged away by another pair of soldiers.

It was peaceful floating in darkness. Silent. No thoughts of Nancy and Jonathan to intrude. Time passed, but he was unaware of it. Occasionally, words intruded, spoken in harsh German. But Steve didn't know any German, and even if he did, the darkness was just so soothing.

And then came the pain. Brutal electricity coursed through his body, making each muscle seize uncontrollably. He bit down hard, tasting blood as his teeth cut into his cheek.

"Confirm that you are awake, or we will continue to administer electroshocks until you do," a voice spoke in English with a strong German accent. It was coming from a large conical speaker on the wall.

In front of him, he could see a large glass window and a man with a microphone like from old movies. The man was old, not quite Jane's age, but old. His hair was white and very messy. He was dressed in a sort of leather white lab coat, like something Frankenstein would wear in a Hammer Horror movie. He was not alone.

There was a much younger man next to him in full military uniform, holding some sort of rod, and a teenage boy armed with a sword. The younger man's impatience was evident, his grip tightening on the rod with every passing second.

Since when did his life become a B-movie?

"I... am... awake," Steve gasped. He tried to move, but his limbs were bound. His muscles ached from the shocks, and his skin felt clammy against the cold metal restraints.

The guy in the military get-up spoke to the weird scientist, but since the mic was off, Steve heard nothing. Well, even if he had heard, it wasn't as if he knew German.

"Der Führer asks for your name," the scientist's voice came through the speakers again.

"Isn't he a bit too tall?" Steve said, falling back on his training. When interrogated by hostiles, corrupt the data. In other words, pretend to be as dumb as a brick. And most importantly, do not give up. He needed to keep hope up, even if he had to lie to himself as much as the enemy. "And what happened to his moustache? Did he shave?"

The military guy grabbed the mic quite forcefully. "I am Wolfgang Kortzfleisch, Führer and Chancellor of the Fourth Reich, not Hitler. Remember that. Now your name."

Steve just smiled lazily, even as he didn't feel it. Fake it until you make it. "I'm Steve. Nice to meet you. I would offer a handshake, but I seem to be tied up a bit."

"Your rank?" the leader of the space Nazis asked next. Space Nazis? Steve was still trying to wrap his head around that, especially how archaic their tech looked. Even compared to normal American tech, and not even mentioning the advancements at the Enrichment Centre. And yet, somehow, the Nazis were in space.

"Just Steve. I'm not military," Steve said back. Friendly but dumb. Like a dog. Steve could not afford to think about how little hope of rescue there was. What Nazis could do to him. "Space was meant for peaceful exploration."

That was official, but not actual, Aperture Science policy. Steve had enough clearance to know that. Things like that, plus killer robots, and a secret base on the Moon, which was technically legal just because no one knew about it, sometimes made Steve wonder if he was working for the bad guys.

But then he would remind himself of Aperture Science's motto: "For the good of all." Well, there was more to it, but Steve didn't have clearance to know it. It was likely nothing bad.

"Peaceful explorers could not manage to take down four Siegfried-class Warships. How many stealth ships do you have?" Kortzfleisch demanded, his voice dripping with suspicion.

"Stealth ships?" Steve was genuinely confused. He didn't know about any stealth ships. But then, he was security, not a test pilot. Well, there were security personnel who were also test pilots because Aperture liked to both test and use the weapons they developed for security, but Steve was not one of them. "There are no stealth ships."

"Then how did you get to the Moon?" Kortzfleisch's frustration was palpable.

"I walked," Steve replied. Technically true, just without mentioning the portal.

"Is this man an imbecile?" Kortzfleisch asked the scientist, clearly exasperated.

"He is genetically pure—perfect breeding stock. Also, when we examined him, we found no trace of brain damage. So I would say no. Just ideologically compromised. This may be an unconventional, but effective, anti-interrogation technique," the scientist responded clinically.

"Breeding stock," Steve said, feeling a wave of disgust wash over him. But he needed to distract them. If they were already guessing that he was using anti-interrogation techniques, he had to steer the conversation. What did training say about this? Use something that seems important, but isn't. Something personal. "Just because my girlfriend cheated on me doesn't mean I would do the same. I have more self-respect than that."

First cultists, now Nazis—Steve really needed to find better people to talk to about his love life problems.

"Shall we use more electroshocks?" the Nazi leader said in English to the scientist. It was obvious he was just asking to provoke or inspire terror in Steve.

"Nein, mein Führer," the white-haired scientist answered. "If he's trained to resist interrogation, there's too much chance it's ineffective, at least in doses that do not risk heart arrest. We should perform ideological realignment."

Steve tried not to shiver at the term. Ideological realignment sounded ominous and painful. He could already imagine some Orwellian reprogramming technique. What? He had read 1984. It was part of his college course. And Dustin had shown him the comic book version, which was much better in his opinion.

"Hear that, young man? Soon you will be one of us, and then you will be more than willing to share everything you know. And we will find a nice proper woman to marry you, so you can do your duty to your race," the Führer sneered.

"I don't think this would work for me. I'm not much of a joiner," Steve replied, forcing a smirk.

"We have ways of changing your mind," the Führer said coldly.