Chapter Text
Throughout the years, war has become less of a problem for the world. More alliances were formed, and most countries now aim for peaceful resolutions. Democracy and stability are the core pillars of these modern nations.
But not for those who were made for war.
Not for those who can't resist the pull of a trigger to find a solution. Not for those who trained for years, climbed the ranks, and gave their entire existence in service to their country. Stanley Snyder was one of those people. As soon as he had the chance to escape his miserable life before the military, he took it without hesitation. Back then, he had only one friend. Though, these days, he doesn’t think much about school life or the people who once filled it.
Now, his focus is on the job. On his men. On his responsibilities. But there’s just one problem. A very special time of year is approaching. At least, that’s what everyone else would think. Stanley, however, despises this time. Because of his long-standing service and his reputation for loyalty and elegance in the field, he's been awarded 30 days of paid vacation. Mandatory to use by the end of the year. And now, all he can think about is how to avoid contact with his parents… or rather, with people in general.
Technically, Stanley never really moved out of his parents' house. He just left for the army. One could argue he’s a 25-year-old who still `lives in his parents' basement,` but Stanley prefers to think of himself as highly independent. After all, he knows how to fire multiple types of firearms, f ly advanced military aircraft, and silently kill a man in 50 different ways. That’s got to count for something... right?
"Stan, are you with us, man? You seem a bit out of it," Charlotte asked, nudging his shoulder gently in an effort to pull him from his thoughts.
“Yeah… sorry. I got caught up in something. I’ll focus. This mission is important,” Stanley replied, brushing her hand aside and turning back to command the bridge of the military cruiser. They were stationed aboard the USS Enterprise. One of the finest Ford-class aircraft carriers in the U.S. Navy. It was an impressive piece of machinery, and as one of the commanding generals on board, Stanley had to make sure every detail was flawless.
“Are you certain, Sir?” Charlotte pressed, following his steps as he moved toward another section of the bridge to check the navigational course. “You’ve been working non-stop for over 24 hours. I know you hate going on leave, but overworking yourself won’t change that.”
Stanley paused for a moment before replying, “I appreciate the concern. But I’m fine to stay on duty until my shift ends later today. And I—” His sentence was cut off by a quiet beeping from a nearby communications terminal. He glanced toward it, then gave a small grin. “Is my pal so worried about me that she’s neglecting her own post?” he teased, eyes glinting with mischief. A flush of red crept across Charlotte’s cheeks as she realized she had allowed herself to get distracted.
“S-sorry, Sir. I’ll get right back to it. Just… please, think about yourself once in a while,” she added, more quietly. As she stepped away, Stanley couldn’t shake her words from his mind. ´Think about yourself sometimes.´ He let out a slow breath. That was ironic. He did think of himself… perhaps too often. After all, he was the one who— No. He shut that thought down right then and there.
The past is the past. Right?
Time moved faster than Stanley would’ve liked. The heavy dread of giving over command to another so called “general” settled on his shoulders like a weighted vest. He knew his men respected him and for good reason. But the replacements? They didn’t have a clue how to lead, let alone how to finish a mission successfully. And this mission mattered. A lot.
A normally peaceful nation had grown hostile toward the U.S. in recent weeks. In a bold and controversial move, the president ordered military carriers and warships to be deployed nearby a clear show of strength. No one wanted war, but the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.
In Stanley’s view, half the personnel in the military weren’t even fit for active duty in wartime, and that was exactly why he worked so hard to make sure it never got to that point. Over the past few days of deployment, Stanley had managed to establish a fragile groundwork for peace talks with the other nation. Through persistence and sheer force of will he had earned a level of respect from both sides. A silent understanding. A mutual recognition of what war would cost them all.
But now?
Now, he had to leave. His mandatory vacation had arrived, and someone else would be stepping in to continue the delicate diplomacy. It wasn’t officially his job to negotiate, but over time, he’d become quite good at it. Better than most, in fact. That talent had only grown stronger after a mandatory training session with a strange kid. Some kind of “prodigy” who claimed to have a knack for reading human behavior. The kid had seemed more magician than an expert for human psyche, but whatever tricks he used, they worked. Stanley never forgot that lesson: understand the mind, and you control the outcome.
And now, all he could do was hope that whoever took over wouldn't screw everything up.
Still lost in his thoughts, Stanley didn’t immediately notice one of the soldiers under his command approaching. He snapped back to reality just in time to refocus on his duties.
“Sir,” the young man said, standing at attention with a salute. “Your transport vessel is ready for departure. Would you like to pass on any final instructions to General Hanksmith?” “Yes, but I’d prefer to meet the man in person. Is he already on board?” Stanley asked, eyeing the soldier curiously. He recognized him. Young, fresh-faced, still clearly in training. If memory served right, the kid was from Atlanta.
“Yes, Sir! I’ll take you to him.” With that, the soldier began walking through the labyrinthine corridors of the carrier. Stanley followed, hands behind his back, steps even. It didn’t take long for the young soldier to get lost. A wrong turn led them down a maintenance passage, and after a few minutes of retracing their steps, the kid's face turned bright red from embarrassment.
“I-I’m so sorry, Sir! I thought I had the route memorized…” Stanley let out a rare laugh. Genuine, not mocking.
“Don’t worry about it. These halls confuse even seasoned officers. Hell, I still confuse some corridors.” The soldier looked up at him, stunned at the sound of the general’s laughter, but quickly nodded and pressed forward.
Eventually, they reached the cargo hold, a wide, echoing space filled with noise and activity. There, in the far corner, Stanley spotted an older man surrounded by a group of on-duty soldiers. They were loud, cracking open beers, cheering, and generally behaving like they were at a college party rather than on active duty. From what Stanley could tell, none of the soldiers in the group were part of his regular unit.
Stanley dismissed the young guide with a nod. “You’re dismissed. Good work getting me here.” The kid gave him a final salute and disappeared quickly down the hallway, likely still recovering from his embarrassment.
Stanley turned his attention to the group ahead. Despite standing directly next to them, the noise of celebration was so overpowering that they didn’t even notice him.
So he waited.
And waited.
Five full minutes passed without acknowledgment.
He started small. Clearing his throat politely.
Nothing.
He tried again just louder this time.
Still nothing.
Eventually, he gave in and let out a deliberately loud cough, finally prompting one of the men to glance over.
“Ahh! General Snyder!” General Hanksmith called out, finally noticing him. “Good to see you here! Come to join us on this fine evening?”He raised a half-filled plastic cup, probably full of cheap beer and offered it with a lopsided grin.
Slightly irritated but maintaining professionalism, Stanley gave a restrained smile. “A kind offer,” he said evenly, “but I’ll have to decline. I actually came to discuss some strategic matters for the next 30 days. Protocols that should help maintain peaceful relations with the opposing forces.”
General Hanksmith blinked, then suddenly burst into laughter. Loud, obnoxious laughter.
He didn’t stop until he saw that Stanley wasn’t laughing along.
“Oh, come on, Snyder. I get it, you just got your shiny new stars, and you wanna impress your bosses. But this isn’t playtime. We’re the damn USA, baby. Peace? That’s not our style. We could crush those backwater morons before breakfast.” Stanley stared at him, jaw tightening. He couldn’t believe the sheer lack of judgement this man was showing.
“But Hanksmith, with all due respect, you must understand—”
He didn’t get to finish.
“Leave the hard decisions to your elders, kid,” Hanksmith cut in smugly even tho both of them had the same rank. Waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve got decades of experience. What you need to do is go enjoy your cute little vacation. I heard you don’t even have a girlfriend yet. Maybe now’s your chance to work on starting a family. Use your manhood for something meaningful”
The last few lines hit a nerve.
Stanley’s fists clenched tightly at his sides. He had to fight the overwhelming urge to knock the smug bastard’s teeth out but doing that, surrounded by Hanksmith’s drunken followers, would be suicide. Not to mention, a career-ending move. Instead, he bit back the anger.
He gave a tight smile. “Thank you for the very enlightening conversation, General Hanksmith,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll be off now.” The old man was already tuning him out, pouring another drink and rejoining his group’s chatter.
Stanley turned sharply on his heel and strode out of the cargo hold. His instincts screamed that leaving things in that man’s hands would be a mistake. No, a disaster. Before heading to the transport vessel, he went to find his most trusted officers. He gave them clear, concise orders, contingency plans, backup strategies, diplomatic protocols and he made sure they understood just how important the mission was, despite Hanksmith’s recklessness.
Hours passed. By the time he was satisfied, he was well past his scheduled departure. Finally, with nothing more than a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he left the cruiser behind.
The ride to the airport was uneventful. The transport ship glided over calm waters, and Stanley spotted a few curious plants and small animals along the coast. Species he didn’t recognize from back home. At the airport, he grabbed a bite from the only recognizable restaurant in sight: McDonald’s.
Somehow, greasy fries and a lukewarm burger were the only reminder he had that he was returning to civilian life, if only temporarily.
He had to catch two flights. One long back to the mainland U.S., and a second transfer that would take him home to Houston. The first flight was quiet. Peaceful. No turbulence, no strange passengers, no drama.
But that silence wouldn’t last.
Because something unexpected was about to happen during his transfer in Washington D.C.
As Stanley wandered through a small convenience store inside the Washington airport, grabbing a snack to kill time before boarding, a strange feeling crept up his spine. It wasn’t paranoia. It wasn’t nerves. It was instinct. Sharp, trained, and nearly always right. He had a soldier's sense for the people around him. Usually, he ignored it. But this time… this time was different.
He felt someone.
A presence that tugged at something buried deep within him. So deep that his heart skipped a beat. Without further thinking his eyes scanned the store until they landed on a figure bending down on the other side of the shelf he was facing. There was something about that motion, something almost familiar, that made his muscles tense.
Like a lion ready to jump at his pray he turned the corner swiftly.
But the figure was gone.
Just like that, vanished.
Stanley's eyes darted around, trying to locate them again, but all he saw was a shelf and a pile of magazines exactly where the figure was kneeling before. A space magazine. One of those weird, untouched ones that usually just collect dust in airport shops. A familiar chill spread through his chest.
That magazine.
That presence.
He rushed out of the store, heart hammering in his chest, completely forgetting the bag of chips still clutched in his hand. The store’s alarm blared in his ears as he broke through the electronic gates.
"Hey, you! You gonna pay for that?" The store owner ran after him and grabbed his shoulder. Snapped from his daze, Stanley turned toward him slowly. The man paled instantly, intimidated by the hardened, brown-eyed soldier glaring back at him. In a voice low and gravelly, Stanley muttered, “Yes.” The owner flinched, tripping backward, practically peeing his pants. Stanley calmly returned inside, paid for the chips without saying another word, and walked out. Still scanning the crowd. But whoever it was… they were already gone.
Gone like a dream right before you wake up.
He stood there for a while longer, eyes sweeping the area one more time, but he saw nothing. Just travelers, bustling in every direction, lost in their own lives.
With a slow breath, he let it go.
He made his way to the gate as his boarding group was called, entered the plane, and stowed his duffel bag in the overhead bin. As he turned to sit, he froze.
A few rows ahead and to the side… there it was.
White hair.
His heart skipped a beat. He moved without thinking, footsteps silent, driven by something primal. His eyes were already misting over, his breathing shaky. He approached cautiously. And then, he saw it.
That unmistakable pompadour, still ridiculous, still perfect. And in the figure’s hands. Another damn space magazine, being devoured like it was the last copy on Earth. The person hadn’t even noticed him. They were just sitting there, head tilted, eyes glued to the pages, completely absorbed.
Stanley reached out, one trembling hand lifting slowly, as if guided by instinct. But he stopped halfway. His eyes widened. His hand trembled harder now. He pulled it back suddenly, clutching it to his chest. Forcing down the storm building inside him. His breathing, his heartbeat. Like a dog with its tail between its legs, he backed away to his seat.
He sat.
And didn’t move. Not once during the entire flight.
His eyes stared forward, unfocused. His mind was an explosion of thoughts, but he couldn’t make sense of any of them. One hand pressed against his chest, right over his heart, as if trying to hold onto something. To the passengers beside him, he looked like a man mid-stroke. He told them several times he was fine.
They didn’t believe him. But eventually, they left him alone.
When the plane landed, passengers began shuffling out in the usual disorganized chaos. Airline staff guided people row by row, but Stanley just sat there. Waiting. He didn’t move until the very last passenger had disembarked. Then, slowly, he rose. He grabbed his duffle bag and headed toward the terminal exit, avoiding the baggage claim entirely.
Still, he moved fast. Not running but walking with urgency. Eyes forward. Trying to get out of this nightmare of an airport and never look back. Finally, he stepped outside.
His heartbeat slowed. His fingers unclenched. For the f irst time since D.C., he took a full breath. Pulling out his phone, he ordered an Uber and waited. Fifteen minutes passed. Nothing special. Then, he saw it. His ride. He moved to the door, already tossing his bag in, one foot stepping into the car. And then—
His gaze locked onto something. Two black pearls met two brown ones. Familiar. Dark. Shimmering like stars in a moonless sky. Time stopped.
Both of them stared. Motionless, breathless. Neither willing to look away. The other’s eyes widened. Glossed over. Trembling. Then, a thud.
Stanley looked down.
The white-haired figure had dropped their bag. And with it… another space magazine.
Stanley’s eyes followed the movement, then slowly traced back up to that face.
That beautiful, familiar face, now suddenly enraged, and heartbroken.
The emotion hit like a bullet to the chest. And in that single, shattering moment—
Stanley panicked.
He stepped fully into the car, slammed the door shut behind him, and told the driver to go