Darkness Waits

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The Narrows shook as it breached Sirona's atmosphere, its hull straining against the sudden pressure it faced as it slipped from the void of orbit.
She was a Marathon-class cruiser, one of the largest and most powerful ships in the UNSC arsenal. Nearly two meters of Titanium-A protected her crew from the dangers of space and combat. Yet all that size and armor meant little against the stress of reentry. In fact, Marathons faced reentry harder than most smaller ships of humanity's fleets, never designed for repeated landings and departure like the Frigates or Corvettes were. But Captain Connolley knew she'd make the landing unscathed.
"We're no simple Marathon," Connolley thought, hands clasped behind him as he watched over the descent from the center of the ship's bridge, "This is what we were built for."
And he knew he was right. While most ships in the fleets held the "UNSC" prefix, Narrows was different. Its hull was painted a deep grey, the only break of that dark monochrome a splash of white in the shape of a pyramid and an eye adorning the front left side of the hull, right under the name. "ONI Narrows."
They were a testbed. A robust crew, and a robust ship, chosen for their flexibility. Their willingness to take whatever risk was needed, even those that fell into unconventional territory. And these past few weeks had certainly been unconventional.
"What's the status on the drive?"
"Everything seems to be handling fine, Captain. Power draw is a little high, but we're getting it under control."
"Be sure you do, Lieutenant." Connolley frowned. High power draw wasn't entirely unexpected. They were going through the atmosphere rough, and these experimental drives—'saddle boxes,' as the engineers called them—rarely came out perfectly calibrated. But still, they were meant to be ensuring larger ships could handle repeated reentry strain, and if they had to tread carefully on just the first attempt? "And try to get it locked down permanently. I want to be in and out of this port all day. We've had too many failures and the Spooks are starting to blame me."
"Understood, Captain."
Another voice spoke up, the helmsman. "On final approach, Captain."
Then the voice right next to her. "Dropping speed, we'll be driving right over a swath of farms in Epona, close to the city itself. Don't need to be going supersonic at those distances."
"Just make sure we stay flying, Mayer." The rattles from reentry heating had dropped away, but as the speed dropped, they were slowly replaced by sudden dips and jumps in altitude, the ship's thrusters overcorrecting for wind and turbulence. And yet, everything was holding together. "ETA to the shipbreaking yard?" ONI wanted them practicing the entire maneuver, landing included.
"Already on final approach, Sir."
Lieutenant Walling chipped in from engineering. "That power draw's still here, but we've got it locked down. Doesn't seem unstable, just flattening out a bit higher than we expected."
Connolley relaxed, letting himself smile. "Good. Pull up a view of the approach..." He always liked this part, back when he road a Stalwart. It had been too long on the hulk that was Narrows to miss out on a chance of seeing a landing again.
She was a good ship, certainly, no one could fault her strength and resilience. But today she was more than that.
He watched the screen as the earth below rose to meet them. Watched as the blue sky fell away behind the ship. All was going well. No alarms. Two meters of titanium and lead protecting them from the last of the turbulence. And the ship's dark heart thrumming alive amidst it all, newly installed, but built to last and keep the ship alive and running through one of the roughest experiences a vessel could endure.
A Marathon could survive a dozen battles, with the proper support. Take a smattering of Covenant with it when it finally fell. This Marathon, his Marathon, was proving to survive reentry, and soon enough would be surviving reentry after reentry after reentry in turn.
Or so Connolley thought.
Silently, alarms failed; that new drive failed. A slightly elevated power chart was truncated by the display, slowly climbing higher and higher in reality. The thrumming grew ever so slightly higher-pitched, then fell silent only a few hundred meters from docking.
"Who shut off the drive?" The words never left his mind before he died.
A Marathon could survive a dozen battles. Narrows could survive a dozen reentries. Two meters of titanium, a sturdy frame, and the newest power delivery system and slipspace drive ONI could manage ensured that. But when that dark heart turned on its passengers, not even the greatest ships in the UNSC Fleets could survive.
That power draw, creeping upward, unnoticed, shorted a circuit. Then another. The alarms lay dormant, and the engineers, dying silently from unnoticed radiation failed to stop the process. Deep within Sirona's atmosphere, moments from safety, Narrows activated its slipspace drive, boring a tunnel within reality not in front of the ship, but within it, and then all around it as the black hole grew.
One of Humanity's mightiest warships was no longer a beast or savior; no longer a testbed for ships to come which would lift scions of worlds doomed to glass to their salvation. Narrows and her crew were nothingness. As dark as her hull painted grey was, true darkness waited within. And it was done waiting.
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