Happy Hour, Part V
Posted on Sat Nov 1st, 2025 @ 4:04pm by Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal & Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Edited on on Sun Nov 2nd, 2025 @ 11:12am
1,882 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Cold Cases
Location: Residential Sector, Starbase 315
Timeline: 2386
Gurovol bared his teeth, a flash of something crude and primitive. “My brother’s captivity must be answered,” he said, voice thick and emotional. “He will die there. You, Advocate–” He spat the word like a curse– “you have ruined my family. I will answer with his breath.”
He reached into his belt, drawing a long, serrated dagger carved from some dark alloy, the edge gleamed brightly even under the dim corridor lights. The blade’s shape was uneven, more bone than metal. It seemed to almost be alive–an ugly thing with an ugly purpose.
“Listen to me,” Ezra said evenly, eyes steady. “You don’t want this to happen here. You make a move on a Starfleet officer, and your next breath is the last one you’ll ever take.” Ezra was just about to rush at the dagger-wielding Nausicaan but something else happened first.
Hadriz was already moving. He lunged, a massive shoulder slamming into Ezra’s chest with the force of a medieval battering ram. Ezra’s meaty six-foot five-inch frame was small in comparison to three Nausicaans standing at over seven feet tall.
The air burst from Ezra’s lungs; he landed hard on the deck and bright lights exploded across his vision.
Layal tapped her commbadge and barely got out the word “Security” before Gurovol lunged at her. She jumped out of the way of his blade and moved to reach for his wrist, but Gurovol’s shouts to his comrade had Hadriz moving too swiftly. He grabbed Layal from behind and ripped off her commbadge and tossed it down the corridor. Layal began kicking and screaming, trying to wriggle her way out his grasp.”
“They will be here soon. We should go,” Hadriz warned.
Ezra’s breath had grown shallow. His mouth tasted metallic and he knew at once he’d probably bitten his tongue upon impact. The deck felt like it was rolling under him, his head filled with white light. Hadriz’s weight was crushing down, a knee in his chest, the stench of an unwashed body enough to choke on. Somewhere beyond that, Layal was shouting–her voice ragged and real in some way that ripped open something inside him.
It came back all at once, that old place in him he had long ago buried deep: the slime-covered streets of a failed colony where boys were recruited at tender ages by the warlords to become their unseen hands–stealing, wrecking, and sometimes killing. It was kill or be killed–no in-betweens.
Ezra pulled Hadriz close and drove his forehead into the Nausicaan’s with everything he had–rage at the loss of his mother. Rage at the loss of his childhood. Rage at what he had been forced to become. The impact was solid and wet; Hadriz’s skull met his with a crack that turned the air silent for a half-second. There was a small burst of blood as their heads were cut open. The Nausicaan reeled backward, dazed. Ezra rolled with him, coming up on one knee, his pulse racing and deafening in his ears.
Before Hadriz could recover, Ezra hooked an arm around the brute’s neck and turned, drawing him into a chokehold that used every ounce of weight. The Nausicaan clawed at Ezra’s cheek and ears, leaving jagged cuts and scrapes that oozed red. However, he held tight, until the struggles turned to shudders, then stopped. He heard the sound of breath leaving the body and eased-up.
He let the Nausicaan drop, the man’s bulk landing with a heavy, final clang. Ezra’s chest heaved. His hands shook as he reached for the dagger still sheathed on Hadriz’s belt–it was equally as cruel as the one Gurovol wielded. He rose, and the world seemed very small: Layal pinned against the wall, her hair a mess, eyed wild with anger; Gurovol turned toward him, blade reflecting in the low light of the residential corridor.
For a moment, neither moved. The hum of the station returned in Ezra’s ears.
Then Gurovol lunged.
Ezra did not retreat. He stepped into the attack, their shoulders colliding, the sound of metal against metal ringing in the corridor. The Nausicaan’s strength was monstrous–Ezra could feel it pressing down, pushing him back inch by inch. But there was something else in him now, something older than fear.
He twisted, something born of instinct than common sense in the present, and Gurovol’s arm went wide. Ezra’s struck once, quick and sharp–the flat of his blade cutting deep across the Nausicaan’s jaw–and the bigger man staggered.
Gurovol came again, bellowing something guttural, but Ezra was already inside his guard. Their bodies collided hard. The dagger in Ezra’s hand found purchase somewhere–the blade had completely entered the Nausicaan in the armpit, forcing him to stumble. He fell to his knees but instead of simply collapsing, a grin broke across his face.
It took a long moment for Ezra to register that Gurovol was no longer armed. He was staring at the empty hands of the Nausicaan who was now laughing. He glanced down and took note of a hilt protruding from his own ribs. Strangely, he couldn’t feel it. His eyes registered the object with shock, but for whatever reason–his body did not.
Ezra took a stumbling step back from the fallen Gorovol, and Layal saw the shift in the third Nausicaan’s eyes just before he began charging toward Ezra. Layal didn’t have time to think, only react as she took off in a dead sprint on a collision course with the Nausicaan who was now aiming his aggression at Ezra. There wasn’t much space between them to cover, but speed was the only weapon that Layal had to use to stand a chance against the brute strength against an enemy who was so much larger and stronger she was.
The beast had underestimated her as a threat, finding her to be more bark than bite after her antics from earlier, so when she barrelled toward him from the side with full force and speed, it was enough to send them both crashing to the cold metal floor of the starbase corridor, her body on top of his. Her eyes fixated on his hand that was reaching for his blade, and she scrambled to beat him to it, tossing the blade just out of reach.
She let out guttural gasps as she struggled against the Nausicaan’s strength. He threatened to quickly toss her, and she realized this as he seemed to move out from underneath her as if she weighed nothing at all. Angry and desperate she raised her right arm back, and delivered two quick palm strikes to the Nausicaan’s nose.
The Nausicaan reacted in irritation, rather than taking a calculated strike back. He shook the Bajoran off haphazardly, like one smacking away an annoying insect. Layal was easily tossed a meter or so to the side, rolling away from the Nausicaan as he stood up and took a look around. Before he realized what she had done, Layal had the Nausicaan’s blade back in her hands and was standing up to face him, threatening to charge.
Her voice was loud, low, and guttural, her eyes wild like an animal who would not be caged. Hair stuck to the sides of her face, sweat and dirt from the fight.
“Get out!”
It was a threat as she wielded the knife, never turning her back on the Nausicaans, she stepped over to the fallen Gurovol and ripped the blade from his side, causing blood to pour from his wound more rapidly.
“Get your friends, and GET OUT,” she yelled again, her voice teetering on the precipice of a scream. She could feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. The seconds felt like hours as she waited for the Nausicaan to comply.
Ezra stumbled backward, chest heaving, the deck beneath him feeling wobbly and the corridor tilting in his vision. Blood had streaked his uniform in thin, angry lines. He gritted his teeth and shoved the panic down inside him–the voice of reason shouting over the roar in his ears.
“Layal,” he rasped, voice hoarse, but firm. “Step inside with me. Now.”
He pressed his thumb to the door panel and the doors slid open immediately. The room beyond was the quiet, dimly lit sanctuary of his quarters. It greeted him like a safe harbour in the middle of a gale. He guided her in, shoulder to shoulder, letting the door close behind him and prone figures of the Nausicaans still laying on the deck.
Once inside, Ezra leaned back against the wall beside the door, his chest rising and falling sharply. It was now that his brain had come to realization that he’d been stabbed in the side. The bleeding wasn’t actually that bad, he thought, feeling the area around where the hilt of the dagger still protruded.
“Don’t call medical,” he said, eyes locking onto Layal’s. There was a measure of quiet intensity there that came from years of keeping his darker side under careful restraint. “Security,” he added, “if they show up… they’ll just find a couple of Nausicaans, drunk, injured, and angry. That’s all. No one needs to see our names on a report.”
“We should call security,” Layal insisted. “And medical. Why wouldn’t you want our names on a report. You’re injured,” a wave of worry washed over her face as she saw the blood on Ezra’s shirt. “Let me see. “
“It’s not deep,” Ezra pressed. “I just need to remove my uniform and then the blade. There’s a dermal regenerator and a medical tricorder in the top drawer of my desk in the opposite corner.” He had already begun to carefully unzip his tunic as he pointed a finger at the desk.
“Ezra, why wouldn’t you want the Infirmary to just take a look?” Layal asked. She looked at him sternly before following his instructions to the desk. “Why do you have your own dermal regenerator, anyway?” She asked as she opened the drawer to the desk finding not much else other than an old book and writing pen. She turned around, the regenerator in her hand to see Ezra now shirtless.
“Please,” he said, his eyes pleading, “just don’t call medical. The blade is angled and there isn’t that much blood.” He ignored the question about the regenerator, unsure if his response would satisfy the attorney.
A Joint Post by
Lieutenant Commander Corin Layal
Judge Advocate General, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
Lieutenant Ezra Van Wijnbergen
Victim Advocate Counselor, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
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