Chi Herculis sector
It was hard to not look up at the gleaming, diamond sky and look out into the infinite cosmos displayed in all its shimmering glory. It was often that John Clark lay with his two alien sons he had adopted from the orphanage of the galaxy. He'd often say that the stars themselves reflected the light within all people. It seemed awfully fitting (in a horrible way) that he denied himself that hope so he could focus on his goal: finding his parents.
Adrenaline surging through his veins, Beamer ran down the road to the house he grew up in. Having the residence in his field of vision, Beamer could notice that the screen door had been violently torn from its hinges and thrown off the porch. He slowly stole to the front of the house, peering through the shattered windows (possibly due to a phaser rifle bolt) and saw the furniture in a state of disarray and chaos. The officer's hand slowly grasped onto the phaser still in its holster, ready for what sort of threat lay just beyond the threshold. His pulse echoed in his ears and throbbed through his neck faster now, and he had to remind himself that he had the home field advantage in this most dire of circumstances.
He hit the door controls and swung into the house with phaser drawn. His heart beat faster as he quickly surveyed the area and determined it was clear. Just to make sure he opened his tricorder and scanned the immediate vicinity. No life forms in the immediate area. He breathed a sigh of relief, allowing himself to ease up a bit, but not too much. With glass crackling under his feet and tossed over lamps and music boxes obstructing him, Beamer head for his Father's office down the hallway immediately to the right of the entranceway.
At one point while Timothy had still been in High School (the exact year he couldn't recall) his father had told Beamer that should anything happen, Beamer was to take an isolinear rod out of the display case in his office and interface it with a tricorder. What the rod contained, and why it should be interfaced with a tricorder was ever revealed to him, but he suspected now that his father had an insurance policy should he be captured.
Somehow the office of his adoptive father hadn't seemed as cluttered as it was now. His desk, once flush with the door was pushed to the east wall. Papers that had once been filed haphazardly in folders creating a tower on the desk were now cluttering up the floor ripped and torn. The display case on the east wall, constructed of glass with a golden frame, had been shattered by the corner of the desk; its glass shards impaling the once spotless velvet carpet. It seemed apparent that the Borg had been looking for something in the house and had no qualms of tearing up the place. Not surprising considering they valued efficiency; furniture was irrelevant.
Beamer opened what remained of the glass door to the display case and felt along the wall directly behind it. He felt a small protrusion not dissimilar to the feel of a sensor emitter on a standard tricorder. A panel slid open revealing a relatively unscathed isolinear rod that had accumulated dust from its long years sitting inside the small compartment. Although the sensor emitter wasn't visible to the naked eye, Beamer wondered why the Borg hadn't noticed it.
A blur of motion obstructed Beamer's vision and his rifle was thrown across the carpeted floor hitting the desk with a thud. He felt the adrenaline surge through his veins as he was pushed and held up against the wall by a cybernetic arm. He yelled out in pain as the arm and wall squeezed his torso in sheer malice and cold, efficient brutality. The Drone's eyepiece shone it's laser onto the young man's blue spotted skin eerily, identifying the next subject for assimilation.
Beamer knew who would hear the multitude of the collective if he didn't act within seconds. He struggled against his Borg captor trying to reach the nearby display case for something he could use to overpower the drone, yet the compressing pain in his torso seemed to get worse and worse the more he struggled. He felt a cut on his finger and recoiled briefly before realizing it was the shattered glass that made up the display case. Aimlessly he slashed the drone across its face, arm, and finally its circuitry. The cut on the wire protruding from its head was not deep enough to completely subdue the cybernetic being, yet enough to cause the thing to release its captive. Beamer dropped to the floor with a thud, causing severe pain to shoot up from his ribs and across his chest. His rifle seemed too far away for the Lieutenant to reach successfully before he recovered enough strength and the drone stabilized. He scoured the room quickly for anything he could use, if just to distract the drone long enough to reach the compression rifle. He looked down at his tricorder and thought over the consequences should he fail to reach the rifle and use it as a distraction. His increasing pain decided urged him to make his decision and thus he threw the tricorder in the direction of the doorway. The Borg took the bait, starting to walk towards the tricorder as Beamer lunged towards the rifle. Things began to blur as he lunged across the floor reaching the rifle. He turned to the drone and the room filled with light with the sound of weapons fire.