John’s instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet refused to move. He watched as the frozen figure stirred inside the shattered containment chamber, mist rolling off its armored form. The emergency lights flickered wildly, as if the station itself was reacting to the presence of this unknown being.


    "Uh, Vrix," John muttered, gripping his makeshift weapon, "this thing isn’t about to say take me to your leader, is it?"


    Vrixibalt, to John’s horror, was grinning. "Do you have any idea what this means? The technological advancements alone—"


    "Less science, more survival!" Drix snapped, his claws flexing as he positioned himself between the figure and the rest of the group.


    The containment suit cracked in places as the figure took a single, unsteady step forward.


    Then, a mechanical voice, rough and distorted from age, crackled from the suit’s speakers.


    "System… restart… incomplete. Authorization code required."


    John let out a relieved breath. "Oh, good! It’s broken. That means it can’t murder us, right?"


    As if in direct response, the figure lunged forward, moving much faster than something that had been frozen for centuries had any right to.


    John barely managed to stumble back as Drix tackled the entity, the two crashing against the control panels in a mess of flailing limbs and claws. Sparks showered from the damaged machinery, and suddenly, the station’s automated voice blared a new alert:


    "Unauthorized system override detected. Hostile response protocol engaged."


    The doors slammed shut behind them.


    John groaned. "I really hate when my luck works like this."


    <hr>


    The Struggle for Control


    The armored figure twisted free from Drix’s grasp, moving with eerie precision despite its previously sluggish state. A bright pulse of energy surged from its suit, sending Drix skidding back.


    John barely had time to register the attack before Vrixibalt threw himself at the nearest console, frantically typing.


    "If I can access the station’s deeper records," Vrixibalt said, his voice filled with barely restrained excitement, "I might be able to identify what this thing is!"


    John dodged as the entity swung at him, barely missing by inches. "How about you focus on stopping it before I end up as space paste?!"


    The moment the words left his mouth, the entity froze mid-motion.


    "Processing… recognition of local dialect detected. Adjusting linguistic parameters."


    John hesitated. "Wait… what?"


    The suit crackled again before the voice became clearer.


    "Who… are you?"


    That stopped everyone in their tracks. Even Drix, who had been preparing for another charge, hesitated.


    John exchanged a glance with the others. "Uh… I’m John. And you are…?"


    There was a pause before the suit spoke again.


    "Designation unknown. Memory corruption at 72%. Last recorded command: Hold position. Await further instructions."


    Vrixibalt’s eyes lit up. "Fascinating! It’s following an old command structure! If we can figure out how to override its directives, we might be able to—"


    "Warning: Primary directives compromised. Reestablishing system integrity. Station authority required."


    The station’s automated voice chimed in response:


    "Recognized station authority: John. Pending settlement of claim tax."


    John’s stomach dropped. "Oh, hell no."


    Vrixibalt’s tail twitched excitedly. "John! That means you can override its programming!"


    John exhaled, rubbing his temples. "You mean I have to pay off my debt just to get this thing to listen to me?"


    The suit’s visor pulsed with faint red light.


    "Awaiting authorization. Payment required for full access."


    Drix sighed. "Why does everything in this universe revolve around money?"


    John groaned. "Welcome to my life, buddy."


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    John stood frozen, staring at the armored entity as the station’s automated system continued to demand payment.


    "Pending settlement of claim tax: 1,275,000 credits."


    John blinked. "I''m sorry—what?"


    Vrixibalt clapped his hands together, vibrating with barely restrained enthusiasm. "Oh! That’s actually quite reasonable for a station of this size!"


    John turned to him, deadpan. "I will throw you out an airlock, Vrix."


    Drix exhaled through his mandibles, clearly trying to keep his composure. "John, focus. The station thinks you’re in charge now. That means you have leverage."


    John took a deep breath, then turned to the armored entity, now standing unnervingly still. "Alright, can I, uh… set up a payment plan?"


    The station’s voice responded immediately.


    "Payment plans require collateral verification."


    "Right," John muttered. "Of course they do."


    Vrixibalt eagerly typed away at the control panel. "If I can access the station’s database, I might be able to adjust your debt classification to something manageable!"


    John eyed him warily. "You mean commit fraud?"


    Vrixibalt grinned. "Only a little fraud!"


    John sighed. "Fine. But hurry up, because I don’t trust this thing not to—"


    "Reestablishing system integrity," the armored figure suddenly announced. "Temporary station control recognized. Awaiting new directives."


    John hesitated. "Uh… don’t kill us?"


    The suit whirred, then responded: "Understood. Non-lethal parameters engaged."


    John looked at the others. "Okay, I’ll admit, I was expecting more of a fight here."


    Drix didn’t lower his guard. "It’s probably playing along for now. Until it gets what it really wants."


    John frowned. "And what’s that?"


    Vrixibalt didn’t look up from the console. "Unknown! But I have a theory—"


    A new alert blared across the station.


    "WARNING: External breach detected. Unauthorized entities boarding station."


    John groaned. "I really hate when my luck works like this."


    <hr>


    Uninvited Guests


    The lights flickered as the station shuddered under some unknown force.


    Drix tensed, his claws flexing. "I don’t like this."


    "Neither do I," John muttered. "Vrix, tell me you’ve got something."


    Vrixibalt typed frantically, his tail twitching. "Well, the good news is that the station’s defensive systems are still operational!"


    John squinted. "And the bad news?"


    Vrixibalt winced. "They require manual activation from someone with verified station authority."


    John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let me guess—"


    "Pending settlement of claim tax."


    John growled. "OF COURSE."


    Drix glanced at the armored figure, which remained eerily still. "Can it fight?"


    John turned back to it. "Hey, suit guy, can you defend the station?"


    There was a pause before it responded: "Security protocol locked. Payment required to unlock defensive capabilities."


    John screamed internally.


    Vrixibalt perked up. "Oh! But I can authorize emergency power reallocation!"


    "Meaning?" John asked warily.


    "Meaning," Vrix said smugly, "I can funnel just enough energy to get the station’s automatic defenses online—without paying the full claim tax!"


    John gave him an impressed nod. "Vrix, I take back 10% of the mean things I’ve thought about you."


    "Only 10%?" Vrix pouted.


    Drix rolled his eyes. "Less talking, more defending."


    <hr>


    The Breach


    The station''s security feeds flickered to life, showing the incoming threat.


    A group of figures—heavily armed, armored, and distinctly not friendly—moved through the station corridors. Their armor was mismatched, scavenged from different sources, and their weapons were far too advanced for simple raiders.


    John squinted. "Who the hell are these guys?"


    Vrixibalt studied the footage. "Judging by their insignia, they’re likely… oh. Oh dear."


    John sighed. "I hate when you say that."


    Drix''s mandibles clicked in agitation. "Who are they?"


    Vrixibalt adjusted his glasses. "They appear to be part of the Collectors’ Guild."


    John blinked. "The who now?"


    "The Collectors'' Guild," Vrix explained, "is a group of highly organized scavengers that specialize in recovering ancient technology, artifacts, and not caring about who was already there first."


    John groaned. "So they’re space repo men?"


    "More like space thieves with lawyers," Vrix corrected.


    Drix flexed his claws. "Then we should kill them before they become a problem."


    John raised a hand. "Let’s hold off on the murder plan for a sec. We might be able to negotiate."


    Drix gave him a flat look. "With people who think they own everything they find?"


    John exhaled. "Point taken. But I’d still rather not make more enemies until we know what they want."


    The station’s automated voice suddenly blared another alert.


    "Warning: Unauthorized personnel attempting access to primary control center."


    John turned to Vrix. "How much power do you have left?"


    Vrix grinned. "Enough to lock the doors behind them once they get inside."


    John smirked. "Now that’s what I like to hear."


    Drix cracked his knuckles. "Finally. A trap."


    The armored figure, silent until now, finally spoke.


    "New hostile entities detected. Awaiting orders from Station Authority."


    John grinned. "Alright, suit guy—let’s show them what happens when you mess with my station."