John stood at the center of the control room, arms crossed as he studied the security monitors. The Collectors’ Guild had breached the outer corridors, moving with professional precision through the station’s abandoned halls. Their mismatched armor gave them a scrappy, mercenary look, but their formation and the way they swept the rooms told him one thing—these guys weren’t amateurs.


    "Okay, let’s get a headcount," John muttered, squinting at the grainy displays.


    Vrixibalt tapped a few keys, bringing up a heat signature overlay. "I count… twelve intruders. Well-equipped, well-armed, and—oh dear—they have a demolitions specialist."


    John winced. "Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem."


    Drix let out a low growl. "Let me kill them."


    John shot him a look. "Okay, psycho, let’s maybe not start with that."


    Drix’s mandibles clicked. "You saw what they did to the door—these people aren’t here to talk."


    John sighed. "Yeah, but if we start a fight too early, we’ll be playing defense the whole way. If we can delay them, maybe even trick them into thinking this place is a dead end, we can get them to leave without a full-blown shootout."


    Vrixibalt, ever the scientist, perked up. "Ooh! I could fabricate a false distress signal! Something about a biological containment breach, maybe?"


    John blinked. "You can do that?"


    Vrix nodded excitedly. "Oh, absolutely! I just need a few moments to reroute the station’s emergency protocols."


    Drix still looked unconvinced. "And if they ignore the warning?"


    John smirked. "Then we make it real."


    Drix tilted his head. "You mean…?"


    John clapped him on the back. "We let the station help us. If these guys think they’re walking into something dangerous, they’ll be less likely to push forward. And if that doesn’t work… we spring the traps."


    Drix’s mandibles twitched in what John was starting to recognize as his version of a grin. "Now that’s more like it."


    <hr>


    The Con Begins


    Vrixibalt’s fingers danced across the console, pulling up the station’s ancient security systems. "Alright, let’s see what we’re working with… Ah! Here we go—biohazard containment protocols!"


    John leaned in. "What kind of biohazard are we talking about?"


    Vrixibalt chuckled nervously. "Oh, you know… airborne nanite swarms, molecular disassembly viruses, sentient parasites—"


    John paled. "Jesus, pick one!"


    Vrix tapped his chin. "Let’s go with ‘nanite corruption’. Sounds menacing, doesn’t require actual corpses to sell the illusion, and we can fake it by cycling the lights and ventilation."


    John nodded. "Do it."


    Vrixibalt pressed a button, and suddenly, the station’s lighting flickered to an eerie red glow. A deep, mechanical voice echoed through the corridors:


    "WARNING: CONTAINMENT FAILURE DETECTED. BIOLOGICAL HAZARD LEVEL FIVE. ALL PERSONNEL MUST EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY."


    John couldn’t help but grin. "Oh, that’s good. That’s really good."


    The security monitors showed the Collectors’ Guild coming to an abrupt halt. Their leader, a broad-shouldered figure in reinforced armor, gestured sharply to his team.


    John tapped the screen. "See? They’re hesitating."


    Drix grunted. "For now."


    Vrixibalt quickly typed in another command. "Let’s add a little atmosphere…"


    The ventilation system hissed, expelling a thick, misty fog into the corridors. A distorted voice crackled over the station’s speakers:


    "…they’re inside me… rewriting… changing—"


    One of the mercenaries immediately turned back toward the airlock.


    John grinned. "I love psychological warfare."


    <hr>


    Unexpected Setback


    Just as things seemed to be going their way, an alert flashed across the control panel.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Remote access detected. External override in progress."


    John’s stomach sank. "Uh… Vrix?"


    Vrixibalt’s enthusiasm vanished. "Oh no. Oh no no no—someone’s trying to bypass the station’s lockdown!"


    Drix clenched his fists. "How?"


    Vrixibalt’s eyes darted across the data stream. "They’re using some kind of master override code. It’s overriding my false distress signal!"


    John groaned. "Because of course they’d come prepared for this."


    The monitors flickered again, showing the Collectors’ Guild pushing forward despite the warning.


    John slammed a fist against the console. "Damn it! We need a new plan."


    Drix unsheathed his claws. "We fight."


    John took a deep breath. "We might not have a choice."


    The armored guardian standing silently in the corner suddenly spoke.


    "Station control compromised. Defense measures available."


    John turned to it, realization dawning. "Wait… you can still fight?"


    "Affirmative. Awaiting direct command from Station Authority."


    John’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous grin. "Then let’s give these guys a real reason to turn around."


    The station trembled as John''s command was accepted. The ancient system, once dormant and overlooked, began to wake up.


    The armored guardian straightened, its eyes glowing with renewed energy. "Activating defense protocols. Releasing automated sentries."


    John cracked his knuckles. "Now we''re talking."


    On the monitors, mechanical panels slid open along the corridors. Sleek, insect-like drones crawled out of hidden compartments, their multi-jointed limbs extending as their glowing eyes scanned for intruders.


    The Collectors’ Guild was already on edge from the containment warning, and the sudden activation of station defenses didn’t do much to boost their morale.


    The leader, a broad-shouldered brute in reinforced combat armor, barked orders, "Stay sharp! They’re trying to scare us off!"


    John grinned. "Oh buddy, we’re way past scaring."


    <hr>


    The Ambush


    Drix watched the monitors intently, his mandibles twitching in anticipation. "The first wave of sentries is engaging."


    The screens flickered, showing three mercenaries rounding a corner—only to be met with a barrage of pulse rounds from the station’s drones.


    They scrambled for cover, returning fire as the metallic defenders swarmed forward with eerie precision.


    "Looks like they weren’t expecting this," Vrixibalt muttered, tapping a few keys to redirect more drones into the conflict.


    John leaned closer. "How many of these little guys do we have?"


    Vrixibalt hesitated. "Well… we have enough to make them rethink their choices, but if they push hard enough, they could disable the sentries. They were meant for intruder suppression, not full-on war."


    John frowned. "Alright, so we need to make this as painful for them as possible before they catch on."


    He turned to Drix. "Think you can sow some chaos in there?"


    Drix’s mandibles spread in a vicious grin. "I thought you’d never ask."


    <hr>


    The Fight Turns Ugly


    Drix moved fast, slinking through the dim corridors toward the enemy’s flank. Meanwhile, John and Vrixibalt monitored the battlefield from the control room, adjusting defenses as needed.


    The Collectors’ Guild had regrouped, working their way forward by systematically taking out the sentries. Their demolitions expert had already disabled two key defense nodes, and their leader was pushing toward the station’s core.


    John cursed. "They’re adapting too fast."


    Vrixibalt nodded grimly. "They must have a proper tactician leading them. This isn’t a smash-and-grab operation."


    John’s mind raced. If they lost control of the station’s core, the Guild would own this place—and probably space them all for the trouble.


    Suddenly, the lights flickered again.


    Vrixibalt’s console beeped, alerting him to a new development.


    "Wait… there’s an energy spike coming from—inside the station’s reactor."


    John blinked. "Oh, that can’t be good."


    Before he could react, the control panel lit up with an incoming transmission.


    A cold, metallic voice crackled through the speakers:


    "Unauthorized claim detected. Reverting control to original owner."


    John felt his stomach drop. "Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."


    <hr>


    The True Owner


    The station trembled again, this time with purpose.


    On the monitors, the Collectors’ Guild stopped moving, looking around in confusion as the station’s defenses ceased fire.


    Then, the deep, mechanical voice spoke again:


    "New station administrator detected. Identity mismatch. Overriding claim request."


    John gritted his teeth. "Who the hell is doing this?"


    Vrixibalt frantically scrolled through the station’s records. "I… I don’t know! But something buried deep in the station’s systems just woke up!"


    John’s eyes darted back to the screens. The Guild leader turned to his team and gestured toward the central hub.


    John scowled. "Yeah, I don’t think I wanna meet whoever owns this place."


    Drix’s voice crackled over the comms. "We have a problem."


    John exhaled sharply. "Buddy, get in line."


    "No, I mean a serious problem," Drix hissed. "Something just woke up in the reactor room… and it''s not happy."


    The station’s red emergency lights pulsed, and the voice repeated, slower this time:


    "Administrator override… in progress…"


    John clenched his fists. He had just gotten control of this place, and now someone else was trying to take it from him.


    "Alright," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "If someone wants this place back, they can damn well fight me for it."