ã€ŠThe Edge of Humanityã€‹


 Prologue

    Orbital Station "Leviathan", Titan Orbit, Year 2311

    The vast office was sterile, cold, nearly lifeless. The silence was broken only by flickering holograms and the pale light of a distant star beyond the window. It looked weak, as if the universe itself had decided to strip this world of warmth. Frosted patterns clung to the glass ¡ª fragile, yet eternal, like the very structure of power.

    Leonard Graves stood at the window, unmoving, as if carved from obsidian. His posture was precise, composed. The tailored suit hugged his tall frame perfectly ¡ª minimalist, elegant, with a whisper of military sharpness. Cybernetic implants at his temples and neck pulsed faintly, each flicker a trace of data streams flowing through his mind, far ahead of what any ordinary human could conceive.

    Holographic maps floated midair ¡ª complex trajectories, ship routes, resource networks. Graves swiped through them with his fingers, shifting perspectives. He saw the whole picture. He saw the future.

    Footsteps echoed behind him. Slow, measured. Someone who knew better than to rush.

    "Graves." The voice was low, restrained, tinged with fatigue.

    Adrian Brown entered the room, his eyes briefly scanning the displays before settling on the figure before him. Unlike Graves, Adrian looked very much alive, if tired. His gray hair was slightly unkempt, his face lined not just with age but with doubt. In his hands ¡ª a pair of gloves, which he removed slowly and tossed onto the edge of the desk.

    "Haven¡¯t seen you in this sector for a while," he said evenly, though it was clear this conversation wouldn¡¯t bring him joy. "You don¡¯t waste time on visits unless you¡¯ve got a damn good reason."

    Graves didn¡¯t reply immediately. He turned only for a fraction of a second, then looked back at the glowing maps.

    "Arthur would¡¯ve liked this project," he said, almost pensively. "He always believed the boundaries of humanity had to be pushed."

    Adrian¡¯s jaw tensed. Arthur. Their third companion. Now just a shadow in their conversations.

    "Arthur was cautious," he said. "He understood the price of risk."

    "And he understood the price of inaction," Graves replied smoothly.

    Silence fell. Two gazes met ¡ª cold calculation versus firm skepticism.

    "Erebus is a chance, Adrian. A world, resources, a new balance of power. While you hesitate, the corporations are preparing their move. They won¡¯t wait. They won¡¯t tread carefully. I¡¯m offering you a seat where the real decisions are made. You belong on the first manned mission through."

    Brown smirked.

    "You want me to be your flag? The face of the expedition? Or just a guarantee it all unfolds your way?"

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    "I want you to see. With your own eyes. No politics, no pressure. Just the truth. Do you really understand what awaits us on the other side? You don¡¯t. And I want you to. You need to be there."

    Adrian said nothing. He wasn¡¯t stupid. He knew Graves wasn¡¯t just inviting him ¡ª he was cornering him. Say yes, and he¡¯d play by Leonard¡¯s rules. Say no, and he¡¯d be out of the game entirely.

    Graves stepped forward ¡ª slowly. The pressure in the room became almost physical.

    "You know I¡¯m right. You know where you belong. Not in reports. Not in observation towers. Out there ¡ª in the new system. At the edge of the map."

    Adrian inhaled deeply. He stared at the holograms, the stardust, the ship trajectories. He saw the future ¡ª but the real question was, did he want to be part of it?

    "I need time," he said quietly.

    "You don¡¯t have it," Graves replied.

    Silence again. Only a few seconds passed, yet it felt like an eternity. Leonard¡¯s fingers brushed the air, cycling data on the display.

    "You¡¯ve always been a genius, Brown. And always too cautious. That¡¯s why you need my hand."

    Adrian stepped closer, eyes narrowing on Graves¡¯ face, searching for something behind the mask of calm.

    "I know what you¡¯re planning. I can guess how this could spiral. Do you really think you can control what¡¯s on the other side?"

    Graves gave a faint smile.

    "Control is an illusion. But stepping in first means setting the rules. That¡¯s the only law that ever works."

    He traced a glowing red contour on the holographic map ¡ª the coordinates of the anomaly.

    "You want access to the resources beyond Erebus. And the knowledge buried with them. You¡¯re a scientist, Adrian. Erebus isn¡¯t just a goldmine. It¡¯s the greatest scientific enigma of our time. I need them to see you as the authority out there. Together, we take everything."

    "And if we don¡¯t find resources? If we find something that doesn¡¯t fit your neat little plan? Something we¡¯ve never seen before? It¡¯s a different galaxy, Leonard. It could be anything!" Adrian clenched his fists.

    "Something that doesn¡¯t fit the plan?" Graves tilted his head, implants glinting with icy light. "Adrian, for the last hundred and fifty years, humanity has been chasing the unknown ¡ª and finding nothing but dead rocks, oceans of liquid gas, and ancient dust. If there¡¯s anythingelse out there, it¡¯ll be the first real miracle in an era. But I don¡¯t believe in miracles. The universe is a vault of infinite resources ¡ª too old and too vast to leave room for anything but ourselves."

    Adrian looked away. He knew Leonard too well to buy into his words. And he¡¯d walked beside him too long to walk away now.

    For a moment, Graves paused ¡ª as if a memory had brushed across his mind.

    "If Arthur were here¡­" His voice softened, oddly warm ¡ª a warmth that felt alien in the icy atmosphere of the office. "He always said the greatest breakthroughs are born not in quiet labs ¡ª but where the edge of the possible meets chaos."

    Brown let out a mirthless chuckle.

    "Breakthroughs? Shall I list how each one ended? Fusion gave us the power of stars ¡ª and the first orbital war over reactor control. Genetic engineering gave us bodies adapted to the void ¡ª and triggered dozens of pandemics when nature refused to obey. Artificial intelligence gave us autonomous mining fleets ¡ª and killed thousands when a glitch turned them into executioners."

    Graves stepped to the window, staring into deep space.

    "Every time we paid the price," he said evenly. "And every time, the price was worth it. Because it pushed us further. We never stop, Adrian. Not for anything. Because failure drives progress. That¡¯s how evolution works ¡ª from single-celled organisms to complex empires. We learn. We pay. We adapt. And we keep moving."

    Adrian watched his old friend. In that silence, lay everything they¡¯d lived ¡ª doubts, arguments, compromises, fear, and pride.

    "You¡¯ve already pulled me in," Brown said as he slipped his gloves back on, preparing to leave.

    "Because you understand, Adrian. What¡¯s beyond Erebus isn¡¯t just minerals. It¡¯s a new order. And if we don¡¯t build it ¡ª someone else will." Graves took a step closer, his voice now a whisper. "I¡¯m not afraid to look into the void. Because the void is a blank page."

 A Look into the Past

    Scientific Base of the Institute for the Development of Alternative Systems, Lagrange-Echo Station, Lagrange Point between Neptune¡¯s Orbit and the Kuiper Belt

    The journey from Titan had been long but not arduous. Graves had ensured his arrival went off without a hitch. A private shuttle with an autonomous capsule, a direct route through Saturn¡¯s satellite belt, then a transfer to a swift interorbital transport¡ªeverything was precise, organized, as Graves always managed it. Not a single human on board, just the ship¡¯s artificial intelligence and preprogrammed coordinates. Not the slightest hint of choice. Braun wasn¡¯t surprised.

    Now he was here. In his office at the Lagrange-Echo station, in the spacious apartment assigned to him as one of the project¡¯s leading specialists. The interior was understated, functional¡ªno frills, just the essentials: a work console, a desk, a panoramic window framing the expanse of space lit by the faint glow of a distant Sun. The bluish flicker of holographic panels cast pale shadows on the walls, reflecting off the glass surface of the desk. The air carried the scent of processed oxygen laced with faint traces of old tea he hadn¡¯t finished.

    Adrian sat in his chair, staring thoughtfully into the depths of the data projected before him. His fingers moved mechanically, scrolling through rows of equations and graphs, but his mind was far from here. The conversation with Graves¡ªonce a close friend, now a stranger¡ªstill echoed in his thoughts. ¡°You understand, Adrian. Beyond Erebus, it¡¯s not just resources. It¡¯s a new order.¡± Graves always had a way with words, placing emphasis just so, enough to make even the sharpest minds question their convictions. But Braun knew him too well.

    He leaned back, letting memory pull him into the past.

    In the early 22nd century, humanity still clung to its stellar cradle. Earth choked on overpopulation, resources dwindled, and old nations lost their sway. The colonization of Mars, begun in the previous century, faced not only political intrigue and corporate wars but the harsh reality of survival where air, water, and food were no longer givens. People depended on technological systems prone to failure, and attempts to build a stable society on the new planet were riddled with crises and disasters. It seemed expansion into space had stalled, that the limits of the possible were set in stone. Finite resources, technical hurdles, and the need to create entire ecosystems from scratch offered little incentive for mass migration. People weren¡¯t eager to leave Earth, where air and water came free, and food didn¡¯t need to grow in sealed biostations.

    And yet, in 2122, everything changed.

    On the edge of the Solar System, beyond Neptune¡¯s orbit, the automated Horizon-3 observatory, operated by the United Planets Nations, detected an anomaly. Radio telescopes picked up a distortion in space¡ªa faint, unstable signal that could¡¯ve been dismissed as a glitch. But within months, other stations confirmed it.

    In 2123, a few months after the first recorded anomalies, the research vessel Asterius set out for the region of spatial instability, equipped with cutting-edge sensors and autonomous probes for data collection. Its instruments recorded gravitational disturbances and erratic magnetic fields. One probe, sent into the anomaly¡¯s core, vanished without a trace. A second transmitted a sudden burst of data: temporal shifts, discrepancies in fundamental constants known to science, disruptions in familiar physical laws¡ªthen the signal cut out. Forty-eight days later, it unexpectedly reestablished contact, relaying coordinates that matched no known point in the Solar System.

    It had crossed a distance that, by conventional means, would¡¯ve taken millennia, in mere weeks. It had reached another star system, shattering notions of what was possible.

    Until that moment, humanity had been a prisoner of its star. Despite colonizing the Moon, Mars, and Jupiter¡¯s moons, the prospect of venturing beyond the Solar System seemed unattainable in the foreseeable future. Vast distances, resource constraints, and technological barriers made interstellar travel a dream for a distant tomorrow. But this wormhole turned everything upside down. It wasn¡¯t just a scientific breakthrough¡ªit was a revolution.

    They called it Erebus. Like the ancient mythic god embodying darkness and the passage between worlds, this space became the boundary between what humanity knew and the unfathomable.

    At first, the UPN denied the wormhole¡¯s existence, attributing it to equipment errors and unstable instruments. Corporations stayed silent, quietly analyzing the incoming data and funneling resources into studying it. Meanwhile, academic circles split: some hailed it as an unprecedented discovery, others demanded repeat measurements, doubting the results¡¯ validity. Initial leaks sparked rumors¡ªheadlines buzzed with theories, from rigorous astrophysical hypotheses to conspiracies about elite secret projects and alien interference.

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    When the second probe returned, it was undeniable. Analysis revealed a system beyond Erebus with eight planets¡ªrocky worlds, gas giants, asteroid belts. But the real prize? One planet had a dense atmosphere and conditions potentially suitable for life.

    The UPN claimed the wormhole. Officially, for safety and control. But everyone knew: whoever held Erebus held the future. Corporations weren¡¯t far behind. Cybergen, Galactic Mining, and Bioinnovations demanded access, sensing untold riches beyond the wormhole. Armotech moved in the shadows, citing the need to protect against unknown threats. Their true motives were obvious¡ªthey couldn¡¯t afford to be left out.

    For Adrian, it was predictable. It always played out the same way. Great discoveries never belonged to those who made them. They quickly became bargaining chips in someone else¡¯s game¡ªpoliticians, corporations, the military. Erebus wasn¡¯t the first breakthrough greeted not with awe, but with greed. Once it became clear that beyond the wormhole lay not emptiness but an entire system, it turned into a battle for control. Humanity¡¯s response was always the same: faced with a new frontier, it sought to conquer it. Research and discovery demanded funding, and funding demanded power and influence. Science and politics were inseparable¡ªone fueled the other. While some tried to understand the unknown, others raced to claim it.

    And if he was honest with himself, it pissed him off. Science was never an end in itself for the powerful, and Erebus was no exception. But then again, without them, this discovery wouldn¡¯t exist. That was the paradoxical truth of his time: science might be born in labs, but it only came to life through those with power and resources. Now, he had to decide¡ªwould he stand aside, letting others dictate the fate of the century¡¯s greatest find, or step into the unknown himself?

    Graves, no doubt, had already made his choice. To him, the wormhole wasn¡¯t a mystery to unravel but an opportunity¡ªa chance to seize yet another uncharted domain. Adrian knew Graves didn¡¯t just crave power¡ªhe was power. He saw the world as a chessboard, every resource, every person a piece in his strategic game. For him, no boundaries existed except those yet to be crossed.

    History was full of people who pushed humanity forward not out of love for knowledge, but a thirst for control. They might be predators, but their ambition broke through stagnation and paved the way for discovery. The question was: what would it cost?

    A race unfolded in Pluto¡¯s orbit. No one could predict who¡¯d be the first to exploit this gateway to the unknown. But one thing was clear¡ªthis race wouldn¡¯t end without consequences. A new era of expansion had begun, and humanity could no longer hide behind the borders of its home star.

    Adrian understood he was watching it all from the sidelines, like a scientist noting the inevitable patterns of history. He saw the same formula repeat: discovery, a scramble for control, a reshuffling of power. He could analyze it coolly, but something inside tightened. The wormhole, the fight for it, the fates of people hanging on decisions from above¡ªit reminded him of another time, another place.

    The old scientist didn¡¯t often dwell on his youth. Dusty tunnels of an underground city. Artificial light, dim and lifeless, cold metal floors beneath his feet. He remembered staring up at the dome of Mars¡¯ upper city as a kid, where the air was cleaner, where people wore loose clothes unafraid of oxygen shortages. Up there lived those who controlled the tech, who doled out resources. Down below, where he¡¯d grown up, were the ones who mined, maintained the systems, kept the recycling stations running. His father would come home drained but always found time to explain something to his son¡ªabout reactor currents, recycling cycles, the mistakes you couldn¡¯t afford to make. ¡°As long as you understand how the system works, you¡¯re alive. The moment you stop understanding, you¡¯re dead.¡±

    That was the first rule. Understand. Always understand.

    He remembered Arthur Holland¡ªa young engineer who¡¯d left Earth to be closer to the stars. Arthur always said true discoveries weren¡¯t made in cozy offices but out where humanity pushed past its limits. He didn¡¯t chase power or influence¡ªthe sheer idea of breaking boundaries drew him in. Unlike Graves, who saw space and resources as tools of control, Arthur saw raw potential. He believed science shouldn¡¯t be a weapon or a currency, but a key to understanding the universe. Their student years together, endless nights in the lab¡ªArthur was the one who believed in people, in science¡¯s possibilities, in progress for all, not just the elite. Back then, Braun didn¡¯t know whose side he¡¯d take. But now, years later, he got it: Arthur fought so kids like him, from the underground cities, wouldn¡¯t be split into ¡°lower¡± and ¡°upper.¡± He wanted science to belong to everyone.

    And now he was gone. And there was Graves.

    He exhaled, clasping his hands together. The question wasn¡¯t whether he¡¯d agree. He already knew the answer. The question was what it would cost.

    The wormhole. Erebus. An uncharted system. Graves spoke of order. But history had no ¡°new order¡± that didn¡¯t start with blood. That didn¡¯t demand sacrifice.

    The blue glow of the holograms pulsed softly. On the screen¡ªa new simulation. Physical models of resonant transitions, calculations of matter instability at the wormhole¡¯s edge. He stared at it but didn¡¯t see the data. He saw a cold abyss no one had yet crossed.

    But Graves was right about one thing. The answers were out there.

    And he had to see them.

 Artificial Care

    Orbital Station "Leviathan," Titan¡¯s Orbit

    The office door slid aside, and a woman stepped in¡ªa living embodiment of honed style and icy efficiency. Every step was measured to the millimeter, her heels clicking out a rhythm with mechanical precision, as if embedded sensors synchronized her movements with time itself. Her appearance was flawless, as though crafted from a pre-approved checklist: high cheekbones, sculpted features, not a single wasted motion. Long dark hair was swept into a sleek ponytail, accentuating the line of her neck. Her makeup was perfect¡ªdelicate highlights emphasizing eyes the color of liquid graphite.

    Her suit was almost provocative in its stern allure: a tailored jacket with a slightly raised waistline that hugged her figure, paired with a narrow skirt that revealed just enough leg to catch the eye without crossing boundaries. Thin, nearly invisible sensors on her cuffs and a discreet earpiece hinted that beneath this seductive exterior lay far more than mere looks.

    Graves chose only the best. Every companion, advisor, or assistant wasn¡¯t just a professional¡ªthey were the gold standard in their field. This woman knew answers before questions were asked. Her memory was impeccable¡ªa biological foundation enhanced by implants that recorded data faster than an ordinary human could form a thought. She operated flawlessly, always half a step ahead of every possible scenario.

    And, naturally, her biography was as spotless as her appearance. At least, that¡¯s what everyone who crossed her path assumed. The truth, known only to Graves himself, ran deeper. Companion, advisor, last-line defender¡ªchosen for one man, to serve him without question or fear.

    ¡°Mr. Graves, we¡¯ve hit a snag with IRIS. They¡¯ve refused to sign the new protocol for sharing mission progress data through Erebus.¡±

    Graves turned his head slowly, his gaze as cold and calculating as ever. He didn¡¯t like recurring problems. And IRIS was becoming exactly that.

    ¡°Who, specifically?¡± His voice was quiet, but every note rang taut, like a plucked string.

    ¡°Deputy Director of the Technical Department, one Kazuo Takahashi. It seems he believes IRIS retains enough autonomy to withhold full disclosure from investors. They¡¯re citing scientific ethics and research independence.¡±

    Graves rose slowly, crossing to the massive panoramic viewport where the dead light of a distant star glinted. His fingers brushed the glass.

    ¡°They still think science exists apart from business and politics?¡± A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. ¡°Lagrange-Echo¡¯s still their main base?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. Stable orbit between Neptune and the Kuiper Belt. Mr. Takahashi arrived there just two months ago¡ªhe¡¯s newly appointed. Clearly, he doesn¡¯t fully grasp who he¡¯s dealing with.¡±

    Graves turned. His eyes gleamed with icy resolve.

    ¡°Prepare a full dossier on him. Everything¡ªstatements, publications, internal correspondence you can dig up. Use our sources on the platform if necessary.¡±

    She nodded.

    ¡°Already in progress. One more thing, sir. Yesterday¡¯s spectral analysis report on materials from the anomaly¡¯s far side¡ªIRIS sent it redacted again, withholding mineralogy data. They claim it¡¯s due to ongoing primary sample verification.¡±

    ¡°Likely a lie.¡± Graves didn¡¯t raise his voice, but it dropped half a tone, almost a whisper. ¡°They¡¯ve found something bigger. Maybe traces of geochemical processes that shouldn¡¯t exist. They¡¯re afraid we¡¯ll take over the mission if we find out.¡±

    She confirmed with a silent nod.

    ¡°Good.¡± Leonard Graves turned back to the starry void beyond the glass. ¡°Set up a closed conference with IRIS¡¯s director and board. Separately, arrange a private channel with this Takahashi. I want to speak to him personally.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be done, Mr. Graves.¡±

    She stood, awaiting further orders, her gaze¡ªattentive, intrigued, almost probing¡ªsliding over Graves¡¯s face as if scanning his state and anticipating his next words.

    ¡°See to it that a backup team of specialists is prepped¡ªready to replace IRIS leadership in case of¡­ unforeseen circumstances. Their time playing reclusive scientists is over.¡±

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    She took a short step forward, tilting her head slightly¡ªa gesture that, in her execution, was the equivalent of a formal report.

    ¡°As for Doctor Braun, sir¡ªall approvals are complete. Per your instructions, his candidacy is officially locked in as scientific lead for the Erebus expedition. The process was framed as a natural Council decision.¡± Her voice was soft yet precise, like a scalpel.

    Leonard didn¡¯t turn, but a faint shadow of a satisfied smile crossed his face.

    ¡°Go on.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve also secured him full freedom to assemble his science team. Naturally, the candidate list will be ¡®suggested¡¯ in advance, aligned with our interests.¡± Her tone was even, laced with a hint of pride in the operation. ¡°Braun believes it¡¯s his personal initiative, that the Council¡¯s just indulging him to avoid friction.¡±

    Leonard nodded, as if hearing what he already knew.

    ¡°He¡¯s always believed in the illusion of academic freedom,¡± he remarked. ¡°It makes him predictable.¡±

    She tilted her head slightly in agreement.

    ¡°We¡¯ve intercepted several queries from his assistants. He¡¯s already reviewing personnel files for potential candidates. So far, he¡¯s flagged a few ex-IRIS staff and a couple of young specialists from Mars.¡±

    ¡°Excellent. Let him play with that toy¡ªlet him feel in control. It¡¯ll only deepen his sense of importance. Just ensure he picks our people without realizing it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s already arranged,¡± she said, her voice devoid of emotion¡ªjust fact. ¡°Additional candidate filtering through our analytics channels has begun. Anyone unsuitable will be quietly removed from the pool.¡±

    Graves paced along the window, arms crossed behind his back.

    ¡°Remind me¡ªwho¡¯s overseeing this on the ground?¡±

    ¡°An ops team led by Alex Fong. They¡¯ve embedded an agent in IRIS¡¯s HR division and are controlling the resume flow. If needed, we can slip Braun a couple of ¡®brilliant finds¡¯ who just happen to be ours.¡±

    Leonard¡¯s smile widened slightly.

    ¡°Soft hands, hidden needles,¡± he said quietly. ¡°That¡¯s how real wars are won.¡±

    He stopped, turned to her, and met her eyes directly.

    ¡°And if our old friend starts doubting again?¡±

    ¡°Then we have records to remind him how much funding his lab¡¯s received over the past five years¡ªand who provided it.¡± Her smile was an almost perfect mirror of his own.

    She stood still again, exactly where she¡¯d started. Her gaze held absolute focus¡ªand a faint glimmer of curiosity about her master¡¯s next move. Leonard took slow steps toward the desk, trailing his fingers along its cold metal surface. He didn¡¯t rush to speak, as if arranging his thoughts into a perfect chain of words.

    ¡°One more thing,¡± his voice softer than usual, ¡°there¡¯s a candidate I want on the expedition. And I think Braun won¡¯t just agree¡ªhe¡¯ll champion it himself.¡±

    She raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting.

    ¡°Victoria Holland,¡± he said, and the name hung in the air like a long-forgotten ghost summoned back.

    She instantly pulled up the dossier on her internal display.

    ¡°Victoria Holland. Age: 32. Lead engineer at the Advanced Energy Systems Lab on Lagrange-Echo. Specialist in adaptive energy circuits and deep-autonomy systems. Works under Adrian Braun.¡± Her fingers barely brushed an invisible keyboard, but the data aligned seamlessly. ¡°Recommended for the expedition¡¯s engineering team. Top ratings across the board, contributed to the Prometheus station reactor calibration. Spotless resume.¡±

    Leonard nodded.

    ¡°She¡¯s more than a talented engineer. She¡¯s Arthur Holland¡¯s daughter. And Braun¡¯s known her since she was a kid.¡±

    ¡°Personal attachment,¡± she noted. ¡°That could cut both ways.¡±

    ¡°In our favor,¡± Graves said firmly. ¡°To him, Victoria¡¯s a tie to the past¡ªa time when things still felt simple and honest. He watched her grow, learn, follow in her father¡¯s footsteps. With her nearby, he¡¯ll find it harder to back out. She¡¯ll anchor him¡ªkeep him in the game, even when the real trouble starts.¡±

    She made a mental note, though she¡¯d clearly already memorized it all.

    ¡°Prepare an invitation for her?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Graves turned back to the window, ¡°but keep it subtle. An official recommendation from IRIS¡¯s HR Council. Position: chief expedition engineer. It¡¯s logical, natural. Above all, it shouldn¡¯t look like my direct push.¡±

    ¡°Understood. She¡¯ll be approved on the second round,¡± she nodded slightly. ¡°Braun will sign off on her appointment himself.¡±

    Leonard¡¯s lips curved into a faint smile.

    ¡°Perfect.¡±

    He gazed at the stars beyond the glass. In the reflection, he saw her¡ªher poised stance, her flawless profile.

    ¡°When Victoria¡¯s on board, keep her under soft surveillance. No pressure, no heavy hands. I want her to feel free, but at the right moment, I need to know her every step, her every thought.¡±

    ¡°Of course, sir,¡± her voice almost a caress. ¡°One more thing, Mr. Graves.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±

    ¡°Unofficial channels are buzzing¡ªrumors that Victoria¡¯s not keen on joining the expedition. Seems she has personal reasons to stay in-system.¡±

    Graves held his breath for a second.

    ¡°Personal reasons¡­¡± He nearly chuckled. ¡°Then we¡¯ll make staying impossible.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re already on it, sir.¡±

    He said nothing, just lowered his eyelids slightly. In his mind, the chain of moves had long been set¡ªlaid out before the first ship even charted a course for Erebus.

    Victoria Holland would cross the wormhole¡ªeven if she didn¡¯t know it yet.

 Generator Launch

    Scientific Base of the Institute for the Development of Alternative Systems, Orbital Station "Lagrange-Echo"

    Preparations for the "generator" launch were in full swing, and in this laboratory, where light fell in soft streaks across metal surfaces and glass panels, true chaos reigned. The eighth experimental prototype of the small-scale arc reactor¡ªa device that could change everything¡ªstood at the center of the space, surrounded by sparking wires and tubes of varying sizes, shapes, and purposes, lending the place an otherworldly, almost surreal vibe. Amid the glass walls, lab workers¡ªfigures buzzing about in multicolored jumpsuits¡ªmoved like particles in a vacuum. They weren¡¯t rushed, but persistent, as if each understood that every step mattered. Their actions, like all the work here, were part of one vast, intricate mechanism, where every contribution, no matter how small, fueled the whole. The "generator" wasn¡¯t just a device¡ªit was the embodiment of their labor, their thoughts, their drive to reshape the world. Wires, glowing with warm golden light, wove together in a complex pattern, like shimmering threads of a web. The faint, inhuman whistle of air passing through the cooling systems hummed like a quiet whisper in the night. It wasn¡¯t just noise¡ªit was the breath of technology ascending to a new plane.

    On the far side of the lab, Victoria Holland watched as always, her gaze sharp and focused. Her face was like an unfinished sculpture¡ªhigh cheekbones and a defined chin blending youthful freshness with feminine grace. Sharp brows and long black lashes framed deep eyes that reflected the complexity of her mind. A neat nose with a gentle curve lent her features a childlike openness, while her soft pink, well-defined lips added warmth and femininity. The generator¡¯s light wrapped her face in a tender glow, giving her bronze skin a warm, almost living sheen, as if the energy she created was part of her. The cold light from the monitors, by contrast, cast stark shadows across her features, highlighting both fragility and strength in her presence. This duality made her seem more than just an engineer¡ªan elusive figure where technology and nature fused into one. Her hand hovered over the consoles, fingers gliding effortlessly across the interface. She stood on the edge of something greater than a mere launch. In her eyes burned a fire¡ªnot just desire, but certainty that this moment was irreversible.

    She heard the careless footsteps of the lab techs echoing off the metal surfaces, their chatter swallowed by the hum of instruments blending into a single, intricate symphony. The creative disorder stemmed from one shared goal: to seize control of what once seemed impossible, and now, perhaps, teetered on the brink of reality. Every click, every clank of a component snapping into place, felt like a step into a new dimension. In every corner of this interplay of light and shadow lay everything¡ªenergy, relentless and waiting for its moment. Victoria knew they stood at the threshold of something entirely new, something that could alter not just the fate of their station, but of all humanity.

    The lab pulsed with a tense rhythm¡ªflashing monitors, flickering indicators, the staccato tap of fingers on keyboards. The air felt like a charged capacitor, ready to spark at the slightest provocation. The scent of metal and ozone mingled with the muted drone of life-support systems, while the generator¡¯s light played warm reflections across faces.

    ¡°Temperature gradient¡¯s holding, but it¡¯s on the edge,¡± Aisha Kabir tossed out, scrolling through the latest readings. ¡°If this climb keeps up, we¡¯re looking at overheating.¡±

    ¡°Dump it through the auxiliary circuits?¡± Victoria Holland¡¯s eyes flicked to the screen, fingers already poised over the control interface.

    ¡°Won¡¯t make it in time,¡± Karim Al-Fahri replied, eyes glued to the data streams. ¡°We adjust now, or we get a surge in three minutes.¡±

    ¡°I can reconfigure the circulation loop,¡± Henrik Christensen offered, his voice calm and steady, as if nothing were amiss. ¡°But it¡¯s a temporary fix.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we all about temporary fixes?¡± Jai Kajura smirked, his fingers dancing over a holographic reactor projection. ¡°Temporary¡¯s just what works long enough.¡±

    ¡°By that logic, you¡¯d let a robot repair itself with broken arms,¡± Sabina Gustavsson quipped, pulling a tool from her jumpsuit pocket to check the cooling system. ¡°What about a localized energy dump through the magnetic circuit?¡±

    ¡°Theoretically¡­¡± Lea Bancroft frowned, running calculations. ¡°Practically, it could spark a new instability hotspot.¡±

    ¡°What if we pair it with your heat transfer model?¡± Omar West didn¡¯t look up, typing furiously. ¡°I can whip up a redistribution algorithm in two minutes.¡±

    ¡°One fifty,¡± Naomi Tikaki corrected, checking parameters. ¡°Or we¡¯re dealing with more than just overheating.¡±

    Adrian Braun, standing at the center of this whirlwind of voices, gave a single nod. ¡°Victoria, you and Karim watch for overloads. Henrik, prep the backup line. Aisha, if anything goes south, your calibration¡¯s our lifeline.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather we didn¡¯t get to ¡®south,¡¯¡± Aisha muttered, but her fingers were already moving across the control panel.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Victoria said, sliding the switch.

    The lab held its breath.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    The launch began with a sound¡ªdull, like the first heartbeat of a machine birthing itself from nothing. Then came the vibration, faint at first, a restrained exhale, but in an instant it rippled through the floor, crept into bones, and buzzed along nerve endings.

    The system awoke.

    The generator, encased in a massive framework of superconducting circuits, flared to life with diagnostic lights¡ªgreen, yellow, blinking like a neural network testing its integrity. At its core, behind a multilayered shield, light emerged¡ªa tiny drop of liquid sun, glowing in the void.

    ¡°Critical parameters stable,¡± Karim¡¯s voice was even, though tension threaded through it.

    Victoria felt the warmth from the setup spill into the space¡ªnot physical yet, but energetic, as if the spot where the generator stood had become more than mere metal and wires.

    ¡°Magnetic fields holding?¡± Aisha asked, fingers flashing over her calibration panel.

    ¡°Barely, but yes,¡± Sabina replied, her eyes darting between screens, tracking every shift.

    The generator breathed. An arc of energy coursed through the circuits, kicking off the long stabilization process. Inside the reactor, plasma coiled into a perfect vortex, caught in a web of invisible magnetic lines, bending space around it like an artificial star cradled by science.

    ¡°Eight percent power,¡± Omar reported evenly. ¡°Ramping up.¡±

    ¡°Nine¡­ ten¡­¡± Lea monitored thermal expansion levels.

    ¡°Field¡¯s fluctuating,¡± Naomi¡¯s voice cut through, sharp with near-alarm.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got the calibration,¡± Aisha tapped the screen, inputting new coefficients. ¡°Should compensate¡­¡±

    Victoria held her breath for a split second. Before her, beyond the transparent barrier, the generator blazed like an artificial sun encased in human ingenuity. Its light threw warm glints, clashing with the cold blue glow of the monitors.

    ¡°Twenty percent¡­¡± Karim¡¯s voice. ¡°Stabilizing¡­¡±

    In that moment, the world seemed to shrink to a single point¡ªthe machine¡¯s heart, small yet impossibly potent, surrounded by a network of numbers, pulses, human hands, and bated breaths.

    ¡°Thirty. System¡¯s hit nominal mode,¡± Victoria allowed herself a nod, easing her shoulders slightly.

    The machine was alive.

    Once, this had been impossible. Once, the first colonists under Mars¡¯ domes gazed at scorching sunsets through glass, knowing their lives hinged on the stability of fusion reactors buried in the stations¡¯ depths¡ªmassive setups powering entire cities, beating as the heart of civilization. Then came smaller generators: first for orbital stations, then for ships¡ªfrom patrol frigates to titanic battleships gliding between planets, carrying artificial suns aboard. Later, for the elite¡ªluxury yachts, self-sufficient compounds where energy ceased to be a luxury but remained a privilege.

    And now, Adrian Braun¡¯s team was erasing the boundaries of the possible.

    At the lab¡¯s center, under tense stares, stood the eighth experimental prototype. For now, it was still tethered to control systems, dozens of monitors, and delicate sensor veins. But soon¡ªtomorrow, in a month, a year¡ªit could be held. Lifted. Carried.

    A fusion reactor the size of a suitcase.

    Powering mobile labs on asteroids and icy moons, fueling personal transports, leaving trails of light in the darkest corners of known worlds. Then¡ªexosuits. Personal energy independence. A human carrying a star within.

    Revolution.

    Not just a new invention, not just another rung on the ladder of progress. This was a fracture, a moment that would change everything¡ªlike steam once did, then electricity. Like the combustion engine sparked entire eras.

    They knew it. Felt it.

    The generator glowed behind its transparent shield, locked in magnetic fields, framed by the cold gleam of monitors and the warm light of its own plasma. It lived.

    The future had begun.

    ¡°¡­This is it, right?¡± Naomi¡¯s voice broke mid-sentence, as if her brain hadn¡¯t caught up to reality. ¡°We did it?¡±

    ¡°We did it,¡± Victoria echoed, staring at the screen where stabilized readings pulsed in steady rhythm.

    ¡°Holy carbon chains, it works,¡± Omar leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. ¡°And it didn¡¯t blow up. Double win.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get comfy,¡± Sabina exhaled, crossing her arms. ¡°We haven¡¯t kicked off the autonomous cycle yet.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on, Sabina, we just tamed a sun in a box,¡± Jai slammed the table with a grin. ¡°And you¡¯re saying ¡®don¡¯t get comfy¡¯?¡±

    ¡°¡®Don¡¯t get comfy¡¯ is what got us here,¡± Lea offered a faint smile, still glued to the data.

    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Karim murmured, sliding across the interface with reverent focus. ¡°But damn, even I didn¡¯t expect it to be this beautiful. Look at those oscillations. It¡­ it¡¯s breathing.¡±

    ¡°Breathing?¡± Aisha raised an eyebrow, though she couldn¡¯t hide her awe. ¡°Yeah, the mathematician¡¯s talking about breathing.¡±

    ¡°Look at the harmonics,¡± Karim nodded toward the holographic graph. ¡°It¡¯s not just stable. It¡¯s¡­ balanced.¡±

    ¡°Perfect resonant frequency,¡± Victoria muttered. ¡°So Lea¡¯s calculations were spot-on.¡±

    ¡°Of course they were,¡± Lea huffed, but a satisfied smirk tugged at her lips.

    ¡°God, I don¡¯t even know what to do,¡± Naomi laughed nervously, clutching her head. ¡°We just made¡­ I can¡¯t even describe it.¡±

    ¡°Start with drinks,¡± Omar grinned wide. ¡°Or maybe finally admit, ¡®Yes, Omar, your algorithms were badass.¡¯¡±

    ¡°First, we officially close the test cycle,¡± Adrian, who¡¯d been watching silently, looked up. His voice was firm, but his eyes sparkled with pride. ¡°Then¡­ then drinks.¡±

    ¡°Solid plan,¡± Jai nodded. ¡°But first, I need five minutes to just sit and process what the hell we just pulled off.¡±

    ¡°Portable fusion generator,¡± Victoria said quietly.

    A brief silence fell. No one moved, no one spoke. The lab, usually alive with the clatter of keys, the hum of systems, and overlapping voices, suddenly felt strangely vibrant. Vibrant in the stillness that follows a true breakthrough.

    ¡°Revolution,¡± Sabina breathed.

    No one argued.

 Thunderstrike Bar

    ¡°Lagrange-Echo¡± Station

    "Lagrange-Echo" isn¡¯t just a space station¡ªit¡¯s a living organism, constantly growing and evolving. In 2259, when the first 600-meter sector launched, it was merely a dream, an ambitious project with no room for compromise. But thanks to the brightest minds, financiers, and politicians, that dream became reality. In its early years, the station grew slowly, like a smoldering ember on the verge of igniting. Yet, step by step, ring by ring, "Lagrange-Echo" came to life. Over fifty-odd years, it transformed into a sprawling cosmic metropolis, drawing in more people, ideas, and technologies. Here, you could find anything¡ªspecialists forging metals for new settlements, scientists engineering novel bacteria or taming hyperspace. The station¡¯s streets glowed with screens that pulled your gaze into a future where anything was possible. Streams of people hurried along composite pathways¡ªrushing to work, greeting each other with smiles as if no other world existed.

    But "Lagrange-Echo" isn¡¯t solely a scientific hub. Families come here too¡ªsome by duty, some by love, some by business. Alongside them live tens of thousands of technicians, engineers, and support staff, each a vital part of this incredible ecosystem. Around the station, free settlements spring up in orbit, where people chase liberty and change. They bring fresh ideas, making "Lagrange-Echo" a crossroads of cultures and perspectives.

    Space, once silent, has found its voice here. Amid the curves of metal and artificial gravity, between the gleam of ships and the hum of stations, new connections form. No one can say exactly how many live on the station. Estimates, factoring in the belt of free settlements, range from fifteen to thirty-five million. But every number is just a piece of a vast ecosystem shaped by "Erebus."

    "Lagrange-Echo" isn¡¯t just a workplace¡ªit¡¯s a place to live. Here, technology and humanity intertwine, and the ideas born within ripple across the cosmos.

    The bar was packed to the brim. Music thundered from acoustic panels, vibrations rolling through the floor as if the station itself were celebrating alongside them. Light pulses raced across the walls, shifting hues in sync with the beat, while in the corner, a robotic arm poured drinks with surgical precision.

    They sat at a corner table, the darkest spot in this chaos of light and sound. The table¡¯s surface shimmered with projection screens that had recently flickered with ads. Now switched off, they left only a faint glow in the shadows.

    Victoria, leaning back in her chair, twirled a metallic energy cell module between her fingers¡ªa habit when she needed to focus. Her hair was slightly mussed, a dark smudge on her temple from a recently removed interface jack. On her wrist, a built-in controller blinked with a pair of indicators, a relic of long hours tinkering with energy systems.

    ¡°Do you realize what this means?¡± she said, her voice brimming with restrained excitement. ¡°We¡¯ve got energy that doesn¡¯t need constant oversight. It¡¯s adaptive. We can use it for the expedition to the new system¡ªpower stations, build autonomous bases.¡±

    Naomi Tikaki sat beside her, slender fingers tracing the rim of a glowing blue cocktail that faintly illuminated the dark. Her cybernetic pupils dilated briefly, processing incoming data¡ªeven now, her neurolink fed her information.

    ¡°Only if we don¡¯t overreach,¡± she replied softly, tension threading her tone. ¡°You know we don¡¯t have the full picture. Sure, we¡¯ve got the reactor, but it¡¯s¡­ new. Experimental. What if it starts acting unpredictably in another system?¡±

    Jaiville "Jai" Kajura, across the table, snorted and downed his shot of something strong before flashing a grin.

    ¡°You¡¯re acting like we¡¯ve cracked open Pandora¡¯s box,¡± he said, leaning back, the anodized plate on his forearm catching the reflected light. ¡°We¡¯re not kids messing with plasma grenades. We¡¯re engineers. Scientists. Creators. And we just pulled off a damn miracle!¡±

    He extended his hand, and a holographic model of the reactor flared above his palm¡ªa miniature version of the beast now pulsing with energy in the station¡¯s depths.

    ¡°This thing doesn¡¯t just give power. It changes everything. We¡¯re not limited anymore. Want a colony on an icy asteroid? Done. Want to explore the depths of an alien world? Go for it. Hell, we could even build new settlements beyond the system.¡±

    Lea Bancroft let out a skeptical hum. Her cybernetic eyes flickered faintly, adjusting to the bar¡¯s dim light. Arms crossed, her voice was calm but edged with sharp seriousness.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, Jai,¡± she said. ¡°Yes, we¡¯ve got a new energy source. Yes, it¡¯s more powerful than anything we¡¯ve built before. But you know as well as I do¡ªpower without control is a disaster.¡±

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    ¡°You saying we might screw it up again?¡± Karim Al-Fahri chimed in. He sat a little apart, studying the swirl of liquid in his glass as if calculating how soon he¡¯d want another. An indicator on his temple glowed, linked to a predictive modeling processor.

    ¡°Not us,¡± Lea replied, leaning forward slightly. ¡°Humanity. History¡¯s shown time and again that when we get tech this strong, we eventually find a way to turn it against ourselves.¡±

    Aisha Kabir raised her glass, the silver implants at the base of her neck shimmering faintly.

    ¡°Then maybe it¡¯s time to change that,¡± she said with a slight smile, though her eyes held something deeper. ¡°Maybe this time we don¡¯t repeat the old mistakes. We¡¯ve got a shot to do it right.¡±

    Silence settled over the table for a moment. Even Jai, poised for another burst of enthusiasm, held back. They all knew this project wasn¡¯t just a reactor¡ªit was a leap into a new era.

    The quiet lasted only a couple of seconds, but it was enough for everyone to feel its weight. Something intangible hung in the air¡ªthe realization that this was just the beginning.

    Victoria broke the silence first. She twirled the energy cell module again, as if testing its balance, then looked at the others.

    ¡°Alright. We did it. The reactor works. The question now isn¡¯t what it can do¡ªit¡¯s who¡¯s going to steer it.¡±

    Lea raised an eyebrow, her implants glowing softly as they analyzed Victoria¡¯s tone.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Victoria leaned forward, her voice dropping but gaining gravity.

    ¡°We all get it¡ªthis reactor isn¡¯t just a tech upgrade. It¡¯s the backbone of the upcoming expedition. The one heading into the new system.¡±

    Naomi set her glass aside, her pupils widening as she tapped into extra neurolink interfaces.

    ¡°You mean they might send us?¡±

    Jai grinned and slapped the table.

    ¡°Of course! Who else would handle it better? We need people out there who know the system inside and out.¡±

    Karim nodded quietly, his analytical implant blinking.

    ¡°The question is who exactly they¡¯ll send. An expedition to a new system isn¡¯t just a science mission¡ªit¡¯s politics, strategy, security. And not everyone will be thrilled if key specialists vanish from here for years.¡±

    Aisha smiled, her silver implants glowing softly.

    ¡°You think we¡¯ll get a choice?¡±

    Lea frowned slightly.

    Adrian Braun sat a bit apart, cradling a glass of amber liquid. The bar¡¯s neon panels reflected in his eyes, and his voice carried the faint weariness that follows big wins. He didn¡¯t seem rattled or ready to make bold claims.

    ¡°The selection¡¯s already underway,¡± he said, staring at the ice in his glass. ¡°IRIS will announce their picks soon.¡±

    Silence fell over the table again. Jai stopped fiddling with a sensor module, Karim cut off his data feed, Naomi leaned in. They all knew this was coming, but now it felt like a starting line.

    ¡°And you¡¯re saying you don¡¯t know who they¡¯ll pick?¡± Aisha tilted her head, her eyes glinting with optical implants.

    Adrian gave her a look¡ªthe kind from someone who¡¯d already made up his mind.

    ¡°I¡¯m saying the launch is set before year¡¯s end. The committee¡¯s wrapping up their assessments. Soon we¡¯ll know who¡¯s running the ship¡¯s engineering systems.¡±

    ¡°Come on,¡± Jai smirked. ¡°We¡¯re not idiots. It¡¯s obviously you.¡±

    Sabina nodded, twirling her glass.

    ¡°It¡¯s a no-brainer. You¡¯ve led the project, you know the reactor¡¯s capabilities better than anyone, and you¡¯ve worked on fuel systems longer than any of us.¡±

    Karim leaned forward.

    ¡°The question isn¡¯t whether they¡¯ll pick you¡ªit¡¯s whether you¡¯ll say yes.¡±

    Victoria stayed quiet, but only because she agreed. Braun had been her father¡¯s friend, and if anyone was going to lead the charge into an unknown system, it was him.

    ¡°You knew this from the start, didn¡¯t you?¡± she finally asked, leaning back in her chair.

    Braun gave a faint smirk.

    ¡°Not exactly from the start. It crossed my mind that if we pulled this off, it¡¯d open the door to something bigger.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯ll agree?¡± Aisha narrowed her eyes.

    ¡°It¡¯s under discussion.¡± Braun took a sip and set his glass down. ¡°IRIS will make their call soon.¡±

    The bar was thinning out. Some finished their drinks, others said goodbyes, leaving holographic tabs flashing briefly on tables. Robotic servomechs cleared glasses silently, memorizing patrons¡¯ habits for next time. Victoria lingered at the counter, lazily stirring the ice in her glass. She watched Naomi and Sabina chat by the exit, Aisha gesturing to Jai as if sketching logic diagrams in the air. Karim shared a brief look with Braun¡ªboth grasping something beyond what was said aloud.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stay too late, Vic,¡± Braun said, brushing her shoulder as he passed.

    She nodded without looking. He left, and soon the door slid shut behind the last of her colleagues. Now it was just her and a few random regulars, hunched over their interfaces, lost in personal data worlds. Victoria took a sip.

 Dinner

    Victoria paused at the threshold, holding her breath. The light was soft, warm, casting long shadows that blurred edges and conjured an illusion of coziness¡ªalmost unreal in a space of glass, metal, and synthetic composites. Scents enveloped her, rich with spices, the smoky aroma of seared meat tingling with life¡ªso vivid they seemed capable of embedding themselves in her skin, becoming part of her memory. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen panel, where an athletic woman moved with the ease of habit. Her body was a symphony of muscle and metal. Dark composite implants on her forearms glinted, catching the warm light, while along her spine, rows of embedded enhancements stood out¡ªreinforced vertebrae built to endure more than nature allowed. Patches of translucent scarring webbed across her trained frame, fused with her skin, whispers of past wounds, battles, and lives lived. But now, her movements held no tension, no rigidity¡ªjust fluidity and focus. She flipped something in the pan with effortless grace, then plated steaming, tantalizing chunks of meat that smelled like a home she¡¯d never had. She wore only an apron. And Victoria caught herself unable to look away.

    The table was set. Not just with utensils¡ªno, every detail spoke of intent. Of choice. This dinner was more than food. The woman glanced up, peering at Victoria over her shoulder. Her gaze was appraising, satisfied, almost predatory, yet beneath that warmth lurked something else. An invitation. A silent question.

    ¡°You¡¯re standing in the doorway like a guest. Come on. Sit. While it¡¯s hot.¡±

    ¡°Holy hell, what a spread, Lieutenant!¡± Victoria¡¯s voice was soft, almost purring as she glided inside. Her smile carried a weightless promise, brimming with hidden meanings. Darina, stationed at the stove, didn¡¯t reply right away¡ªjust raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, as if listening. Her hair looked like it¡¯d been tousled by a blast wave, but it was a controlled chaos. Short and sleek at the nape, the color of rich dark chocolate, it shifted as it reached her temples. Dark strands at the top bled into a deep garnet midway down. Smooth and straight, they slashed across her forehead like plasma flares against cosmic black. A long part above her right temple revealed wild, jutting locks, as if static energy lifted them from her thoughts. Just below, near her ear, bare skin exposed a neurochip port¡ªblack chrome fused into her skull, a wordless echo of her cybernetic evolution, a reminder that a storm of data and decisions always raged in her mind.

    ¡°What¡¯s the occasion for this feast?¡± Victoria continued, slipping off her shoes and stepping barefoot onto the soft, warm rug that hugged her ankles like a gentle hand. She crossed the room, her fingers brushing the panel of a restored CD player¡ªa relic from another time, a world her ancestors had left behind. She pressed play. The whir of a servo, a pause, then the first chord¡ªthick, resonant, soaking into the walls. Music flowed, wrapping the space. She turned, hips swaying faintly to the rhythm, and moved toward her lover¡ªlight, playful, like a flame in zero gravity.

    ¡°Word got around that the genius Wrench pulled off a supernova in her lab!¡± Darina drawled, a smile in her voice, at the corners of her lips, in the half-lowered sweep of her lashes.

    ¡°There were five Wrenches,¡± Victoria purred, soft as if unraveling a secret they both already knew.

    ¡°And four bolts¡­¡± Darina leaned closer.

    ¡°And a whole toolbox,¡± Victoria laughed, their breaths mingling in that fleeting moment, laced with spices, oil, metal, and something warm, alive.

    And then, without breaking that fragile thread, she leaned forward and playfully kissed her lover on the lips¡ªlightly, but not quite.

    ¡°Something smells absolutely divine over there,¡± Victoria murmured, glancing at the pan, her voice low and dripping with lazy pleasure. She reached for the wine bottle, but before her fingers closed around the smooth glass, her left hand slid down with confidence, giving Darina¡¯s bare ass a firm squeeze. The soldier didn¡¯t flinch¡ªjust smirked, flipping the sizzling meat in the pan with a swift flick. Oil hissed, the air blooming with spice.

    Victoria loved these moments¡ªwhen Darina crashed at her place between missions, a spark lost in the rhythm of routine. Their connection had burned for over a year, their acquaintance stretching back three. It started back when Victoria and her team were called to a military site¡ªtuning braking modules for the drop pods of a special ops unit, thanks to Holland¡¯s clearance for UPN¡¯s classified systems, some of which she¡¯d had a hand in designing. The soldier had been drawn to the scientist¡¯s striking looks right away, but her mind¡ªsharp, quick as ionospheric lightning¡ªhooked her just as hard. Darina was surrounded by strong people¡ªthose who could take a hit, in combat or in life, who didn¡¯t buckle under the gravity of circumstance. Victoria was that kind. No bravado, no forced toughness¡ªjust a precise, calibrated confidence. Darina had watched her work. Those long fingers deftly assembling and dismantling complex systems, her brow furrowing as she peered into holographic schematics. Her mind was predatory, tenacious, like a fighter tracking a target, only her battlefield was equations, circuits, nanostructures. She didn¡¯t just know her craft¡ªshe was it, taming raw technological power, bending it to her will. And that was a turn-on.

    Darina loved watching Victoria move. She was lean, flexible, fluid, yet her motions carried a clarity, as if a mechanism hid within, ready to snap into perfect precision when needed. And then there was the way Victoria looked. A gaze¡ªlanguid, slightly lazy, yet piercing straight through. It had a feline edge, patient and inevitable, waiting to claim what was hers. When she lifted her eyes from beneath thick lashes, when a half-smile ghosted her lips, Darina¡ªa battle-hardened officer¡ªfelt a thin string inside her tremble, yielding to that unseen force. Victoria seemed fragile. But Darina knew it was an illusion. Beneath that soft skin lay steel, forged not in combat but in labs, negotiations, decisions that could reshape the future. And that stirred her. Victoria wasn¡¯t just attractive¡ªshe was dangerous, in her own way. Utterly irresistible.

    Holland never thought she¡¯d be drawn to people who lived on the edge until that assignment, working alongside colleagues to service gear for a UPN spec ops team. Those fighters didn¡¯t just use machines¡ªthey relied on them, trusted them with their lives as much as they trusted each other. In their world, there was no room for error¡ªevery move calculated, every decision final. During breaks, she¡¯d watched them train, prep for missions, check their gear with the same focused intensity she brought to tuning intricate systems. And then it hit her: it wasn¡¯t just strength or skill in a crisis that pulled her in¡ªit was that cold, flawless confidence, woven into their very being. Danger wasn¡¯t their enemy; it was their habitat. Lieutenant Darina Vasilevich had been one of those who¡¯d stride into the hangar post-tactical drills¡ªexhausted, flushed, reeking of sweat and gun oil. With an unreadable stare and a mocking smile, she¡¯d watched Victoria work. And one day, when Holland spotted a flaw in a pod¡¯s braking system and fixed it before it could cost a life, Vasilevich spoke to her for the first time. ¡°You saved my ass, Holland,¡± she¡¯d said, clapping her on the shoulder, her voice low, deep, enveloping. Something shifted in Victoria then. Danger didn¡¯t scare her¡ªit thrilled her.

    She could watch Darina move for hours¡ªsmooth, precise, flawless, a perfectly tuned machine honed to instinct. No fuss, just predatory grace, as if thousands of hours of combat training were etched into her muscles, driven by something beyond mere duty. But what captivated Victoria most wasn¡¯t Darina¡¯s strength¡ªit was how effortlessly she wielded it. No pomp, no need to prove anything. She knew her place in the world and never doubted it for a second. That confidence was contagious¡ªnot the performative grit soldiers often flaunted, but a living, raw, searing spark. And the contrast drove Victoria wild. Darina could calmly disassemble a rifle, swapping calibration plates with grease-stained gloves, every motion sharp and assured, nothing breaking her focus. In the field, her orders were crisp, exact, leaving no room for mistakes. But off-duty, that strength shifted into something else¡ªtender yet potent, as if caring for Victoria was another frontline, just as vital. Her face was too alive to be merely pretty. Victoria noticed how her lip muscles tensed when she stifled a smirk, how her brow twitched faintly when she pondered, how her gaze darkened, pulling you in, when she got too close.

    And the girl had always felt a strange pull toward the traces life had etched into the steel amazon¡¯s body. Those faint lines on tanned skin, tiny scars soaked with the memory of a thousand battles, and implants fused with her flesh as if they¡¯d been there from birth. They weren¡¯t perfect, they didn¡¯t hide the truth¡ªand that was their power. As an engineer, Victoria often wondered how those enhancements shaped Darina¡¯s body. She analyzed each piece like a complex device built for efficiency, fascinated by their potential. To her, the implants were captivating mechanisms¡ªopen books she ached to read, to understand how they worked, how they synced with the body, how they could be refined or surpassed. But Darina? She loved her metal. You could see it in her grin when she bragged about a new mod¡ªeach piece wasn¡¯t just an upgrade, it was part of her strength, her victories. In her eyes, gleaming with satisfaction over every tweak, there wasn¡¯t a shred of shame. She wore her body like a weapon, and Victoria couldn¡¯t help but admire it. It wasn¡¯t just femininity meets power¡ªit was proof you could be both human and machine. Sure, Vasilevich could be brutal when needed. She could kill without flinching. But she could also throw her head back and laugh, gazing at Victoria like she was the only soul in the universe.

    And that stole Victoria¡¯s breath.

    She marveled at how Darina moved through the room¡ªher lithe body, etched with fine scars and expertly grafted combat implants, flowing with natural, unshakable confidence, the ease of someone who thrived on the edge. She saw the skin of her back ripple over honed muscles laced with biopolymers as she bent over the stove. The metallic sheen of forearm implants nearly melded with her flesh, and the neurochip port at her temple pulsed faintly. Despite the unwavering certainty in her stride and the battle scars frozen in metal and flesh, Darina hadn¡¯t lost her femininity. It wasn¡¯t loud or artificial¡ªit was woven into her, like code in a system. Her lips¡ªsensitive yet firm, subtly curved, not promising softness¡ªcould harden when needed, but now, under the dim light, they held an elusive tenderness. Her chin¡ªsolid, assured, yet not harsh¡ªsculpted by the gravity of her essence. A neat nose, brimming with character, wasn¡¯t just a feature but a story carved in its arc. And those faint laugh lines fanning from the corners of her mouth¡ªthey didn¡¯t age her or mar her; they were the sexiest part of her face. They whispered: this woman had lived, felt, laughed, triumphed. Markers of her experience, her confidence, her fearlessness. Darina didn¡¯t try to be someone else. She inhabited her body as if every inch of it was exact and true. Woman, soldier, killer, lover¡ªall fused into an inexplicable, whole, undivided nature that made Victoria catch her breath every time Darina just looked at her.

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    There was something in her that sent shivers down Victoria¡¯s spine¡ªthis life on the precipice, this dance with danger balancing control and chaos. Darina could be lethal in a fight, but right now she stood at the stove, plating food, radiating that same unshakable certainty, that predatory calm. Yes, Victoria was drawn to people like her¡ªnot just because it set her blood racing, but because there was something undeniably real about them, a sharper, truer rhythm. She wanted to be close, to hear that heart beating in a sturdy chest, to see her skin gleam, to feel that strength in her hands¡ªtaming it for a moment or letting it conquer her.

    ¡°Tonight, we¡¯re having real, juicy steak,¡± Darina said, leaning closer, her voice dropping low, almost intimate, like she was offering something forbidden. She sliced a piece with a fluid motion, the sharp knife parting the fibers as if they were butter. Deep red, glistening with juice, the meat begged to be devoured. ¡°From Europa¡ªcryo-frozen!¡± She speared it with her fork, her neatly trimmed nails guiding it with the same deft precision she used assembling a rifle bolt.

    Victoria didn¡¯t grab her fork right away. She watched Darina¡¯s hand, the glint of juice on the perfectly seared surface.

    ¡°They have farms there?¡± She slipped the hot morsel onto her tongue, tilting her head back, letting the flavor flood her mouth. A few chews, a graceful swallow. Her eyes fluttered shut as she exhaled a long, ¡°Mmm¡­ divine¡­¡± A drop of warm juice slid down her chin, and she lazily wiped it with a finger, licking it off without haste. Darina watched. Her gaze lingered on those soft, glossy lips, then she snorted, popping her own piece into her mouth, chewing with unabashed relish.

    ¡°Old Europa, darling¡ªEarth!¡± She lifted her glass, swirling the wine lazily.

    Victoria froze, nearly sloshing her drink.

    ¡°No way!¡± She leaned forward, eyes alight. ¡°How¡¯d you get it? That¡¯s over half a year¡¯s haul!¡±

    ¡°Top-secret intel¡ªhigh clearance only.¡± Darina smirked, slowly licking a drop of juice from her lips.

    ¡°Fucking delicious!¡± Victoria mirrored her, sipping her wine, letting its tartness dance with the steak¡¯s aftertaste.

    The music shifted to a languid tempo, the light trembling in sync with the kitchen panel¡¯s glow. Beyond the window, the vast cosmos stayed cold and indifferent. But here, in this small, warm pocket of the universe, where two women savored Earth-born steaks, it felt infinitely cozier. Victoria took another sip, letting the wine warm her throat, and set her glass down. She didn¡¯t rush¡ªsavoring every motion, every second of anticipation. Her hand settled softly but firmly on Darina¡¯s cheek. Fingers slid to her temple, tugging short hair back, exposing her face, letting their gazes lock. Darina didn¡¯t look away, just lifted her chin slightly, lips parting in a silent beckoning. Victoria closed the distance, shoulders rising instinctively, elbows tucking in as she claimed Darina¡¯s mouth with a hunger laced with wine, adrenaline, and long-buried want.

    Darina¡¯s lips were hot, yielding yet sure, their kiss more than a touch¡ªa collision. Breaths mingled, Victoria¡¯s fingers dug into her hair, pulling her closer. Heat pulsed through Darina¡¯s frame, seeping past fabric. A muscled hand slipped confidently under Victoria¡¯s blouse, a warm, slightly damp palm finding soft skin. Fingers brushed a nipple, hardening it instantly. Darina squeezed her breast, firm but not rough, her wrist sliding lower, where sweat beaded beneath the bra¡¯s edge¡ªhot, betraying how fiercely Victoria¡¯s body craved this. Her other hand breached Victoria¡¯s waistband, fingers trained for weapons now charting a different terrain¡ªthe tender curve of a hip, the taut line of muscle. A thumb found a smooth hollow, pressing into yielding flesh over tense ligaments. A wave of arousal shuddered through Victoria, sharp as a chill, her teeth itching to bite. She pressed closer, yanking Darina¡¯s hair harder, demanding more.

    The faint scent of wine blended with Darina¡¯s skin, a metallic tang of pulsing blood, and an electric hum of what was to come. Their kiss flared into a blaze, consuming them both¡ªnot just desire, but a ritual of knowing, a dance of two souls tangled in a intricate knot. Tongues slid together like ancient serpents, movements rich with passion and a deep, unspoken understanding. Victoria felt this battle-hardened predator open to her, baring not just strength but vulnerability¡ªa flower blooming under moonlight despite the dark. Hands accustomed to weapons and war now roamed her soft, pale skin, mapping every curve, every line, like explorers charting new land. Darina¡¯s touch¡ªlight as exotic feathers yet firm as forged steel¡ªset Victoria¡¯s skin ablaze, ancient magic in every stroke.

    They moved as one, two planets locked in a cosmic orbit. Bodies forged in battles and labs now thrummed with need, hearts pounding in unison like drums of a primal rite. Clothes felt like shackles, and Victoria sighed as they fell away, her skin meeting Darina¡¯s¡ªraw, wild, a force that could destroy or create. They collapsed onto the couch, bodies entwining like roots of trees reaching for light through dark soil. Darina kissed her neck, lips leaving a faint mark, a seal of their bond. Victoria trembled, blood boiling like lava ready to erupt.

    Her slim, silken frame quaked beneath the fierce warrior looming over her, Darina¡¯s eyes blazing with desire¡ªtwin suns on the verge of nova. In them, Victoria saw her reflection¡ªher passion, her love¡ªmirrored not just in form but in soul. Darina trailed kisses down her graceful neck, slipping a muscled thigh between Victoria¡¯s slender legs, pressing gently but firmly against the sensitive mound below her belly. Victoria jolted, a short moan escaping. A slick trace of warmth marked Darina¡¯s tanned skin, proof of her lover¡¯s heat. Victoria¡¯s lithe, almost fragile body writhed under the kisses¡ªlungs expanding to bare her ribs, flat stomach quivering, muscles rippling beneath velvet skin.

    A delicate hand gripped the pillow with slender fingers, while the other slid to a muscled buttock, squeezing the firm flesh and pulling it closer, demanding more. The muscled predator leaned in, her lips nearing the round, taut breast as her powerful thigh glided over the slick, arousal-soaked folds, sliding up and down against Victoria¡¯s clit with smooth precision. The stimulation made Victoria bite into Darina¡¯s shoulder to stifle her moans, but the pleasure overwhelmed her restraint. Cradling Victoria¡¯s left breast, Darina latched onto the swollen nipple, teasing it¡ªlicking, then nibbling gently. Victoria shuddered with every touch, her body surrendering to the onslaught of passion. Her breaths faltered, her moans a melody filling the room. Her eyes, ablaze with desire, locked onto Darina¡ªsalvation and ruin in one. They merged in a dance of lust, their bodies syncing in a shared rhythm. The unstoppable predator, with her fierce passion, led them, her movements confident yet tender. Her experience and certainty shone through, but her eyes held something more¡ªa desire to conquer Holland not to break her, but to make her part of herself.

    Freeing the pillow, the lithe beauty playfully slipped her fingers between her lips, tracing them with a sharp, hot tongue before lowering her damp hand between Darina¡¯s toned legs. Two elegant fingers slid inside effortlessly, answered by a deep, throaty groan. Matching the rhythm of her hips, the battle-hardened valkyrie rocked her pelvis toward the teasing hand. Her thigh glistened with slickness, and she amplified the pleasure¡ªshifting to press their heated cores together. Victoria, with her graceful hand, fueled their mutual desire, fingers dancing over sensitive zones, sending waves of ecstasy that blended into a single song of passion. Her thighs clenched sporadically, driving her fingers deeper into soft, yielding flesh. Her motions were assured yet gentle, unlocking the secrets of her cravings. Now the fierce warrior moaned in harmony with Victoria¡¯s flowing hymn of pleasure.

    Waves of bliss crashed harder as Darina, unrelenting in her rhythm, leaned closer, fusing her lips with Victoria¡¯s in a searing kiss. Their tongues twirled in sync with their bodies, every moan and gasp weaving into a unified melody of desire. Victoria¡¯s hand curled around Darina¡¯s neck, pulling her nearer until their forms melded, each thrust pushing them to new heights. The amazon, never breaking the kiss that seemed to stretch into eternity, raised a hand, her fingers tracing Victoria¡¯s graceful spine like a slow dance. Each touch sparked trails of fire, as if her pale skin were satin paper ready to ignite. Darina found the spine¡ªthat slender, curved bridge linking her whole being¡ªand glided her fingers along it, sparking tremors that rippled through Victoria like rings on still water after a stone¡¯s fall. Every vertebra, every inch of skin sang under her touch, Victoria¡¯s body a finely tuned instrument, Darina the maestro coaxing out exquisite notes of rapture.

    Caught in the swell of ecstasy, Victoria broke the kiss, her wide, wild eyes glistening with tears¡ªof joy, of intensity. ¡°Darina-a-a¡­¡± Her trembling voice, barely audible, brimmed with emotion as she hit her peak, her body quaking in a powerful, all-consuming orgasm, lingering like the final, longest note of a symphony. Darina held her, prolonging the bliss, her own movements chasing that shared high, feeling every shiver, every breath as if they were one. She slipped a hand behind, adding two fingers to Victoria¡¯s, intensifying the dance¡ªa tandem of touch inside her lover¡¯s core. Victoria¡¯s delicate hand ventured deeper, entwining with Darina¡¯s, their combined rhythm a harmony lifting them both to another crest. In this ballet of hands, lips, and hearts, they spurred each other on, climaxing again and again, each peak soaring higher into a timeless realm where only they, their love, and an endless sea of pleasure existed. Every moment teetered on eternity, every touch a key to new dimensions of feeling they unlocked together¡ªhand in hand, heart to heart.

    As the waves of orgasm ebbed, the flushed, exhausted girls lay entwined, their breathing slowly steadying. The room hushed, filled only by the faint hum of music from ancient speakers and soft sighs of satisfaction rising from their cores. Darina, her strong arms unwavering, turned her head to face her beauty. Her eyes, aglow with happiness and fulfillment, met Victoria¡¯s, still shimmering with a gentle, lunar light. Wordlessly, they understood each other¡ªtheir gazes spoke more than any words could. With a faint smile, Victoria ran her hand through Darina¡¯s hair, fingers tangling in the thick, short strands, tracing the neurochip ports as if they were part of a forest they¡¯d wandered together. Darina closed her eyes, basking in safety, in love. Her head dipped, and she pressed a tender kiss to Victoria¡¯s expressive neck, leaving a damp trace¡ªa mark she wished to etch forever.

    ¡°I love you,¡± Victoria whispered, her voice dissolving into the air, but Darina heard it¡ªher heart heard it, thumping harder as if it, too, longed to shout the words.

    ¡°I love you too,¡± Darina replied, her voice a notch above a whisper, soft as the night. Her arms tightened around Victoria, as if afraid to lose her, this feeling, this wholeness.

    That night, in that space, time stood still. No past, no future¡ªjust the present, where two souls fused into one, crafting something beyond love¡ªa haven where they could be themselves, together.

 A Talk About the Future

    ¡°How long are you leaving for?¡± Victoria¡¯s voice was warm, but a scratch of anxiety clawed beneath it, unhidden and raw.

    They still lay tangled in the dim bedroom, limbs lazily interwoven. The air was thick with the scent of wine, warm metal, and the faint trace of Darina¡¯s skin. On the wall, a projection of the station¡¯s schematics spun slowly, forgotten in their tipsy carelessness. Darina pressed her cheek to Victoria¡¯s shoulder, her fingers tracing the line of her collarbone as if mapping a route¡ªa lifeline or a parting.

    ¡°You know I can¡¯t spill the details,¡± she sighed, nestling closer, as if that could delay the inevitable.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got clearance,¡± Victoria purred, lifting her head with a sly smile.

    ¡°Oh, I know all about your clearance,¡± Darina raised a skeptical brow but mirrored the grin. ¡°Fine, since you¡¯re so insistent¡ªwe¡¯re heading to Jupiter¡¯s orbit.¡±

    Victoria tensed. Her fingers stilled on Darina¡¯s skin, her eyes narrowing.

    ¡°Jupiter? Seriously?¡± Her tone held a lightness, but Darina caught the click of something shifting inside her, no bravado could mask it. ¡°That¡¯s been carved up for ages, hasn¡¯t it? The Trojan clusters are practically a fortress for the Belt¡¯s organized crime. Their own little empire. You¡¯re going after them?¡±

    Darina snorted, yanking Victoria closer and brushing her lips against her shoulder.

    ¡°Who said it¡¯s about them?¡± She stretched exaggeratedly, feigning calm. ¡°It¡¯s just a route. Routine cleanup. Standard convoy escort.¡±

    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Victoria propped herself on an elbow, her hair spilling across the sheet, her eyes igniting with that ¡°engineer mode¡± glare. It was the look Holland used to scan a ship down to its bolts and pinpoint every flaw. ¡°I saw your loadout before takeoff. Cutting-edge camo kits, autonomous AI cover drones, heavy support. All that for a convoy?¡±

    Darina huffed, flicking a finger at the empty wine glass still perched on the bedside panel.

    ¡°You¡¯re too smart for your own good, Holland.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re naive if you think you can just talk your way out of this,¡± Victoria grinned, but her fingers tightened on Darina¡¯s shoulder.

    Darina paused, then covered Victoria¡¯s hand with her own, tracing each knuckle as if committing it to memory.

    ¡°Vic, the Trojans are just another arena. Miners, traders, politicians leaking data, corps who don¡¯t give a damn about laws. And yeah, some folks who¡¯d rather not be found. But it¡¯s all just work. We¡¯ll do what¡¯s needed and come back.¡±

    ¡°All under control?¡± Victoria bit her lip, holding her gaze.

    ¡°Of course. Like always.¡±

    She smiled, leaning in, but Victoria didn¡¯t let the conversation slip away so easily.

    ¡°Darin¡­¡± She met her eyes dead-on. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear about you from reports again. I don¡¯t want to guess if you made it or not.¡±

    Darina sighed, cupping her cheek.

    ¡°Listen, my sunshine. I¡¯m not here by accident. They didn¡¯t train us to die pretty. We¡¯re going to work, not to perish. And I always come back. To you. Got it?¡±

    Victoria nodded, but the worry lingered in her eyes¡ªno words could erase it.

    Darina saw it. And so she kissed her¡ªslow, deep, as if imprinting the taste for when time might tear them apart again.

    ¡°Still,¡± Victoria murmured as the air between them cooled, ¡°it¡¯s not just a convoy, is it?¡±

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Darina didn¡¯t answer right away.

    ¡°When has it ever been ¡®just¡¯ anything?¡± She smirked faintly. ¡°But we¡¯ll handle it. We always do.¡±

    Victoria didn¡¯t break her stare, her eyes catching the faint glow of dormant instruments in the dark. Darina sighed, her lips curling into a tired, honest half-smile.

    ¡°At least we¡¯ve got solid command. Major Harrison won¡¯t let us fade out. She¡¯s¡­¡± Darina chuckled, recalling details. ¡°Like an ice blade. Dangerous, calculated, precise to a millimeter. Harsh¡ªmaybe too much. But if she¡¯s tasked with something, it¡¯s done. Period.¡±

    Victoria raised a brow, her fingers nervously tugging at a fold in the sheet.

    ¡°Should I be jealous?¡± she asked innocently, tilting her head so dark strands fell over her shoulder.

    ¡°Nah,¡± Darina snorted, though her eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of memory passing through. ¡°Pretty sure they yanked all her emotions out during training. Like a machine. But she knows her shit perfectly. If she were different, she wouldn¡¯t have survived.¡±

    She lazily traced a hand over her thigh, where faint scars¡ªmementos of assaults, explosions, and breaches through zones no sane person would touch¡ªglowed faintly in the dimness. Victoria tracked the motion, squeezing her hand tighter but saying nothing.

    ¡°Sounds like quite a character,¡± she mused.

    ¡°Oh, you have no idea,¡± Darina huffed, her tone losing its lightness. Her gaze held a mix of respect and wariness reserved for someone who¡¯d pulled you from hell. ¡°She¡¯s not the type to hide behind anyone. If shit hits, she¡¯s out front.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s got your back up top?¡± Victoria knew every strike team had someone shielding them politically.

    ¡°Commander Reynolds,¡± Darina shrugged slightly. ¡°One of the few who can rein Harrison in if needed. They¡¯ve worked together forever. He dragged her out of a mess once that could¡¯ve been her last op.¡±

    ¡°Colonel Reynolds? The one overseeing your whole strike group?¡±

    ¡°Yep, that¡¯s him.¡± Darina reached for a water glass. ¡°If Harrison¡¯s the blade, Reynolds is the hand holding it.¡±

    Her fingers slid back to Victoria¡¯s shoulder, savoring the familiar warmth. That touch carried everything¡ªfear, love, and the unspoken promise to return, renewed time and again.

    Darina fell silent for a stretch, her finger sketching invisible patterns on Victoria¡¯s skin, like a map of her thoughts. The quiet was too heavy, and Victoria caught it.

    ¡°Come on, spit it out,¡± she said, rolling onto her side, propping her chin on her hand and peering up at her lover. ¡°Why¡¯d you clam up?¡±

    ¡°Just¡­¡± Darina shrugged faintly. ¡°I was thinking¡ªyou were obsessed with that expedition. Went nuts when they announced the call. I even heard you muttering about Erebus in your sleep. Now you¡¯re quiet. Made up your mind?¡±

    Victoria looked away, studying the sheet as if it held an escape hatch. Then she inhaled deeply and gave a weak smile.

    ¡°You know¡­ it used to feel like the dream of my life. But things change.¡±

    ¡°Change?¡± Darina frowned. ¡°Vic, it¡¯s Erebus. The first manned jump beyond the system. Everyone¡¯s clawing for it. It¡¯s history, damn it!¡±

    ¡°History, yeah,¡± Victoria nodded, not arguing. ¡°I just don¡¯t want to be part of it. Not like that.¡±

    ¡°Not like that?¡± Darina propped herself on an elbow, alarm flashing in her eyes. ¡°What¡¯s that mean? You¡¯re giving up? You¡¯re not the type to quit.¡±

    ¡°I chose you,¡± Victoria said simply. ¡°If they call me, I¡¯ll say no.¡±

    Darina felt something inside her clench, like the air had been sucked out. For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

    ¡°You¡¯re insane,¡± she whispered. ¡°This is everything you¡¯ve dreamed of. Your damn Erebus. You¡¯d really ditch it for me?¡±

    ¡°For what else?¡± Victoria¡¯s smile held more pain than joy. ¡°I¡¯ve chased stars my whole life, but I never thought I¡¯d meet someone I¡¯d stay on the ground for. Then I did.¡±

    Darina opened her mouth to argue, but the words stuck. Deep down, she¡¯d feared this¡ªthat Victoria might choose her, and that choice might be wrong.

    ¡°But you¡¯ll regret it¡­¡± Her voice cracked.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Victoria nodded. ¡°But I¡¯ll never regret us.¡±

    Darina stared, unable to look away. Her eyes swirled with fear, love, confusion, gratitude¡ªand the weight of a cost too high.

    ¡°Idiot,¡± she muttered, pulling her into a fierce hug, holding her as if Victoria might vanish. ¡°The stubbornest, most impossible idiot I¡¯ve got.¡±

    ¡°Your idiot,¡± Victoria whispered back, fingers burrowing into her hair. ¡°Not going anywhere.¡±

    They lingered in that warmth, that silence where words weren¡¯t needed¡ªwhere every touch said more than the sharpest equations.

    But neither knew the truth.

    Victoria had already been selected. Her candidacy was locked in last week when Dr. Braun personally submitted the recommendation. She didn¡¯t know yet. Her choice to stay with Darina felt like her own¡ªbut reality had already played its hand.

    That would come later. For now, just silence, their breaths in sync, skin against skin. Just this moment. And the stars outside, indifferent to the tiny cabin on a speck of a station at the Solar System¡¯s edge.

    The stars could wait. Victoria would stay.

    Or so it seemed.

 Farewell Before Departure

    The loading platform was drenched in stark white light, too harsh for this hour. The metal floor felt like ice even through boot soles, and the air rang with the dull echo of voices, footsteps, and muted orders. The "Legion of the Heavens" spec ops team prepped for departure, and Darina, fully geared up, checked her equipment near the cargo hatch.

    Victoria stood a little ways off, hands buried in her pockets as if the gesture could shield her from reality. Darina had clocked her presence ten minutes ago but held off. The longer you don¡¯t turn around, the easier it is to keep your face straight.

    Finally, she did.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to come,¡± Darina said, her voice steady but laced with a bitterness tugging at her lips. ¡°I told you, it¡¯s just a mission. Routine.¡±

    ¡°Routine,¡± Victoria echoed, stepping closer. ¡°You say that every time. But I still show up. And I¡¯ll keep showing up.¡±

    Darina¡¯s mouth quirked into that lopsided, faintly guilty smile that always squeezed Victoria¡¯s heart.

    They stood close but didn¡¯t touch. Right here, in the middle of the platform, amid colleagues and prying eyes, contact was off-limits. Just a look¡ªthat they could afford. And it was a look so charged, no touch was needed to feel every emotion.

    ¡°How long till you¡¯re back?¡± Victoria asked, though she already knew.

    ¡°If it goes to plan, about five weeks. But you know how it is.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Victoria nodded. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.¡±

    Darina glanced down at her gloves, adjusting a wrist clasp¡ªbuying herself a few extra seconds of silence. When she met Victoria¡¯s eyes again, they held the calm of a soldier used to stepping into the unknown.

    ¡°You¡¯re my ground,¡± Darina said suddenly. ¡°The one piece of normal I cling to when everything turns to smoke and blood.¡±

    Victoria clenched her fists in her pockets. She knew if she reached out now, brushed Darina¡¯s face, she¡¯d crack. Tears would spill. And tears didn¡¯t belong here.

    ¡°Just come back,¡± she said, voice low and rough. ¡°That¡¯s all I need.¡±

    Darina nodded once. Sharp, like a salute.

    ¡°I will.¡±

    They froze¡ªa final breath, one last moment before slipping back into the roles their jobs forged: soldier and engineer. Two cogs in a vast machine where personal always bowed to professional.

    Then Victoria¡¯s gaze snagged on a figure standing ten meters off, apart from the rest.

    A woman, average height or slightly taller, wore an unfastened tactical vest over a cropped sports top, exposing a chiseled abdomen and arms¡ªmuscles rippling under skin like a pro weightlifter or elite saboteur. Every move was precise, efficient, powerful, like a predator conserving energy.

    But that image shattered when you looked up.

    Her face could¡¯ve been ripped from a luxury brand ad¡ªperfectly symmetrical, with flawless cheekbones, soft lips, and porcelain skin. Doll-like beauty, absurdly out of place for her line of work, yet it only gripped your attention harder. Platinum hair, long and silky, was pulled into a tight ponytail¡ªfit for a cover model, not a battle-scarred vet.

    But her eyes hit hardest¡ªcold as tempered titanium. They flicked over Victoria without lingering, betraying nothing. The stare of someone who scanned a room on autopilot, as natural as breathing.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Darina caught where her gaze went.

    ¡°That¡¯s Harrison,¡± she whispered, barely audible. ¡°Our squad¡¯s major. If anyone¡¯s ass gets dragged back alive, it¡¯s thanks to her.¡±

    Victoria kept watching as the major vanished behind the massive hatch doors. Something about her wouldn¡¯t let go¡ªmaybe the predatory rhythm of her stride, or the jarring clash between her sculpted body and that delicate, almost unnatural beauty.

    Darina smirked, clocking her stare.

    ¡°Caught your eye?¡± Her voice dipped, carrying that familiar teasing edge Victoria knew too well. ¡°You¡¯re not the first to gawk.¡±

    Victoria flushed, looking away, but Darina just snorted and leaned in, voice lower.

    ¡°Know what they called her when she joined the Legion? ¡®Doll with an Axe.¡¯ She could snap an instructor¡¯s neck barehanded back then, all while looking like she¡¯d stepped off a runway.¡±

    ¡°But that¡­¡± Victoria faltered, grasping for words, ¡°it can¡¯t be her real face?¡±

    Darina squinted, biting her lip as if weighing how much to share.

    ¡°Yes and no. Her real face was mostly burns and bone fragments after a stray rocket seven years back. Reynolds¡ªour commander now¡ªpulled her out. Word is, he smothered the flames with his hands waiting for medics. She got lucky¡ªfacial implants were already part of elite enhancement contracts. So they rebuilt her, made her pretty¡ªshe picked the look herself. Some say it was a middle finger to fate, others that it offsets her nasty streak. Either way, it¡¯s creepy when that doll face stares you down, hiding someone who¡¯d twist your neck without blinking.¡±

    Victoria processed it silently, her eyes drifting to where Harrison had disappeared. The image stuck¡ªperfect features, platinum hair, titanium gaze, and hands that knew killing cold. It was absurd, eerie, and¡­ mesmerizing.

    Darina tugged her hand, snapping her out of it.

    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t go falling for her, yeah? I¡¯m not jealous of that icebox yet.¡±

    Victoria chuckled, but something flickered in her eyes Darina didn¡¯t catch¡ªan almost professional curiosity. As an engineer, she couldn¡¯t help but marvel at how tech, surgery, and personal choice fused in one body¡ªlike a war machine wrapped in a glossy magazine cover for no damn reason.

    ¡°No jealousy needed,¡± she said finally, ¡°but damn, that¡¯s impressive.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Darina nodded, sobering. ¡°And that face only smiles when you¡¯ve stopped breathing.¡±

    Victoria dipped her head, but her gaze lingered a beat longer. A strange feeling stirred¡ªlike something bigger had brushed her, a faint click in fate¡¯s gears, subtle but vital.

    A sharp whistle and a palm slap against the doorframe cut through. Both turned. A man, maybe thirty-five, stood in the hatch with an easy smile that instantly defused the tension. Short, dark chestnut hair, one side shaved¡ªmodern but understated. Lean, wiry, with a casual confidence in every move¡ªa pro who didn¡¯t flaunt it.

    ¡°Vasilevich, quit flirting with your girl; our timer¡¯s not elastic,¡± he said, voice warm and almost friendly, but edged with the steel of someone who could march a platoon through hell and back.

    ¡°Don¡¯t boss me around, Captain. I¡¯ve got¡­ two minutes of leave left,¡± Darina grimaced, but it was mostly for show.

    Michael smirked and shifted his gaze to Victoria, slipping into a light, familiar tone¡ªlike they were old pals, not just acquaintances from a couple tech checks.

    ¡°Holland, say hi to the reactors for me. Don¡¯t blow anything up while we¡¯re gone, alright? We¡¯re not even off the ground, and you¡¯re grabbing a welder?¡± He was clearly ribbing them.

    ¡°I¡¯ll pass it on. You just make sure your gear doesn¡¯t need fixing again,¡± Victoria nodded toward his commander, playing along with a grin.

    ¡°Ouch,¡± Michael spread his hands, his smile widening as he caught her glance at Harrison. ¡°We guard that lady like a stash of top-shelf booze¡ªonly for emergencies.¡±

    He clapped Darina¡¯s shoulder¡ªnot a commander¡¯s order, but a buddy¡¯s nudge, the kind born from shared miles and trust.

    ¡°Move your ass. Harrison¡¯s already lining everyone up. If we¡¯re late, she¡¯ll lecture us on discipline¡­ with anatomical details.¡±

    ¡°On it,¡± Darina sighed, planting a quick kiss on Victoria¡¯s lips and snagging her jacket off the floor.

    ¡°Come back,¡± Victoria whispered, clenching her fists to hide the tremor inside.

    Michael lingered a second, squinting at her like he wanted to say more but thought better of it. He just nodded¡ªnot patronizing, but with the respect of someone who knew what waiting felt like.

    ¡°Alright, Holland, good luck here. You won¡¯t get bored.¡±

    ¡°You too,¡± she smiled back. ¡°Try not to smash the ship, okay?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll gift-wrap it for you if we do,¡± he winked, vanishing through the hatch, leaving a faint whiff of crisp uniform and metal.

    A minute later, the hatch sealed. Victoria stood alone on the icy platform, ears buzzing, chest hollow.

 After the Farewell

    Victoria¡¯s office felt unnaturally quiet. Open panels, cables, diagnostic modules¡ªeverything lay exactly where she¡¯d left it before her shift. The space was typical of Lagrange-Echo¡ªfunctional, austere, devoid of comfort¡ªbut over the years, Victoria had made it her own. On a shelf by the wall sat a half-empty bottle of wine, cracked open with Darina last week when they¡¯d stolen an evening together. A reminder of a home they hadn¡¯t quite built. Next to it, a pack of dried mango¡ªDarina¡¯s army habit, which Victoria couldn¡¯t stand but hadn¡¯t tossed after her latest visit. Funny how these little things conjured her presence. Darina dropped by often¡ªher clearance allowed it, unlike the high-security labs where Victoria spent most of her time. This office was a personal nook, a buffer between the tech zones and admin halls, and Victoria never hid how much she loved it when Darina popped in. They didn¡¯t just bicker over music or snag coffee here¡ªsometimes they¡¯d sit in silence, soaking in this odd in-between world where their jobs didn¡¯t split them across security lines.

    Now the room felt empty, too tidy, as if life had exhaled with Darina¡¯s departure. Only those random traces¡ªmango, a coffee-stained mug tossed carelessly, a tactical tablet charger on the shelf¡ªwhispered she¡¯d been here. And, if luck held, would be again. Amid tools and tablets on the desk lay a holographic bracelet, one Darina always left behind before missions. Superstition. She¡¯d say leaving something personal guaranteed she¡¯d come back for it. Victoria used to laugh, but now she clung to that scrap of metal like a talisman. Its tiny display blinked today¡¯s date, and below, a faded, nearly erased message:

    ¡°If I don¡¯t make it, chuck this out the nearest airlock. Only way.¡±

    Of course, Victoria wouldn¡¯t. Never.

    She squeezed the bracelet in her fist, held her breath, then set it back gently. In her jumpsuit pocket rested a tiny metal button¡ªa silly relic. It had popped off Darina¡¯s jacket at their first meeting, when Victoria, on autopilot, offered to fix her gear post-training. Darina had brushed it off with a quip¡ªreal soldiers don¡¯t sweat the small stuff. Victoria picked it up anyway and kept it. Now it was always with her¡ªcold to the touch but warm with memory.

    She sighed and forced herself back to work. She pulled up her current project¡ªcalibrating the reactor core¡¯s thermal circuits. Neat lines of code, temperature graphs, projected stress loads. Routine stuff that always grounded her. Except today, it didn¡¯t. Her hand froze over the panel, wrench gripped tight, knuckles whitening. As if that grip could hold the part of her already chasing Darina. She took a deep breath, diving back into the familiar rhythm: check fittings, sync sensors, run the checklist. Movements honed to muscle memory, a lifeline to yank her from her head. Almost. While her hands moved, her mind drifted to that morning¡¯s goodbye. Darina walking away without looking back, knowing a glance would root her in place. Her usually steady fingers tightening that last second, memorizing every touch. And Victoria, instead of ¡°stay,¡± choking out, ¡°Come back.¡± She shook her head, banishing the image. Work. Only work could keep her afloat now. She zeroed in on the schematic, shutting off emotion like a faulty module¡ªdecisive, no hesitation.

    Victoria didn¡¯t hear the door slide open. She only realized she wasn¡¯t alone when a cup of coffee¡ªhot, with milk, just how she liked it¡ªlanded on her desk.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare bury yourself in work till you¡¯re half-dead,¡± Jai Kajura, her colleague, said with his signature crooked grin. ¡°We all get it¡ªyou¡¯re feeling like shit. But if you crash, who¡¯s gonna keep this system afloat?¡±

    Victoria exhaled, wrapping her hands around the mug, a faint smile breaking through. The warmth seeped through the ceramic, tugging her back into her body.

    ¡°Thanks, Jai. I¡¯ll manage.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit,¡± he shot back, blunt as ever. ¡°But I¡¯m not prying. Just hang in there, alright? And don¡¯t forget you¡¯re not alone here.¡±

    He clapped her shoulder and left, leaving behind the scent of coffee and a fleeting shadow of human care. Victoria sat alone again, took a sip, letting the familiar taste flood her senses. She turned back to the panel and dove into work¡ªnot just for herself now. Darina, Jai, the whole team¡ªthey were her world, and right now, she had to hold it steady. Work saved her, but only for so long.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Beyond her office, the station hummed with its usual life. Lagrange-Echo spun on, systems updating, sensors pinging their signals. Victoria slipped back into being Holland¡ªthe engineer doing her job. It kept her tethered. But her fingers still drifted to the button in her pocket now and then.

    She closed the terminal, stowed her tools, and lingered by the window overlooking the main module¡¯s vast hall. The station buzzed with its evening rhythm: shift changes, techs trudging back from training, some hauling parts containers, others clutching hot meals in plastic trays. Same as ever. Typical evenings on Lagrange-Echo¡ªwhere for a couple hours, you could forget you were drifting on the Solar System¡¯s edge, in a metal shell where air depended on algorithms and heat on advanced math.

    Victoria stepped into the corridor. The soft hum of systems tracked her steps, steady light from panels casting long shadows. The station never fully slept¡ªsomeone was always on duty. Techs sipped instant coffee by a diagnostics board, dispatchers murmured over internal comms, and walls scrolled with alerts¡ªshuttle statuses, radiation levels, upcoming maneuvers.

    Muted voices drifted from a corner¡ªlaughter over fresh gossip, debates about IRIS¡¯s latest regs. Nearby, the gym door slid open, spilling out two sweaty cyber-mechs digging for energy bars in their pockets. Station life¡ªraw, unglamorous, a chain of small rituals stitching together its pulse.

    Passing a transparent corridor segment, Victoria paused. Beyond the glass, in the cosmic dark, the station rotated slowly to mimic gravity. Hundreds of lights, panels, antennas, external units¡ªit was her home. Fragile, noisy, but home.

    Her footsteps echoed softly on the metal panels. She didn¡¯t rush¡ªthere was nowhere to go, no one to see. Darina was gone, the lab would drain her dry come morning, and now she just wandered the familiar halls, sinking into the station¡¯s evening bustle.

    Lagrange-Echo. Eight years of her life etched into this place. The Institute for Research of Intersystem Systems¡ªIRIS¡ªhad long stopped feeling purely scientific. Behind that name simmered the Solar System¡¯s political stew. UPN, corporate giants, the science council¡ªall grinding their agendas here, cloaked in grand talk of progress. Victoria knew it well: beneath the research mission lurked a war¡ªcold, covert¡ªfor influence, contracts, wormhole access.

    Erebus. Damn Erebus, the spark that ignited it all. IRIS was born for it¡ªfor the anomaly, the chance to leap beyond the system and claim a slice of new space first. Lagrange-Echo grew around that goal like coral over a sunken ship. A few labs and hangars at first, then housing blocks, commercial zones¡ªuntil it ballooned into a metropolis on the Solar System¡¯s fringe.

    Through the glazed corridor, Victoria glimpsed life churning in the void. Massive haulers towed modules for the outer ring¡¯s expansion. Auto-drones buzzed around hull panels. In the distance, domes of asteroid settlements flickered¡ªtiny biofarm lights, trade platforms, and habitats speckling the Kuiper Belt.

    This chaotic anthill was hers. Its grit and gleam, its endless talks, scandals, and emergencies. Some dreamed of escaping¡ªto Mars, to Earth. Victoria felt woven into these walls, cables, antennas. She knew how many had died in open space with faulty suits. How many contracts were signed under duress when corps strong-armed scientists. And how many breakthroughs came here not because of, but despite it all.

    Still, for all its mess, this place was unmatched. No station in the system rivaled Lagrange-Echo¡¯s tech. The best¡ªmaterials, software¡ªflowed here first. IRIS didn¡¯t just run science; they wrote its rules.

    She stopped at a small cafeteria, grabbed water from the dispenser. It all felt mundane, but a thought gnawed at her¡ªshe could¡¯ve been part of that history. Could¡¯ve, but didn¡¯t want to anymore. Once, she¡¯d have leapt at the first wormhole expedition, ready to board a capsule today. Now, she cared more about waiting for Darina¡¯s return.

    Victoria sighed, scanning the dynamic wall feed. Updates rolled by¡ªsomeone seeking a virtual tennis partner, another selling a rare amp model, yet another hunting a lost comms unit. Station life, tinged with faint weariness.

    She turned toward the residential sector, quieter now. No lab clamor here¡ªjust the soft whir of ventilation and muffled voices behind walls. Her door¡¯s scanner blinked as always, recognizing her and sliding open.

    Her apartment greeted her with silence. Everything as usual¡ªa jacket slung over a chair, clutter on the table, old photos from station parties with goofy poses. And amid it all, traces of Darina.

    She shed her clothes, left in a tank top and underwear, and drifted to the window. The station kept spinning in the cold void. Somewhere out there, beyond her sight, Darina prepped for her mission. And Victoria stood here¡ªnot a scientist, not a pioneer, just a woman waiting, breath catching at every incoming ping.

    A diode on her terminal blinked. New message. Sender tag: IRIS.

    Her heart skipped again.

 Space Cutter "Thunder"

    Special Forces ONP Assault Cutter, 4 Hours Post-Launch, Course Set for "Chimera"

    The metal hull of the cutter trembled faintly¡ªnot from turbulence, since there¡¯s none in space, but from the engine pulses keeping the acceleration at a steady one-and-a-half g. The weight underfoot felt alien, pressing even the toughest bastards into their joints and spines in ways no base ever could.

    Darina had already claimed the bottom bunk¡ªthe only spot where you could half-ass relax. Above her, sprawled out with his legs splayed and puffing an illegal vape into the vent, lounged Sergeant Talik Singh, known in tight circles as "Pops." In the next row, Lieutenant Miroslav "Miro" Stoyanovich was cleaning his modular rifle, while Captain Michael Johnson slouched in the command chair, lazily scrolling through a tactical briefing. Lieutenant Kazuhiro Yamada, curled up in the corner, was either meditating or faking it¡ªfuck knows with that silent Jap.

    The quiet shattered under Pops¡¯ deep, gravelly growl:

    "One-and-a-half g ain¡¯t no fucking tourist jaunt to an orbital dump! How long are you bitches gonna last, huh?" He cackled, flicking the vape pod straight onto the floor. "I remember hauling crates on Ceres at two g¡ªsome greenhorn¡¯s eyes popped right out. Mouth opened, and blood came bubbling up. Now that was a sight!"

    "Shut it, Talik," Miro snapped, not looking up from his rifle. "If anyone¡¯s popping, it¡¯ll be your mouth from your own damn stories."

    "Fuck you, you shitty sniper!" Pops grinned. "Ever get those dainty hands dirty, or you just spit through a scope?"

    "Better through a scope than on whores behind the latrine," Miro shot back. "Though for you, Pops, a hooker and a spacesuit are the same damn thing."

    Talik opened his mouth to retort, but Michael raised a hand, eyes still glued to the screen:

    "Quit bitching, you pack of mutts. Anyone actually read the briefing, or are we figuring it out on the fly again?"

    "What¡¯s to read?" Darina rolled over, hands behind her head. "We¡¯re flying to ''Chimera,'' docking with that rusty tub, slapping on miner disguises, playing a drunk shift hauling a busted drill for repairs. Get close, crack the airlocks, slip in, and sort out who¡¯s a rat and who¡¯s just extra baggage."

    "Yeah, and ¡®avoid direct confrontation if possible,¡¯" Pops mocked in a high-pitched whine. "Like anyone¡¯s dodging shit after we barge in! We¡¯ll pop out like a pus-filled zit on an ass¡ªeveryone¡¯s gonna see us."

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Half that lab¡¯s probably bought off root to stem," Michael said, peeling his eyes off the screen and snapping his fingers. "If not more. So half¡¯ll greet us with tea and cookies, and the other half¡¯ll try locking us in the airlock and blowing us out to fuck-knows-where in open space. Me? I¡¯m not avoiding shit¡ªI¡¯m starting with an elbow to the teeth."

    "Crystal clear, boss," Pops threw a mock salute, only to catch Michael¡¯s hard stare and clam up.

    Yamada, silent till now, cracked his eyes open and spoke low, cutting through the noise:

    "Pretending to be drunk miners won¡¯t work. Our spine is too stiff. They¡¯ll clock us by our walk and talk in a heartbeat."

    "Thanks, Captain Obvious," Darina smirked. "That¡¯s why we¡¯re picking up a couple real miners en route. Let them play crew while we¡¯re ¡®corporate techs.¡¯ So, Yamada, prep that Chinese face of yours to charm some filthy thugs. They¡¯ll sell their souls once they see you¡¯re tougher than they are."

    "I¡¯m Japanese," Kazuhiro replied, calm as ever.

    "Japanese, Martian, whatever¡ªjust don¡¯t stay mute," Darina snorted. "They¡¯ll think someone ripped your tongue out."

    Michael clapped his hands, dragging their attention back:

    "Enough philosophizing. Right now, it¡¯s about surviving this damn one-and-a-half g without puking or snapping our backs. Anyone who flops on ''Chimera'' is scrubbing the shitter all the way to the Trojans."

    "Ooh, keep scaring me," Pops scratched his gut. "What I¡¯m worried about is the grub on this tub. Decent, or we are stuck with ''Soyuz-23'' rations again?"

    "Don¡¯t eat, think," Michael grinned. "Keep chowing down, and your brain will fuse with the fat. Might do you some good."

    "Hey, you hear that?" Pops shook a fist. "I¡¯m supposed to use my brain now! Since when, Captain? I haul heavy iron and break people. Thinking¡¯s for Holland¡ªshe was born for it."

    Darina bolted upright, eyes flashing:

    "Mention my girl again, and you¡¯re sleeping in the airlock."

    "Oh, she¡¯s ¡®your girl¡¯ now?" Pops smirked. "Well, well¡­"

    "Talik," Michael loomed over him. "Either shut your trap, or I¡¯ll shut it with a helmet. Orally. We¡¯ve got four days in this metal coffin¡ªI¡¯m not listening to you fuck up our vibe. Got it?"

    "Got it, got it, jeez, calm down!" Pops pulled a fake pout but switched gears fast: "Fine, first one to the bar for a beer on ''Chimera'' wins."

    "You¡¯re insufferable," the squad groaned in unison.

    The cutter hummed its monotone song, the nav panel flickering with signal lights. Ahead stretched four days in a cramped hull¡ªstink of sweat, grease, and ozone, jokes past the line, rehashing old ops, and prepping for the moment the airlock swings open. They¡¯d step out not as soldiers but as a grimy pack of workers, ready to rip the throat out of anyone who sniffed them out.

    One-and-a-half g didn¡¯t feel so heavy anymore. The real weight was waiting up ahead.

 Message

    An encrypted data packet hit Holland¡¯s personal terminal¡ªa direct line from the IRIS Commission. She wasn¡¯t expecting anything urgent, especially not from them. The Expedition Commission didn¡¯t usually reach out to station engineers directly; all requests came through official channels. But this one was addressed to her personally. It bore Adrian Brown¡¯s digital signature. Victoria sat on the edge of her bed, knees hugged tight to her chest. The bedroom light was dim, the window showing only the dead glow of a distant star and the faint halo of the station¡¯s shields. The air felt too thick, hard to breathe. On the console screen, the list still lingered. Her name glowed like a brand.

    "What the¡­" she muttered, starting the decryption.

    The data spilled into her terminal. A list of candidates for the main expedition team through Erebus. And there was her name¡ªright under Brown¡¯s, in the "key energy systems specialists" section. Next to it, a brief but thorough note: "Victoria Holland¡ªchief mission engineer, personal recommendation of the scientific sector lead, Dr. Brown."

    Her hand dropped slowly to the table. Her fingers shook. She reread the line again and again, but the meaning didn¡¯t shift. They¡¯d picked her. Already. No interviews, no competitions. Just a done deal. And it wasn¡¯t random¡ªBrown had put her there himself.

    Her heart pounded in her throat. A hot wave rushed to her face, slid down her neck. Brown. Her father¡¯s friend. The man who¡¯d known her since she was a kid. The man she trusted¡ªas a scientist, as a mentor. He knew this was her dream. And he¡¯d done this for her. Without asking, without warning.

    Victoria clenched her fists, a lump rising in her chest. Anger? Disappointment? Too messy to untangle.

    She stood, pacing the lab back and forth like a caged lion. Everything inside her boiled.

    He¡¯d decided for her. Like all those damn adults who always knew better. Like commanders, senior engineers, the personnel commission. Only this wasn¡¯t just a job anymore. This was her life.

    "Go to hell, Brown," she hissed through gritted teeth.

    But what choked her most wasn¡¯t the anger at him. It was what she¡¯d felt the instant she saw her name on that list.

    That damn shiver of excitement. That rush of adrenaline, that impossible, cursed, bone-deep hunger to be out there.

    She knew what it meant. No matter how much she lied to herself, no matter what she told Darina about choosing her¡ªthe stars called to her in a way nothing and no one else ever could.

    It was tearing her apart.

    She exhaled, and sank back to the console. Her fingers hovered over the keys when a new message popped up¡ªanother one, layered on top.

    "Vic, sorry for no heads-up. But we need you. I know how much you¡¯ve dreamed of this. And I know how proud Arthur would¡¯ve been. Don¡¯t make me find your replacement. We leave in four months. Hope you¡¯re with us. ¡ªAdrian."

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Her lips trembled. She closed her eyes. Her father¡¯s face flashed before her¡ªserious, tired, but with that special smile he saved just for her. When she¡¯d built her first working thermoreactor circuit as a kid. When she¡¯d defended her first project. When she¡¯d told him she¡¯d be an engineer, like him.

    "Damn you, Dad," she breathed.

    Victoria knew this wasn¡¯t just a job. Not just a project. It was a legacy. She could be part of what her father lived for. What he died for.

    But she¡¯d promised Darina. And herself. To stay.

    Stars or love.

    The old choice every spacefarer faced. And almost always, the stars won. But Victoria wasn¡¯t "almost everyone." She¡¯d always sworn she wouldn¡¯t be like them.

    Inside, she argued with herself. Her mind screamed this was the chance of a lifetime. That she¡¯d never get another shot like this. She knew what it¡¯d do to her career if she said no. Brown¡ªthe man she¡¯d always listened to, the link to her family¡¯s past¡ªhad handed her a ticket to a new world.

    But everything else in her rebelled.

    She saw Darina¡ªsleepy, tousled, with that stupid grin when she opened her eyes and saw Victoria beside her. Felt her fingers tracing lines down her back, and heard her mumble through sleep. Darina didn¡¯t do grand words, didn¡¯t make scenes or throw fits¡ªbut Victoria felt her attachment in every cell.

    They both knew relationships like this were rare in their lives. Every night together was more than just sex or downtime. It was a shelter¡ªan island of normalcy in a world of orders, tight schedules, and constant risk.

    And now Victoria had to destroy that island herself.

    "You chose her," she reminded herself. "You decided the stars could wait."

    But the stars didn¡¯t wait. They called. And in that call was something painfully familiar. Like a pull in her blood.

    Her fingers gripped the fabric of her jumpsuit. No. She wouldn¡¯t go. Simple as that. Just say no, and it¡¯s done. Brown would be disappointed, but he¡¯d understand. Darina would understand. And she¡­ she¡¯d survive.

    She¡¯d promised herself she wouldn¡¯t be like her father. Wouldn¡¯t ditch everything for a mirage on the other side of the universe. Wouldn¡¯t live just for the next mission.

    But what if it wasn¡¯t a mirage? What if something out there could change everything? Something worth her whole life?

    Victoria jumped up, pacing the cabin again. Her body demanded movement¡ªlike she could shake the decision out of herself by burning energy. She opened the locker, pulled out her old jacket¡ªthe one from Earth, from when she¡¯d first joined the program. Worn, with an oil stain on the sleeve¡ªa memento of her first solo reactor build. She¡¯d kept it as a reminder of why she¡¯d started this path.

    "Idiot," she muttered to herself.

    She¡¯d chosen Darina. Herself. Because real life was here, not in some hazy "later." She wanted that normal life. Wanted to wake up next to someone she loved, bicker over who took out the trash or got the shower first. Wanted the mundane, too precious in a world of sharp edges and high stakes.

    And yet¡­ part of her still stared out the window. Beyond Erebus. Into the unknown.

    The pull to the stars matched the pull to Darina.

    "Enough," she gritted her teeth.

    The choice was made. Darina. A normal life, as normal as a fringe-system station could offer. Done. Period.

    She went to the console, opened a reply to Brown¡¯s message.

    "Doctor, thanks for the trust. I have to decline. Personal reasons. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find a worthy replacement."

    She hovered over that line for nearly a minute. Her fingers shook. Then she hit "Send."

    And only then realized she was crying.

 Assault Cruiser "Chimera"

    Outer Orbit of Saturn

    A dull thud reverberated through the cutter¡¯s hull as the "Chimera¡¯s" docking clamps locked the small transport onto the external mooring module. The steel door groaned open, letting in the dense air of the assault cruiser¡ªdry, reeking of recycled oxygen, faint metallic char, and technical grease.

    Darina exhaled, cracking her neck, and stepped into the airlock first.

    "Thank the gods for normal gravity. One more day at one-and-a-half g, and I¡¯d have married my bunk for life."

    "You¡¯re already in love with that bunk," Talik snorted, stretching in the doorway. "But honestly¡ªmy ass feels like a tank¡¯s now. I can count every damn vertebra."

    "You should just shut up," Miro cut in, kneading his shoulder after gearing up. "If anyone whined loudest, it was you."

    "At least I¡¯m still kicking," Pops grinned. "You snipers are used to eating vacuum and breathing ambition."

    Michael slid into the chatter with a faint smirk:

    "Alright, enough kindergarten. Welcome to the ''Chimera,'' kids. Best cruiser for the worst jobs. Get your asses to the hold for briefing¡ªand yeah, showers for everyone except Yamada. He doesn¡¯t sweat anyway."

    Yamada, as usual, said nothing.

    The "Chimera" was one of those ships that didn¡¯t flash across news feeds or fire ceremonial salvos for the cameras. It was a workhorse of the Sky Legion¡ªnot the newest, but patched up with so many upgrades that the original blueprint was only recognizable by the hull¡¯s outline. Its frame¡ªreinforced sections with double internal bulkheads¡ªwas built for maneuvers under high gravity or heavy firefights. The outer armor¡ªblack composite with ceramic coating¡ªbore scars of old battles, thermal burns, and dents from debris. The main deck felt less like a ship and more like a high-tech bunker. Lift shafts, armored to absurdity, narrow corridors lined with protruding tactical panels, their buttons glowing a dull red. Cameras everywhere, redundant life-support and atmosphere-control systems everywhere else.

    The command center¡ªthe "Chimera¡¯s" heart¡ªwas a round chamber with a holographic tactical sphere sunk into the floor. Legion officers in dark blue-and-silver uniforms worked silently, trading clipped commands. The crew was a mix from across the Solar System¡ªEarth natives, Martians, Jupiter moon vets, corporate war survivors, and ex-pirates who¡¯d earned redemption through skill. Harrison¡¯s squad was elite among elites¡ªa core ripped from the maddest meat grinder in ONP history. But they weren¡¯t alone. Five other strike teams roamed the "Chimera," each with its own flavor, style, and god complex.

    For people like Darina and her crew, the "Chimera" was a temporary home¡ªa place where personal shit didn¡¯t matter, and your worth was your work.

    When Harrison¡¯s squad stepped onto the inner deck, no one turned, no greetings or jabs were thrown. This wasn¡¯t a buddy club. Respect had to be earned. And everyone knew: if you were let aboard the "Chimera," you were either damn good or damn necessary to someone upstairs.

    "Come on, penguins, move your asses," Michael barked shortly. "They¡¯re waiting."

    The squad marched silently across the metal floor as the "Chimera" prepped to cast another shadow over the Trojan cluster.

    The assault cruiser wasn¡¯t a pinnacle of tech or a flex of United Nations of Planets (ONP) military might. It was a product of its time, born from the endless competitive grind the ONP got dragged into by corporations. By the mid-23rd century, the Solar System¡¯s power balance had shattered. Corporations were basically states now. Resource miners, security firms, and transport giants bought warships from third-party contractors. Militarized corps like "Armotech" or "Tangent" built their own fleets, pumping out weapons systems that often outpaced ONP tech by a decade. Corporate private armies trained to bespoke programs, tailored to specific battlegrounds¡ªdense-atmosphere firefights or covert ops among mining moons. The ONP couldn¡¯t keep up with that tech frenzy. Budgets were stretched thin, doctrines shifting constantly to appease the Council. So they bet on numbers, modularity, and survivability. That¡¯s how the fleet¡¯s "heavy bones" came to be¡ªmultipurpose cruisers adaptable to any job in weeks.

    The "Chimera" wasn¡¯t a masterpiece. It was a tool.

    Its design wasn¡¯t dreamed up by concept artists but wrung out of budget limits by engineers. The base¡ªan old multipurpose assault platform frame from the 2280s¡ªhad been modded into a patchwork beast. Every section was swappable: armor panels were standard production blocks, cargo bays retooled for anything from ammo storage to temp jails or labs. The "Chimera¡¯s" armament didn¡¯t scream elegance¡ªtwo mid-range railguns on the sides, bulky cannon platforms under the belly, missile batteries for big targets. It wasn¡¯t seamlessly integrated; it was crammed into the hull, like a ship stitched from different eras¡¯ scraps.

    The "Chimera¡¯s" real value was its assault complex.

    Beneath the armor hid a mobile fortress: capsule airlocks for rapid strike-team drops, armored hangars for heavy cutters, modular weapon caches, and¡ªmost critical¡ªreinforced living blocks for Sky Legion spec-ops. No spacious cabins here¡ªjust sealed pods, each with an emergency suit, standalone breather, and weapon locker. This wasn¡¯t a crew¡¯s home; it was a weapon¡¯s, built to operate solo. The "Chimera" could carry up to 150 troopers at once, mission depending. And 90% weren¡¯t rookies¡ªvets with dozens of ops under their belts. The Sky Legion wasn¡¯t just ONP elite by name¡ªit was the thin layer of pros holding the line between corporate chaos and the last scraps of real ONP power. Ships like the "Chimera" were made for one purpose¡ªnot to slug it out with corporate fleets. That was a lost cause. They punched through local defenses, ran covert strikes, seized key targets fast, and vanished. The "Chimera" wasn¡¯t a battleship; it was a dagger. Sent where one quick stab could reclaim control¡ªor at least fake it.

    Inside, the "Chimera" rocked utilitarian vibes. No frills. Floors¡ªbare metal with anti-vibe coating. Walls studded with modular gear mounts. Every other compartment could reconfigure on the fly.

    The command block¡ªa fortified capsule near the stern¡ªwas wrapped in defensive systems and backup comms loops. The med bay¡ªcompact but overstuffed with gear¡ªhandled gunshot wounds, burns, ruptures, and rad damage, not colds.

    The assault hold was the universe¡¯s center for squads like Harrison¡¯s. Their cells, their gear, their combat pods. Every Sky Legion fighter had a spot, a network hookup, personal tags scratched into steel walls. This wasn¡¯t a lounge¡ªit was a war temple.

    The ONP couldn¡¯t afford a fleet for every new threat. Too costly, too slow. Corps churned out modular frigates tailored to the moment, while the ONP banked on versatility. The "Chimeras" were the compromise¡ªmobility, toughness, adaptability. They could swap modules, weapons, layouts in days, morphing into assault platforms, mobile HQs, or search-and-rescue rigs.

    That¡¯s why the Sky Legion bonded with ships like this. A symbiosis: flexible tools for flexible soldiers. The "Chimera" could enter atmo, land on a planet, loiter in asteroid fields, hide in a moon¡¯s radio shadow, or storm an orbital platform. It could do it all¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t the best at anything. That was the point: not to be the best, but to be the only option.

    The cargo lift screeched open, spilling Harrison¡¯s squad into the "Chimera¡¯s" assault hold. The air stank of metal, sweat, old oil, and a faint sweetness¡ªozone mixed with burnt plastic. This wasn¡¯t a sterile fleet cruiser. It was a worn, pissed-off workhorse, just like its crew.

    "Well, fuck me, you again," Talik growled, slapping the hull. "How many years, you rusty bitch?"

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "Shut it, romantic," Miro yawned, cracking his neck loud. "One-and-a-half g flatten your brain?"

    "One-and-a-half g?" Darina slipped past, yanking off her gloves. "That¡¯s a beach stroll. Or did you all turn into rear-echelon pussies?"

    "Spare me, Vasilevich," Michael smirked, plopping his ass on an ammo crate. "You were born in this shit. We¡¯re normal people. We like zero-g in space."

    "Shitty people, more like," Darina muttered, checking her armor straps. "Bunch of rags."

    "What, you¡¯re our fucking virtue poster child now?" Singh barked a laugh. "One-and-a-half g¡¯s no excuse to scarf stims straight from the pack, huh, sunshine?"

    "If I had stims, you¡¯d be chewing your boot by now," Darina yawned.

    Laughter ripped through the hold¡ªloud, sharp, like a shotgun blast. The kind of laugh only the dead-by-all-rules-but-still-here could muster.

    Harrison appeared in the doorway¡ªpolished to a mirror shine, tactical suit, no jacket. Shoulders like a cargo drone¡¯s, arms pure living steel. All atop that doll-like, sterile face with idiot platinum hair yanked into a tight knot.

    "Half an hour to gear check," she said, voice level. "Then asses to the hangar. Briefing. Anyone out of shape gets a penalty lap through the vent shafts."

    "Yes, ma¡¯am, Mama Carnage," Singh quipped, snapping into a mock salute.

    Harrison didn¡¯t even glance at him. Just swept the rest with a scanner¡¯s gaze¡ªnot looking for flaws, but sizing up which part to rip out first if it broke.

    "Vasilevich, Johnson, Stoyanovich, Singh, Yamada¡ªI want your asses in the hangar in twenty-five minutes. Not a second late."

    "Yes, ma¡¯am," the squad barked in unison.

    When Ksenia moved further down the corridor, Michael let out a loud exhale.

    "Well, fuck me. Here we go."

    "What¡¯d you expect? Butterflies?" Darina was already digging into a locker, snagging her pocket scanner. "Harrison¡¯s not here for smiles."

    "No, she¡¯s here for blood," Miro added. "Our job¡¯s to spill it, hers is to count it."

    "Enough yapping," Michael stood. "Anyone who doesn¡¯t check their systems before the briefing gets my personal dick-o-meter up their ass, full depth."

    "Your dick-o-meter¡¯d fit in a teaspoon," Singh snorted, pulling on his jumpsuit.

    "But it¡¯s calibrated," Michael shot back. "So fuck off and get to work."

    Noise, clanks of gear, snaps of locks, AI system checks. No one asked "why." They all knew¡ªtomorrow they¡¯d load onto the "rusty shitcan" handed to them for cover and barrel toward a shitstorm.

    The "Chimera" knew them. She lived in their smells, their sweat, their jokes, their screams in sealed pods when someone cracked under the strain. She wasn¡¯t new¡ªher hull carried scars from dozens of fights, each dent telling a story of another crew already rotting in the void. Still, she was the best the ONP could afford. Not a shiny parade cruiser with sleek panels and pompous names, but a rough combat bitch stitched together from the best tech the corps hadn¡¯t swiped. The ONP couldn¡¯t match corporate fleets anymore. Corps built custom armadas: "Galactic Mining" with armored assault crafts, "Armotech" with feral drones, "Cybergen" with self-regenerating chimera-ships grown right in orbit. Regular ONP fleets were stuck playing catch-up. They leaned on numbers. For the elite, like the Sky Legion, they made the "Chimeras"¡ªmongrel ships pieced from mismatched projects, from old nuke cannons to experimental grav-guns. The "Chimera" didn¡¯t shine. But she was tough as a barracks whore, unbothered even by cosmic radiation.

    "So, you bitch," Darina whispered, brushing her fingers over the rough wall, "gonna pull us through again, or we dying together this time?"

    The ship didn¡¯t answer. It just waited.

    "To the hangar, freaks!" Michael roared.

    And the squad moved¡ªhard, tight, like a living machine that didn¡¯t care where it died, as long as it went out swinging.

    ***

    The briefing kicked off with no frills. The room on the "Chimera"¡ªlow ceiling, gray walls, an old tactical table with scuffed edges, and a projection screen so dusty it looked untouched since the first Triton war. On it¡ªPatroclus. A pitted rock slab scarred with mines and abandoned quarry shafts, hanging in the Trojans of Jupiter like a chunk of shredded armor from some ancient ship.

    Alexander Reynolds scanned the room, eyes locked on the screen. His voice was low, harsh, metal grinding on metal.

    "Lab. Illegal. Three levels underground. Self-sustaining¡ªown life support, generators, defenses. Zero orbit security; it¡¯s all inside. Your job¡ªget in, grab every data carrier, and turn it into a tech-fucked mess. Wipe it clean so in a couple hours even the rats won¡¯t know who hit it."

    He leaned forward, knuckling on the table.

    "And yeah. I¡¯m not going with you. This is your gig. I¡¯m staying here, coordinating over the link. I only care about the result."

    Michael Johnson smirked crookedly but kept quiet. Everyone knew if Reynolds wasn¡¯t tagging along, the shit ahead was waist-deep.

    "Eight-day haul on the ''Dusk Hound,''" Reynolds went on, "a refitted garbage scow. You¡¯ll crawl at low speed to blend into local traffic. Cover¡¯s set¡ªsmugglers hauling scrap from Ganymede. No one should touch you."

    He flipped the projection¡ªinternal lab schematics.

    "Key detail¡ªPatroclus has its own grav-generator, installed when the first mining complexes wrapped up. Full Earth-standard gravity across the drop zone. So you¡¯re descending old-school¡ªon ropes, like infantry from last century. No smooth entry. Fast or dead."

    "Why the hassle?" Singh grumbled, scratching his stubble. "Wouldn¡¯t a drone be simpler?"

    "Because someone upstairs wants the Legion to do it. Your squad, specifically." Reynolds slammed a fist on the table. "Mission¡¯s flagged first-tier clearance. Initiator¡¯s orders: Harrison¡¯s unit, no subs. Talk was about ¡®high performance.¡¯ Off the record¡ªfuck knows. You¡¯ve got a day to swallow it and get it done."

    "So we were picked ahead of time?" Miro clarified. "No other options even on the table?"

    "Yeah. And I don¡¯t like it either," Reynolds¡¯ gaze flicked to Ksenia, standing against the wall like a statue. "But we¡¯re not playing games here. Orders are orders."

    "Bullshit," Singh muttered, eyeing the map. "Easier to just blast the whole hole with an orbital torp."

    "Because the carriers have to be pulled out," Reynolds¡¯ voice cut through again. "No clue what kind of backup loop they¡¯ve got. Burn a carrier, you burn the data. And the data¡¯s critical. So no ¡®pretty¡¯ fixes. Just dirty work, your style."

    "Someone wants warm intel in their pocket?" Miro mumbled, shaking his head.

    "I don¡¯t know and don¡¯t wanna know," Reynolds wrapped up. "Not our business. ONP gave the order. We follow it."

    "Got it, boss," Michael nodded shortly. "Same as always. Work first, think later."

    Ksenia stepped forward, face unchanged.

    "Plan¡¯s standard," her voice rang flat, like an auto-gun burst. "We pose as the ''Dusk Hound,'' drop to trade speed, enter the ''Patroclus'' zone, and park in a small asteroid¡¯s shadow. After a quick silence check, we deploy¡ªropes, two streams, perimeter sweep. First team cuts external sensors and sets jammers. Second cracks the tech airlock. Infiltration by levels¡ªour usual: floor by floor."

    She highlighted zones on the schematic with one finger swipe.

    "Level one¡ªtechnical. Two¡ªlabs. Three¡ªservers and archive. We need all carriers. Personnel¡ªliquidate on sight, no chats, no prisoners. No noise, no traces. Screams, shots, air leaks¡ªunacceptable. Use blades if needed. Silenced weapons¡ªstandard."

    "Beautiful," Michael snorted. "Like a family picnic."

    "If you think this is easy, you don¡¯t get where you¡¯re going," Reynolds straightened. "This isn¡¯t some cartel lab. Someone big¡¯s got its back. And if it¡¯s been untouchable this long, there¡¯s something worth the risk. Your job isn''t to figure out who¡ªjust do it."

    "Whoever pays calls the shots," Singh summed up, tightening his belt.

    "Exactly," Reynolds exhaled. "Tomorrow, 06:00 sharp, you load onto the ''Dusk Hound.'' Eight days¡ªno vacation. On arrival, local briefing, data sync, and go. Anyone¡¯s got cold feet¡ªspeak now."

    Silence. The Legion doesn¡¯t ask questions.

    "Then hit the bunks. Harrison, stay a minute."

    When the rest cleared out, Ksenia didn¡¯t budge. Reynolds rounded the table, faced her.

    "You get the feeling this shit¡¯s not random either?"

    "Of course," she nodded. "But I don¡¯t dig into other people¡¯s games. Not our lane."

    "And you¡¯ll still go?"

    "It¡¯s your order. I don¡¯t debate orders."

    Reynolds paused for a couple seconds, then nodded.

    "That¡¯s why I picked you."

    Ksenia gave a faint nod back and turned to leave. Steady steps, predator¡¯s grace, zero emotion.

    "Major," he called before the door. "Don¡¯t forget¡ªI¡¯m here, on the line."

    "I don¡¯t," she said, not turning.

    The door hissed shut behind her.

    Reynolds stood alone in the quiet.

    "Not that it¡¯ll necessarily help you," he muttered under his breath.

 Dusk Hound

    En Route to Lagrange Point L5, Jupiter Orbit

    The corridors of the "Dusk Hound" greeted them with the usual crap¡ªsmell of oily dust, a metallic tang in the air, creaking bulkheads like the old freighter¡¯s hull was trying to warn them: "Get the fuck out while you still can." No one bailed. No one even flinched.

    "Bitches, they haven¡¯t even changed the filters," Singh spat on the floor, where a puddle of condensate was already spreading. "We¡¯re seriously stuck in this coffin for eight days?"

    "You bragged your granddad hauled uranium in a hatch," Miro snorted, slinging a gear crate over his shoulder. "Now you can feel closer to your roots, you shitty showman."

    "My granddad would¡¯ve died laughing at this junk!" Singh kicked open the hold door, where ammo crates were already piled high. "Is it even legal to haul us in this dumpster?"

    "All by the book," Ksenia¡¯s voice cut in behind them, cold and flat like a headshot. "No luxury. Just the job. Isn¡¯t that why you¡¯re here?"

    "My bad, Major," Singh dipped his head, pulling a perfect stone-face, only to smirk a second later. "By the book it is, then."

    Michael overheard and just shook his head.

    "Goblins, fuck¡¯s sake." He squeezed into the hold, shoving between crates. "Leave you clowns alone for three days, and you¡¯d turn any ship into a damn zoo. Though in our case, that¡¯s a plus¡ªsmugglers, motherfucker."

    Ksenia scanned them all quickly, out of habit. Her people didn¡¯t need pep talks. Everyone knew their spot, knew how to act. Still, she stepped closer to Michael and added quietly:

    "They can smell this job stinks. That¡¯s how it should be. Don¡¯t let them slack."

    "They¡¯re so wound up their asses are whistling," Michael grinned crookedly, though his eyes stayed sharp. "And you know, it¡¯s not the lab that¡¯s bugging me. It¡¯s why they¡¯re dragging us out there like special cargo¡ªand in this¡­"

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    He rapped his fist on the wall. The hull rattled back.

    "This fucking iron." Michael raised an eyebrow. "You¡¯d think the Sky Legion earned something better."

    Ksenia didn¡¯t answer. She knew why. They all did. The Legion was a tool, and tools don¡¯t get comfort. They get work.

    Meanwhile, the hold buzzed with the usual assault-team chaos. Some unpacked bunks, others unraveled cables, hooking personal terminals to the ship¡¯s grid. Singh slapped an army dartboard on the wall¡ªtradition for every long haul. Miro pulled out a deck of porn-printed cards, survivors of two wars and five planets.

    "Who¡¯s losing first?" he grinned, spinning a card between his fingers. It landed on a redhead in a vacuum suit¡ªand nothing else.

    "Not you," Pops smirked. "You play cards like my grandma plays bingo."

    "Singh, your grandma plays better than you," Michael tossed out, brushing past. "And she¡¯d probably be sober by the start of the mission."

    "Bullshit." Pops chuckled, but tucked a flask of something strong behind his belt.

    Ksenia didn¡¯t step in. She knew¡ªlet them blow off steam while they could. Eight days in this tin can, no real gravity, one shitter for all¡ªbetter they goof off now than need dragging out of a breakdown later, feet-first.

    Within an hour, they¡¯d settled into the coffin like it was home barracks. Some bickered about old fights, others spun tall tales, a few practiced knife-throws at an empty ration pack nailed to the bulkhead.

    "Hey, Harrison," Michael called, standing in front of her with the look of a guy ready for a real talk. "Before I forget¡ªone of our newbies asked: why us? There¡¯s a ton of local grunts out here, and the corps have their own dogs. Why haul us this far?"

    Ksenia held his gaze a beat longer than usual, then said:

    "Because we¡¯re the best."

    "Yeah, that¡¯s obvious," Michael smirked. "But someone upstairs really wants us to do this. You don¡¯t think they¡¯re setting us up to get slaughtered?"

    "If they¡¯re setting us up," Ksenia lifted her eyes, a cold steel glint flashing in them, "they¡¯ll be eating their teeth first."

    Everyone cracked up. Rough, short laughs¡ªthe kind only those long past fearing death could manage.

    "Fine, ¡®best,¡¯" Michael slapped the wall. "Welcome aboard the ''Dusk Hound,'' bitches. Hit the bunks¡ªtomorrow¡¯s an early start for this hell circus rehearsal."

    They scattered to their corners¡ªsome to beds, some to cards, some to the flask. No one bothered pretending it¡¯d be easy.

 Cut the Ties

    Orbital Station "Leviathan", Titan Orbit, Graves¡¯ Office

    Livia Cross stood slightly to the side, awaiting orders. An operational map of the Trojan belt hung on the transparent display¡ªasteroids, patrol routes, marked objects, including Patroclus. Graves scrolled through the data with slow fingertips, his gaze cold and detached.

    "The operation on Patroclus is approved. Harrison¡¯s team has deployed," Livia¡¯s voice was, as always, impeccably even, like she was reading a pre-scripted line.

    "Good," Graves nodded without turning. "And the ¡®corridor¡¯?"

    Livia swiped a finger across the panel, opening a secure comms channel.

    "Our contacts on-site have their instructions. They¡¯ve ¡®leaked¡¯ to the right people. By the time Harrison and her team arrive, interceptors will be waiting. With Patroclus¡¯ gravity, it¡¯ll be a clean slaughter."

    Graves finally peeled away from the display and faced Livia. His expression was calm, almost indifferent.

    "Not too messy?"

    "Depends on the perspective, sir," Livia offered a faint smile. "You said Vasilevich needs to disappear. Any way possible. Preferably as a ¡®tragic accident,¡¯ not a targeted hit."

    "The irony," Graves returned to his desk, lacing his fingers together, "is I¡¯ve got nothing against Vasilevich. She¡¯s just collateral. The real prize is Victoria. Her brain¡¯s worth more than that whole squad combined."

    "And without Darina, she¡¯ll be far more agreeable," Livia nodded, aligning with him. "Sooner or later, the fear will fade, and ambition will take over. It¡¯s a natural process. The only question is how fast she¡¯ll realize there¡¯s no other life left for her."

    Graves smirked¡ªjust a twitch at the corner of his mouth, devoid of feeling.

    "That¡¯s why I value you, Livia. You always cut to the core, no time wasted on sentimental fluff."

    Livia lowered her gaze, accepting it as praise.

    "There¡¯s a wrinkle, sir," she added, hesitating slightly. "If even one of them survives and connects the dots, it could raise unwanted questions. Especially from Reynolds. He¡¯s not an idiot."

    "Reynolds is a soldier. Distract him with another hotspot, and he¡¯s handled," Graves waved it off. "The key is Harrison not pulling her team out of this mess. She¡¯s damn stubborn. Ideally, they go down fast, no fuss. A few explosions, a system failure¡ªthen the report writes itself: ¡®unforeseen factors.¡¯"

    Livia nodded.

    "It¡¯s covered. Patroclus already has Armotech combat exosuits stashed there. If anything goes off-script, suspicion falls on them. It¡¯ll look like a militarized corp guarding its secrets."

    Graves rounded the desk, stopping across from Livia.

    "So, we get a dead squad, three days of news headlines, a couple of ONP show speeches¡ªand a week later, it¡¯s forgotten. Victoria¡¯s left without her one tether keeping her here. After that, convincing her that the only escape from the pain is a new job, a new purpose¡ªthe expedition¡ªbecomes easy."

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    "Exactly, sir," Livia met his gaze, her face calm, almost pleased. "I¡¯ve already prepped the first wave of ¡®psychological support¡¯ from IRIS. It¡¯ll look like they¡¯re just caring for their employee."

    "Perfect," Graves nodded. "But I want a backup."

    "If they survive?"

    "If someone figures out they weren¡¯t sent there by chance." His stare hardened. "Compile a dossier¡ªdirt on Darina and her crew. Smuggling, underworld ties, maybe some regulation breaches. If we need it, leak it to the media. Turn them into ¡®questionable elements¡¯ if the main story falters."

    "Understood," Livia nodded, logging the note in her interface. "And if Holland tries to slip out of control?"

    Graves smiled¡ªsoftly, almost fatherly.

    "Then you remind her she¡¯s got no path left but the one we¡¯ve laid out."

    Livia gave a barely perceptible nod, turned, and left, trailing a faint whiff of expensive perfume and a chill that lingered in the room for a moment.

    Graves stayed behind, staring out at the stars. His fingers brushed the panel again, this time pulling up Victoria Holland¡¯s personal file.

    "Come on, girl," he muttered under his breath. "Show me how much you¡¯ll endure for your love."

    ***

    Livia strode down the corridor, her heels tapping a precise rhythm on the metal floor. Every move was calculated, every thought ordered. But beneath that polished exterior, under the mask of cool efficiency, something dark coiled¡ªa serpent nestled between instinct and programmed reflex.

    She loved carrying out his orders. Not just loved¡ªit went beyond pleasure, beyond meaning. Fulfilling Graves¡¯ will triggered a physical response in her, a near-painful sweetness tightening her core. When he praised her, even briefly, her breath hitched. When his gaze lingered longer than a split second, her pulse spiked like a stun prod jabbing her spine. She knew it wasn¡¯t "normal." She¡¯d been taught she wasn¡¯t a woman in the usual sense. Livia was built for tasks. Her genetic makeup¡ªa patchwork of elite samples: perfect memory, reflexes, body plasticity, reinforced tissues, adaptive psyche. Buried in that mix were a couple of programs¡ªsubmission to her master and cruelty to his enemies. Sexuality? Yeah, they threw that in too. Twisted it into a weapon. Control turned her on. Scenes of submission lit her up. Even more, she got off on moments when control crossed the line¡ªinto pain, blood, extremes that¡¯d turn a normal stomach. They¡¯d wired her to relish punishment. Hers, and others¡¯.

    She paused at a mirrored panel, adjusting her flawlessly tied ponytail, tracing a finger along the smooth skin under her jaw. She knew she was beautiful¡ªnot just beautiful, engineered to be. But that beauty was never hers. It was a tool, a lure, part of a persona as honed as her personnel management or interrogation skills.

    Her hand slipped behind her deep neckline, squeezing a nipple hard. The other clenched white in response. Then a tense finger slid between her thighs, pressing the fabric of her panties inward. No outsider could see¡ªher implant¡¯s constant link to security systems ensured that. Unless the master watched remotely, a thought that only sharpened the thrill. A wave rippled through her stunning frame; her lips parted in a slow, wet exhale.

    Her mind spun fragments¡ªHarrison¡¯s squad stepping into the zone, the ambush snapping shut, them dying under gravity¡¯s weight before they even clocked who sold them out. A languid, faint pleasure seeped through her at the image. She pictured Graves calling her back when the first "lost contact" reports trickled up. He¡¯d look at her, his eyes tracing her form¡ªthe sharp suit with its teasing cut, thin fabric hugging her curves, her body¡¯s perfect lines. And she¡¯d feel it again¡ªthat brief heat under her panties, stabbing deep like an electric jolt.

    Maybe then he¡¯d give her a few hours off to play to her heart¡¯s content.

    She wanted him to take her. Not gently. Not kindly. But like property¡ªrough, brutal, testing her limits. Hands leaving marks, breath catching from pain as much as arousal. He never did. Never touched her¡ªtoo aware she was what she was because he kept his distance. That was control too, and it drove her to trembling.

    Livia smiled at her reflection¡ªa hollow, artificial smile of someone who knew they weren¡¯t human.

    "Good hunting, Major Harrison," she whispered, smoothing her clothes. "Hope you scream loud enough for me to hear from here."

    She checked herself¡ªappearance had to be flawless. Turned and moved on, back to her duties¡ªstrict, punctual, perfect. On the surface, an impeccable pro. Inside, a creature for whom death and pain were as natural as breathing.

    And deep in her artificial soul smoldered one secret dream¡ªthat one day Graves would order her not just to eliminate someone, but to do it herself. Slowly. Creatively. With relish.

 Shadow of the Legion

    Patroclus Asteroid, Jupiter¡¯s Trojan Cluster

    The inner compartments of the "Dusk Hound" were steeped in metallic dust, sweat, and machine oil. A pair of external cameras swiveled slowly, feeding the internal screens a gray-black vista¡ªwreckage of old mining platforms, shredded container husks, and drill rig skeletons jutting from the ground. This was Patroclus¡¯ orbit, once a hub for ice vein extraction, now governed by different rules.

    The Sky Legion squad lined up by the assault pods¡ªeight fighters in gray, unmarked suits, no patches, just field IDs glowing neutral blue in the tactical system. Each suit was a personal war tool, customized and fitted to the millimeter for its owner.

    Major Ksenia Harrison stepped into the hold, her heavy boots clanging on the deck. Her voice cut like a laser sight:

    "Gear check, Echo-Four protocol. Full report to the net. Timer¡¯s six minutes. After that, I count you dead."

    They dispersed to their stations in silence. No jokes, no chatter. Just a cold, crisp routine¡ªlocking exosuit clamps, testing comms, calibrating sensors. Paramdip Singh, the squad¡¯s heavy, ran his grenade launcher¡¯s targeting system with extra care. Miroslav "Miro" Stoyanovich, the sniper, laid out long-range sensors along the pod¡¯s wall¡ªhis sector was the "long neck," the deep mine corridors.

    Darina Vasilevich stuffed standard army stim-gum into her pocket¡ªmouth dry, saliva like sand. Beside her, Kazuhiro Yamada, silent and grim, slotted extra plates into his chest armor. Close-quarters combat demanded max protection¡ªshort ranges, no dodging, just brute force.

    Captain Michael Johnson keyed the squad comms:

    "Black Throat pattern. We breach through the southeast shaft, old ventilation, then into the central corridor. Server room''s target¡ªtrack it by heat signatures. Any contacts¡ªlethal force. No civilians here."

    "No one survives," Harrison added curtly, overriding the channel.

    The pods creaked as their restraints locked them into the drop bays. Magnetic grooves slammed the armored cocoons to the freighter¡¯s hull. The "Dusk Hound" began a slow descent, faking an "emergency approach"¡ªan old trick no one below would take seriously, but enough to divert attention. The freighter dropped low, 300 meters from the surface, hovering over the gaping maw of an abandoned shaft.

    "Five minutes to drop," the pilot reported.

    "Gear¡¯s set," Mike¡¯s voice crackled as he slotted his access card into the command module. "Awaiting signal."

    Ksenia ran a hand over her helmet¡ªa pre-fight ritual. Tension burned inside her, but her face was ice. Her eyes¡ªmatte titanium, no gleam. Her voice¡ªsharp, steady:

    "Vasilevich, you¡¯re on descent control. Singh, you¡¯re blasting the entry. Miro, cover the long corridors. Mike, you grab the server¡ªif needed, rip it to the motherboard. Questions?"

    "Negative," came the clipped chorus.

    "Launch on my mark."

    The screen flashed green. The "Dusk Hound" lurched downward, as if the pilot had deliberately dropped it a meter. Magnetic clamps snapped open, and the pods tore free with a crack, trailing ultrathin nanotube cables. They fell dark¡ªno flames, no flares. Just a cold, blind plunge.

    Inside the pods, silence reigned¡ªonly filtered breathing and the faint hum of stabilizing gyros. Vasilevich checked her leg braces against the frame, knowing a hard brake relied on them to save her bones.

    "Altitude ninety¡­ eight¡­ seven¡­ six¡­ braking," sounded over the comms.

    The cables snapped taut with vicious force, biting into the pods¡¯ metal. A jolt, a spine-crushing squeeze, a stab of pain in the knees¡ªthen stillness.

    "Release," Ksenia barked, and the pods detached for their final drop.

    A soft thud¡ªtouchdown. The pods¡¯ vibro-engines kicked in instantly, burrowing them into the loose regolith. From outside, they blended into the rubble, like rocks that had tumbled into the shaft. The team exited fast¡ªno time for a look-around. The pods auto-locked, switching to passive surveillance.

    "First sector¡¯s clear," Miro rasped, his sniper rifle already trained down the shaft.

    "Move to the airlock. Paramdip, prep the ¡®key,¡¯" Harrison led, her exosuit gliding without a whisper, servos muted to the limit.

    The airlock was ancient, corrosion-eaten, its frame barely holding. Singh crouched, pulling a gray box with multiple ports from his pack. He plugged two cables into the airlock¡¯s casing, linked his terminal.

    "One minute. Fuck, this is old software. Hang on, find a hole¡­ got it!" He jabbed three keys, and the airlock jolted.

    "Enter silent. Camo full-on," Harrison ordered.

    They slipped in like ghosts. Thermo-optic cloaks bled over their armor, erasing their shapes in the shaft¡¯s gloom.

    "Temperature above normal. Air has hydrocarbon and amine traces. They were cooking something dirty," Mike whispered.

    The corridor ahead sloped into a black maw. Sensors picked up faint vibrations from below.

    "Underground generators," Miro clarified. "Lab¡¯s live."

    "Move. Fast and quiet. First shots mean we clear every room. No talks. Just bullets," Harrison¡¯s voice was so flat it could¡¯ve been part of the system.

    The squad pressed forward¡ªeight shadows melting into the dark.

    The corridor dipped at a twenty-degree angle. Walls, crusted with frost and baked grime, looked like they¡¯d pumped tons of blood mixed with oil through them. A thin fog hugged the floor, stirred by the squad¡¯s breath and suits.

    "Thermal sig¡¯s zero. No one''s been living here in a while," Miro muttered, sweeping his barrel along the walls.

    "That¡¯s bad. Means they¡¯re deeper," Vasilevich added, her voice muffled through the helmet.

    First room¡ªan old storage bay. Metal crates, pocked with rust. One was ajar. Inside¡ªscraps of fabric, stained black and crusted.

    "Blood?" Singhed, prodded it with a knife. The analyzer capsule clicked shut, feeding data to the shared HUD.

    Composition: organic compounds, carbon dust, dissolved synthetic fibers. Identification¡ªbone marrow fragments and tissue transplant traces. Source¡ªhuman.

    "What the fuck? This a lab for sure?" he muttered.

    Next door¡ªhermetic, its lock long gone. Someone had torn it open by hand¡ªmetal ripped in chunks, the wall dented from heavy blows. Vasilevich slipped in first.

    And the smell hit.

    "Fuck me," Darina jerked her head aside, fighting a gag.

    Four bodies¡ªor what was left of them¡ªsprawled in the room. Two with guts ripped open, intestines yanked out and tangled with thin cables, like someone tried to "rewire" them. One flayed skinless, muscles shriveled, but its eyes left intact, tiny cameras jammed into the sockets.

    The last corpse slumped against the wall. A regular guy, maybe forty, still in work gear. Mouth agape, throat slashed wide¡ªbut instead of blood, a bundle of wires jutted out, trailing into the wall.

    "What¡¯s this shit?" Singh was braced for anything, but this twitched him.

    "Virtual death," Johnson answered evenly, scanning the body. "Looks like they ripped his mind out through an interface. Kept him ¡®on¡¯ for some reason¡ªjust drained his brain¡¯s battery and dumped the husk in the corner."

    Harrison stayed silent. She¡¯d seen this before¡ªnot in labs, though. This was the mark of black-market operators¡ªones who trafficked pain, memories, and sensations ripped live from consciousness.

    "Forward," was all she said.

    The corridor curved right. Light was scarce¡ªjust emergency markers on the walls, blinking dimly every few seconds. The squad moved fast and silent, each step drilled to precision.

    The next room was worse. Long tables held body parts¡ªnot just limbs, but modded fragments. An arm, scaled up one-and-a-half times, coated in gray keratin armor. A head with an elongated skull and neck implants, like someone was forging a human-machine hybrid. On the wall¡ªa projection screen flickered on as they approached.

    On the screen, someone in a white coat spoke curtly:

    "¡­the final tissue fusion stage requires full sensory simulation. Without pain, adaptation fails¡­ Patient 1787 lost consciousness at minute 56, fusion rejected, dispose¡­¡±

    The recording cut off, but a title flashed¡ªProtocol Eid-3.

    "Bitches," Vasilevich snarled, slamming her boot into the table. "They were growing custom freaks for client orders here."

    "Not just that," Mike added quietly. "This isn¡¯t even a lab. It¡¯s a meat conveyor. They churned out ¡®products,¡¯ wiped their minds, and sold them as ¡®fresh.¡¯ The rejects went for organs or test subjects. This isn¡¯t black medicine. It¡¯s a death factory."

    Harrison turned to him, her voice ice:

    "If even one of these bastards survives, I¡¯ll rip your head off myself."

    Johnson nodded. He got it.

    They pressed on¡ªdown another corridor littered with debris. Frozen droplets lined the walls¡ªblood mixed with some clear substance. The air trembled; suit sensors picked up odd sound waves.

    At the corridor¡¯s end, a battered door opened into a wide hall lined with glass capsules. Inside¡ªbodies. Some underdeveloped, with childlike features. Others are adults, but with warped limbs. A few had open eyes, tracking the squad slowly.

    "This¡­" Miro swallowed.

    "Not human," Ksenia snapped. "They¡¯re already dead. Just process leftovers."

    Then the siren blared.

    A shrill, piercing wail erupted from the ceiling, rattling the corridors. Red light flooded the walls, dust raining down.

    "Contact in three minutes!" Harrison barked. "They¡¯re coming. Combat formation! Miro, cover the long corridors. Vasilevich, with me upfront. Singh, traps on the flanks. Yamada, prep ECM. Mike¡ªwe¡¯re still taking the server room!"

    The squad snapped into formation¡ªsmooth, precise, no fuss. Each took their position, weapons ready, tactical systems live.

    "First contact," Miro reported. "Twenty meters, six-man group. Light armor, standard weapons. Moving steadily."

    "They¡¯re expecting us," Harrison smirked. "Well then, boys and girls¡­"

    She stepped forward, rifle up, and her voice finally carried the edge they¡¯d been waiting for.

    "¡­let¡¯s show these fuckers what the Sky Legion looks like."

    "Sync timer¡¯s on. Ten minutes to clear the level. Prep up," Harrison¡¯s voice was cold and sharp as a blade.

    "Roger," Miro moved first, rifle slightly raised. Visor scanners overlaid real-time outlines on the walls, marking cover spots and dead zones.

    The corridor sloped down at a 15-degree angle, lined with narrow side doors. Lighting was minimal¡ªdim emergency lamps, half of them long burnt out. The mirrored silence broke only with the squad¡¯s steps and faint comms crackle.

    "Heat on four targets behind the left door. Low movement, probably sitting on their asses," Miro whispered.

    Harrison didn¡¯t speak¡ªher hand flicked down. The assault team raised barrels to shoulder height, sights on the door. Singh stepped up fast, crouching by the panel, running a hand over the lock. His suit pinged the net with a prelim scan¡ªold junk, more holes in the chip than a suicide¡¯s skull.

    Click¡ªthe door slid aside, and the squad stormed in as one. Three silenced shots¡ªtwo to the chest, one to the head. The first target dropped before standing.

    "Contact one down," Miro.

    The second spun with a gun, but Vasilevich¡¯s burst shredded his chest plate, body slumping to the floor.

    "Contact two down," Darina.

    The third lunged for an alarm¡ªtoo slow. Harrison fired from the hip, no aim, bullet tearing through his wrist, blasting hand and control panel apart. The second shot punched his forehead. The body rolled back to the wall.

    "Contact three, clear," Harrison.

    The fourth didn¡¯t play hero¡ªhands up, mouth open, words caught short. Singh eased forward, stock smashing his jaw¡ªbone snapped. Skull hit the wall, eyes rolled back.

    "Contact four sleeping. Alive for now," Singh.

    "No witnesses." A quick snap¡ªhead jerked.

    Harrison didn¡¯t pause. Next door, next corridor. All in silence. Voices stayed on the closed net. No shouts, no feelings¡ªjust clean work.

    "Stairwell down. Miro, Yamada¡ªcover. Vasilevich, forward," Harrison didn¡¯t look back. She knew they were moving.

    The elevator shaft¡ªlong dead¡ªgaped open. Rusted cables and frozen water drops clung to the walls instead of a car.

    "Too quiet," Miro muttered, scanning below. "Sensors say twenty Celsius down there."

    "Then it¡¯s a freezer. Go," Harrison hooked the cable, sliding down fast. Mike followed, then Vasilevich and Singh. Miro and Yamada brought up the rear.

    The shaft was short¡ªtwo levels. At the bottom, blood trails froze in streaks, dripping from metal struts.

    "Opening," Singh cracked the lock, and the door slid aside.

    Beyond¡ªa long corridor, open capsules along the walls. Inside¡ªbodies in varying decay. Some limbless, others with chests cracked open.

    "Docs. Mike?" Harrison didn¡¯t turn.

    "Got an archive console. Old terminal, hooking in," Johnson knelt by a screen, fingers flying over the sensors.

    Lines flashed up:

    Subject 047¡ªdisposed.

    Subject 048¡ªcomplete. Bio-recovery protocol not initiated.

    Subject 049¡ªdestroyed, incompatible.

    "This isn¡¯t medicine. It¡¯s a rejected catalog," Mike¡¯s voice was hard.

    "Fuck ¡®em. Keep moving," Harrison was already at the next door.

    The next 12 minutes were pure work. Door after door. Rooms with old gear, walls scarred by violence. Fresh corpses in some, body scraps in others.

    "Sixth room. Five targets. Three armed, two not," Miro reported, scanning ahead.

    "Standard. Armed first, then sweep," Harrison signaled.

    Door opened¡ªflashbang sailed in. A burst of light, a deafening pop. The squad stormed in a wedge.

    First target dropped before registering it. Second fired at the ceiling¡ªhis head vanished in a sniper shot. The third got pulped on the spot¡ªthree guns blasting his chest to mush at once.

    One unarmed man tried to bolt¡ªYamada snagged his collar, snapped his arm, and slammed him down. Two rifle clicks.

    "Done," short and sharp.

    The last sat silent by the wall, staring at the floor. Miro crouched, grabbed his chin, tilted his head up. Empty eyes¡ªdrugged haze. A number on his neck.

    "Old ¡®product,¡¯" Vasilevich said. "Trash. Next."

    Click, reload.

    With each step, the air grew heavier. Not physically¡ªmorally. Nothing here was alive. Just the stench of blood, chemicals, and rot. Lights flickered. Water dripped somewhere.

    In the left corridor, they found a child¡ªa girl, maybe eight. She sat curled into a ball. Her body bore stitched scars, like she¡¯d been pieced together. Eyes without pupils, empty, milky.

    Harrison didn¡¯t stop. She gave a curt order:

    "Yamada. Point 47."

    Yamada nodded, pulling a small cylinder from his pouch. One press¡ªan injector. The girl didn¡¯t even flinch. Three seconds later, her heart stopped.

    "Move," Harrison said.

    "Airlock to the server room¡¯s ahead. No cameras. Guard count¡ªtwo outside, five in," Miro reported, sliding along the wall.

    "Armor?" Harrison asked.

    "Light. Rifles, a shotgun. Standard."

    "Silencers, on my signal."

    A single nod, and they advanced.

    First, the two outside¡ªbullets to the head, synced. Then the door¡ªflashbang, pop, three short bursts. The last guard didn¡¯t even raise his hands.

    "Level clear. To the servers," Harrison ordered.

    "Server room door in sight," Miro said, hugging the wall. "Lock¡¯s new. Recently swapped."

    "Doesn¡¯t matter. Singh, crack it. Fast," Harrison posted up behind him, covering the corridor.

    Singh crouched, jacking his portable rig into the lock. A grid of symbols scrambled across the screen, chaotic, but in a second, he¡¯d sliced through the first layers.

    "Standard commercial protocol," he snorted. "Either cheapskates or covering their asses in a rush."

    "Or both," Vasilevich threw out, eyes on her sector.

    Five more seconds¡ªthe door slid open with a dull grind. A stench hit their filters¡ªburnt plastic, scorched flesh, and chemicals.

    "Something fried to shit," Yamada commented.

    Scanners spiked 15 degrees above norm. The air shimmered with latent heat.

    "Hold. Couple of sensors¡ªtrap?" Miro scanned deeper. "Yep. Bootleg mines at the threshold. Old, first-wave colonization stuff, but rigged¡ªmotion sensors keyed to a light-armor heat profile."

    "Good thing we¡¯re not human," Singh smirked, tapping his exosuit¡¯s chest.

    "No detour," Harrison pointed at the wall beside the door. "Blow it and flank it."

    Singh slung a charge plate off his shoulder, slapped it on the wall, and primed the remote fuse.

    "Three, two, one¡­"

    A muffled boom. The wall split apart in a cloud of dust and debris.

    "Go," Harrison stepped in first, scanning every meter.

    The server room was vast¡ªrow after row of metal racks, streaked with soot and old blood. Some were dark, others blinked faintly with indicator lights.

    "Heat inside. Main system¡¯s still running somewhere," Mike Johnson darted to a terminal. "Hooking in."

    He didn¡¯t sit or crouch¡ªjust stood, mag-boots locking to the floor. A thin cable snaked from his wrist unit to the system port.

    "I¡¯m in. Holy fuck¡­ twenty years of archives. Half encrypted, half raw."

    "Take it all," Harrison kept her rifle shouldered, eyes on her sector.

    Mike worked fast. Files flashed across the screen¡ª"Sales," "Contracts," "Research," "Product Delivery," "Experiments." He dumped it all into his block.

    "More memory than I expected. Either this base is huge, or it¡¯s the whole chain¡¯s archive," Mike said, just as his screen blared red.

    "What the hell?" Vasilevich stepped closer, covering him.

    "Post-breach lockdown triggered. They know we¡¯re here," Mike exhaled. "Chain-delete¡¯s rolling."

    "Shit¡­" Darina snapped her head up. "Guard¡¯s coming too, then."

    Corridors to the server room surged with movement. Scanners lit up¡ªdozens of marks. Pros.

    "Not local security," Miro said, eyeing the data. "Thermo-profile¡¯s exos. Not small-time¡ªClass A or better."

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Someone really didn¡¯t want us here," Harrison checked her ammo, voice flat.

    Johnson, still at the terminal, cracked another data branch.

    "Holy shit¡­" he whispered. "Armotech dogs. MK-7 armor¡ªthe kind shipped to the frontier corps."

    "So they¡¯re not just waiting. They were waiting for us, here, now," Harrison summed up coldly. "Mike, how long?"

    "Ninety seconds for full dump. If I don¡¯t die first," he smirked.

    "Singh, set defensive mines in the corridor. Vasilevich, Yamada¡ªcross-sectors. Miro, scout drone at the entry," Harrison rattled off orders like a ledger, not a firefight.

    It fused into one motion. Mines clicked live. A drone crawled into the corridor, blending with the wall. The squad locked down both entrances. Nineteen seconds flat.

    "Contact at thirty," Miro called.

    "Mike, count to twenty and pull out. We¡¯ll force the rest," Harrison said.

    First came suppression drones¡ªsix-barrel gunners scuttling along the floor and walls. Singh¡¯s mines hit perfectly¡ªtwo shredded instantly, but a third rounded the corner, spraying the doorway.

    Metal sang, sparks flew. The squad¡¯s rifles answered in unison. Armor-piercing rounds chewed through walls, panels, tearing off plating and optics.

    "One down, two¡¯s burning!" Miro shouted.

    A third mine took the last drone.

    "Infantry inbound," Darina pressed to the corner, sighting her first targets.

    Three emerged from the smoky corridor¡ªfull Armotech armor, faces hidden behind sealed helmets with enhanced optics.

    "Legs!" Harrison barked.

    Three bursts ripped into ankles and knees, shredding hydraulics. One collapsed, another raised his gun¡ªcaught a burst through the visor.

    "Second down, third breaking right," Darina shifted.

    From behind them stepped a fourth¡ªbigger. His exo gleamed fresh, Armotech logo on the chest. Not even in combat mode yet.

    "Who the fuck¡¯s this?" Singh asked, slapping in a fresh mag.

    "Our next problem," Harrison said calmly. "Mike, done?"

    "Second¡­ got it! Pulling out!"

    "Legion, exfil!" Harrison roared.

    The squad broke position, peeling into a side corridor. Behind them, heavy exo steps and automatic fire thundered.

    "Blitz breakout!" she yelled. "Push to the hangar!"

    A deafening blast roared behind, collapsing the ceiling and cutting off pursuit. Corridors filled again with running shadows, muzzle flashes, and the reek of metal.

    The air breathed char. It sat thick in the throat like vomit laced with burnt polymer dust. The Sky Legion squad moved by the book¡ªcross-cover, sectors swept in sync, pausing every twenty steps to scan. But discipline was fraying. Not from exhaustion.

    "What the fuck¡¯s with this guard?" Miro¡¯s voice crackled through his helmet, static cutting in.

    "Armotech¡­" Mike hissed, fingers flying over his tablet. "Someone drew us a damn ambush. These aren¡¯t Pluto gutter-rats with sawed-off Stanleys."

    "Motherfucker, corporate cover?!" Vasilevich kicked a nearby corpse. Thick sludge oozed from split armor, more motor oil than blood.

    "No clue who," Harrison said evenly. "But whoever¡¯s shielding this lab isn¡¯t selling vitamins."

    A step, another¡ªthe air shifted. Thermals dropped sharp. -3¡ãC. Ice crept over the corridor walls, like this wasn¡¯t just a vacuum base but some otherworldly freezer¡¯s back end.

    "Someone¡¯s climate control¡¯s leaking," Singh grumbled, but his voice lacked its usual edge.

    Ahead, a door slid open. Sensors flagged the atmosphere¡ªbreathable, but spiked with organic anomalies.

    "Vapors. Suits stay on," Harrison cut in. "Forward."

    They stepped inside¡ªand for the first time in this op, someone swore aloud not from enemy fire.

    "Fuck me sideways¡­" Yamada breathed.

    On an operating table lay what once might¡¯ve been human. Or several. Arms from one body, legs from another. The head¡ªfemale, half-replaced with a comms module. Skin stitched with steel cords, chest cracked open, a tangle of bio-tissue, cyber-wiring, and something else inside.

    On the floor¡ªa bucket of scraps. A head torn off like a cabbage stump, organs strewn around like construction trash.

    "What the fuck is this?" Darina spat into her helmet filter.

    "This isn¡¯t surgery. It¡¯s¡­ assembly," Mike¡¯s voice shook. "I¡¯ve only seen this in sealed reports."

    "Shut it. Move," Harrison signaled, but even she slowed. The walls here seemed to breathe. Mold on the panels crept, tracking their every step.

    "Second level now," Harrison led, rifle up, fingers locked tight on the grip. "Sector control."

    The squad moved wall-to-wall¡ªtight combat chain, each covering an angle or door. Textbook. But the air¡­ that¡¯s what started cracking their detachment. A smell clawed through the filters¡ªdead organics, acid, and something¡­ sickly sweet, rotten.

    "What¡¯s this fucking stench?" Singh rasped, pressing the back of his glove to his mouth like it¡¯d help.

    "If I knew, I wouldn¡¯t be sniffing this shit," Miro muttered.

    Vasilevich held the second sector, guarding Harrison¡¯s back. Darina tried breathing less, but it didn¡¯t work¡ªthe odor stuck inside her helmet, clawing down her throat.

    First door, second level. Vasilevich wedged it open with a power clamp. It slid aside.

    And there they saw the first one.

    A human body, strapped to an operating table with belts. Skin like parchment stretched over raw muscle. The face¡­ no face, just a black hole for a mouth¡ªlike they¡¯d screamed until their vocal cords burned out. Guts laid out on shelves, hooked to cables and harnesses. And, fuck, the heart still beat¡ªeither by machines or momentum.

    "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" Pops snapped first, reeling back, his head thudding against the bulkhead.

    "What the¡­" Miro tried for words, swallowing instead.

    Harrison said nothing. She stepped up and slashed the cables with one knife swipe. The heart stopped, like a pump switched off.

    "Keep moving," her voice came low, like it rose from the dirt. "This isn¡¯t the worst yet, trust me."

    Bodies. Embedded in the walls like some sick art. Some had skin fused to metal¡ªlike they¡¯d been melted into the corridors. One eye might be mechanical, the other an empty socket with something small wriggling inside.

    "Someone carved off their faces," Kazuhiro said quietly, staring at one. "Then stuck them back¡ªonto the wall."

    "This is fucked," Singh pulled his pulse cutter and sliced one free. It crumpled to the floor, thick black slime oozing from its mouth.

    "Hey, it¡¯s breathing!" Vasilevich barked, aiming her barrel.

    "Finish it," Harrison didn¡¯t blink.

    Vasilevich fired a short burst into its head. The skull popped like a rotten melon.

    "Next. No stops," Harrison¡¯s voice grated like dry gravel.

    Next bay. The door opened, and the squad peered in.

    A wide hall, packed with capsules. Each held a person¡ªor what used to be one. Some limbless, others with arms stretched long from leg bones. A few had extra heads. One was fully wrapped in cables, a knot of biomass and wiring.

    "Whoever did this was a fucking artist," Singh said, not sure why he was joking.

    "Shut it, asshole," Darina snapped.

    Dim light glowed in the capsules¡ªsome were still alive. Their eyes weren¡¯t human. They stared, unblinking, as the soldiers entered. Some pleaded. Others watched with a creepy, sticky curiosity¡ªlike they wanted to trade places.

    "Charge it all, blow it to fuck!" Harrison ordered.

    "On it!" Singh tossed charges like confetti, no holding back.

    At the next corridor¡ªwhere the aux server block sat on the map¡ªthe floor gave way. Harrison snagged a ledge, but Miro and Kazuhiro dropped.

    The floor was woven from mutated bodies¡ªtwisted, fused together. Alive. Screaming.

    "WHAT THE FUCK!" Miro howled like a wounded dog as hands grabbed at his legs, clawing at his armor.

    "Hold on, you bastard!" Darina hit the deck, grabbing his arm.

    Kazuhiro fired down, but bullets sank into the flesh mess.

    "MOTHERFUCKERS!!!" Harrison barreled in like a bulldozer, yanking Kazuhiro out by the shoulder plate, tearing a chunk of one creature with him.

    When they climbed free, both sat silent against the wall, breathing hard.

    "What kind of fucked-up lab is this?" Singh asked.

    "Doesn¡¯t matter now," Harrison reloaded. "We finish here and leave. Alive or in bags. Next¡ªhangar."

    "Got it. On it," Mike exhaled.

    They pushed on, knowing each step brought not just enemies, but something beyond their training. Creatures left from experiments, and people who¡¯d chosen to become them. And maybe someone who¡¯d built this trap¡ªnot just to kill, but to show what they¡¯d do.

    The squad¡¯s boots echoed on metal. Rot, chemicals, and burnt flesh soaked into their filters. Each step screeched, like the walls were grinding teeth.

    "This shit¡¯s gonna haunt me forever," Miro¡¯s voice was soft, like he feared breaking the silence.

    "If you can even sleep," Vasilevich muttered. Her arms were caked in blood to the elbows¡ªnot hers, someone else¡¯s, greenish-black and weird. She didn¡¯t ask where it came from.

    "You¡­ you all saw that, right?" Pops trailed behind, checking corners. "Dude with wires for guts. Eyes like fucking buckets. And that thing in the wall, staring¡­ Is that even normal?"

    "No, Singh, it¡¯s not fucking normal," Harrison turned. Her face was stone. "But now¡¯s not the time to lose it. We work. Puke later, in your bunk, planetside."

    "You get it, Zen," Mike stepped closer. "This isn¡¯t a lab. It¡¯s a slaughterhouse conveyor. They weren¡¯t just pulling organs. They were building a fucked-up future."

    "What fucking future?" Darina spat. "You see that? Human skin stretched on a frame like a goddamn mannequin? These aren¡¯t people anymore, it¡¯s biotech horseshit."

    "Speaking of the future¡­" Miro braced the next door. "Get ready, kids, I¡¯ll show you."

    Beyond¡ªa vast hall. Dim light. Rows of heavy capsules, each over three meters tall. Glass portholes revealed soldiers of a new breed.

    The first¡ªskin fused to a cyber skeleton. Arms like hydraulic presses with bone growths for fingers. Eyes shut, but red sensor lights flickered under the lids. Chest¡ªan external battery, 1,500 hours of autonomy. Skull¡ªembedded combat computer, wired for every weapon system.

    The second¡ªpure meat mountain, muscles hypertrophied, skin taut like thick tarp. Face¡ªnot a face, but a sensor array drilled into the skull, built for terrain and threat analysis.

    "Mother of God¡­" Kazuhiro exhaled hard.

    "Here¡¯s your corporate war future," Harrison tapped a capsule with her stock. "No need to train, drill, or motivate. Grow ¡®em, program ¡®em, hand ¡®em a gun¡ªfight."

    "You¡¯d lose your mind facing this," Singh laughed nervously. "I wouldn¡¯t go hand-to-hand with that."

    "Wouldn¡¯t have to," Miro pointed at a console. "They¡¯re autonomous. Like ¡®switch on, point at the target.¡¯ Programmable suicides."

    Darina circled the capsules, eyeing the second closely.

    "Fuck, if this is the future, I¡¯m heading back to the past. These things¡¯ll eat their own creators. Or all of us. If someone thinks they can control them, they¡¯re a fucking idiot," Darina snapped.

    "Calm down," Mike slapped her shoulder. "We¡¯re not here for philosophy. We work."

    "You get what this shit is?" She spun on him. "This isn¡¯t just a war for cash anymore. It''s a war against life itself. They can¡¯t even die right¡ªthe system won¡¯t let them."

    "Enough poetry," Harrison stepped to a capsule¡¯s control panel. "Think we should flip it on, see one live?"

    "Zen, what the fuck for?" Mike grabbed her arm. "We need the hangar. Forget these things."

    "Fine¡­ But know this¡ªwe¡¯ll face them again," she pulled free. "Better get used to the idea now: aim precisely. They¡¯re not human anymore."

    "Move," Harrison bolted for the next exit.

    They hit the main tunnel to the hangar. No more filth here¡ªjust clean industrial space. Floor littered with casings, walls pocked with fresh bullet holes¡ªsomeone had already fought here.

    "They know we¡¯re coming," Darina slid along the wall, checking a corner.

    "And they¡¯re waiting," Harrison gave a curt nod.

    "Not the freaks," Singh said, eyeing analyzer data. "Humans. Armed to the teeth."

    "Mercs," Mike swept sensors over the sector. "Heavy gear, at least three with turrets."

    "Then it¡¯s a straight-up slaughter," Harrison checked her charge. "Let¡¯s go."

    The hangar doors screeched apart. The air inside thrummed with tension. Thin light strips cut through metal grates. Ahead¡ªindustrial chaos. Racks of crates, scattered containers, heavy auto-cranes dangling like nooses. Fresh casings carpeted the floor.

    "Enter fast sectors by the clock!" Harrison barked.

    The squad rolled in like a living wave¡ªlocked positions, covering each other. But they¡¯d barely dug in when tracer fire sliced the air¡ªshort bursts, from all sides.

    "Contact left!" Vasilevich dove behind a container, sniper rifle in hand, knee-deep in bloody dust. "Turrets, fuckers, on the cranes!"

    "Two right!" Pops hurled a smoke grenade hard into the far corner, blanketing a pair of spots.

    Echoing shouts merged with sensor buzz and metal shrieks. The squad fell into pattern¡ªsuppress, flank, clear. Shooters on the upper tiers got off one burst before concentrated fire tore them apart.

    "Take the low ground!" Harrison shouted, darting along the wall. "Singh, mines on the passages¡ªno one at our backs!"

    Pops, cursing, ripped sticky charges from his belt, tossing them into corridors and thumbing the activators. Red LEDs flared¡ªtraps set to kill.

    A body crashed down from above, blasted by a grenade wave, landing at Vasilevich¡¯s feet. Black armor, patch reading Armotech Security Division. His face still held surprise¡ªhe hadn¡¯t clocked who¡¯d hit the hangar.

    "Armotech dogs, fuck!" Darina kicked the corpse aside. "Who¡¯re they guarding here?"

    The answer came fast¡ªtwo figures in exosuits stomped out from the east platform. Light models, not full mechs, but still walking firebases. Shoulder turrets, built-in grenade launchers, armor that could eat a heavy-caliber burst.

    "Cover!" Harrison dropped first, behind a crate. "Left with me, snipers¡ªheadshots before they move!"

    Screams, clangs, armor scraping metal. Vasilevich and Miro hunted heads¡ªshort, precise shots at the exos¡¯ neck joints, where armor thinned. One dropped instant¡ªa bullet ripped through his throat, shredding cables, killing stabilization.

    The second held. He swung toward Darina, unleashing a twin-turret salvo. Bullets screamed past her container, metal shards slashing the air.

    "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Vasilevich bailed, hitting the dirt. "Miro, cover!"

    Stoyanovich was already firing. His rifle tore jagged chunks from the exo¡¯s shoulder plating, but it lumbered on like an armored bear¡ªunstoppable.

    "Harrison, now! This is serious shit!" Mike yelled, cracking the crane system¡¯s terminal. "I can slam him with a hook if you draw him!"

    "Do it while he¡¯s chasing me!" Darina bolted diagonal, throwing off his aim.

    The crane groaned, its steel cable snapping free. A massive hook dropped like an executioner¡¯s hammer. With a wet crunch, it smashed the exo¡¯s shoulder, cracking armor, wrenching the joint. The machine toppled sideways.

    "Finish it!" Harrison roared.

    Darina pumped three bursts into its neck, Miro landed a control shot to the face¡ªsomething inside burned out, reeking of flesh and plastic.

    Silence lasted two seconds. Then the far bulkhead split open¡ªand something else stepped out.

    Three meters tall. Armor like a walking tank. A body maybe twenty percent human¡ªthe rest bio-engineering, hydraulics, carbon plates, and integrated weapons. No helmet. Face exposed¡ªmale, surgically rebuilt. A sterile smile, perfect teeth that grinned at no soul, no world. In its hands¡ªa plasma caster with a claw cannon built in.

    "Oh, shit¡­" Miro breathed.

    "This a new project?" Mike couldn¡¯t look away.

    "This isn¡¯t a project¡ªit¡¯s a fucking nightmare!" Harrison raised her rifle. "Everyone, full loadout!"

    They¡¯d met the future. A future that wanted them dead.

    The Golem charged, bathing the hangar in plasma fountains. The floor began to melt. The squad scattered¡ªeach to their cover. The exo¡¯s turrets spun, locked targets, drilled through barricades with armor-piercers.

    "All heavy charges!" Harrison tossed a smoke grenade, cutting the monster off. "Darina, flank it! Singh, prep the underbarrel!"

    "I¡¯ll fuck its damn mother!" Vasilevich darted to the wall, zigzagging like a rabbit. Her boots slid on blood, debris, scraps of former humans.

    "Miro, sniper shots to the joints!" Harrison commanded.

    Stoyanovich took aim. A laser flicked to the monster¡¯s knee. Shot. Second. Third. Armor cracked but didn¡¯t give.

    "Bitch has next-gen ceramics!" Miro snarled.

    "Then we do it old-school!" Harrison leapt up, lobbing a sticky charge under its feet. The blast threw it off balance¡ªbut didn¡¯t drop it.

    "Fucker!" Darina lunged from the side, unloading a burst under its ribs, where human flesh lingered. The Golem flinched¡ªits first sign of pain.

    "Guess we¡¯re not living for nothing, asshole!" Vasilevich hissed.

    It turned on her, claw cannon arm extending. The blade flared.

    "Not a chance, prick!" Harrison dumped her full mag into its face.

    The mutant sank to one knee, but a second later, servos roared, actuators cracked, and the giant rose. Thick, near-black blood mixed with tech-lube streamed down its frame. Its eyes¡ªnothing human. Just code.

    "THE FUCKER¡¯S GETTING UP!" Singh yelled, slamming his stock into a panel beside him like it¡¯d help.

    "Control shot!" Harrison raised her launcher.

    Boom. The grenade sank into its chest plate. An explosion¡ªsparks sprayed, armor chunks flew. The Golem swayed but stood. The others didn¡¯t sit idle¡ªsensors blinked, tactics shifted.

    "Flanking move! SIDE SWEEP!" Miro shouted, rifle at eye level.

    From the smoke, Golem One emerged left, firing nonstop. Bullets hammered the wall near Vasilevich like nails, one punching through her leg armor with a crunch.

    "FUCK!" Darina dropped to one knee, teeth grinding. "I¡¯m alive! I¡¯ll work on it!"

    She snapped her rifle up, unloading point-blank into the Golem¡¯s sensor block. The glass eye burst, but it''s frame kept spewing lead across the hangar.

    "Mike, smoke to the airlock! We need out!" Harrison barked, rolling behind a container.

    "What fucking airlock, Zen?!" Johnson swiped sweat from his brow, his shoulder blazing from a stray round. "We¡¯re all dead here if we don¡¯t drop this thing now!"

    Golem Two locked on Pops. A burst sheared off his cover¡¯s corner, metal splinters gouging his face.

    "FUUUCK!" Pops roared, clapping a hand to his eye socket. "They fucking blinded me, bastards!"

    "Hold on!" Kazuhiro lunged, dragging him to safety.

    The monster primed its arm-mounted plasma cutter. The blade flared blue. It advanced¡ªslow, like a demon wading through hellfire. Casings and fragments of its own crushed underfoot.

    "Hit it with everything¡ªlegs, joints, eyes, anything you see!" Harrison ripped her last sticky charge off her belt and hurled it at the creature¡¯s knee.

    Blast¡ªarmor shards scattered. The Golem froze for a split second.

    Vasilevich screamed:

    "TAKE THIS, YOU FUCK!"

    She leapt up, limping, clutching her leg, and unloaded her full mag into the monster¡¯s chest point-blank. Bullets tore into flesh, cyber-ligaments, seams¡ªbut it still stood.

    The Golems switched to suppression fire. Hundreds of rounds shredded the air, sparks raining from the ceiling. A grenade blast knocked Darina off her feet¡ªher armored leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Her visor flashed red:

    CRITICAL DAMAGE ¡ª LEFT LEG

    "Fuck this hangar!" Singh, clutching his wound, raised his launcher and slammed a rocket into one Golem. It erupted, its shredded chassis toppling sideways.

    "One down, second still breathing!" Harrison reloaded, blood streaming down her arm where a shard had pierced her armor.

    Miro held his sector, but his ammo was dry. He switched to his pistol, firing short, sharp shots.

    "We¡¯re not getting out, Zen! They¡¯ll bury us here!" he gasped.

    "Shut up and hold the line!" Harrison swiped sweat away, eyes blazing with fury.

    The monster advanced again. Its exposed face, drenched in blood, too smooth, too perfect¡ªlike someone else¡¯s skin stretched over it. A face still smiling.

    "Fuck, it¡¯s grinning, the bastard," Pops whispered, spitting blood. "Corps burned their brains to ash."

    The monster swung its cutter, the glowing blade slicing half a meter from Harrison¡¯s head.

    "Motherfucker!" She dove back, slamming into the wall. "HIT IT WITH EVERYTHING WE¡¯VE GOT!"

    Mike fired his last underbarrel grenades into its torso. Darina slapped a sticky charge onto its back and blew it. Kazuhiro triggered an ECM pulse, jamming an electromagnetic spike into its targeting system.

    The monster staggered. Joints crunched. One eye flared and died.

    "MORE!" Harrison gritted her teeth, lunging with her knife. She drove it under its chin, where the flesh met the machine.

    A shock ripped through its armor. The Golem convulsed, like a seizure.

    "DOWN!" Mike yelled.

    The blast threw him back. The monster collapsed, half a ton of steel and dead flesh crashing to the floor.

    Silence.

    Metal burned. Blood dripped from the squad¡¯s boots. Every suit blared:

    CRITICAL CONDITION ¡ª IMMEDIATE EVAC REQUIRED

    Harrison slumped against the wall, panting. Mike¡¯s voice crackled in her ear:

    "You see that fucking face?"

    She nodded. Her eyes¡ªempty.

    "They¡¯re sculpting gods from meat scraps. And we¡¯re just bugs in their lab. They¡¯re crushing us."

    "We¡¯re not dead yet," Harrison hissed. "And as long as we¡¯re not dead, they haven¡¯t won."

    Behind them, a screech. The second Golem started rising.

    "Fight¡¯s not over, bitch¡­" Darina, soaked in blood, eyes wild, reloaded her rifle.

    "GET UP AND FINISH THIS SHIT!" Harrison roared.

    The Golems rose again. One, then two. Three more joined from the hangar¡¯s far end¡ªreserve security sectors. Hidden turrets emerged from false panels along the walls. The system kicked into "full sterilization" mode¡ªwipe everything without top clearance.

    "Son of a¡­" Harrison didn¡¯t finish as a heavy-caliber burst ripped the wall a meter from her head.

    Miro, ribs cracked, tumbled clumsily behind a debris chunk, gasping.

    "Zen, I¡­ I¡¯m not running anymore," he choked, blood bubbling on his lips.

    "Hold on, brother, we¡¯re almost at the door," Mike tried dragging him, his own shoulder twisted, fingers shaking.

    "Door? What fucking door? They¡¯ll bury us here," Miro glanced at Pops, chest torn open, armor shredded.

    Darina limped, leaning on Kazuhiro¡ªhis right arm dangled limp, his face a pulped mess against his visor.

    "Major, you¡¯ve got to¡­" Darina coughed, choking on her own blood. "Get the data out through this fucking hole. You hear me? If you die, it¡¯s all for nothing."

    "Shut up and move!" Harrison crossed a fire lane, her shoulder flashing PENETRATING WOUND, but she didn¡¯t slow.

    The floor splintered underfoot as the second Golem fired its launcher. The blast hurled Darina and Kazuhiro back¡ªright under a collapsing container¡¯s edge.

    "LIEUTENANT!" Harrison screamed, turning, but too late¡ªthe upper tier caved, burying them.

    Kazuhiro didn¡¯t even yell. Darina¡­ her hand stuck out from the wreckage, still gripping her rifle.

    "Fuck, fuck¡­" Harrison clenched her jaw, breaking into a run.

    "Go, Zen! Go!" Mike pulled her, limping, blood blinding one eye.

    Miro covered their retreat, pumping his last rounds into anything moving. He didn¡¯t see the two exos flank from behind¡ªonly felt his chest explode. He fell forward, a sack of bones, eyes staring but blind.

    "MIRO!!!" Pops lurched up, voice raw with rage and pain.

    He grabbed the heavy launcher, aimed at the nearest Golem, and fired the full cassette. Rounds shredded it to scraps, but the second Golem replied¡ªa point-blank shot to Pops¡¯ chest.

    The sergeant didn¡¯t fall¡ªhe disintegrated.

    Mike howled, voice cracking into a hysterical rasp. Harrison ground her teeth to breaking.

    "To the airlock!" She dragged him, her body failing.

    The airlock was fifty meters off. A bolter round¡ªpiercing, not explosive¡ªslammed the wall beside them, punching through Harrison¡¯s armor, shredding both legs above the knees.

    "AAAAAH!" She hit the floor, head cracking against debris.

    "NO!!!" Mike lunged, trying to haul her up.

    The Golems marched closer, stepping a funeral dirge.

    "Leave me, get to the airlock!" Harrison gasped through pain, eyes bloodshot. "GO!"

    Mike dragged her into the shadow of a tech hatch¡ªa narrow exhaust tunnel for ship launches. The stench of hot metal and charred plastic choked their lungs. The Golems followed, armor glinting in the dim emergency lights, each step reverberating in her chest. Harrison, face bloodied, pressed against the cold floor, blood pooling from her leg stumps into her suit. Everything hurts. But the helplessness hurt worse.

    "Mike, forward!" Her voice broke into a guttural snarl.

    "Zen, I¡¯m not leaving you!" Mike knelt beside her, fingers trembling as he tried bandaging her thigh. "Hold on, damn it, hold on!"

    "I¡¯m already dead, idiot¡­" She smirked, clutching her last grenade. "But you¡¯ll live."

    "Shit¡­ shit¡­" Mike sobbed but crawled deeper into the tunnel.

    Harrison stayed in the shadows. Her fingers gripped the grenade¡ªno pin.

    The Golems emerged from the smoke.

    She yanked the pin and hurled it at the tunnel¡¯s mouth¡ªjust past where Johnson had slipped away. In the same instant, her hands seized a jagged deck plate¡ªa heavy steel slab, torn from the hull. With one inhuman surge, pure adrenaline, she flipped it over herself, shielding from the blast.

    Flash. The shockwave slammed the plate, hurling Harrison from the tunnel. She crashed into the wall and went still, pinned under her makeshift door.

    A shadow loomed from the smoke¡ªa mutant. Two-and-a-half meters tall, clad in armor too thick for standard rounds. Its face¡ªa hybrid of human skull and cyber-avatar. Sensor lenses slid down, locking on Harrison¡¯s broken form.

    It stepped forward.

    Her bloodied fingers fumbled at her belt¡ªempty. All she had left was her glare, cold and defiant, fixed on the monster¡¯s face.

    "Come on, you filth¡­" she whispered.

    The mutant towered over her. Its giant shadow blocked the light, then a massive hand descended¡ªa grotesque claw studded with implants, sensor tendrils burrowing under its skin. Fingers clamped her helmet, squeezing until the material groaned. Ksenia moaned through gritted teeth¡ªpain stabbed her skull down to her spine.

    Her torn, bleeding legs dragged uselessly, leaving long red streaks. Her exosuit¡¯s systems fought frantically to keep her alive, clamping ruptured vessels, pumping stims into her failing heart. Nanogel flooded internal tears, tiny robotic arms patching tissue like spiders¡ªbut it was like dousing a fire with a handful of sand.

    Her hands twitched weakly, clawing at its armored wrist¡ªa grip doomed to fail. The mutant didn¡¯t even register it. Its head¡ªskull-like, studded with metal plates and a full slab of protective glass where eyes should¡¯ve been¡ªtilted slowly toward her face. Two hollow sensor pupils locked onto her eyes.

    That doll-like face, so out of place in this hell, felt almost mocking. Blood from a torn brow traced a path down her cheek, crusting at her chin. Yet even now, her features remained eerily perfect¡ªlike a porcelain figure they¡¯d tried to shatter but couldn¡¯t.

    And this grotesque monster stared. Long. Thorough. Scanners in its helm projected data onto an internal visor¡ªa stream of strange symbols and commands, as if someone fed instructions into its brain in real time.

    Ksenia jerked again, this time fiercely, almost instinctively, like a beast caught in a trap. Her exosuit tried to match the motion, pumping an extra dose of stims into her muscles. Her heart pounded like a frantic drum, red warnings flashing in her eyes:

    CRITICAL BLOOD LOSS. LIFE SUPPORT AT LIMIT.

    ARTERIAL CLAMPS DAMAGED. RE-ENGAGEMENT IMPOSSIBLE.

    PRIORITY: MAINTAIN CONSCIOUSNESS.

    The mutant turned and dragged her onward, like a toy. Her helmet cracked in its grip, her spine arched in protest, but the hold was relentless. Her ruined legs scraped the floor, scratching metal, leaving a trail of pain and helplessness.

    Ksenia tried to breathe, but her lungs disobeyed. The world dimmed, sounds muffled, as if she were sinking into deep water. The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her was that ghastly smile on the monster¡¯s metal face. Or maybe she imagined it.

    Her consciousness faded, but the suit¡¯s medical system fought on¡ªclinging to the last joule of power, trying to save a body whose soul had already slipped away.

    The mutant marched silently, carrying its trophy doll into the lab¡¯s heart.

    ***

    Mike crawled through the exhaust vent. The metal was slick with oil and blood; he barely clung to the rough walls with his fingertips. Every breath came through pain¡ªribs broken, armor caved inward, guts pulsing with his heartbeat.

    One more meter.

    Another.

    At the tunnel¡¯s end, a faint glow flickered¡ªemergency lights of the outer airlock. He was almost out. Almost.

    The light swayed, blurred. The world spun, then blacked out. His body went limp, sprawled on the tunnel floor¡ªface in oil, fingers still clutching a torn Sky Legion patch.

    Darkness took him, but his heart kept beating.

 Lines That Canâ€™t Be Crossed

    ¡°Are you serious?¡±

    Adrian Braun¡¯s voice was calm, but Victoria caught that rare note he seldom let slip. Not judgment, not irritation, but a quiet astonishment.

    She sat across from him in the small conference room of the Advanced Energy Systems Lab, hands on her knees, fingers laced as if anchoring herself.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she replied evenly, though her insides twisted.

    Between them, on the table, lay her tablet. On its screen, an invitation from IRIS¡ªformal, grand. The damn document listed her name under ¡°Senior Expedition Engineer.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re refusing.¡± Adrian didn¡¯t ask; he echoed her words.

    Victoria exhaled and nodded.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    He went silent for a few beats, then looked up at her, brow creasing slightly. She knew that look¡ªscanning, assessing, like an engineer eyeing a malfunctioning machine.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer right away.

    ¡°I¡­¡± She faltered, realizing how absurd it sounded against everything she¡¯d fought for. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t? Or won¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± She said it clearly, firm, as if convincing not just him but herself.

    Adrian picked up the tablet, scrolled through the invitation like he couldn¡¯t believe she needed it spelled out.

    ¡°Vic, this is the biggest mission of our time. You get that, right? This¡¯ll go down in history. The discoveries we make out there will flip natural science on its head. New systems, new materials, new energies¡­ This is what you¡¯ve always wanted.¡±

    She met his eyes, and there was something like pain in hers.

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Then why?¡±

    She exhaled sharply and looked away.

    ¡°Darina.¡±

    Adrian didn¡¯t respond immediately. For a moment, he just watched her, then slowly set the tablet back down.

    ¡°She¡¯s off on a mission,¡± Victoria went on, words catching in her throat. ¡°No one¡¯s saying how bad it is. But I know it¡¯s bad. I know they¡¯re heading into a hot zone, and I¡­ I can¡¯t leave while she¡¯s out there.¡±

    ¡°Vic,¡± he said softly, ¡°I get it.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t!¡± she flared, though there was no anger, just desperation. ¡°You haven¡¯t lived in her world! You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to watch someone you¡­¡± She cut it off, then forced it out. ¡°Someone you love walks away, not knowing if they¡¯ll come back.¡±

    Adrian held her gaze.

    ¡°But you know she chose that path.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± her lips trembled, ¡°and I chose mine.¡±

    ¡°Did you?¡± He leaned forward slightly. ¡°Are you sure this is your life?¡±

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    She didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°You¡¯re passing on the flight, but what¡¯s next? Sitting here, waiting? Checking frontline updates every morning? Worrying so much you can¡¯t work?¡±

    She looked away, but he pressed on.

    ¡°And what if she heads out again in a year? You¡¯ll stay again? And then again after that?¡±

    She didn¡¯t want to hear this.

    ¡°Vic,¡± his voice softened, ¡°you can¡¯t keep her here. Just like she can¡¯t keep you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re giving up yourself for her.¡±

    Adrian leaned back and sighed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not judging you. I just need you to see the fallout. This expedition isn¡¯t just another gig. It¡¯s a dive into the unknown. We could uncover something that redefines how we see the universe. It¡¯s what generations of scientists¡ªincluding your dad¡ªworked toward.¡±

    ¡°This has nothing to do with my father.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t it?¡± His gaze was gentle but piercing. ¡°You¡¯ve got his mind, his drive. You were born for this.¡±

    She looked away.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone telling me what I was born to be.¡±

    Adrian nodded.

    ¡°Then tell me yourself. Are you staying because you chose it? Or because you¡¯re scared?¡±

    Victoria froze.

    He went on.

    ¡°Scared she might not make it. Scared that if you go and she dies, you¡¯ll never forgive yourself.¡±

    Her fingers curled into a fist.

    ¡°Vic, you know that¡¯s it.¡±

    She wanted to argue. Wanted to say he didn¡¯t get it, that it wasn¡¯t that simple. But she stayed silent.

    ¡°Here¡¯s the thing,¡± Adrian¡¯s voice was steady, almost warm. ¡°What would Darina say if she knew you turned this down for her?¡±

    Silence.

    Victoria flashed to her voice, her smirk.

    ¡°You¡¯re not ditching me in this hole, right?¡±

    How would she react?

    She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

    Adrian waited, giving her space to wrestle with it. His silence pressed harder than words.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said finally. ¡°If you want to think you¡¯re staying for Darina, that¡¯s your call. But you know what I think?¡±

    She met his eyes, wary, cold.

    ¡°I think you¡¯re not so different from your mom.¡±

    Silence.

    His words hit like a slap.

    Victoria exhaled slowly, but there was no calm, no acceptance¡ªjust icy anger.

    ¡°What?¡±

    Adrian crossed his arms, his tone still even, almost sympathetic.

    ¡°Your mom made her choice too, remember? She left because she thought something bigger was out there. Left you and your dad because she had¡­ other priorities.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare.¡± Victoria shot up from her chair.

    He didn¡¯t flinch.

    ¡°You¡¯re doing the same, just reversed. She chased her dream, cutting ties with reality. You¡¯re clinging to reality, ditching your dream because you¡¯re terrified of losing someone.¡±

    Blood pounded in her temples.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got no right to talk about her.¡±

    ¡°You do, though, don¡¯t you?¡± Adrian leaned forward, voice dropping. ¡°Or are you just dodging the truth?¡±

    She clenched her jaw, fists trembling.

    ¡°She abandoned us. Abandoned Dad when he was at his peak. Abandoned me because I didn¡¯t fit her damn fantasy.¡±

    She sucked in a breath, fury boiling hotter.

    ¡°You think she wanted me to build reactors? No. She wanted me smiling on magazine covers, posing for cameras. She wanted to sell my life before I was even born!¡±

    Adrian watched her flare, silent.

    ¡°I was a project to her, got it? She engineered me from the embryo up¡ªmy looks, my voice, how every outfit would fit! And you¡¯re saying I¡¯m like her?¡±

    Her chest heaved heavily.

    ¡°Vic¡­¡± His voice softened.

    ¡°No, don¡¯t. Dad¡¯s dead, and she¡¯s as dead to me as he is. Don¡¯t drag them into this.¡±

    They faced off, tension crackling, but the anger faded into exhaustion.

    ¡°You¡¯re mad because I¡¯m right,¡± he said.

    ¡°I¡¯m mad because you crossed a line.¡±

    They locked eyes a few seconds more before Victoria spun toward the door.

    ¡°You should go,¡± he called after her. ¡°This isn¡¯t just a shot¡ªit¡¯s what you¡¯ve lived for all these years.¡±

    She didn¡¯t stop.

    ¡°Think about it.¡±

    She slammed the door, leaving him alone.

 Record #7421-A

    Orbital Station "Leviathan," Titan Orbit

    Her office was her fortress. Not just a workspace¡ªit was a throne room without a throne. Every detail, from floor to ceiling, broadcasts one simple message: power. But not hers¡ªLivia owned nothing, not even her body. This was Leonard Graves¡¯ power, meticulously embedded in every centimeter, a constant reminder.

    The walls¡ªsleek, near-mirror black polymer with a liquid-metal sheen. Run a finger across, and it feels alive, a ripple of micro vibrations crafting the illusion of breath. Intentional¡ªGraves loved subtle psychological games. The walls pressed in, a cage for visitors. For Livia, it was a cocoon, tailored to her taste.

    The floor¡ªdark metal with holographic underlighting that flared under footsteps. Each stride of Livia¡¯s was an act of dominion; the floor answered with a glow, as if bowing.

    Furniture¡ªminimalism honed to an absolute. Her desk, a matte black slab, looked carved by a molecular laser from an elite cruiser¡¯s hull. No visible controls¡ªthe interface was woven into the surface, syncing to her touch. Sitting there felt like commanding that cruiser, but with a sheen of luxury.

    Her chair¡ªa masterpiece of carbon composite and polymer leather, molding to her form. Custom-made, accounting for her cybernetic quirks. Every seam, every curve matched her spine and shoulders. Hidden in the armrests were medical injectors tied to her implants¡ªone tap, and a dose of stimulants or painkillers flowed into her blood, keyed to her condition.

    Personal items¡ªalmost none. Livia didn¡¯t hoard memories; she didn¡¯t need them. The lone outlier in the sterile order: a tiny silver figurine of Nemesis, goddess of retribution, perched on the desk¡¯s edge. Her private joke. Nemesis was vengeance¡ªand Livia saw herself as its embodiment.

    The window¡ªmassive, wall-spanning, overlooking the docking port where ships arrived and cargo from outer systems was processed. Docks, cranes¡ªshe watched them when she thought, their rhythm, a pulse of life she controlled. Most found it dull; to her, it was a metronome of dominion.

    Lighting¡ªnear-darkness, just thin lines of subtle glow tracing walls and floor. Perfect for her taste¡ªshe loved a space that felt like a stage before the lead steps on.

    Behind one wall, a hidden door. A small room¡ªnot an office, but a recovery chamber. A shower, a bath like a pool, a medical bed where she could jack into a monitoring system syncing with her implants, tweaking her body¡¯s chemistry. On a shelf: syringes of exotic drugs, some banned even on the black market. For Livia, bans didn¡¯t exist.

    Wardrobe¡ªtucked in a wall segment, a gallery of her personas. Livia didn¡¯t just dress; she donned characters for her roles. A severe corporate gown for formal meetings. Provocative, near-sinful outfits for ¡°personal visits¡± to Graves. A black jumpsuit¡ªher working skin¡ªfor reviewing feeds, issuing orders, and breaking people remotely.

    Scent¡ªfaint, elusive, a mix of chemicals and high-end perfume. Her signature. Even after she left, it lingered, making every entrant feel her presence.

    The cyber-system of her quarters tied to her biosignature¡ªthe office linked directly to her implants. Doors wouldn¡¯t budge without her say-so. Walls jammed any signal lacking her code. Security keyed to her pulse, neural activity, breath. Breach it without her, and the room would switch to chemical purge. Nothing living would remain.

    The ideology of the space wasn¡¯t just an office. It was a symbol of Livia Cross. She didn¡¯t belong to herself. This room reminded her she was a tool¡ªbut a tool with a viper coiled inside, ready to strike even a nonexistent god if needed.

    She shed her slim business jacket, left in sheer, clinging underwear, and sank into the chair. The light dimmed to near-nothing, only a faint blue glow from her terminal¡¯s sensors. Before her¡ªa flat panel, pristine, reflecting her face, achingly perfect. Fake perfection. Sublimated beauty sculpted by surgeons at Graves¡¯ command. Every line, every curve functional. Even her chest¡ªless for pleasure, more for power, for seizing attention.

    Livia knew she was broken. But in that breakage lay a perverse harmony¡ªlike a shattered bowl, each shard artfully placed in the ruin. She¡¯d always known normal life wasn¡¯t her path, nor did she want it. Her existence was a chain of flawless commands¡ªand the thrill buried in the ones no one dared voice. Power. Control. The total dissolution of another¡¯s will into hers.

    So she awaited this recording with the hunger of an addict craving their first hit.

    Ksenia Harrison. That bitch was the perfect prey. Not because she was weak¡ªquite the opposite. Livia despised strong women. Not the kind Graves trained her to be¡ªsharp, calculated, efficient. No, Harrison was real¡ªstrength born not of fear or programming, but an inner certainty she was right. Harrison stood tall, eyes forward, never hiding behind others.

    Livia hated her for it.

    And wanted her. To the grind of teeth, sleepless nights, fingers slipping between her thighs imagining that perfect wretch crawling to her¡ªtorn, humiliated, begging for mercy.

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    She brushed the sensor with her fingertips¡ªthe recording flared to life. The screen split open like a window to hell. Livia smiled.

    First scene: a tactical cam caught Harrison and her team entering a hangar. Still brimming with force, coiled tight in professional steel, the Major moved fast and sharp. Livia knew that style¡ªshe¡¯d devoured dozens of Legion of the Heavens training feeds like porn. She relished watching that muscled female frame, fantasizing how this unbreakable doll-faced beast would buckle under a will she couldn¡¯t bend.

    First shots. Dust, screams, wounded. The cam showed Harrison dragging a teammate to cover. Livia snapped her fingers, paused it. Leaned in. Ran her tongue over her lips.

    ¡°Too good,¡± she whispered to the screen. ¡°Too straight, too honest, too proud.¡±

    The footage rolled on. Harrison lost her footing¡ªa machine-gun burst snapped her exosuit across the hips. Bone cracked, fabric tore¡ªblood sprayed. Livia slid her hand under her underwear. Slow strokes over velvet skin, fingers dipping lower.

    ¡°There it is¡­¡± Barely audible.

    Harrison faltered, her body a survival machine¡ªbut even machines break. Something in Livia snapped loose. Teeth sank into her lip as her fingers slid deeper, into heat. She knew this ritual. She¡¯d done it hundreds of times. But never with such a prize on display.

    She sped up the feed, cherry-picking pain. Harrison slammed into a bulkhead from a blow. A mutant hauled her by the helmet¡ªa hulking thing of flesh, metal, and primal hate.

    Livia arched in her chair, nails nearly cracking the panel¡¯s edge, legs splayed, fingers plunging into her core. This was it. The moment worth living for. When the unyielding elite became nothing. When a war goddess turned to helpless meat. In that instant, no one mattered more than this woman¡ªbroken, degraded, powerless. Her doll face, smashed, bloodied, tears streaking her lashes, became Livia¡¯s ultimate ecstasy.

    She recalled every second her masters had shown her her place¡ªin shadows, on her knees, awash in blood and cum. Her self-loathing and rapture always danced together. And now they did again¡ªunder the camera¡¯s gaze, catching every tick of Ksenia¡¯s agony.

    ¡°Break, you filth,¡± Livia breathes, her fingers moving faster, her body thrashing in the chair.

    The flashes on the screen aren¡¯t just gunfire¡ªthey¡¯re her waves of nirvana, each one ripping through her like the howl of a wounded beast. She switches to slow playback¡ªdetermined to miss nothing.

    The mutant looms over Harrison¡¯s face¡ªlips wet with saliva and blood gleam, breath fogging the visor. Massive fingers, studded with implants, clamp around her helmet, squeezing until the material cracks. Livia chokes, biting her lip hard enough to leave marks. Her free hand grips her nipple, twisting slightly¡ªthe jolt of pain spikes her slickness.

    ¡°Break her,¡± she exhales.

    The footage shows Ksenia jerking, her body spasming in futile resistance. The exosuit digs into her muscles with stims, but her strength is gone. Livia leans closer, nearly pressing her chest to the desk. Her fingers don¡¯t stop, sliding faster, deeper. She hikes a leg onto the armrest, plunging into both pulsing holes.

    ¡°That¡¯s it, my doll,¡± she whispers, voice quivering with strain. ¡°Like that¡­ till your pride¡¯s bled dry.¡±

    Ksenia¡¯s blood streaks the floor in long crimson trails. Livia watches, mesmerized, like it¡¯s art. She recalls lying on a surgical table herself, when Graves first ordered her body ¡°refined.¡± She¡¯d wept then. Now, she laughs.

    When the mutant hurls Harrison onto an operating table, Livia nearly climaxes but holds back¡ªnot yet. She bites her finger, every muscle taut, stretching her rear near to pain. Her perfect hand abandons her nipple, joining the frenzy below, circling her clit.

    As manipulators slice into Harrison¡¯s legs, Livia can¡¯t hold on. Her body convulses, fingers clawing the chair, nails raking her thighs. She cries¡ªnot from pain or shame, but raw pleasure.

    The disassembly begins¡ªpiece by piece, severed legs, blood, exposed joints, droplets pooling. Livia dissolves completely, her hips bucking in sync with the blades carving Harrison¡¯s flesh, swallowing her fingers deeper.

    She comes to the recording like it¡¯s a personal triumph. She¡¯s won. She ground Harrison to dust, made her a prop in her private theater¡ªwhere every woman stronger than Livia gets crushed to nothing.

    ¡°You thought you¡¯d get away with it?¡± she taunts the screen, as if Ksenia is alive. ¡°Thought you were the peak, the elite, a war goddess? You¡¯re meat. A resource. A trophy. Mine.¡±

    She skips to the finale¡ªsurgical dissection. Blades split the chest, cables burrow into flesh. Livia speeds it up, chasing pure suffering.

    Her fingers dig deeper, motions rougher, breath ragged and deep. Perfect teeth sink into her shoulder. She trembles. When a manipulator lifts Harrison¡¯s leg stump, Livia lets go¡ªher body arches, legs cramping, spine slamming into the chair¡¯s padding.

    ¡°There¡­ Yes!¡­¡± she sobs.

    Onscreen, Harrison teeters between life and death, barely human, a blank for some corporate experiment. Livia shudders through her fiercest orgasm yet, her unnatural eyes fluttering with ecstasy¡¯s aftershocks. Nails scrape her slick inner thighs, a trickle of fluid weaving past her pulsing rear.

    Her raging body takes minutes to settle¡ªsensations this sharp were new. She¡¯d always needed more to hit that peak; Ksenia Harrison hooked her differently. Now little else could grip her rewired mind¡ªsave her master¡¯s orders, of course.

    Livia leans to the screen, tracing a finger over the bloodied face.

    ¡°So beautiful¡­ so helpless¡­¡±

    A fleeting thought sparks, swelling into a goal¡ªto claim this toy for herself.

    ¡°I should help you.¡±

    She kills the feed. Activates the chair¡¯s auto-sanitization. Wiping bio-traces is routine.

    Cold and flawless, she stares at her reflection in the desk¡¯s black panel. Livia straightens, hand drifting down, fingers brushing her soaked core, tasting herself. Her face¡ªperfectly calm. Only her eyes still burn, a plan already churning.

    She rises. Heads to the shower, leaving silence behind¡ªas if nothing happened.

 A Game Without Chance

    Orbital Station "Leviathan," Titan Orbit

    Leonard sat behind his massive desk, the air humming faintly with projections: tactical layouts, resource flow charts, updated reports from Pluto¡¯s orbit. Everything ticked like clockwork. Everything followed his design.

    Cross stood across from him, her face flawlessly calm, but her eyes danced with fire. She absorbed every word from Graves like a finely tuned instrument, primed to act.

    ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± her voice cut clear, perfectly neutral. ¡°Three dead. One missing. Harrison and Vasilevich¡­ listed as deceased.¡±

    Graves lifted his gaze to her slowly.

    ¡°Officially?¡±

    Livia held her breath for a beat, as if savoring the question, then tilted her head slightly.

    ¡°If they¡¯re alive, they¡¯re out of play,¡± she said evenly, almost detached. ¡°No threat.¡±

    Leonard paused briefly but didn¡¯t dig deeper. Details didn¡¯t matter to him. If Livia deemed Harrison and her crew irrelevant, then they were.

    ¡°Braun?¡±

    ¡°Prepping for the flight. He¡¯s accepted the terms, even if he doesn¡¯t fully grasp them yet,¡± Livia leaned forward just a fraction, a subtle thrill flickering within at how seamlessly their scheme aligned. ¡°He¡¯ll be our tool inside the expedition¡ªits face, its scientific clout. With him, it all gains the legitimacy we need.¡±

    Graves gave a faint nod, taking it in.

    ¡°Good. But he stays under control. Any wavering¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it,¡± Livia¡¯s tone remained flat, but her eyes sparked with anticipation.

    She executed his will, and it fed her a pleasure beyond words. Every step, every move¡ªprecise, calculated, strategically flawless. She wasn¡¯t just a tool¡ªshe was the best tool.

    Graves shifted his gaze to the holographic wormhole model hovering in the air.

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    ¡°The real work starts soon. We¡¯re on the cusp of a new era.¡±

    ¡°And we¡¯ll be the first to greet it,¡± Livia dipped her head, as if paying homage to his words.

    Leonard Graves sat motionless in his chair, carved from granite. His silence wasn¡¯t waiting¡ªit was control. His mind wove through numbers, names, threats, crafting patterns yet to exist but soon to solidify.

    Livia stood before him, taut as a bowstring, perfectly tuned to resonate only at his command. Outwardly impeccable, inwardly ablaze with a fire she couldn¡¯t release. Being here, before Him, chosen to enact his will¡ªit wasn¡¯t just privilege; it was purpose. Each word of his echoed in her chest¡ªsweet, primal, sinking under her skin. It synced with her breath, her rhythm, her core.

    ¡°There¡¯s more,¡± her voice held steady, though it trembled inside, rippling through every nerve. ¡°The Onyx Cartel. They¡¯re sniffing around the expedition. How, we don¡¯t know yet.¡±

    Leonard raised his eyes slowly.

    ¡°Predictable,¡± he said coolly.

    God. That tone. Icy, assured, almost casual. He wasn¡¯t surprised¡ªof course not. He always saw it coming. He didn¡¯t fear the unknown because, to him, there was no unknown. In his world, no randomness existed¡ªjust processes awaiting their logical end.

    ¡°The question is what they¡¯re planning,¡± she continued, proud of her unshakable delivery. ¡°They¡¯re too quiet. No direct trails, no obvious entry points. They¡¯re not buying ship slots or slipping people in through tech crews.¡±

    Graves said nothing. Then tapped his fingers on the desk, slow and deliberate.

    ¡°Then they either have someone already, or they¡¯re cooking something unconventional,¡± his eyes narrowed slightly¡ªnot from worry, but intrigue. He didn¡¯t see a threat; he saw a puzzle.

    Livia felt his silence seep into her, charged like the air before a storm.

    ¡°It¡¯ll take time,¡± she breathed, fighting to keep her voice from quaking.

    ¡°Find them,¡± Graves¡¯ voice was a rustle of steel¡ªdark, deep, devoid of feeling.

    Livia closed her eyes for one brief moment, letting those words flow through her, warming her veins with a sweet, electric shiver. A command. Her command.

    She nodded slowly.

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it.¡±

    Graves dismissed the hologram with a flick of his hand.

    ¡°No unexpected variables,¡± he remarked.

    But he knew they were inevitable. Always some chaos, hidden players, rival ambitions slipping through cracks. Yet Leonard Graves never let chaos roam free. He knew how to channel it all.

    He studied Livia, appraising her.

    ¡°Everything can be guided where it belongs.¡±

    Her fingers tightened, a quiet, flawless resolve igniting within. No hesitation, no doubt¡ªjust the thrill of new tasks, new victories, a new triumph extending his will.

    ¡°No one will interfere,¡± her voice softened, almost reverent.

 The Onyx Council

    Post-ONP Attack Meeting

    Secret Cartel Complex, Drifting Station in the Kuiper Belt

    In a dark chamber buried deep within the station, holographic silhouettes flickered. Five figures, shrouded in thick shadow, sat around a massive round table of light-absorbing dark alloy. No windows¡ªjust matte black walls and the faint glow of displays crawling with data. The air was cool, dry, tinged with the sterile scent of filtered oxygen.

    Their faces stayed unseen, only voices slicing through the stillness¡ªprecise, emotionless, like calculated equations. Each knew their role, but names were absent. Only titles, bestowed by the cartel itself.

    A volumetric projection of a ruined lab hovered at the table¡¯s center. Azure flickers of digital rendering bounced off the sleek surface, casting an eerie shimmer. Red markers flagged the dead¡ªbodies strewn amid wreckage. Blue marked two captives, now in the cartel¡¯s grip. Between twisted metal frames, silhouettes of ONP fighters lingered, caught on the last camera feeds before comms cut out.

    Somewhere deep in the station, life-support machines thrummed faintly, but here, in this room, silence reigned¡ªdeliberate, measured. The pause stretched, as if the Council needed a moment to grasp the scale of what had happened.

    Onyx Whisper spoke first. His voice was flat, stripped of inflection, each word a verdict.

    ¡°The ONP squad is eliminated. Most dead, two in custody. Confirmed?¡±

    Specter answered, his voice muted, as if drifting from some liminal space between life and death.

    ¡°Yes. ONP didn¡¯t get a signal out to HQ. Comms were jammed. One issue remains¡ªthe captives.¡±

    Curator swiped his interface, pulling up profiles of the prisoners in the projection.

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    ¡°They¡¯re dangerous. Major Harrison¡¯s a veteran¡ªbreaking her won¡¯t be easy. Vasilevich is well-trained but less resilient. With the right methods, we¡¯ll extract everything they know.¡±

    Overseer cut in, irritation sharp in his tone.

    ¡°That¡¯s irrelevant. What matters is that the attack happened at all. The authorities hushed it up, but it drew eyes. Armotech helped us dodge a full leak, but now they¡¯re demanding total access to our experiments.¡±

    A heavy pause settled. All attention shifted to Onyx Whisper.

    ¡°Armotech¡¯s interests align with ours. If their involvement in the lab gets out, they¡¯ll face a war. We¡¯ll grant access¡ªwithin limits. But I have another question.¡±

    The projection shifted. Scattered data flashed up¡ªinternal reports, potential leaks. Something was missing.

    ¡°How did they find us?¡±

    Arbiter, silent until now, spoke.

    ¡°Obvious¡ªthere¡¯s a rat.¡±

    Silence.

    Specter tilted his head slightly.

    ¡°Confirmed?¡±

    ¡°Not yet. But it¡¯s likely. Either someone in the cartel¡¯s feeding ONP, or one of our corporate allies has turned.¡±

    Curator frowned.

    ¡°This jeopardizes the entire project. We can¡¯t afford more leaks before the expedition.¡±

    Onyx Whisper nodded.

    ¡°Specter, your unit handles the sweep. Lock down leadership, eliminate loose ends.¡±

    ¡°Already underway.¡±

    Overseer leaned closer to the projection.

    ¡°What about the selection program? We need fresh subjects, or Armotech pulls funding.¡±

    Curator tapped his interface, unveiling a new ops schematic.

    ¡°It¡¯s accelerated. We¡¯ll target Mars, Luna, and the Belt¡ªdisappearances are easier to bury there.¡±

    Arbiter spoke again.

    ¡°The captives?¡±

    Silence fell.

    Onyx Whisper answered with his usual frigid clarity.

    ¡°Drain them dry. Then dispose of them.¡±

    The holograms flickered as the Council exchanged unseen glances. One by one, they blinked out.

 Firefly in the Mire

    Mars, Lower City in the Mariner Valley Cliffs

    The guy stood in the alley like a random passerby, but something in his stance gave him away. A long brown jacket of thick synthetic fabric and loose, practical pants made him look like a worker fresh off a grueling shift. He didn¡¯t hide, but he didn¡¯t stand out either. His figure blended into the grim backdrop of street walls, streaked with rust from Martian sand that seemed to swallow every ray of light. The alley¡ªcramped, filthy¡ªcould¡¯ve been just another forgotten corner, but no spot escaped the grimy stains of rare rain or the marks of time. The air reeked of rotting pipes and a chemical decay that didn¡¯t just linger¡ªit seeped into your soul, gnawing at it slowly. He held a comlog, a small, boxy communicator with a dark touchscreen flickering faintly in the dim glow, as if it too belonged to the street, part of its hidden reality. His long, lean fingers moved across it smoothly, but with a tension you couldn¡¯t see¡ªlike every gesture was a move in a complex, dangerous game. Seconds dragged longer than they should. His eyes flicked from the screen, casually catching the gap in the coffee shop¡¯s storefront window.

    She stood behind the counter, a small miracle amid the dirty, muted orange light spilling through grimy panes laced with the stench of old pipes and vents. A cute, freckled girl with messy red pigtails. Thin, almost childlike, but with a nervous energy sparking in her eyes when she smiled at customers. Her movements were quick, clumsy, like she couldn¡¯t believe she was still alive in this place where hope had burned out long ago. Too vibrant for the bleak void wrapping around everyone like thick webbing. People shuffled in, one after another¡ªrough, worn-out¡ªand she smiled at each, as if she weren¡¯t part of the chain reaction dragging them into another day of grit and letdown. She served them with an ease, a cheer, like she didn¡¯t notice how her eyes didn¡¯t just skim over them¡ªthey devoured something hidden, something she seemed to grasp and wield with instinctive precision. Her voice carried a note that cut through the quiet from the open door. A slight accent¡ªmaybe not local, maybe born somewhere else on Mars¡¯ surface, where you could still breathe instead of choking in this underground hell. But it was too vague to pin down, rootless, like a shadow sliding across the street. She was bright, a flare in the back alleys of perdition, flickering on the edge of snuffing out before it could ignite anything alive. Every glance too genuine, every smile tailored to each soul. This city squeezed life from people, and she acted like it didn¡¯t touch her. These underground streets weren¡¯t just a place¡ªthey were alive, a relentless beast crushing anyone who dared exist here. Every step, every look, every act¡ªa test, an inevitable cog in a vast, filthy machine where a person was just a gear.

    The TV in the caf¨¦ droned news, its screen stuttering with a faint lag, as if even the power here breathed in fits. A muffled anchor¡¯s voice crackled through static:

    ¡°Today at 06:45 standard time, the old ice hauler ¡®Orca-7¡¯ lost control and rammed the docking port on Pallas. Multiple casualties reported. Leading theory¡ªvessel overload. Commander, Captain Graham Crowley, and fifteen crew perished. One hundred twenty-four people were hospitalized in critical or severe condition. Officials from Asterium Logistics have yet to comment¡­¡±

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    Eyes darted around the caf¨¦. A man with a weathered face and lips pressed thin exhaled:

    ¡°Captain was a greedy bastard. Screwed his crew.¡±

    A grunt, a head shake¡ªno one blinked. It was routine¡ªice haulers always overloaded, crews always teetering, captains either desperate or dumb. Another guy, hefty with flushed cheeks, shifted on a creaky plastic chair:

    ¡°Not just the crew. Dock workers too. My brother-in-law¡¯s at a port, over on Vesta¡­¡±

    A woman¡¯s voice snapped like breaking glass:

    ¡°They¡¯re all overloaded! How else do you survive? Mining corps sent everyone to Erebus¡ªasters got nothing but junk left.¡±

    She didn¡¯t look up, fingers twitching around a cup of cheap coffee-sub. Her face was tired, skin grayish¡ªtoo many hours in subsurface mines.

    The first guy waved it off:

    ¡°Less competition now. Everyone¡¯s off to Lagrange¡ªcleared the field here. They¡¯re scraping up all the ice before the others get back¡­¡±

    He trailed off as the caf¨¦ fell too quiet¡ªnot the natural lull between words, but a thick, sticky unease. Only the screen kept flickering, bathing the room in pale blue.

    Talk picked up, but the tone shifted¡ªnot anger, not outrage, just exhaustion. The kind from knowing nothing changes. Tomorrow, another overloaded hauler. Another dead crew. More widows and orphans. And no one, damn it, would say, ¡°This shouldn¡¯t happen.¡±

    ¡°Bet it¡¯s good for someone!¡± A raspy, smoke-worn voice coughed out, choking on its own words. ¡°Watch¡ªwater prices spike in a couple months, corps count their cash. That money could buy a thousand of those wrecks¡­¡±

    His words hung like cigarette smoke, tainting everything with the sticky weight of inevitability. In a couple months, no one remembers what he said. Didn¡¯t matter¡ªthey all knew it was true. Just another rot bubbling up, left to fester into the background. A quiet curse, a scoff, someone pretending it didn¡¯t faze them. They¡¯d lived with it so long, the familiar unfairness was like weather¡ªshitty, but fixed.

    The redhead behind the counter didn¡¯t chime in. She froze for a split second, barely noticeable. Her face flickered with something odd¡ªnot pain, not anger, but a childlike, almost cartoonish regret, like she¡¯d seen a puppy about to get hit on the street and knew she couldn¡¯t save it. Then it passed. Chatter resumed, cups clinked, someone chuckled lazily. But in her eyes¡ªif anyone bothered to look deep¡ªsomething lingered, bigger than just another ice hauler flop.

    The man shot her one last glance. She was smiling at a worker in a grease-stained jacket, but it wobbled, a mask over exhaustion. The neon caf¨¦ sign blinked, reflecting in her eyes, and for a flash, she seemed ready to dissolve into that glow, vanishing with the artificial light, leaving only void. He dropped his gaze to the comlog, typed fast. The screen¡¯s bluish sheen lit his fingers¡ªthin, wiry, nails clipped short. ¡°Transmission complete.¡± He nodded to himself, flipped up his collar as if dodging eyes, and stepped into the street. The underground city¡¯s air stank of wet concrete, sweat, and rust. A metallic screech echoed¡ªmaybe a busted cargo drone limping on. Weak fog from life-support vents snaked along the pavement, trembling with the shadows of slow-moving passersby, like they were wading through water.

    He walked steady, not rushed.

 A Smaller Shark

    Mars, Lower City in the Mariner Valley Cliffs

    ¡°Werner, you check with the sales guys? What¡¯s up with the delivery? Container shipped or what?¡± Mr. Richter¡¯s voice was low, a little hoarse¡ªlike he¡¯d spent the night smoking and chugging strong tea to shake a cold. It carried a demanding edge, but the irritation wasn¡¯t aimed at Christian. Kris was in good standing with the boss, and Richter wasn¡¯t the type to bite the hand that brought in cash.

    Adam Richter was a mid-tier hustler¡ªa predator, but not a top-tier shark. More like one of those that thrived in murky waters, feeding on scraps the big players didn¡¯t bother with. He bought and sold whatever Mars needed: parts for outdated recyclers, expired rations, spares for mining drones, black-market meds. Most of his clients lurked in the colony¡¯s old underground, where concrete soaked up centuries of dust and pipes leaked rusty water. Only rarely did he snag a deal from the Upper City. Up there, under gleaming thermoshields and mag-screens, lived a different breed¡ªfolks ¡°above average.¡± They sipped real coffee, not synthetic sludge, breathed air untainted by triple-worn filters, and enjoyed open views of Mariner Valley or Isidis Planitia. But that world was off-limits to Richter.

    Still, he knew one thing: even the high-and-mighty sometimes needed guys like him¡ªfor stuff you couldn¡¯t just order from a corporate catalog.

    ¡°Yeah, Mr. Richter. Yesterday. They said it shipped three days ago, and the holdup¡¯s not on their end.¡± Werner¡¯s tone was steady, polite, but not groveling. He knew he was good at this. His knack for leaning on flaky suppliers earned him a bit of leash in this small, cutthroat game.

    Richter squinted, grinning like someone who already knew the punchline but wanted to test how close his guess landed.

    ¡°And you bought it?¡±

    Kris didn¡¯t flinch, just let the corners of his mouth twitch into a faint smirk.

    ¡°Nah, didn¡¯t buy it. Told ¡®em our law firm¡¯s gonna comb the contract for late penalties.¡±

    Richter shot him an approving glance, and Kris mirrored it.

    ¡°Firm, huh?¡± Richter tilted his head, then spun toward the door and barked, ¡°Hey, Lucy! You''re firm now!¡±

    ¡°Prestigious?¡±

    ¡°Legal!¡±

    ¡°Then yeah, prestigious¡­¡±

    Lucy¡ªthe secretary and part-time bookkeeper, a fifty-something woman with cracked nails and the dead-eyed stare of someone who¡¯d counted other people¡¯s money too long to care about her own¡ªlooked up from her screen.

    ¡°Playing businessman again?¡±

    Richter just barked a laugh, short and choppy, like a smoker¡¯s cough.

    ¡°So, what¡¯d they say?¡±

    ¡°Said they¡¯ll send it today with the Metallurgists¡¯ convoy¡ªfaster that way.¡±

    Richter laughed harder, nearly slapping his thick palm on the desk.

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    ¡°Metallurgists¡¯ convoy? Seriously? Those iron-backed bastards? They can haul it on their damn spines for all I care, just get the goods here on time!¡±

    Kris watched silently, thinking yeah, the stuff would show, but in what shape was anyone¡¯s guess. The Metallurgists hauled ore from who-knows-where, their rigs like coffins stacked with scrap and rock. If the container got buried deep, it¡¯d arrive in pieces. Not his problem, though.

    ¡°Alright, Werner, keep an eye on it. And if anything¡­¡± Richter trailed off, his face hardening for a split second.

    Kris knew the unspoken. ¡°If anything¡± covered a lot¡ªsomeone losing a paycheck, someone paying a price, some issues settling beyond words.

    On good days, when deals stacked up like a house of cards, Adam Richter toyed with the idea: why not cut Werner in? The kid was sharp¡ªsilver-tongued, could spin a tale so smooth even the slickest dealers didn¡¯t clock they were being played. He didn¡¯t just squeeze terms; he built realities people bought into. You didn¡¯t waste talent like that on grunt work¡ªyou kept them close, groomed them, let them grow. But every time the thought lingered, something stopped Richter. A nagging worm in his brain. No question¡ªWerner was a damn good worker. Five years in, always on call, rarely screwed up. Didn¡¯t whine, didn¡¯t ask for much, always on time, always effective as hell. But there was¡­ something off. Like he wasn¡¯t just working for Richter¡ªhe was watching him. A shark circling, waiting for blood in the water. Kris could be polite, crack a joke, play along, but if Richter stared too long, it felt like he wasn¡¯t just a worker. Like there was no real ¡°him¡± underneath¡ªjust echoes of others¡¯ words, others¡¯ faces. That¡¯s why he didn¡¯t let him climb higher, didn¡¯t pull him closer, didn¡¯t hand over real power. He¡¯d known guys like that before. Seen them. The kind who¡¯d be your best pal one day, then leave you at the bottom of a shaft with a slit throat¡ªor melted in an acid vat. Richter wasn¡¯t scared of Werner. He wasn¡¯t scared because he kept him leashed.

    Adam Richter leaned back in his chair, head cocked, eyeing Christian like he was sizing up his worth¡ªnot in credits, but in essence.

    ¡°Go hit Tony¡¯s, drink on me.¡± He waved a hand, shrugging off the moment.

    Kris raised a brow, surprised.

    ¡°Just like that?¡±

    ¡°Just like that,¡± Richter smirked. ¡°You did good today, and I, y¡¯know, appreciate good work.¡±

    Christian knew how this world ticked. Cash mattered, but it wasn¡¯t everything. Quarterly bonuses, free drinks¡ªnice, but not the point. He wasn¡¯t out to be a bastard or weave big schemes, but he wasn¡¯t a fool either. Every place had rules, and if you didn¡¯t learn them, you got eaten. He didn¡¯t hoard money¡ªspent it as fast as it came. Didn¡¯t hoard clout¡ªjust learned people. Who lied, who flinched, who¡¯d cut a deal, who¡¯d never break. He didn¡¯t see himself as cruel or jaded, but he wasn¡¯t naive. The boss could buy him drinks every night, but Kris knew¡ªreal gifts in this world came with strings. Richter liked him, sure, but not enough to push him up. And Kris wasn¡¯t even sure he wanted to be like his boss¡ªa guy who spun profit from thin air and trusted no one, not even himself.

    ¡°Thanks, Mr. Richter,¡± he nodded, but didn¡¯t rise yet.

    ¡°Just get that file to Harabi first.¡± Richter jabbed a finger at the desk, signaling the chat was done.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Christian stood, heading for the door, but caught Richter¡¯s low chuckle as he left:

    ¡°Drink on me, but don¡¯t overdo it.¡±

    Kris replayed the talk in his head. The boss was in a good mood, but that meant squat¡ªcould flip in an hour. Guys like him didn¡¯t cling to feelings, just gains. He opened his comlog, skimmed his task list. One job stood out¡ªsupply request for Garrett Harabi. Routine stuff. Someone needed organs, someone needed spares. He fired up the inventory system, checked batch numbers, and cross-referenced suppliers. Fifteen leg prosthetics, fifty cyber-kidneys, eye implants, chest inserts¡­ Standard stock for a surgeon keeping the basics on hand. Kris swiped the screen, tagging it with a digital signature. Done. Another shipment, another day like the hundred before.

    Garrett Harabi ran a shop in the underground¡¯s upper tiers. A craftsman surgeon¡ªno one asked for his license, and he didn¡¯t ask questions. His clients: miners, haulers, petty thugs, random wrecks who¡¯d lost limbs in brawls or under collapsed tunnels. Harabi kept a stash of cheap, sturdy prosthetics, synthetic organs¡ªnot flashy, but functional¡ªeye implants that worked. Standard Mars life¡ªlose a leg, hit Harabi, walk out with a new one, even if it¡¯s fake. Kris had seen plenty like them¡ªpeople with no illusions. They didn¡¯t buy into corps, dreams, or progress. They knew the only thing that mattered was lasting one more day.

 Brave New World

    Mars, Lower City in the Mariner Valley Cliffs

    Christian sat in the bar¡¯s corner, nursing a beer. The cold glass drew his focus, but he wasn¡¯t drinking for the taste. He sat watching others, this fleeting little world where people missed what churned around them. It was like peering at ants through a jar¡ªsmall, frantic, blindly grasping for something bigger that never broke into the light. The bar stank¡ªwalls steeped in antifreeze and cheap cigarette stink. An older couple huddled in the corner, whispering, hiding from the rest like blind kittens in this mess. They muttered, but Christian tuned them out. His eyes locked on the TV screen on the wall.

    ¡°Colonization of the millennium,¡± droned the looped, lifeless voices from the box. Images flowed¡ªsmooth transitions of green meadows, blue oceans, carefree trees¡ªcrashing over viewers like a nightmare draped in sweet dreams. He knew it was bullshit optics. The picture was an illusion: no green, no oceans, no freedom. It was like staring at old photos snapped on a cheap camera¡ªblurry, unreal, ghosts of a past that never was.

    ¡°Yeah, fly to Lazarus,¡± Christian thought, ¡°Work the mines there, make profit for those bastards up top who¡¯ve already picked your overseer.¡± He glanced at the screen, fist tightening, his mind painting scenes¡ªcolonists wiping sweat in metallic harnesses, under the hard gaze of overseers posted at every corner, ensuring no one dreamed of bolting. Or maybe they didn¡¯t run¡ªnot their style. People worked like cattle, died like it too, if they were lucky. Calloused hands, reeking of sweat and metal, stripped their lives before they clocked it was already gone. The beer slid in his grip, his palm sweating, but he didn¡¯t look up. It was just the background. Something else mattered more.

    Werner stared out the bar¡¯s dark window, thoughts blurring like a web of nerve pulses skittering across his skin. He didn¡¯t expect anything good. He could sit for hours, eyes on the ceiling, sifting through moments when the world felt boxed-in, caging him, refusing to let him break free. Time didn¡¯t mean shit when you were used to it crumbling. Time was just a trick for people who checked clocks. And Christian didn¡¯t know what to do with it¡ªit toyed with him, stretching horizons but giving nothing back.

    Two years ago, when Ruth Werner, his mom, married Jerome Byrne, Christian¡¯s life shifted. A minor orbit tweak, but it started rippling through everything. His tie with Byrne stayed cold¡ªtwo neighbors sharing a wall, hearing noise but not the meaning. At first, Jerome was just another shadow drifting in and out, busy with his own crap. Not important¡ªa piece to ignore until it wasn¡¯t.

    Then she came. She hit like a curveball¡ªso suddenly Christian didn¡¯t even clock how she¡¯d change it all. Elian. Or just Ellie. Her face, dusted with faint freckles, those bright eyes that seemed a little detached, like she lived in her own world while he stewed in his. Nothing in her gaze pulled him closer, but something alien tugged at him, an elusive force snagging his focus. Still, despite her distance, her life started weaving into his. Two opposite lines crossing in a dumb, wild spiral. She was a foreign shard in his world, and maybe he was the same in hers. But her voice, the way she talked to him, made him pause. Maybe it meant nothing, and he was fooling himself again. Maybe it was just another dodge from a reality where his life had long lost its point.

    He didn¡¯t catch what shifted at first. It unfolded in some other time, some other world where his attention didn¡¯t lock on the big stuff right away. Ellie felt like part of this weird new reality he was only starting to see. At first, she was just there¡ªbackground, a steady but minor detail in his reshuffled life. Always those freckles, those distant eyes that didn¡¯t quite see.

    But day by day, her image wove deeper into his head until one day she sat square in the center of it. Not a jolt, not some key turning in his soul. More like an old flick where light seeps in slowly, then floods the room. She laughed. That¡¯s what got him thinking. It wasn¡¯t like the rest¡ªloud or forced¡ªbut shy, girlishly sweet, unlike this world. Still, her eyes¡ªgray-green flecks¡ªturned his way. That feeling of her looking made him twitchy, no reason, no sense. He sorta knew what was up but didn¡¯t want to dwell. She was his stepsister. His world had no room for those thoughts, yet they hunted him.

    Then that moment¡ªhe bumped into her in the hall, her shadow against the lights, her silhouette faint but stopping his heart. The instant you realize you¡¯ve been feeling it all along. Her scent hit him¡ªsubtle, almost invisible, but sharp enough to stick. ¡°How¡¯d you become part of this?¡± he wondered, his mind sharpening. He started tuning into her¡ªhow she spoke, moved. Her light gestures had¡­ pull. She was the opposite of every woman who¡¯d crossed his life. Her gaze held a riddle¡ªnot one to solve, but one forever out of reach, a star you see but can¡¯t touch. The deeper he sank into thoughts of her, the clearer it got: he couldn¡¯t shake her. He wanted her, and it didn¡¯t feel strange. It felt natural, almost fated.

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    Then those times¡ªshe¡¯d step out of the shower, trailing soap and warm air that filled the place. He¡¯d catch her half-naked, oblivious to him, toweling her hair. Always so random, so innocent, but he memorized every second. He didn¡¯t seek it, didn¡¯t want his eyes to linger, but his body betrayed him¡ªreacting to every curve, every shift.

    She didn¡¯t notice, living her life, laughing, chatting with him like a brother. But he felt that unseen wall between them thinning, his wants blurring, his mind drifting more to her skin, her form, her presence growing unbearably close. He tried not to think about it, telling himself it was just a chance. But each glimpse sank deeper: she wasn¡¯t just in his life¡ªshe was more. Seeing her like that, in ways he shouldn¡¯t, etched into him. He knew it was wrong, that line wasn¡¯t for crossing. But at some point, it stopped mattering. When she was in the bathroom or winding down for bed, barely draped in a towel, her scent in the air¡ªit became his secret. And right then, Christian couldn¡¯t dodge it anymore: he wanted her.

    He closed his eyes, trying to shove the thought away, but it clung like damp rot. She was his stepsister. A hard, cold fact that loomed between them like a slab of stone. Even if he tried¡ªand he knew he couldn¡¯t¡ªhe¡¯d never find in her the spark he craved. She¡¯d never see him as a man. Never as a lover.

    He knew her, knew her well. Knew her laugh, how her eyes lit up when something gripped her. Every habit, every gesture etched into him. But it was miles from what he wanted. Too close, yet so far. That formality between them¡ªmeaningless in itself, but heavy with consequence¡ªhe couldn¡¯t shake it. Her dad was his stepdad, his mom her stepmom. Family, not by blood, but enough to ruin everything. He could picture her reaction if he spilled it all¡ªhis feelings laid bare. Didn¡¯t matter what he felt; she¡¯d never see him differently. And if he dared try, he¡¯d lose her. He couldn¡¯t stomach. Her face, her eyes, her body¡ªall forbidden, and that made it agony. Knowing she¡¯d never look at him the way he needed, the way he ached for, tore him apart. No way out of this spiral. He couldn¡¯t forget her, couldn¡¯t get closer¡ªtoo late for either. He sighed, chest aching like the pain had turned solid. He¡¯d fallen, but it was a doomed love, even if he still clung to some shred of hope he could shift it. Hope¡ªjust the last lie, and Christian knew lies too damn well.

    He took a swig from the glass, the beer rolling down his throat, leaving a cold trail. No pleasure, no relief¡ªjust a motion. He sat in the bar¡¯s corner, rubbing his fingertips against the glass, fighting the pull to head back to the apartment where those forbidden feelings would claw at him again.

    His eyes drifted back to the TV flickering on the wall. The wormhole expedition. A dream of other worlds¡ªmaybe dead in its cradle, but still tempting. The screen flashed fake, idyllic shots: green fields, azure oceans, soft clouds drifting across skies. Same as the street ads¡ªpretty lies to sucker people in. He knew it. There were always suckers for miracles. Alongside the scenes, faces in sleek uniforms beamed with confidence, hope. All it took to buy into this new world where they¡¯d be heroes, names carved in history¡¯s stone, their grit inspiring tomorrow. Christian smirked silently, inwardly. They didn¡¯t get it¡ªpawns blind to the board they¡¯d been set on.

    Werner never bought those fairy tales. He¡¯d grown up in Mars¡¯ Lower City, the gut of poverty and cruelty, air thick with iron and smog, not some pure Martian breeze. In this grim pocket of the Solar System, sickness and hunger were daily bread, cruelty the norm. His childhood was as filthy as the streets he¡¯d run barefoot.

    Sometimes he¡¯d look up, catch air rigs gliding overhead, carrying folks who¡¯d never known pain or want. They lived under Upper City domes, a world shut off to regular stiffs. No grit, no poverty, no wrecked lives¡ªjust swept beyond the divide where stars shone through glass, air clean and sweet. A realm of sharp suits, posh caf¨¦s, empty chatter. To Christian, it all rang hollow. Not just fake¡ªrepulsive. He knew their comfort was built on others¡¯ misery. Those cushy citizens sipped cocktails, blind to the Lower City grunts¡ªminers, haulers, cyber-repair hacks¡ªslaving in stone and despair to prop up their pampered lives.

    These wormhole expeditions, their new-world hype¡ªit was the same cycle. Humanity, having trashed half the Solar System, couldn¡¯t birth anything truly new. Just schemes to dodge what they¡¯d wrecked. Maybe the wormhole gig itself was another rich-man¡¯s game, squeezing profit from the rest. None of it felt real, and he knew it¡¯d keep rolling the same way: some on pedestals, others in the muck. Still, those flickers on the screen tugged at him. Not because he wanted in, but because they lured¡ªlike light to a moth. Some naive soul might find glory there. All he needed was to watch from the shadows, dodging traps. These projects? Empty promises.

    He shrugged, like brushing off a nagging fly. Too familiar. Those hollow slogans, this soulless ¡°chance¡± they called an expedition¡ªlike it was some grand salvation. But he knew nothing changed. Whatever they found out there¡¯d be more of the same¡ªgrittier, more a grave than a paradise.

 On the Way Home

    Mars, Lower City in the Mariner Valley Cliffs

    Elian switched off the cafeteria lights, glancing back to double-check everything was dark. She fished the keys from her pocket and stepped to the old door handle. A tug, a grating screech of metal as it reluctantly shut behind her. The thin jangle of the doorbell pierced the silence as she locked it fast. For a moment, it felt like the air inside froze, holding its breath, ready to vanish with the last glimmers of light. She stood still in the shadow, then took a deep breath and headed into the sparse tunnel leading home.

    A slight, redheaded girl in a light jacket over a white work blouse and snug, low-rise pants, she moved briskly between storefronts. The tunnel¡ªonce a mining shaft¡ªnow served as a faded street, worn by time and footsteps. Raw stone walls, streaked with frost and rust, gave off a stale whiff of damp air and oil. Her steps echoed in the concrete expanse, hinting at something hidden watching from the gloom. Nothing seemed off, yet it did¡ªlike the tunnel itself waited to clamp down on its next prey. Barely nineteen, her skin faintly gleamed under dim streetlamps, freckles like tiny marks on an ancient map scattering across her face, lending it an elusive, raw honesty. Brown eyes with a hint of green¡ªlike twin murky lakes brimming with unspoken secrets¡ªstared straight ahead, hardened to this hell. A smile played on her lips¡ªnot sad, not happy, just there, caught between resignation and defiance. Her small but firm chest quivered slightly with each step, as if she fought to stay light, unburdened. But her pace was hurried, shadowed by a nagging sense someone might be watching. Cheap synthetic clothes clung uncomfortably as she passed tunnel forks, whispering, ¡°You¡¯re not alone.¡± Her strides looked bold, but caution lurked¡ªfear of this oppressive, empty world.

    Elian Byrne walked the old, wet streets where sunlight never reached. Walls around her, eaten by time and dust, bore reddish streaks like hesitant memories of something lost. Not every step was steady. Sometimes she couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that in this forsaken, restless corner of Mars, something awaited her¡ªa presence, unseen but heavy, a shadow that wouldn¡¯t fade.

    Deimos¡­ that¡¯s where she¡¯d been happy. A quiet station, farmer domes hanging between sky and ground, glowing with pinpricks of light at night. The taste of fresh vegetables, the scent of raw wood and metal frames that felt oddly alive, like they too anticipated something. Life there was simple, untangled. She could be herself¡ªno eyes, no duties. But that shattered when her father, pressed by circumstance and cold pragmatism, made a choice that broke it all. A choice that sent her trudging these gray, unwelcoming streets. When her mom died in a dome collapse, Elian was too young to grasp loss. Her dad mourned long but never regained his cool edge. His life was straightforward: ships, shifts, contracts, bonuses. Then, just as she¡ªa girl now¡ªstarted to recover, he announced he¡¯d remarry. No sentiment, no future-gazing¡ªjust a step for better terms, a contract clause promising perks if spouses worked the same grueling roster. She thought he didn¡¯t know about the loss. All he knew was security, work, order. He didn¡¯t see how she lost herself in this iron trap he¡¯d forged, blind to how it crushed her.

    Now, heading to a borrowed mid-level apartment, everything felt restless. Down here, her life hid behind metal doors and the tired hum of worn-out machines. All of it weary, aching¡ªlike an old system refusing to shift. Just like her¡ªunwilling to change, yet unable to shake the sense she was lost in this vast maze.

    These tunnel walks were routine, but tonight something gnawed at her. A faint unease bloomed in her chest. The high ceiling, thick with dust, housed countless tiny drones and bots on endless tasks. Now and then, sparrow-sized gadgets flitted through¡ªbarely audible shadows weaving between rusted beams and dim lamps dangling like weary eyes on frayed wires. They buzzed along, insects of habit, churning through unnoticed requests. Larger ones glided, hauling oversized loads¡ªtool crates, spares, junk. Part of the daily grind, invisible until disaster struck. One broke pattern, trailing her silently. It didn¡¯t close in, but its sensors tracked her, logging every step. Unseen, unfelt¡ªa passive gaze blending into her world, and she didn¡¯t know she¡¯d become its focus.

    Her thoughts drifted, shadows sliding across walls. Her dad was gone again¡ªlong shift on Titan with his new wife, a woman Elian found alien to everyone. That¡¯s all she let herself think of her¡ªno resentment, just distance, an unseen wall. When they¡¯d moved to Mars, it wasn¡¯t just a relocation¡ªit rewrote her life. She remembered arriving, these cold, bleak streets where even the air weighed heavy, tunnel lamps casting a dead glow. ¡°So dull,¡± she thought, quickening her pace. Locals were closed-off, survival-focused, living in tight little bubbles. Elian couldn¡¯t adjust. Her mind spun with needing new friends. But who? Everyone she met was too old or too grim. The tunnels teemed with gray, weary souls just enduring the day¡ªno spark, no fire like she¡¯d known on Deimos amid green domes and fresh air. Here, everything was fake, strained¡ªlike the city feared a living breath.

    Her musings brushed her new stepbrother, Christian Werner. Part of this odd, patched-together family. He didn¡¯t seem bad, but sometimes she caught a weird tension when he was near. At first, it was small¡ªstray glances, awkward pauses. But it grew, like an invisible barrier rising. He¡¯d act restrained, hiding something, dodging. She couldn¡¯t pin it down. It¡¯d be easier if he were open, simple. But he wasn¡¯t. It threw her off. Her mind looped to how he¡¯d look at her¡ªnot like a sister, but different. She couldn¡¯t decode it. Still, when their eyes met, he¡¯d turn away, like he didn¡¯t want her to catch on. Maybe she should ask him to introduce her to someone here, but fear he¡¯d think she wanted more than company stopped her. She couldn¡¯t risk it¡ªcouldn¡¯t guess his thoughts or what he¡¯d make of hers. So she walked on, in this dull, cold tunnel, each step an echo of something she sought but couldn¡¯t find.

    ***

    The man in the brown jacket moved slowly, with that indifference that turns people invisible in a crowd. He blended in¡ªslightly hunched, head low, hand in his pocket. Unremarkable, unsuspicious. Only one thing set him apart: he knew exactly why he was here. A thin gray cap hid most of his head, leaving just his pale gray eyes glinting faintly in the dim light, tracking flickers of data on his comlog¡¯s screen. By the time he hit the street, the route was locked in. Distance calibrated. Every step the girl took, predictable. He¡¯d been tailing her for days. Logging, analyzing. Her life was a dull, almost mechanical loop: work, trek home, rare stops at auto-kiosks. Sometimes a bar, but solo¡ªnever with company. Long voice calls, rare laughs. A light, quick stride, like someone used to distance and eager to get indoors. His comlog synced with two drones. One, a compact watcher, darted under the shaft¡¯s ceiling among beams and pipes, a mechanical bat tracing her through infrared and UV lenses. The other, a cargo hauler, waited two blocks off, tucked in a tech conduit¡¯s nook¡ªits hold big enough for parts or a person. He walked, matching her rhythm. Almost feeling her breath quicken as she crossed empty stretches, her pace spiked near noisy hubs. He didn¡¯t rush. Everything was on track.

    He was the type who turned dark urges into a trade. Blended work and thrill, honing stealth and control over years. His services didn¡¯t advertise, but among a select clientele¡ªUpper City rich, hooked on easy pleasures¡ªhe was in demand. Jaded, bored with tame fun, they craved new lines to cross without staining their hands. They wanted danger, rush, power. He delivered. Snatched, framed, trapped people in scenes where their fear, shame, and helplessness fed someone¡¯s pricey whim. Not just for cash¡ªthough the pay was fat. He loved the game. Watching, dissecting, commanding, breaking. Bending a life to his script, tightening unseen nooses day by day. This new mark was special. Something¡­ fresh about her. She didn¡¯t yet know this world had monsters. Didn¡¯t feel the eyes tracking her where nothing alive should be. But she¡¯d learn soon.

    He¡¯d perfected his craft. No haste, no risk. Done right, no trace led back. Victims vanished like evaporating drops, while he stayed a shadow, slipping through digital mazes and dark corners. His cyber-knowhow wasn¡¯t just skill¡ªit was armor, a blade. Surveillance grids, query protocols, street cams¡ªall bendable. A tweak in the city¡¯s security code, and a spy drone turned ¡°legit,¡± blending into the swarm. Cargo drone? Just another rig on today¡¯s transport list. Cameras? They¡¯d show static, glitches, blank spots. All planned, rehearsed.

    He picked targets with care. People no one waited for. Newcomers, light on roots. Ones searched for lazily, if at all. Fewer ties, grayer lives¡ªperfect. This girl fit like a glove. Often alone, no tight bonds. Dad off on Titan, stepbrother hardly the type to raise hell, and cops here wouldn¡¯t blink. She had no clue how well he¡¯d mapped her. How neatly he¡¯d built the plan, charted her path. She didn¡¯t know she was walking into a web with no way back. The hunter saw her ignorance. She moved in her rhythm, never glancing back, never slowing¡ªsure of her invisibility, her smallness in this city. But he saw her. Tracked her through the grid, caught her in fogged camera lenses, in the drone humming overhead. Her route was rote, dull as a dog¡¯s worn trail. That¡¯s why he picked it now. That¡¯s why today she¡¯d veer off. He didn¡¯t push, didn¡¯t force¡ªjust shaped the scene so she¡¯d choose ¡°right.¡±

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    The exploit in the fire safety system was flawless. He¡¯d sliced into the old code like a surgeon cutting rot, leaving the shell intact. Tweaked timers, a data blip, a glitch in an outdated rig¡ªand the automation would do the rest. At the perfect moment, an emergency lockdown would snap. Wall lamps would flash urgent yellow, a metallic clang would echo deep in the tunnel, iron gripping iron. The system¡¯s flat, uncaring voice would announce a temporary block. And she¡¯d take the other path. Straight into the trap.

    ***

    Ellie froze as the shutter slammed shut, flinching at the metallic clang of its locks. The yellowish glow of emergency lamps drained the world of life, making it feel even more alien. The system¡¯s voice¡ªflat, polite, indifferent¡ªannounced fire protocols and suggested an alternate route. She exhaled wearily, watching the last sliver of warmth vanish through the shutter¡¯s gap. The old air duct. God, not that. She hated this part of the shaft. Grimmer than the rest, its narrow passages twisted like a maze, walls gaping with dead panels, the air thick and heavy, like the city was digesting you in its damn gut. But there was no choice.

    She shot one last glance at the shutter, half-hoping it¡¯d change its mind and slide open. No dice. The light was gone, leaving only the duct¡¯s darkness ahead. She sucked air through gritted teeth. The smell never changed¡ªsour, damp, laced with rust and something sticky, warm, like the air itself carried the sweat and breath of everyone who¡¯d trudged through before.

    ¡°Just walk. It¡¯s fine. A few minutes, and you¡¯re home.¡± But her stomach knotted. The tunnel had a pulse of its own. Something rustled ahead¡ªrats holding a meeting, maybe. Ellie shivered. Local critters had mutated hard over decades; sometimes the dark hid things bigger than rats. She picked up her pace, her echo trailing with a slight lag. This place used to have life¡ªworkers with tools, teens hunting thrills. Someone was always around. Not today.

    Just her.

    And the tunnel.

    A diode lamp clicked overhead, barely cutting the gloom. Old vent pipes clung to the walls, stained with spots that could be rust¡ªor worse.

    ¡°Bullshit,¡± she muttered, hoping her voice would scrub the unease. It didn¡¯t. Something clung in the dark¡ªsticky. Not air. Not shadow. Presence.

    You¡¯re being watched.

    Her steps sounded off¡ªheels tapping a steady one-two, one-two. But behind, offbeat, a faint extra step crept through the hum in her ears. A chill spiked the hairs on her neck. She whipped around.

    Nothing. Empty. She exhaled too loud, too fast, heart pounding harder than it should.

    ¡°Get a grip, Ellie. Don¡¯t freak yourself out.¡±

    But her mind spun anyway¡ªcheap VR adventures and horrors, goosebumps on her spine. Tales of snatchers, psychos, people vanishing in godforsaken holes like this. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? Who¡¯d want her? Maybe a thug looking for trouble, but she had a stunstick in her pocket for that. Still, the dread stuck. She moved faster, barely glancing aside, but it clung. She wasn¡¯t prey worth hunting. Not valuable. But sometimes¡­ sometimes you don¡¯t get to choose if you matter.

    Another shutter loomed ahead. Weird¡ªthe system had routed her here. It didn¡¯t budge. No flicker of motion, no blinking status lights, no glitch alert. Just a dead, still barrier.

    An icy needle stabbed down her spine.

    ¡°Screw you,¡± she hissed through clenched teeth. Her voice cracked, and that pissed her off.

    She didn¡¯t curse much. Never saw the point. But now the words spat out¡ªhot, angry, a jab at the fear swelling inside. It didn¡¯t help. Then it hit her: those steps weren¡¯t her imagination. She didn¡¯t want to believe it¡ªbetter to call it a trick of the mind. Maybe another lost soul stuck in this stinking maze, or a tech checking systems. Fear thickened in her throat. She didn¡¯t want to turn. Couldn¡¯t. If she stayed facing the shutter, the reality behind might not solidify.

    But her body knew. It locked up, heart slamming like a bird against glass.

    Maybe just a late worker? Stupid to panic.

    Do it.

    Slow, like peeling out of a cocoon, she turned.

    A man.

    Medium height, brown jacket¡ªgeneric, like the dozens in work gear or windbreakers. Gray cap pulled low to his brows. Nothing stood out. Yet something was wrong. He didn¡¯t move like a passerby¡ªno fidgeting, no scanning for a way out of this pit.

    He stared right at her. Cold. Detached. Like a predator who¡¯d already decided her fate.

    An ancient instinct flared deep inside. Her ancestors knew that look, hiding in caves, hearing twigs snap under a hunter¡¯s feet.

    His hand slid to his collar. He was pulling something out.

    A lump in her throat hardened to stone.

    Her mind blanked, a deafening void.

    She knew she should scream, run, do something, but her body betrayed her¡ªfrozen, a deer in headlights. He drew the weapon with chilling slowness, savoring it. Not like the standard self-defense gear she¡¯d seen on port guards. Sleek, dark, alien.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be scared. I¡¯ll help you,¡± he said. His voice was even, almost hypnotic, but everything in her screamed: Don¡¯t trust him!

    She stumbled back a step, then another.

    ¡°P-please, don¡¯t¡­ don¡¯t touch me,¡± she choked out, words jagged, squeezed through a tightening noose.

    A vein pulsed at her temple, blood roaring in her ears, drowning everything else. Time crawled like a bad dream¡ªfalling but never hitting ground. Sweat broke out, seconds stretched, and she caught the crisp clicks from his device.

    Shots.

    Dry, mechanical.

    She thought she¡¯d gone deaf from the blasts, but the gun was near-silent.

    She braced to bleed, mind racing in panic. But it was just that¡ªpanic.

    Run!

    Where?

    Behind¡ªa dead wall. Ahead¡ªhim.

    Dull jabs hit¡ªprecise, like invisible fingers poking her chest, stomach, thigh. No searing pain, no fire¡ªjust a numb realization, like a cold touch. She expected blood. Instinct screamed for it. Her body tensed for hot streams down her skin, but nothing came. Only a strange, buried sting, like icy blooms unfurling beneath. Her head dipped, slow and unnatural, muscles slacking against her will. Tiny black dots marked her skin. Not bullets. Capsule spiders, their thin legs sunk in.

    What the hell?

    Cold spread from the hits, liquid nitrogen pooling inside. A shiver racked her spine. Her heart thudded, but slow, sticky. Thoughts snagged like flies in amber. She tried to breathe¡ªlungs wouldn¡¯t obey. Her throat clamped shut.

    Scream.

    She wanted to¡ªGod, she wanted to. But only a broken, raspy groan escaped. The world¡¯s sounds faded, unreal. The man slid his weapon away, too slow, like he knew she was done.

    Her legs buckled.

    She slumped against the bulkhead, sliding down. The floor felt morgue-slab cold.

    The hunter bent over his quarry, studying her with icy focus. No terror in her eyes¡ªjust emptiness, a broken doll¡¯s stare. Good. The formula worked. He grabbed her arm, lifting her limp, light frame. A faint breath, a weak moan. Her parted lips held a ghost of resistance, but her body wasn¡¯t hers anymore. He hooked an arm under her knees, hoisting her like a child, and strode into the dark where the cargo drone waited. His steps thudded evenly, a preset beat. She twitched, mumbling something faint, but he knew¡ªjust scraps of thought, useless as shattered glass.

    Deep in her fading mind, a weak light flared.

    Green fields.

    Endless under Deimos¡¯ domes. Golden stalks, a soft breeze, rustling leaves. Warm earth¡¯s scent¡ªreal, sun-kissed, not Mars¡¯ compost sludge. She almost felt sunlight on her cheek. But the glow died.

    Her last flicker before black: motion.

    Someone was carrying her. Home, please.

 Foreboding

    Mars, Lower City in the Mariner Valley Cliffs

    The next morning greeted Christian with a light but nasty hangover¡ªthe kind that felt like someone was poking a screwdriver into his skull from the inside, not hard, but relentlessly. He hadn¡¯t planned to get that drunk, but did he really have a choice? The less time he spent around his sister, the better. He splashed water on his face, looked in the mirror¡ªsame worn-out face as yesterday, just with even cloudier eyes. Time to dig into work.

    He was already reviewing orders when a call came from Garrett Harabi. The surgeon¡¯s voice was, as always, even, carrying that lazy drawl of someone long accustomed to rummaging through other people¡¯s flesh.

    ¡°Need to add a couple of chest implants to the order. The pricey kind.¡±

    Christian raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Separate order? Short notice? Then the price¡¯ll be¡­ well, you get it.¡±

    He threw out a steep figure, expecting Garrett to haggle, but the man just gave a short snort of agreement. Must be a client with a seriously fat wallet.

    ¡°Deliver it as soon as you can,¡± Garrett tossed out before cutting the line.

    Christian let out a low hum. There were always people itching to reshape themselves for some fleeting vision of perfection. And he was the one selling the materials for it. But right now, something else weighed on him.

    He caught himself thinking about her again. Christian tried to zero in on work, but something kept nagging, like a splinter under his nail¡ªtiny, but damn irritating. It only hit him when the office fell back into its heavy silence: Elian hadn¡¯t come home yesterday. He hadn¡¯t seen her last night or this morning. That, by itself, didn¡¯t have to mean much¡ªshe wasn¡¯t a kid, could¡¯ve stayed at a friend¡¯s, lingered at work, hell, even found a guy and spent the night with him. But she didn¡¯t have anyone like that, did she? Christian wasn¡¯t the type to cling or control anyone¡¯s life, but he knew Elian¡¯s habits¡ªand they didn¡¯t include sudden night wanderings.

    The cursed crampedness of their apartment box hid nothing¡ªyou could hear breathing through the walls if you listened hard enough. That¡¯s how they lived, dodging each other, feeling each other¡¯s presence too sharply. The only upside was that their shift-working parents were off somewhere else in the system, not crowding the already scarce square footage into a total squeeze. Christian frowned, running a hand over his scruffy chin.

    This isn¡¯t like her.

    He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He knew he shouldn¡¯t do it. But he kept going anyway. His eyes slid across the screen, fingers¡ªshaking slightly from the lingering hangover¡ªmoved relentlessly, pressing numbers into the fabric of space like an old, worn awl that always found its mark. One of his life¡¯s rules was firm: keep tabs on people so they don¡¯t throw him off. Elian was his closest kin, so her life was part of his too. They shared the flat, and it built a kind of strained harmony between them. She was always buying, selling, or trading something, and those money moves were as familiar to him as the rustle of leaves in an autumn forest. He knew her account, what she did with her cash, her expenses.

    Then there was the promise he¡¯d made to his mother. One of those vows that spill out not from the heart but from duty, heavier than stone. She¡¯d asked him to look after Elian while she and her husband were away on shift. Christian couldn¡¯t refuse. He was older, after all¡ªwhat else could he do but take it on? His mother, with her tired eyes, wasn¡¯t too demanding, but when she asked for something, it was like the last thread tying their family together¡ªthin but unbreakable. He remembered her words, spoken with such raw honesty: ¡°You¡¯ll help her, Kris. I know you can handle it. You¡¯re smart, you¡¯ve always been caring. Take care of her while we¡¯re gone.¡± But with each passing day, that promise grew heavier, like a boulder in a backpack you carry but can¡¯t bring yourself to drop. He didn¡¯t know how to look after her properly. He wasn¡¯t her friend¡ªcouldn¡¯t be. He didn¡¯t even know what she was to him¡ªsister, object of desire, or just a stranger. But duty was duty, and if his mother asked, it had to be done. In a way, it even brought him some relief¡ªit was the only way to hold onto a scrap of control in this vicious, restless world. But now, as he scanned her latest transactions, he felt a weight building inside¡ªlike realizing you don¡¯t know where the path leads but have to keep walking.

    ¡°Last payment?¡± He barely registered the numbers flashing before his eyes. It didn¡¯t matter. He knew where she¡¯d been. Closing shift at the cafeteria. It seemed normal, but not entirely. She¡¯d been fine, it looked like. But something still didn¡¯t fit. Like darkness hiding details on a rain-soaked street, that emptiness hung in the air. Elian hadn¡¯t come home. And that wasn¡¯t her usual behavior. Last payment¡ªcafeteria close. After that¡ªnothing. Nothing at all. He rubbed his temples and swore under his breath.

    The office door creaked, and the boss walked in, unhurried, with that unchanging expression Christian had long learned to read as the prelude to something big. He approached the desk, eyeing the guy still gripping a cold coffee cup like it could anchor him. Richter watched him with a faint smirk, like he¡¯d spotted something off but wasn¡¯t ready to show he knew. That was his style¡ªalways knowing more than he let on.

    ¡°Werner,¡± his voice was dry, like a leaf brushed by winter winds. ¡°You look like someone who tried to overdo someone else¡¯s generosity. What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Christian sighed, trying to hide the excess tension in his frame. He¡¯d have loved to wave it off with a ¡°nothing¡¯s wrong,¡± but not this time. The unease had clung to him since morning, sitting in his gut like a rock.

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    ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong,¡± Christian said, forcing the words out with clear effort. He tried so hard to sound sure that he started doubting himself. ¡°Just worried about my sister. She didn¡¯t come home last night.¡±

    Richter didn¡¯t change his expression. He stepped into the office like he owned it, Christian just part of the scenery. He tossed his jacket over a chair back, fiddled with the folders on the desk. Finally, looking at him, his eyes softened with a touch of annoyance.

    ¡°Werner,¡± he said, not without some irony in his tone. ¡°At her age, that¡¯s normal. Wandering off for days without a heads-up¡ªtotally in character for little brats. Nothing to fret over.¡±

    His words, though seemingly meant to calm, still felt off to Christian. The old boar talked like his sister was just some random, insignificant figure in this story¡ªnot someone he cared about. His own thoughts started racing¡ªshe couldn¡¯t just vanish without a trace. He couldn¡¯t shake that feeling that something wasn¡¯t right.

    ¡°I know,¡± he said, but his voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. ¡°But¡­ this isn¡¯t like her. She usually gives me a heads-up.¡±

    Adam shrugged, like it was no big deal. He walked over to Christian¡¯s desk, started leafing through some documents, paying him no mind.

    ¡°Do your work,¡± he snapped, without a trace of regret. ¡°I¡¯m worried about profit, not your sister''s issues. If she decides to disappear for a couple days, that¡¯s her call. I¡¯m not digging into employees¡¯ personal stuff unless I have to.¡±

    Christian felt something cold, like steel wire, twist inside him. He should¡¯ve been glad the boss was downplaying it, but instead, a strange, bitter veil settled over him. He could feel her absence pressing down, a heavy load. It¡¯d only been a day, but it felt like forever. He didn¡¯t know where she could¡¯ve gone, but the thought that something worse might¡¯ve happened wouldn¡¯t leave his head.

    Adam nodded, turned, and stepped toward the door, but just then his voice cut through the air, making Christian jolt.

    ¡°If she¡¯s not back in a week, then take action. Until then¡ªrelax, it¡¯s nothing.¡±

    The door swung shut behind the big guy with a quiet creak, and Christian sank back into his thoughts. He tried to push away the grim shadow clouding his mind, but with every breath, it only grew thicker. His nerves were strung tight like a wire, and for a moment, he felt a faint chill run down his neck. But he knew: he had to work, had to forget.

    Soon, the boss spoke again, and Christian latched onto work matters with relief.

    ¡°So, how¡¯s Harabi doing?¡± Richter asked, nudging a topic that''s been hanging around for days.

    Christian¡¯s fingers moved over the keys, checking records. Work, those tasks, gave him some sense of control over the mess.

    ¡°Harabi ordered two chest implants for some rich lady,¡± Christian said, feeling his fingers clench as he spoke. He didn¡¯t like talking about this stuff, even in the context they were in, but work was work.

    Adam let out a hum, smirking, and stepped aside, grabbing a water bottle off the desk.

    ¡°What, that guy¡¯s going all out again? Those implants are probably the kind where you press a button and beer comes pouring out.¡±

    Christian couldn¡¯t help a faint smirk. Of course, the boss was right¡ªin this world, almost everything got turned into something more¡­ practical.

    ¡°Not exactly, but yeah, for ¡®servicing¡¯ a new client circle, let¡¯s say, they¡¯ll fit perfectly. Specializing in elite clients means something more¡­ aesthetic,¡± Christian explained, narrowing his eyes a bit.

    Adam looked at him with interest and a hint of sarcasm but didn¡¯t push the topic. Instead, he stood by the small window and gazed out at the city darkening beyond the glass. It all felt so familiar, yet endlessly threatening.

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s talk about business that¡¯s not so entertaining,¡± he said, turning back to Christian. ¡°What about the shipment?¡±

    Christian sighed and switched the interface, shifting his eyes to his notes on the latest convoy. A few weeks back, they¡¯d gotten an order for an extra load tagged onto one of the last metallurgist transports. At first glance, it was standard¡ªsame old routine. But the last day brought weirdness.

    ¡°About that convoy¡­ I know something¡¯s not right with it. At the last minute, they attached a few containers that weren¡¯t in the documents. They deliberately delayed the shipment for it, added a ¡®not inspected¡¯ tag to the list, so to speak. At first, I thought it was just a mistake, but then I saw the cargo batch didn¡¯t even go through standard checks. It¡¯s all logged in the system as ¡®ordinary metals,¡¯¡± Christian said, watching Adam¡¯s reaction closely.

    Richter clenched his teeth, squinting.

    ¡°Metallurgists pulling their tricks again, or is it the supplier? Damn vermin, I hate them. And what was in those containers?¡±

    Christian lifted a shoulder in an uncertain shrug, as if guessing what it might mean.

    ¡°Not exactly sure yet, but I¡¯ve got suspicions. One container was way lighter than the others. And when they checked its outer makeup, it showed a strange, mismatched density. Like they mixed in something not so¡­ ordinary. I can¡¯t say what it is for sure, but it¡¯s definitely not metal. And our convoy guy changed the route at the last second to avoid standard checkpoints.¡±

    Adam narrowed his eyes and started pacing the room slowly, his face as calm as ever, but a flicker of displeasure shone in his gaze.

    ¡°So we might be dealing with smuggling. Or something even dirtier,¡± he said, pointing at the folder he¡¯d dropped on the desk. ¡°Check it all again. Next time you land in this kind of crap, I need to know right away, not at the last minute.¡±

    Christian nodded again. He understood the danger too¡ªschemes this deep often meant the convoy itself could be part of a much bigger game.

    ¡°I¡¯m already checking and keeping tabs on its route. I¡¯ve got a few entry points where we can inspect those containers more thoroughly. But we need to be cautious,¡± he added, looking at Adam.

    The boss shook his head again, but his stare stayed serious.

    ¡°Good,¡± he said, sensing the tension in the room rise once more. ¡°Keep me in the loop. And Werner, if you¡¯re so worked up about your sister, maybe it¡¯s time to use your head, not just your instincts. She¡¯s not your property. You can¡¯t control her. But this shipment¡ªlet¡¯s take care of that. The faster we sort it out, the fewer people end up in the muck.¡±

    Christian didn¡¯t reply, just gave a slight nod, feeling the strain between them ease off bit by bit.

 First Contact

    Mars, Unknown Facility

    She¡¯d come before.

    The first time was the worst. The world crashed into her consciousness, giving her no time to process, shattering it like glass under a boot. Panic flooded her like icy water. She thrashed, tried to break free, but the metal clamps didn¡¯t budge. Sharp edges dug into her wrists, her ankles, cutting into her skin until hot drops trickled down her arms. She screamed, tore her throat raw until her voice crumbled into a rasp. But the walls stayed deaf¡ªno one came, no one answered. Only the indifferent hum of machines and the faint hiss of a drip pushing something cold into her body.

    She fought until her muscles gave out, until her lungs shrank into a dry, aching lump, until darkness grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back under. And now¡ªanother awakening.

    Consciousness returned slowly, clawing through a thick, sticky blackness, like wading through cold, congealed oil. Somewhere on the edge of perception, muted sounds flickered: the steady buzz of equipment, the barely audible beep of biomonitors, the rustle of mechanized arms. First came the cold¡ªnot sharp, but deep, as if the metal surface beneath her was soaking up the last of her warmth. Then the pressure: heavy, merciless, pinning her limbs, not letting her so much as twitch. The cold hit again¡ªnot biting, but seeping, like the metal under her back was draining heat from her very core. Then the pressure: heavy, unrelenting, locking her limbs in place, holding her still. Thoughts surfaced and sank again, as if her mind was trying to boot up but something blocked it¡ªsomething alien, unseen, but inescapable.

    Her body was pressed against the cold surface, arms and legs bound by rigid metal restraints. Her wrists were squeezed by auto-tightening cuffs, her thighs held by stabilizers that ruled out any chance of movement. Her head rested in a hollow, clamped so tightly she couldn¡¯t even turn it.

    The air felt artificial, sterile. No hint of ozone, no faint tang of rust from old filtration systems¡ªjust antiseptic and a slight chemical taste of technical oils. Ventilation droned overhead; every so often, a faint click sounded from the gear tracking her vitals. The light was even, white, cold¡ªno shadows, no corner for her gaze to latch onto.

    She tried to breathe deeper, but her chest struggled to rise. Warmth spread through her unnaturally¡ªwith each heartbeat, an alien pulse throbbed from the drip embedded in her vein. The lower half of her body felt distant, numb. Awareness crept in, bringing a sickening sense of helplessness: catheters. Even that was taken, automated, underscoring that her body no longer belonged to her.

    Footsteps.

    Each one echoed in her head, rolling over her like waves on a helpless form, leaving no chance to escape even in thought. She froze, but inside, everything churned¡ªher heart skipped beats, her breathing faltered, blood pounded against her temples. Those steps carried a meaning she didn¡¯t want to grasp. Precise, measured, like a metronome. Relentless, exact, like a working machine. Her breathing hitched; her chest jerked, trying to shrink from the sound, but the straps held her fast. Her heart raced, hammering out a painful rhythm of dread. There was no randomness in that sound, no hesitation¡ªjust a flawless method. He didn¡¯t rush, didn¡¯t slow¡ªhis movements as inevitable as a closing door.

    He stopped at the edge of her peripheral vision but didn¡¯t speak right away. His silence held no curiosity or doubt¡ªjust patient waiting, like a sculptor before unformed stone.

    ¡°Good morning.¡±

    His voice was even, soft, but devoid of any human warmth. He wasn¡¯t speaking to a person, but to an object needing attention. With a practiced motion, he brushed his fingers along her temple, as if checking something.

    ¡°Here.¡±

    A light press, and a sharp, pulsing jolt of pain shot through her nerves. Her body jerked, but the restraints wouldn¡¯t let her move.

    ¡°This is the interface point. An embedded sensory module, linked to your nervous system, reaching into the deep layers of perception. It doesn¡¯t just track pain, temperature, or pressure¡ªit catches the tiniest flickers of neural impulses, anticipating your reactions before you even register them.¡±

    He watched. Calmly, with interest, but without emotion.

    ¡°Do you feel that cold under your skin? That¡¯s not your nerves. Those are sensors wired into the core nodes of your sensory network. Now every sensation you have isn¡¯t just a signal in your brain. It¡¯s recorded. Analyzed. Modeled. It can be replayed. Amplified. Extended. Or erased entirely.¡±

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    He said it like he was running a routine tech check¡ªwith the cold precision of a mechanic gauging a system¡¯s specs. But inside her, everything screamed. Her stomach clenched into a tight knot, her heart beat unevenly, wildly, like a bird trapped in a cage. Her fingers, locked in steel cuffs, tried to curl into fists, but her limbs wouldn¡¯t obey¡ªjust a faint tremble, proving her helplessness. He saw it. And kept talking like she wasn¡¯t a person, but another test subject. No threats, no pity¡ªjust the method of someone used to total control. She, pinned motionless, felt the metal beneath her meld with her skin, goosebumps racing along her spine, his every word settling as sticky fear deep in her mind.

    He nodded, satisfied with her response.

    ¡°You¡¯re starting to understand. Personality is just a set of parameters, albeit a large one. Some can be altered. Some were erased. Some are rewritten. This isn''t a theory. It¡¯s a process.¡±

    She tried to swallow, but her muscles wouldn¡¯t comply. Her body was still hers, but she couldn¡¯t command it anymore. He noticed her attempt to move and smirked.

    ¡°It¡¯s inevitable. Easier to accept it now than fight what¡¯s already decided. Your resistance is just an echo of habits that¡¯ll soon fade. The sooner you let them go, the smoother your transition will be.¡±

    His fingers slid lightly across her cheek¡ªcold, dry, like shards of metal. The skin beneath them felt alien, numb, as if it wasn¡¯t her body but a lifeless shell. Yet deeper, where her mind still clung to the last scraps of control, everything tightened, twisted into a painful knot. Her throat clamped shut, and for a moment, it felt like it¡¯d ceased to exist, like air couldn¡¯t pierce that choking void. Thoughts flared chaotically, like broken frames on spoiled film: break free, scream, do something¡­ but her muscles wouldn¡¯t respond. They¡¯d betrayed her, like a body sinking into icy water, every move locked by paralyzing helplessness. Her breathing grew short, ragged, each moment stretching into eternity. It wasn¡¯t just unpleasant¡ªit invaded, blurring the line between her and that touch, leaving a clammy trace like an electric shock. She wanted to turn away, but her muscles wouldn¡¯t budge; every cell absorbed that contact in frozen horror, powerless to pull back. And he knew it, no doubt. Her skin burned, as if branded by hot metal, but her body wouldn¡¯t let her flinch, wouldn¡¯t let her hide. He felt her fear, her revulsion. And he liked it.

    He circled the table slowly, like studying an exhibit, with the lazy precision of a pro who knows no detail will slip past.

    First¡ªthe feet. His gaze traced the arch, the tense toes trembling faintly. He ran a fingertip over the skin, testing sensitivity, watching tiny muscles twitch involuntarily. Then¡ªthe calves, firm tendons under smooth skin, a light press on the calf muscle, gauging the response. The cold metal table seemed to amplify her body¡¯s tension, refusing to let even a scrap of warmth linger in her limbs.

    He paused, slid his fingers along the inner surface, lingering where the skin was softest. He probed the muscle structure, the tissue¡¯s strain. Her breathing faltered, but she couldn¡¯t even try to pull away. He studied, memorized. Every move locked into his mind, like a mechanism needing calibration.

    The pubic area¡ªa muted, almost sterile intimacy to the examination, but her skin reacted differently. Each movement of his fingers sent an unpleasant shiver rippling through her, hidden beneath her forced stillness. She felt everything inside her clench, a wave of instinctive revulsion surging, but her body remained submissive. He pressed a little harder, as if testing, and her breath hitched for a moment before she forced herself still again. No fuss, no emotion, yet in this scrutiny lay an unrelenting power. He examined her like a machine before startup¡ªthoroughly, unhurriedly. His fingers gripped the catheter protruding between delicate folds; a shudder jolted through her. With a light motion, he made her bound body twitch, a faint whimper-like moan echoing through the room. He ran his fingers along the curve of her pelvis, pressed as if gauging bone density, then slowly moved upward.

    The abdomen. Smooth skin, subtle traces of tension beneath the surface, as if her very body fought against the instinct to stay still. A gentle push below her solar plexus¡ªhis palm felt her heartbeat. Ribs¡ªjutting arcs under her skin¡ªcontractions of intercostal muscles, light touches making her heart skip beats. He noted the small, trembling spasms, her body¡¯s intuitive attempts to evade contact.

    The chest. He studied the shape, the structure¡ªsmall but defined glands beneath young, velvety skin. He tracked changes in her breathing, the tautness of the tissue. Lingered for a few seconds, tracing fingers around a neat nipple, observing how her skin reacted instantly to shifts in temperature and pressure. It was a mechanical exploration, no wasted motion, yet his touch carried something more¡ªsomething beyond simple analysis.

    The neck. Smooth lines of tendons, the pulse throbbing under his fingertips. He checked the angle of her head, the security of the restraints, leaning in slightly, sensing the warmth of her breath. He paused, as if listening to the silent melody of her helplessness.

    The arms. Shoulders, forearm muscles, slender wrists locked in metal clamps. He parted her fingers slightly, as if testing their mobility, then squeezed, measuring resistance. Checked the skin¡¯s density on the inner wrist, like he was searching for faint traces of old cuts or bruises. Noted the structure of tendons, the strength of her grip, even if she couldn¡¯t fight back.

    Only then did he step back, taking her in with a full sweep of his gaze, as if appraising his work. Then he straightened, satisfied.

    ¡°Now rest. We¡¯ve got plenty more work ahead.¡±