Orced hadn't gone to bed.
The kitchen light was off, but the string lights Orced had strung across the ceiling cast a soft, multicolored glow over the counters. He stood by the window again, arms crossed, staring at the same distant red blink he'd noticed earlier. It hadn't moved. It just hovered there, steady, like it was waiting for him to acknowledge it.
He tilted his head slightly. The red dot reflected in his pupils again, sharper this time.
"Persistent little thing," he muttered under his breath
He walked quietly to the corner cabinet, the one they used for spare tools and junk. He pulled out a small black case—Ema's emergency "drone catcher" kit. Inside was a collapsible net launcher, a high-tensile carbon-fiber net with weighted edges, and a short-range EMP pulse device. Ema had built it after a Hedonas scout drone had buzzed them during a training run three months ago
Orced unfolded the launcher with practiced ease. It was lightweight, silent, and had a range of 800 meters—more than enough. He loaded the net cartridge, checked the charge on the EMP, and stepped back to the window.
The red light was still there, unmoving.
He opened the window just wide enough, aimed carefully, and fired.
The net launched with a soft thwip. It arced through the night sky in a perfect parabola, expanding mid-flight into a wide web. The weights caught the drone's rotors perfectly. The little machine jerked once, then started spinning wildly as the net tangled its propellers.
In the Hedonas command room, alarms blared. Jellal shot up from his chair. "It's been netted! Altitude dropping—someone just pulled it down!"
Meha leaned over the console, fingers flying across the controls. "Emergency ascent! Full power to rotors!"
Darkas stood behind them, arms folded. "Too late. They've got it."
On the island, the drone fought valiantly. Its motors whined as it tried to climb, but the net was too strong and the weights too heavy. It dropped another hundred meters before Orced calmly reached out with one hand and yanked the trailing line.
The drone jerked to a stop inches from his palm.
He pulled it inside the window like he was reeling in a fish, set it gently on the counter, and flicked on the kitchen light.
The drone's camera lens whirred, focusing on him. Red light blinked rapidly—panic mode. Orced leaned down until his face filled the lens.
"Hey there," he said, voice calm and friendly, like he was talking to a lost puppy. "You've been watching us all day. Who sent this shit? What do you want?"
No response, of course. Just the blinking red light and the faint whine of struggling motors. Orced tilted his head. "No answer? Fine. I'll guess. Hedonas, right? You guys love your surveillance. Probably saw us take down that C-class yesterday and got curious. Or worried."
He tapped the drone's casing lightly with one finger. "I'm not mad. Just… curious too. You're pretty advanced for a scout unit. Stealth coating, high-res optics, encrypted feed. Someone spent money on you."
In the command room, Jellal's face was pale. "He's talking to it. He knows it's us."
Meha's jaw tightened. "Cut the feed. Now."
Darkas raised a hand. "No. Let it run. We need to see what he does."
Orced straightened up. "You know what? I think I'll keep this. We can talk more tomorrow when the others are awake. Maybe Ema can take this apart and see what makes you tick. He loves that kind of thing."
He reached for the EMP device, thumb hovering over the button.
The drone's rotors spun desperately one last time. Orced pressed the button
A soft *pop*—no flash, no explosion. Just the faint smell of ozone. The red light flickered once, twice, then died. The drone went limp, propellers still, camera lens dark.
He opened a drawer, pulled out an old padded tool case, nestled the drone inside like it was fragile china, and locked it. He slid the case under the sink cabinet, behind a stack of cleaning supplies.
"Tomorrow," he said to the empty kitchen. "We'll figure out what you're really doing here."
He flicked off the string lights, leaving the kitchen in darkness.
The island was quiet again, only the wind singing through the guardrails.
Orced walked to his room, paused at the doorway, and glanced back once toward the window.
The sky was empty now.
September 15, 2034 – Sky Island, 07:12 a.m
The sun was barely up, painting the clouds below in soft pinks and oranges, when the kitchen filled with the smell of burning toast and instant coffee. Macker and Nix had volunteered (or rather, lost a very quick rock-paper-scissors game) to make breakfast. The rest of the group was slowly trickling in, still half-asleep, hair messed up, clothes wrinkled from sleeping bags.
Orced was already at the table, the padded tool case open in front of him. The captured drone sat inside like a sleeping insect, propellers limp, red light dead. He'd spent the last hour just staring at it, turning it over in his hands, looking for markings, serial numbers, anything.
Kruna walked in first, rubbing his eyes. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?"
Orced didn't look up. "A little. Enough. Found this thing hovering outside the window last night. Netted it with Ema's kit."
Kruna's eyebrows shot up. "You actually used the catcher? Thought that was just Ema's paranoid hobby project."
Aftor wandered in next, hair still damp from a quick shower, knife already in hand out of habit. "What's the toy?"
Ema followed right behind him, still in his oversized sleep shirt, eyes wide the moment he saw the drone. "Holy shit. That's a Hedonas Mark-VII stealth scout. High-end. They don't deploy those unless they're seriously curious."
Orced looked up at him. "You know the model?"
Ema pulled up a chair and leaned over the case. "I studied their public specs last year when we were dodging patrols. This thing has encrypted quantum feed, 4K thermal, noise-cancellation rotors. Invisible to most radar. You netted this?"
Orced shrugged. "Your kit worked like a charm. EMP finished it. No more blinking red spot."
Kruna crossed his arms. "Hedonas. Figures. They probably saw us take down that C-class yesterday and got twitchy. Seven S-class potentials on a forgotten island? That's a red flag for them."
Aftor sat on the table edge, legs swinging. "Question is: how long have they been watching? And why this model? They don't send Mark-VIIs for casual surveillance. This is for high-threat targets." Ema poked the drone's casing carefully. "I can try cracking the data chip if you want. Might have logs, flight path, who was receiving the feed. But it'll take time. Nix would be better at it—he's the hardware freak."
Orced nodded. "We'll wait for him.
Breakfast first. No point planning on empty stomachs."
From the stove, Macker's voice rang out. "Breakfast is almost—SHIT!"