Violence shook the stolen dropship when it broke through the top clouds, guided only by a distant machine mind. Outside the small thick window, the sky shifted - angry and rolling at first, then hardening into a roof of rusted metal high above.
Above the clouds floated an Argent Cartel Dreadnought. This vessel loomed like a fortress in the sky, its edges sharp, layered in thick plates, bristling with weapon mounts. Its silhouette stretched so far it swallowed the edge of sight. Their tiny craft followed a set course now - pulled forward by unseen systems - aimed straight at a bright opening beneath, carved deep into the belly of that metal giant.
Down he sank onto the metal floor of the storage space, its chill biting through cloth. Weight settled wrong, like a building leaning too far, held up only by pain and will. Inside his right foot, bones fused long ago scraped slow, stiff - a soundless grind like stone on stone. What Axiom took - fifteen stolen years to glue that break - now echoed as a dull rot spreading inward. Strength had bled away; the limb seemed filled with splinters instead of blood.
His body moved, but the pain just switched sides. Instead of both arms hurting, now it was the left one screaming. The jagged seams holding his bicep together tightened - each pulse sent fire deep into the tissue, sharp as burning wire on open flesh. Worse than that? A cold nothingness spread out from the burn on his neck. It wasn't icy - it felt like absence itself, glued to his spine. That frozen knot linked him straight to something else: a being with six wings who stood alone among bodies, far underground.
Fingers slick with blood slipped across the exposed wires. Though the spy had ripped off the cover, panic made each movement clumsy. A tangle of fibers resisted every jab and twist. Locked tight, the system ignored his frantic prodding.
"They are going to vent the cabin the second we cross the magnetic threshold," Silas rasped, his voice cracking under the sheer weight of his panic. He ripped a handful of wires loose, plunging the cockpit into deeper, bloody red emergency lighting. "Argent boarding doctrine dictates zero atmospheric resistance. They'll suffocate us before the ramp ever drops."
"Stop tearing the ship apart," Vance ordered, keeping his tone flat and heavily measured. He leaned his head back against the vibrating bulkhead. "This is a pristine Vanguard transport loaded with proprietary flight data. They want the hardware intact. Venting the cabin risks frying the localized memory banks."
Frozen still, Silas let his hands hang above the broken machine. Not turning away, the spy stared at Vance - eyes stretched open, hungry for some sign of control.
A space closed in around Axiom, tight and low. Sparks - dim, flickering traces of black current - drifted from the lynx-shadow onto the grid below. Inside that iron cage, hunger to hunt clashed hard against the pull in its mind, Vance's grip steady along the bond they carried together. Escape roared in its blood, a need to rip open walls, even as something unseen hauled it higher.
Vance shut his eyes, pushing down hard along the connection like slamming a door against storm wind. Stillness - total and rigid - he sent it forward, not asking but holding firm. His gut twisted, sour bile rising with the strain. A mind built for nothing beyond flesh and bone trying to leash something that should tear mountains apart - that never got easier. The creature broke pace, each footfall softening until only breath remained, then dropped back onto folded legs by the locked hatch, throat humming one last snarl into silence.
When air stays trapped, plasma torches open the door," Silas said under his breath, leaving the control panel behind and slipping down the wall until he reached the floor. His legs drew tight against him. Walking straight into a death zone - that's what we're doing
Fear made him move," Vance said. Up he rose, unfastening the thick strap that held him down.
A sharp stab shot through his right foot, almost blinding him at the edges. Teeth clamped on cheek flesh, a metallic tang spreading as he dragged one leg forward. The middle of the cargo bay pulled him like dead weight. From its hiding place came the blade - cold steel sliding free.
A shiver ran through Silas as his gaze locked on the knife.
Vance stayed put, never moving closer to the spy. With purpose, yet without rush, the knife flew from his hand across the deck. It hit the distant wall with a sharp clang before slipping beneath stiff jump seats - nowhere near either man. Off came the heavy canvas coat, torn and caked with grime, abandoned on the planks where it fell. Underneath, just a thin linen shirt soaked in old blood, useless if bullets started flying.
Staring at the dropped weapon, Silas said, "What's happening now?".
"I am a bruised, unarmed nineteen-year-old from the outer sectors," Vance stated, raising his empty hands slightly to demonstrate his absolute vulnerability. "I am standing next to a dormant, exhausted scavenger beast. You are wearing a highly customized, tailored lab coat and possess an illegal Cartel bio-valve implanted behind your ear. When that ramp drops, I am not the priority target."
Fierce magnetized grips on the Dreadnought snapped shut, crashing against the dropship's outer shell without warning. A sudden jolt rocked the vessel as metal met metal with brutal force.
Metal screamed on metal when the vehicle jerked forward its last stretch into the sealed bay. A sharp whine cut through the shell - air pressure syncing, just like Vance said it would. Not emptying the chamber. Getting ready to come inside instead.
Up he jumped, skin pale like chalk dust had been spilled across his cheeks. Wild eyes darted left then right through the bare metal belly of the ship, seeing nowhere to hide. Empty walls stared back - no boxes, no shadows thick enough.
"Get behind me," Silas pleaded, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "Tell them I captured you. Tell them I have the Elysian Wastes cipher in my implant."
"Argent mercenaries do not negotiate with the Obsidian Cartel," Vance said simply.
Outside, heavy mechanical bolts slid free from the hull. With a sharp whistle, the thick steel ramp released its tight seal - then crept downward, opening toward the bright insides of the Dreadnought.
A sharp white glare poured into the shadowy storage space. Bright beams spilled across the low-lit corners without warning.
Half-shut eyes narrowed, Vance held his palms up near chest level, fingers spread. Near him, Axiom sank down, close to the metal floor, every strand of its pitch-dark coat vanishing into dimness left by the descending hatch.
Facing the entrance, twelve bulky arc-rifles sat ready. One wrong move would trigger them - cold metal waiting in silence.
A group of thickly plated Argent fighters held position in a sharp half-arc by the drop zone. Not one seam out of place, their dark gray armor woven tight - nothing like Kaelen's scraped combat set from down below. Soldiers picked for the Dreadnought's inner shield, not border patrols.
Fists pressed to their skulls! Move forward where we can see you!" came a metallic shout, cutting through the drone of the hangar's airflow.
Vance moved without pause. Down the ramp he went, a slow limp matching each tilt that made his rebuilt foot ache. His gaze stayed fixed forward, acting precisely how a frightened person would when obeying. Close at his side crept Axiom, across the grated metal, hiding all signs of its usual shadowy spark, now seeming just a large cat marked with old bruises.
Behind him came Silas, hands lifted high, gaze jumping from one aimed gun to the next without pause. A step back, tense, searching each cold barrel in silence.
Footsteps echoed on the gleaming hangar floor just as the guards shifted aside, opening a narrow path between them.
Footsteps rang out - hard, metallic - as he stepped inside. Boots hit stone, each step loud. The coat trailing behind him carried plates of armor, gray and stiff. Silver marked it: a wolf's head near the collar. No mask hid his features. Skin on one half of his face twisted downward, tugged by an old wound. That pull kept his lip raised, like laughter frozen mid-snarl.
Beneath the still gold wheel inside him, Vance felt his pulse thud like stone on iron. The quiet machine rested - his blood answered with thunder.
Lieutenant Corvus stood there. Back when Vance lived another version of events, that man built the harshest questioning sites for the Argent Cartel. Pain wasn't just his job - he savored peeling minds apart piece by quiet piece.
A few steps back, Corvus stood still, his light-colored eyes moving slow across the three of them. Empty palms caught his attention first - Vance showing nothing - and then the uneven way he held himself, tired weight dragging down each motion. The animal behind him breathed hard, worn out. Last thing he looked at was Silas.
A flash of metal caught the lieutenant's gaze, tucked behind Silas's ear like a secret. The bio-valve shimmered faintly under the light. Not quite visible unless you knew where to look. His stare lingered only a breath before moving on.
Facts came out cold when Corvus spoke - just one phrase, no rise, no fall. "Obsidian Cartel rat." Not loud. Not sharp. Just there. Like stating weather. Or time.
Silas opened his mouth, dropping his hands slightly to gesture toward his own head. "Lieutenant, wait. I possess high-clearance Vanguard navigational data. I can offer you the exact geographic coordinates for the - "
Stillness held him. From the holster at his side came the weapon - solid, weighted - and it spoke once with a sharp sound.
A loud bang bounced off the high walls inside the big warehouse. The shot rang out, sharp and sudden, filling the open space with noise.
A sudden jerk sent Silas's head flying back. Down he went, collapsing onto the shiny ground without delay - blood seeping fast from a gaping hole in the rear of his skull.
Vance held his ground. Motionless, he locked each muscle tight, keeping his arms lifted without wavering. At his side, Axiom stayed low in its bowed posture, yet through their silent connection came a sudden flash - pride laced with hunger. Stillness ruled them both.
A gun tucked away, smoke still rising from its barrel. Corvus moved past the fallen figure, blood seeping onto stone. Close now - almost touching - the space between him and Vance vanished. Burning powder hung thick in the air.
Close now, the lieutenant whispered, near enough for Vance to spot the twisted maze of healed burns climbing his throat. His voice dropped lower - what business ha
d this stranger on a pilfered Vanguard ship, anyway, traveling with a dog at his side?