Winter air filled the boy's lungs, his breath spilling out in slow white vapor that bled into the dense treeline. The weight of the sabot carbine settled into his hands as its metal claws dug into a dry, rotted log draped in pearl-white snow.
"Take aim. Behind the front legs. Center mass."
The voice came close to his ear. Calm, as a father should be. But there was an edge to it. Something trained and accustomed to death.
The bare metal stock bit cold against his cheekbone as the iron sights fell into place.
Down by the stream, a pale, long-legged animal lapped at the thin ice, breaking it softly with each movement. Quiet. Unaware.
A second lingered.
The boy hesitated.
"No suffering. One shot."
"…Yes, sir."
Elias squeezed the trigger.
The shot cracked—
—and echoed off steel.
A guard dropped face-first into the black sludge of the alleyway, the impact dull and final.
Elias was already moving.
The strike team followed.
The echo hadn't finished dying out when Elias reached the large bay doors of the warehouse.
He pressed his hand against the cold metal and listened.
Footsteps scurried inside like a nest of agitated bugs.
Three.
Another coming.
Another going.
Seven at the least.
All moving left.
Parts of the team stacked behind him. Others moved to cover the exits.
Lyraen pressed a hand against his backplate.
Ready.
The heavy door detonated inward.
Elias entered first.
A hired shield worth seventy-five million.
Rifle fire opened across the floor. The sabot carbine kicked hard into his shoulder as he returned it in measured bursts.
Thuds dropped against the grated floor.
Elias shifted, hugging the outcrop of stacked shipping containers as rounds snapped past.
The smugglers had built an impromptu barricade from steel tables and broken machinery. It held for a moment against surplus fire—
Then Longblood energy weapons tore through it, slagging metal and scattering the cover in bursts of light.
Elias pushed forward.
Past rows of sealed coolers.
Labeled. Tagged. Ready for shipment.
The next door flew inward.
White.
Sterile.
Wrong.
Medical equipment lined the walls.
A dozen Longblood civilians were held at gunpoint.
Three masked pirates, using handhelds, shouted,
"Drop your weapons, or they die!"
Lyraen froze.
"Do as they say."
Her voice cut sharp enough to draw blood.
Her team obeyed.
Elias dropped his rifle—
Not for the order.
It ran dry.
He stepped forward.
Slow.
Predatory.
Closing the distance.
A pirate met him with a barrel to his helmet.
"Not another step!"
"You're shaking."
The others pivoted their barrels toward him.
Fear. Instinct. Cruelty.
It didn't matter.
Elias moved.
The rifle snapped sideways as it fired into the wall.
His driver was already up.
One shot.
Center mass.
He seized the man by the collar and dragged him in—
Gunfire erupted.
Rounds tore into the body in his grip. Some punched through, knocking hard against his armor.
He held.
He advanced.
The firing stuttered—
Then stopped.
The body slipped from his hand.
Two shots rang out a blink later.
Silence.
It was over.
"What the hell was that?!" Lyraen snapped.
Elias turned toward her.
Driver low.
Armor stained red.
"Certainty."
She took an instinctual step back at the sight.
"That was reckless."
"That was calculated," he said, holstering the driver. "Reckless is dropping your weapons in a firefight."
He stepped toward her.
A hostage moved.
A shot rang out.
In the same instant—
Lyraen was knocked off her feet. Her helmet struck the floor hard as shouting filled the room.
Movement. Struggling.
She looked up.
Elias stood over her.
Blood darkened his side. A dart was lodged in the gap of his armor at the hip.
He turned, already tracking the shooter—
The last pirate was on the ground, pinned and disarmed by the team.
"You didn't need to do that," she said, pushing herself up.
Elias glanced at her armor.
"I doubt he was aiming for you."
He leaned back against a nearby wall, steadying himself as he reached into his bag for medical supplies.
"Hold still," Lyraen said, her voice lower now. Controlled.
She snapped a device from her belt.
"I'm removing it."
She pulled the dart free.
Elias didn't react.
His armor shifted as she released the plate. Foam expanded into the wound, sealing it in a flexible gel that moved with his breathing.
"Thanks," he said, already patching his suit.
"We'll do a full check on the Resolute," she added. "I don't know how compatible our systems are with your biology."
A pause.
"Close enough for them." She gestured to the dead smuggler.
"Right."
Elias ended the conversation.
He pushed off the wall and crossed the room, retrieving his rifle from the floor.
Something caught his eye in the mess.
A handheld terminal.
He picked it up, wiping the blood from its surface against his pant leg. The screen flickered as it woke.
A message thread.
Recent.
["Be advised—mercenary docked. Guild ID matches… the Judge. Four Longblood landers."]
["Position compromised. He's Here. Inform Red Ledger."]
A response followed.
["Judge status?"]
Elias stared at the screen for a moment.
Then scrolled.
Order logs.
Coordinates.
Names.
Too clean.
Too organized.
He tapped the interface.
Typed once.
["You're next."]
Sent.
The device slipped into his pocket.
Elias turned for the door.
"Where are you going?" Lyraen demanded.
"Job's done," Elias said. "Not sticking around for the rest of them to show up."
Lyraen didn't answer.
Her gaze moved past him—over her team, over the recovered civilians, over what was left of the room.
"Take anything useful," she ordered. "Recover anyone still breathing."
A beat.
"Destroy the rest."
"Don't start a fire," Elias added, aware of the station's poor upkeep.
Lyraen's eyes flicked back to him, a scowl hidden behind her visor.
"No fires."