[Isabela’s POV]

  “Isabela, online.”

  Her voice was calm but clipped, the tone of someone used to giving orders and expecting results. The communicator in her ear crackled faintly before the dispatcher’s voice came through.

  “We’ve got an office on Titan requesting a recovery and containment team. Take yours and head there.”

  Isabela’s fingers danced across the ship's controls. “Did they explain the sitch?”

  “Coordinates received. Preparing vessel for departure to Titan,” the ship’s AI announced in its smooth, synthetic voice. The holographic projection of the navigation grid flickered before collapsing into the rotating H.I. logo.

  The dispatcher continued, “No details. It’s an NDA contract. Platinum-tier client of Helix Industries. That means we don’t ask questions. You’ll get your briefing from them.”

  Isabela swore under her breath, the word lost in the hum of the ship’s engines. “Great. Another blind job.”

  She leaned back in the pilot’s chair, the leather creaking softly beneath her. The faint vibration of the ship’s reactor pulsed through the deck plates as the systems came online. “Understood. We’re en route.”

  She tapped the side of her earpiece, closing the channel. The communicator emitted a soft click as the line went dead.

  Around her, the cockpit came alive. Holographic readouts hovered in the air: fuel levels, life support, jump drive calibration, all flashing green. The ship’s AI chimed again.

  “Jump drive charged. Vessel ready for transit.”

  Outside the viewport, the void shimmered with the faint glow of Saturn’s distant rings. Titan hung in the dark like a dull amber gem.

  Isabela exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

  She pressed a finger to her communicator again, opening a line to the crew quarters. “All hands, prep for jump. We’re heading to Titan. Team to the bridge, now.”

  --

  The jump ended with a shudder that rippled through the ship’s hull, and the stars snapped back into focus. The viewport filled with light, an endless sprawl of steel and glass stretching across the horizon.

  Hyperion.

  The great industrial jewel of Titan. A metropolis carved from ambition and machinery, its skyline was a forest of towers, each one bristling with antennae, cranes, and suspended transport rails that wove between them like veins of light.

  Massive freighters drifted above the city, their hulls glowing with reactor heat as they offloaded supplies. The ground-level streets pulsed with life, workers in gray uniforms, armored patrols, and autonomous transports weaving through the neon-lit chaos.

  Hyperion was the beating heart of the Republic’s weapons industry, the forge that kept its fleets armed and its armies fed.

  To Isabela and Helix Industries, it was just another job. They cared little about the conflict between the empire and the republic.

  The Helix Industries insignia gleamed on the shoulder of her black tactical jacket as she and her team disembarked, the ship’s ramp lowering with a hiss.

  “Two years, ten months… and how many days?”

  The question came from her right, slicing through the noise of the landing platform.

  Isabela blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

  Astrid glanced at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she walked beside her. “The time we’ve been with Helix. I’ve been keeping track. Trying to figure out how many days we’ve got left on contract.”

  Isabela snorted, adjusting the strap of her rifle. “Hell if I know. You think I keep that kind of thing in my head?”

  "No, you keep shit like who's the cutest Red Ranger." Astrid shot back.

  “I remember mine,” came a voice from behind them, calm and clear.

  Isabela turned slightly, catching sight of the two women following close behind.

  They were a small unit, four in total. One of hundreds under Helix Industries’ payroll. Mercenaries, specialists, problem-solvers. Tools for hire.

  The one who’d spoken was Emma. Short brown hair, easy smile, a faint scar tracing the edge of her lip, a relic from her Ranger days. She still had the mannerisms of a Blue Ranger, as well as carrying a Blue Crystal.

  “Three years, one month, and six days,” Emma said with a grin. “Not that I’m counting or anything.”

  “You remember because you’re weird,” Isabela said, her tone half-amused, half-exasperated.

  “I remember too,” came a voice from behind them.

  The speaker walked a few paces back, her stride measured, her posture relaxed. A white mask covered the lower half of her face, and a single earpiece blinked with blue light. She rarely joined their conversations. Most of the time, she pretended not to hear them at all. Yet when she did speak, it was usually to irritate someone.

  Neither Isabela nor Astrid had ever learned her real name.

  Stolen story; please report.

  All they knew was her codename: Taser.

  She’d been one of Helix Industries’ more unusual acquisitions, her contract bought out from the IWT Holdings mercenary division. She carried a Black Crystal, the most common among field operatives.

  Astrid rolled her eyes. “See? You’re the weird one for not keeping track.”

  Isabela chuckled under her breath. “I don’t need to. I’ll hit my five-year mark soon and retire. Between that and the NEA pension, I’ll be comfortable. Maybe even rich.”

  “You won’t even make it to five years if you keep jinxing yourself,” Astrid teased, elbowing her lightly.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Isabela spoke with confidence.

  The three women stepped into the atrium of a building so tall it disappeared into the smog-choked sky. The Hyperion Weapon Conglomerate logo gleamed above the entrance.

  Inside, the lobby was a cathedral of corporate power.

  The floor was polished obsidian glass, reflecting the towering white pillars that lined the walls. Holographic advertisements floated lazily in the air. They presented images of their latest innovations: exosuits, weaponized drones, and mineral extractors meant for off-world colonies.

  They followed the dispatcher's instructions as they crossed the vast space.

  “Seventy-eight,” Isabela murmured, pressing the button on the lift panel.

  The elevator doors closed with a whisper.

  Inside, soft lighting bathed the cabin in gold. A slow, almost meditative tune played from hidden speakers. Astrid began to hum along, her voice barely audible but perfectly in tune.

  Taser leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her eyes hidden behind the faint reflection of her visor. She said nothing, but her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh in rhythm with the music.

  The climb was long.

  Finally, with a soft chime, the elevator slowed.

  The doors slid open to reveal a figure waiting for them.

  At first glance, it could’ve been human, tall, slender, dressed in a dark suit. But the details betrayed the truth. The polished metal joints were visible at the wrists. The faint mechanical whir as it turned its head. The serial code etched into the side of its neck. It was an android.

  Its synthetic eyes glowed faintly amber as it scanned them.

  “Operatives of Helix Industries,” it said in a voice that was too smooth, too precise to belong to anything living. “Welcome to Hyperion Weapon Conglomerate. Mr. Newman is expecting you.” It turned smoothly on its heel and led them down the corridor.

  At the end of the hall, the synthetic being stopped and gestured toward a pair of tall, black double doors. “He’s inside.”

  The team exchanged glances before stepping forward. The doors parted with a soft hiss, revealing a wide office.

  The man inside was not what they expected.

  He was heavy, his shirt straining against his midsection, the expensive fabric of his suit darkened with sweat. His shoes were nowhere to be seen. He paced the length of the room in nothing but his socks, the faint squeak of fabric against the polished floor marking each step.

  “Ah! You’re here!” he said, his voice filled with relief and anxiety. “Excellent, excellent.”

  He didn’t stop moving.

  The office itself was cluttered. A large table dominated the far end of the room, its surface alive with holographic projections. Schematics, blueprints, and weapon models rotated slowly in midair.

  The four women stood silently for a moment, watching him. The air conditioning hummed faintly, but it wasn’t enough to mask the man’s labored breathing. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

  Isabela was the first to speak, her voice steady, her patience already thinning. “What’s the mission?”

  He stopped pacing, if only for a second, and clasped his hands together in front of him. “I need you to recover a shipment,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush.

  He moved toward the desk, tapping a command into the console. The holograms shifted, rearranging themselves into a series of cargo manifests and transport routes. “We manufacture a large portion of the Republic’s weaponry here on Titan—”

  “So does half the planet,” Astrid interrupted dryly.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said quickly, waving a hand as if brushing away the comment. “But our facility is… special. We’ve been developing experimental weapons, classified prototypes. They absolutely cannot fall into the wrong hands. Not the Empire's, not the other Houses’, not anyone’s.”

  He swallowed hard, his voice shaking now. “Not even the President can know they’ve gone missing.”

  “Yet something happened and they vanished,” Isabela finished for him.

  Mr. Newman nodded quickly. “Yes. For the love of God, if word gets out. Suppose anyone finds out what we were developing. My reputation, this company, everything I’ve built, it’s over.”

  His hands trembled as he spoke, clutching at the edge of his desk like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

  Astrid crossed her arms, her voice calm but focused. “Where are they? Or who took them?”

  Newman swallowed hard and tapped a command into his console. A holographic projection bloomed above the table.

  “A mercenary group,” he said. “This is the tracker we embedded in the shipment. The signal’s coming from the Borderlands.”

  Isabela leaned forward, studying the projection. “No problem. We’ve got time. All we have to do is take down a mercenary ship.”

  “No,” Newman interrupted, shaking his head so violently that droplets of sweat flicked off his brow. “No, it’s not that simple. These aren’t ordinary mercenaries. Have you heard of Khan?”

  He said the name as if it were a curse.

  Astrid frowned. “Sounds familiar.”

  Behind them, Taser gave a single slow nod. The gesture, the faint glint in her eyes, said it all. She knew exactly who he was. And that meant trouble.

  Newman continued, his voice dropping to a nervous whisper. “He’s a lunatic. Built an army out of the tribes that roam the wastelands. They follow him like he’s some kind of messiah. He calls himself the new Mongol Emperor.”

  Isabela felt a cold knot form in her stomach. Perfect.

  But Newman wasn’t finished.

  “To make matters worse,” he said, “he’s got his hands on a shipment of Z-Crystals from the Empire. Imperial forces have already deployed to retrieve it. If they find our cargo mixed in with his, they’ll know what we were building. And then the Republic won’t just shut us down, they’ll erase us.”

  The room went quiet.

  Astrid exhaled, long and heavy. “There’s never a simple job, is there?”

  Isabela’s expression didn’t change, but her mind was already thinking about routes, resources, and how many crews she’d need. “You realize,” she said, “this is going to cost extra. If we’re going up against that many, I’ll need more than my team.”

  “I don’t care about the cost,” Newman said quickly, desperation creeping into his voice. “Whatever it takes. Just get my cargo back before they do. Please.”

  Isabela gave a short nod, already turning toward the door. “Then let’s move.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, meeting Taser’s masked gaze. “Time to meet this Khan.”