The silence in the rented room was deafening.

  Nebula allowed herself a moment of breath. Her helmet lay to the side, powered down.

  Outside, the afternoon was fading.

  A knock at the door—three strikes that tore through the harmony of silence in sepulchral metallic tones.

  Silence reclaimed its dominion.

  When she opened the door, the hallway was empty.

  Only a small package rested on the floor.

  No markings. No seals. No signature.

  She picked it up. It weighed less than expected.

  She closed the door. Secured it. Waited.

  Only then did she connect the device to her helmet.

  A recorded message unfolded directly across her visor.

  Data first. Coordinates. Time windows. Technical specifications.

  The payment was already confirmed as transferred, and shuttle AC317 would be waiting at the dock.

  Then, the objective.

  Kaleb.

  Senior geneticist. Corven Research.

  Exploration vessel in low orbit.

  Orbital window closed. External access required.

  The afternoon finally died, shedding its last tears of light, and the shuttle waited patiently for her arrival.

  Autonomous. Anonymous rental.

  She boarded; the doors groaned shut behind her.

  The mission was about to begin.

  Failure was not permitted.

  As soon as the shuttle reached its coordinates, the doors began to open without stopping.

  The exit point was marked, and Nebula released herself into the void, drifting toward the ship that appeared like a white scar against the planet below.

  It resembled previous missions—back when she had been a perfect machine.

  Upon reaching the vessel, she moved across the outer hull like a shadow without reflection, until she reached the marked maintenance duct.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Inside, everything was clean. Clinical. Silent.

  In the cabin, Kaleb was alone.

  He carried no weapon. Deep circles shadowed his eyes. His hands trembled. His body was worn down by sleepless nights.

  He barely turned when he sensed movement.

  —No...

  It was all he managed before his brain decorated the cabin walls.

  She approached the terminal and accessed it. Inserted the device without resistance.

  Black windows began opening and closing almost instantly.

  After a moment, one remained fixed.

  —Connect to Corven network via external terminal.—

  —You may now remove the device…—

  She disconnected.

  The alarm began to scream.

  The lights shifted.

  A fully armored guard in black entered the cabin too quickly.

  Nebula closed the distance, pressed her revolver into the softer section of the abdomen, and fired.

  A metallic growl escaped the helmet as the guard’s right arm rose like a piston.

  The backhand struck her, sending her flying into the cabin wall.

  Air burst from her lungs in a broken gasp.

  The revolver skidded away.

  The guard advanced without haste. Raised the pulse rifle.

  Nebula slid to the right just as the beam sliced through the space where her head had been.

  The smell of burned ozone filled the room.

  She sprang to her feet, knife already in hand.

  The guard was large, but slow in tight turns.

  She feinted right, shifted direction, and drove the blade into a lateral seam at the neck—the soft junction between gorget and helmet.

  The tip went in.

  Dark blood spilled.

  The guard roared, seized her wrist with hydraulic strength, and lifted her off the floor as if she were a doll.

  Nebula felt bones strain.

  With her free hand she drew the short dagger from her thigh and plunged it into the hollow beneath the arm—where the plating did not fully meet.

  The guard’s grip loosened.

  Nebula dropped to her knees and rolled toward the revolver.

  The guard staggered, one hand pressed to the wound at his neck.

  But he did not fall.

  The visor glowed red.

  A second guard burst through the door.

  Same armor. Rifle already raised.

  —Intruder confirmed— the distorted voice declared.

  Nebula fired twice into his chest, forcing him back.

  He returned fire. Shot after shot.

  She dove behind the overturned desk.

  The metal melted within seconds.

  There was no time to fight both at once.

  Not in this confined space.

  Not with the implant beginning to burn again.

  She ran for the cabin’s emergency exit—the maintenance hatch she had used to enter.

  Straight to plan B.

  Nebula sealed the hatch behind her with a punch to the emergency panel.

  The mechanism groaned and shut.

  A second later, rifle fire began burning through the metal from the other side.

  She ran through the duct.

  Breath ragged.

  Blood dripping from her wrist.

  She reached the emergency escape pod.

  She used it.

  The descent was long.

  The pod’s hull vibrated as if it might tear apart.

  When it finally struck atmosphere and stabilized, Nebula checked the device.

  The data was there.

  Incomprehensible.

  But intact.

  Corven’s claws did not close that night.

  But they were already on the trail.

  And Nebula was still bleeding.