As they prepped their gear, the camaraderie was unspoken but absolute. They were the outliers, the ones the Federation called when diplomacy failed and the odds were impossible.
“To the edge?” Mercur asked, checking the edge of his vibro-blade. OF - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur...
London straightened, his gaze sweeping over his team. “Faruk, get us in. Mercur, you’re the ghost—neutralize the internal sensors. I’ll handle the heavy lifting.” As they prepped their gear, the camaraderie was
“I never miss,” Faruk replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. London straightened, his gaze sweeping over his team
“And back,” London replied, slamming a fresh power cell into his rifle.
“We’re hitting the Aegis refinery at 0400,” London grumbled, his voice like gravel. “No mistakes. This isn’t a training sim.”
“Then don’t miss,” a cool, melodic voice interjected. stood by the window, watching the distant stars. He was the team’s specialist—agile, silent, and dangerously precise. His reputation preceded him; some said he was more machine than man, a whisper in the dark that ended wars before they began.