The shuttle had no windows.

  Only a floor vibrating beneath her boots and a constant hum that seeped into her bones. Nebula sat motionless, her helmet resting against the metal wall. Every jolt ran up her spine like an echo.

  She didn’t speak to anyone.

  There was no one to speak to.

  The pilot was a rigid silhouette behind opaque glass. He didn’t turn his head when the compartment sealed. The engine climbed in pitch. The settlement fell away behind them.

  Across from her, an open case with an intel chip inside.

  She slotted it into her helmet. There was no neural port. It didn’t work that way.

  Information downloaded in broken bursts: fragmented maps, collapsed tunnels, offline cameras. One sector marked in red. A fixed point.

  Target.

  There was no explanatory text. No context. Just enough data to reach the objective…

  The shuttle descended.

  A soft impact. Compressors venting pressure. Dust striking the hull from outside.

  When the ramp lowered, the air was different. Colder. Denser. With a metallic taste that clung to her tongue.

  An old mine.

  Hand-dug entrances later widened by machinery that hadn’t seen maintenance in decades. Rusted rails. Emergency lights fed by dying generators. Ancient symbols, erased by time and sand.

  Nebula moved forward without haste.

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  The first pirate never saw her coming.

  He had his back turned, checking an old terminal. The blade went in through the neck and came out along the jaw. His body stiffened. A wet gurgle. She held him until he stopped moving.

  She dragged him into a side niche and positioned him as if asleep.

  The second heard something. Turned just enough. Enough for the cut to be messy. Blood burst out hot, under pressure. The man tried to scream. Nebula covered his mouth and drove him full force into the wall. They locked eyes until the light left his eyes.

  Her fingers trembled.

  Deeper inside, voices echoed. Laughter. Bottles clinking.

  The central chamber was partially lit. Colossal machinery, frozen mid-task. At the center, atop a reinforced table, the case.

  Black. Smooth. Unmarked.

  Heavy.

  A Corven seal—broken, ripped away violently.

  Nebula connected the chip to the security panel. The system responded slowly, like something waking from a long sleep.

  Access granted.

  Too easy.

  When she lifted the case, red lights ignited along the ceiling.

  A muffled siren began to scream in uneven cycles.

  —What the hell is going on?—a voice crackled over the radio—Who touched the panel?

  Nebula was already moving.

  Narrow corridors. Spiral stairs. Controlled breathing. The implant pushing her reflexes past comfort. The world stretched. Sounds arrived perfectly defined. She felt like she could see through walls.

  Three pirates emerged from a side junction.

  The first dropped to a clean shot to the chest.

  The second tried to understand what was happening. He didn’t get the chance. A bullet tore through his brain from side to side almost instantly.

  The third shouted something incoherent before a shot split his throat and drowned him in his own blood.

  Nebula’s skin crackled with sharp pain.

  Heat climbing her neck.

  Rage.

  The pirates’ radio spat fragments.

  —What about the case?

  —They’re going to slaughter us!

  The secondary exit opened onto a half-buried loading ramp. The pirates’ bikes rested together along one side.

  She tried one.

  Hit the ignition.

  The engine coughed, then answered with a harsh roar.

  Shots struck rock around her as she accelerated.

  The mine fell behind, wrapped in red lights and screaming voices.

  The pirates gave chase—but too late. Nebula vanished into the gloom.

  The desert accepted her without ceremony.

  Wind.

  Sand.

  Silence.

  The case vibrated faintly against her back, cold—almost alive.

  The contract remained active.

  The mission was a success.

  The delivery awaited.