The tactical display flickered once, then filled with red icons.
Twelve ships.
Adrian stared at them, his breath catching in his throat. They emerged from the asteroid field like wolves stepping out of shadow—sleek, predatory, moving with the confidence of predators who had never met prey that could fight back.
The warmth behind his eye pulsed. Once. Hard. Agreement? Warning? He still could not tell.
Evangel's voice was quiet. "They're maintaining formation. Standard pirate attack pattern. They've done this before."
Behind him, the station's core hummed through the deck plates. Somewhere in the walls, the dragon skeleton scraped. Shifting. Waiting.
The air tasted recycled—flat, metallic, like licking a battery. The station's hum was in his teeth.
Adrian forced himself to look closer, to see past the fear and actually see what they were facing.
The formation was beautiful in its ugliness.
Six corvettes in the vanguard—small, fast, bristling with light weapons. They spread out like fingers reaching for the station, leaving gaps that forced the defenses to split their attention. Behind them, four heavier frigates hung back, their larger guns already warming up, hulls scarred from countless raids. Two transports lumbered at the rear, ugly and functional, their bays crammed with pirates waiting to board.
And at the center, commanding it all, a ship that dwarfed the others.
The command vessel was massive—easily three times the size of the frigates. Its hull was a patchwork of salvaged armor plates, each one a trophy from some forgotten battle. Weapons ports lined its flanks like rows of teeth—plasma cannons, missile launchers, point-defense arrays. It moved slowly, deliberately, like it had all the time in the world.
Because it did.
Somewhere inside that ship, someone was watching this battle unfold. Someone who'd done this a thousand times. Someone who'd never lost.
Adrian's palms left damp prints on the console.
On the station's lower hull, the heavy turret tracked the command ship. Its systems cycled, ready. Eight shots. They'd make them count.
"Four minutes until they're in weapons range," Evangel said quietly.
Arc stood beside him, silent. Watching. His chest rose and fell—one breath every four seconds, measured, mechanical. His left hand twitched at his side. The middle finger extending and curling back. A habit he could not break. A mark of his making.
He touched his eye. The warmth was there. A second heartbeat.
"Turrets?"
"All twelve online. Tracking systems calibrated. Power distribution optimized."
"Goliath?"
"Waiting in the hangar. Dormant until ordered. His systems are ready."
"The sentry drone?"
"Patrolling the outer hull. Its sensors are active. It will see them coming."
Adrian nodded. He looked at Arc—really looked at him. The first avatar. The first life he'd created. Standing there calm as still water while twelve ships full of killers bore down on them.
"You ready?"
Arc turned to him. Gave a small thumbs up. His middle finger twitched—extending, curling back—before he stilled it.
Adrian glanced at Arc. "You ever feel scared?"
Arc's left hand twitched. He did not answer. But his eyes—for a moment—were the eyes of something that had felt the dark and knew it was still there.
Adrian looked at the display. At the ships. At the warmth waiting behind his eye.
Here we go.
___________________________________________________________________
ABOARD THE PIRATE CORVETTE "RAZORCLAW"
Gunner Vex had been with the Ravagers for eleven years. He'd raided a hundred stations, killed more people than he could count, and never once felt the thing he was feeling now.
Boredom.
He checked his targeting systems for the third time. Green. Functional. Ready. The same as the first two times he'd checked. The same as it would be in five minutes, and five minutes after that.
His partner, a scarred woman named Ves, sat at the navigation console with her boots propped up, steering them through the asteroid field with lazy flicks of her wrist. She'd been with Kaiser even longer than Vex. Nothing scared her.
"Relax," she said without looking at him. "It's a station. Empty. Dormant. Easy credits."
Vex grunted. "Easy credits get you killed."
"Then stay home."
The Razorclaw drifted past a massive ice asteroid—so close Vex could see the cracks in its surface, the frozen gas pockets waiting to explode. The hull groaned as it scraped against debris, vibrations running through the deck plates, rattling loose tools in their magnetic holders.
Ves didn't flinch. Didn't even look up.
Ahead, the station grew larger. Ugly thing. Functional. Probably automated once, before the owners died or left.
Vex's targeting systems blinked.
"Locking on," he muttered.
"Don't fire yet. Wait for the order."
"I know the drill."
But his finger stayed on the trigger anyway. Just in case.
___________________________________________________________________
UTOPIA STATION — COMMAND ROOM
"Three minutes," Evangel said.
Adrian watched the ships approach, their paths through the asteroid field practiced, efficient. They'd done this before.
"Evangel. Target the lead corvette. The one breaking formation on the left."
"Razorclaw. Designated."
"Hit it first."
"Understood. Turrets retargeting."
Adrian glanced at Arc. Still silent. Still watching. His eyes moved across the display, tracking ships, calculating angles.
"Two minutes."
His heart hammered. His hands gripped the console, knuckles white.
"Arc. If they board—"
Arc nodded. He knew.
Adrian took a breath. "Evangel. Fire at will."
The station's defense grid came alive.
Twelve heavy-plasma turrets pivoted and fired in staggered sequence—not a single volley, but a rolling wave of fire designed to maximize coverage.
K-THOOM. K-THOOM. K-THOOM.
Lances of white-hot plasma tore across the vacuum. The Razorclaw took the first hit amidships. Its shields flared, buckled, collapsed. The second shot punched through its hull. The third turned it into expanding gas.
KABOOOM.
Vex's last thought was nothing at all.
Adrian watched the debris scatter. "Keep firing."
The turrets cycled. More shots followed. A second corvette took a direct hit, its engines dying, its hull cracking open. It spiraled into an asteroid and exploded.
Two down.
But the rest kept coming.
The warmth pulsed. His nose threatened to bleed. He wiped it. No blood. Yet.
___________________________________________________________________
ABOARD THE PIRATE FRIGATE "IRON MAIDEN"
THUD.
Captain Drayne's boot hit the deck as his ship shuddered. His grin vanished.
"Return fire. All batteries. Now."
BOOM BOOM BOOM.
The Iron Maiden's guns roared. Around them, the other frigates opened fire. Plasma bolts streaked toward the station. The command ship's forward batteries joined in.
Space became a storm of light.
___________________________________________________________________
UTOPIA STATION — COMMAND ROOM
CRASH.
The station lurched. The deck plates screamed. In the walls, the dragon skeleton shifted—bones scraping against metal, settling into new positions. Something in the marrow was listening.
The impact threw him against the console. His teeth clacked together. The hum changed—deeper, wrong. Something was breaking.
Alarms screamed. Red lights flickered.
___________________________________________________________________
HULL IMPACT — SECTOR 3
HULL IMPACT — SECTOR 7
SHIELD DAMAGE — 78% — 71% — 64%
___________________________________________________________________
Adrian grabbed the console to stay upright. A panel sparked behind him. Smoke drifted through the air.
"Shields dropping fast!"
"Keep firing!" he shouted. "Don't stop!"
Arc pointed at the display. A frigate was breaking through—the Iron Maiden, its guns blazing, its crew howling.
"Target that one. Everything we've got."
On the lower hull, the heavy turret held its fire. Its targeting systems were locked on the command ship, waiting. Not yet. Not yet.
___________________________________________________________________
ABOARD THE PIRATE FRIGATE "IRON MAIDEN"
Drayne watched the incoming fire converge on his position.
"Evasive—"
CRACK.
The first shot shattered his shields. Warning klaxons blared.
BOOM.
The second punched through the hull. Atmosphere screamed out into vacuum, tearing loose papers, tools, a crew member who hadn't been strapped in.
Drayne grabbed his console as the deck lurched.
The third shot—
The Iron Maiden became fire.
BOOM.
The frigate exploded.
Adrian allowed himself half a second of relief.
Then he saw them.
Small craft were detaching from the command vessel. Twelve of them. Low profile. Fast. Moving with purpose.
Boarding craft.
His blood ran cold.
The warmth behind his eye pulsed. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Evangel—"
"I see them. Twelve craft inbound. Turrets tracking."
The standard turrets opened fire. Three craft exploded before they'd covered half the distance. A fourth lost its engines and spiraled into the debris field.
Eight remained.
"Combat drone. Launch. Target those boarding craft."
WHIRRRRR.
The combat drone shot out of the hangar like a bullet. It dove into the debris field, weaving through spinning wreckage, its twin cannons spinning up.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.
A boarding craft exploded.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.
Another.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.
A third.
The drone banked hard, targeting a fourth—
FWOOOOM.
A plasma bolt from the command ship caught it in the fuselage. The drone didn't explode immediately. It spiraled, smoking, one engine dead, but still firing. It took a fourth craft with it before the command ship's second shot finished it.
KABOOOOOM.
The drone was gone.
BZZT.
Its icon flickered and died on the display.
The hull screamed as the cutting torches bit through. The pressure in the room dropped. His ears popped.
Evangel's voice was quiet. "Four boarding craft destroyed by turrets. Four destroyed by the drone. Four remain."
Adrian watched the remaining four craft slip through the defensive grid, their hulls glowing as they burned toward the station.
Four craft. Each carrying ten to fifteen pirates.
Forty to sixty killers. About to be inside his station.
He looked at Arc.
Arc met his eyes. No fear. No hesitation. No doubt.
Then he turned and walked toward the corridor without a word.
His gait was too smooth. Too perfect. A machine learning to move like a man. His left hand twitched once, then stilled. He did not look back.
Adrian wanted to call him back. Wanted to say something—anything. A thank you. A good luck. A please don't die.
But Arc was already gone.
___________________________________________________________________
ABOARD THE BOARDING CRAFT "RAPTOR ONE"
Mikk checked his rifle for the fifth time.
The station had fought back. Three ships gone. One frigate turned to scrap. And that drone—that fast little drone—had taken out four of their boarding craft before it died.
He'd watched them explode. Watched his friends die.
"Almost there," he muttered.
Around him, eleven pirates checked their weapons, cracked their necks. They didn't feel it. Didn't feel the wrongness in the air.
"How many defenders you think?" someone asked.
Mikk shrugged. Didn't trust his voice.
The station loomed ahead. Mikk could see the scars on its hull now—plasma burns still glowing at the edges, metal twisted and blackened. This thing had teeth.
This thing had already bitten.
"Brace for impact!"
CRASH.
The craft slammed into the hull. Cutting torches ignited, burning through the station's outer skin.
HSSSSSS.
Mikk raised his rifle. His hands were shaking.
"Go go go!"
___________________________________________________________________
UTOPIA STATION — COMMAND ROOM
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
The first breach alarm screamed.
SECTOR 4 — HULL BREACH — INTRUDER ALERT
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Another.
SECTOR 7 — HULL BREACH — INTRUDER ALERT
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Then another. And another. And another.
Four breaches. Four teams of pirates. Inside his station.
Adrian grabbed the rifle from beside the console. The metal was cold. Heavy. Wrong in his hands.
He had built machines to fight for him. Drones. Robots. An avatar.
He had never planned to do it himself.
But the combat drone was gone. The sentry drone was patrolling the outer hull, waiting for the pirates to show themselves. Four utility bots were offline—sacrificed, destroyed. Arc was in Sector 4. Alone.
The lights flickered. Red emergency strips painted the corridor in blood. In the darkness between flashes, something scraped in the walls.
He looked at the display one last time. Seven hundred meters of corridors. And now, crawling through them, killers with guns and no mercy.
He thought about the girl. The truck. The choice he'd made without thinking. The promotions he'd refused. The life he'd coasted through. The cold concrete against his cheek.
Not coasting anymore.
He thought about the angel laughing at him. About God's tired sigh.
Guess this is what you meant.
He took a breath. Let it out. Felt the weight of the rifle in his hands.
SSSHHHH.
He opened the door.
The corridor was cold. His breath steamed. The air smelled of burnt insulation and something else. Something old.
Somewhere in the station, pirates were already moving.
BOOM.
An explosion echoed in the distance.
Then gunfire.
Then screams.
He stepped into the corridor. The warmth pulsed. The dragon scraped. The ships were coming.
The warmth pulsed. Once. He did not know if it was agreement or warning.