The adrenaline drained from Adam’s blood like a wave receding from a beach. In the absence of something to fight—to kill—dark questions muddied his thoughts. Why had Remington tried to kill him? How dangerous was the research that was stolen? And most of all, had his mother known about the kill order?

He absently watched as the crew scrambled about the room, arming themselves with the weapons of the fallen gang that could be hidden from station security. Buddy and the infernum exchanged a few words he didn’t pick up on. Jim tended to the crew’s injuries. Then Zenith was at his side, saying something to him. When he didn’t respond, she cocked her helmeted head, took his arm, and pulled him to the exit.

“So how did you get tangled up with Remington and why should we trust you? We’ve been trusting too many fucking people lately,” Odybrix said, pointedly staring back at Sturdy.

“You’re a spunky one, ain’t you?” Ebby asked as they hurriedly walked away from the club. “I mean, we can start with how I didn’t chop ya to bits, or maybe take the whole ‘enemy of my enemy’ route. Remington, and corpos in general, can go take a walk on a stellar corona. I won’t work for them and they sure as heck won’t get their hands on me.”

“Look, what you’re singing is exactly what I like to dance to, but—wait, what’s that tattoo under your collarbone?”

“None of your business is what it is. Is she this forward with everyone?” Ebby asked, turning to Hoxley and adjusting her vest.

“Yes. Without exception.”

“No, do you have one of these?” Odybrix asked, lifting the sleeve of her shirt to reveal a splayed cobalt wing.

“Gonna assume you mean the wing and not any of the other things in that menagerie of tattoos. No, I don’t. Though, I have worked with your associates before. Shoulda guessed you were one of them. Same attitude. Same height.”

“Not all Blue Wings are halflings, and we’ll see if you check out,” Odybrix said, tapping a message into the PDA on her wrist.

“What were you after back there?” Adam asked, trying to regain his composure.

“The location of an information dealer. I got word that he was meeting up with someone I’m lookin’ for.”

“Does this someone happen to wear a mask?” Zenith asked.

“Yeah. Bad dude. I’ve been trackin’ him a long time.”

“We need to speak with him and someone he’s been traveling with.”

“Well, I intend to stick him and whoever tries to stop me with Denise.”

“Denise?”

Ebby pulled up her shirt, revealing a metal cylinder tucked into her pants—the beam blade.

“I’m going to ask that you not stick Denise into the other one. Please.”

“Why not?” Ebby asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“He’s my brother. I don’t know how he got tangled up in this, but I’m getting him out. Preferably before he starts wearing freaky masks.”

“Because walking around with your face hidden all the time would be ridiculous!” BOB said, sarcasm indecipherable from his tone.

“Well, since you’ve asked so nicely, I will make a strong effort not to kill him. Does he look like you, and by that, I mean does he walk around wearin’ a racer’s helmet?”

“No. He’s an elf. White hair. Late twenties.”

“Noted. Well, it looks like our paths are runnin’ parallel for a while. If we’re lucky, I’ll get Vaelor, you’ll get your brother, and y’all might find some information that gets Remington off your back for a while.”

“You said they’ll keep coming?” Hoxley asked.

“Yeah, you’re always gonna be on their radar now. If they’re tryin’ to keep a secret from getting out, you’d do well to get it out first. That takes the timer off the situation. Then they’ll take their time settlin’ the score.”

“Great. Any chance you can pull a few strings, Adam?” Hoxley asked. “I’m not keen on being in rooms with acid vapour and shotgun robots. Really, anywhere that isn’t a kitchen, library, or my bed is terrible.”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?” Buddy asked. “You look a little pale.”

“How can you tell through all of the burns?” Odybrix asked.

“I’m fine,” Adam managed. “Let’s just keep going.” 

—

The information from Tibor’s PDA indicated that he and his thugs were going to the Elysium district after the Sunrunner’s crew had been dealt with. Illias McIntyre, the information broker Ebby had mentioned, was said to be meeting with a masked contact in his suite at the Calypsa Luxury Tower. Vaughan Spectre had tasked Tibor with Vaelor’s quiet demise and the retrieval of the missing item from the research station. Now those objectives would be taken up by the crew of the Sunrunner with the express purpose of exposing Remington’s actions, or, as Odybrix would put it, shoving it up their ass.

The Elysium district was a sprawling section of the station with a 500-foot-high windowed ceiling that looked out at the cosmos. A massive park snaked its way through the center of the district, providing one of the most scenic strolls one could take off-planet. High-end retail and residences abutted the greenery, redundantly signifying the wealth of the area, as if a giant space garden wasn’t enough. 

Normally, it would be a lot to take in. Zenith, however, found herself chalk-mouthed and consumed by thoughts of the upcoming confrontation. She hadn’t seen Harlow in years and their last meeting wasn’t a pleasant one. She had taken the unenviable position of defending her father, a corporate crook with a warrant out for embezzlement. She didn’t want to defend her father—his actions fucked up their lives—but if she was pissed about it, then Harlow was a pot of bubbling rage spilling onto the stovetop. After his military career took a hit from the bad press, he got it in his head to lure their father out of hiding and bring him to justice; he needed her help for this. Zenith disagreed and took the brunt of her brother’s misdirected anger.

Calypsa loomed into view, a gods awful gleaming golden eyesore amongst a wall of equally ostentatious dwellings. She had experienced her share of gaudy locales when she was on the racing circuit, either following her mother or in her own brief career. In her youth, posh places like this used to intimidate her. That feeling blossomed into mild contempt for those who would rather squander their credits on high thread count bedsheets than something useful, like paying their employees a livable wage, or helmet polish—couldn’t have enough of that. Now, she couldn’t even be bothered to muster the old animosity.

Adam, possibly the least suspicious-looking among the group, led the way through the tower’s double doors. The lobby was what one might envision when the word “luxury” was mentioned: marble floors, sprawling water feature, attendants ready to spring into action at the snap of someone’s fingers. Though, the assembled bellhops seemed hesitant to approach their motley troupe. 

“So are we just going to ask to see this McIntyre guy?” Buddy asked.

“Yeah, that’ll go well,” Odybrix said. “‘Excuse me, my burnt and bleeding associates would like a word with your very rich clientele. What’s that? Stay here for a minute while you go call security? Sure, no problem.’ I’m surprised they haven’t called already.”

“I could slip past them and find a back way in,” Sturdy offered. 

“I don’t know if we’re in any shape to handle a fight if things go sideways,” Adam said.

“Well, y’all better make a decision quickly; we’re startin’ to draw attention,” Ebby said.

Zenith took a breath and began preparing a lie to give to the receptionist. She would say that she and her pit crew got into a scrap with a rival racing outfit and that she needed her benefactor to clear up the mess. It was plausible enough. At the very least, reception would confirm whether he was actually in the building. But before she could act, Hoxley walked straight to the receptionist.

Odybrix hissed an expletive as he walked away, then quickly buried her frustration when half the room turned to look at her. Hoxley and the receptionist, a young dwarven woman, appeared to be having a pleasant conversation. Whatever apprehension she might have held at seeing the haggard crew melted away into a disarmed smile and laughter. Then, curiously, Hoxley made a quick series of gestures with his hand. Out of the corner of her eye, Zenith caught Ebby’s posture shift and noticed her brow furrow. A few seconds later, Hoxley returned.

“We can go up,” Hoxley said, brandishing a key card. “Penthouse One.”

“How…” Adam trailed off.

“I asked nicely.”

“Does she have a thing for reedy nerd cooks?” Odybrix asked.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Hoxley asked.

“This newfound confidence is extremely disturbing.”

“Why, what about me do you find unattractive?”

Odybrix raised a hand and motioned vaguely at his entire body.

“I didn’t mark you as the persuasive type, darlin,” Ebby said.

“Neither did we. So we can just go up?” Zenith asked.

“Yep, but let’s be quick in case she changes her mind.”

The group packed themselves into an elevator and Hoxley keyed in their ascent. Despite her preoccupation with Harlow, Zenith still kept an eye on Sturdy, who stood next to BOB. They would need to finish the conversation they started. Were it not for Buddy’s “feeling” about him, Zenith might have shot him back at the bar. Until she could ensure BOB’s safety, Sturdy was a threat.

“This song is terrible!” BOB said, extending their manipulator to turn off the elevator music.

“It’s elven classical,” Sturdy said.

“You say that as though I should be impressed!”

“You should,” Sturdy said, offence breaking through his gravelly tone. “The piece is about the loss of the composer’s ancestral home to the wrath of a vengeful god, or what is historically believed to be a devastating wildfire. It’s moving.”

“It’s inadequate!”

Sturdy scowled and said, “What would you know about music?”

“Quite a bit! I will demonstrate!”

A pleasant, inoffensive, and entirely unmemorable tune began emitting from BOB.

“There!”

“This is elevator music,” Sturdy said, scowl deepening.

“Correct! We are in an elevator!”

“It’s garbage. The melody is simple and doesn’t evoke any emotion. How could this possibly be a better song?”

“As I have learned from my time at the call centre, people do not want to experience more emotions when they are already in a state of stress!”

Some of the edge came off Sturdy’s face. He looked at the crew as if just realizing they had all suffered a near-death experience.

BOB continued. “I have accumulated thirty-five gigabytes of similar music and cataloged the tracks to match personality profiles! This allows me to ensure that a caller receives the maximum amount of sonic comfort!”

“That,” Sturdy said, haltingly, “is very considerate of you. Do you do that kind of thing often?”

“Play music?”

“No, help people when they’re in a ‘state of stress.’”

“Of course! I function to help others!”

Sturdy fell silent and leaned back against the elevator, taking in the soft music as they ascended. Zenith found herself doing the same. Maybe those two need to spend more time together. BOB has a way of growing on people.

A gentle voice chimed “Penthouse One” as the elevator decelerated. Zenith pulled out the pistol tucked behind her back and readied herself. If they beat Harlow here, there would be a chance to set up an ambush. If they were too late, Illias McIntyre would be providing them with some answers.

The doors slid open, revealing a lounge set into the floor. Plush seating circled dancing lights that were trapped inside a glass enclosure. No sound came from within. Adam stepped across the threshold and was immediately, brutally struck by a metal fist that sent his body flying sideways and out of view. A familiar voice boomed from around the corner.

“You have five seconds to step out of the elevator and drop your weapons, or I kill him. One.”

The crew took two precious seconds to look at each other in silent deliberation, then stepped into the penthouse. Adam lay crumpled on the floor to the left; the barrel of a plasma cannon was leveled at them to the right. Odybrix ran to Adam’s side and the mech motioned for them all to follow suit. Zenith stood in front of the crew, staring down the mech.

“You alright, kid?” Odybrix asked.

“Not a kid,” Adam groaned. “What hit me?”

“Big mech fist. I’m surprised your bones weren’t pulped.”

“It certainly feels like they were.”

A hooded figure dressed in robes stood at a desk opposite them, framed by a full-length window that looked down over the park. His face was completely obscured by a blank white mask with a ceramic sheen. He tapped intently at a computer terminal, paying their arrival no mind. When he did look away, it wasn’t at them. Illias McIntyre lay on his side in front of the desk, blood oozing from the bullet hole left in his skull.

“How did you get that in here?” Zenith said, pointing at the mech.

“Shut up, or I will shut you up.”

Zenith removed her helmet. “That line has never worked on me, Harlow.”

The mech stood silent and unmoving, then shifted the barrel of the plasma cannon from Zenith to Hoxley, who in turn shifted himself behind Jim.

“What are you doing here, Zenith?”

“I could ask the same of you. I came a long way to ask that, actually. What are you doing breaking into research stations and stealing bioweapons? And who the fuck is that guy?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“When have I ever not gotten involved in your business? This can’t be a military op. Why throw away your career?”

“Because none of it matters anymore, Zenith. Everything you and I have ever done has been pointless—utterly bereft of meaning. I see that now.”

“What?” Zenith asked, faltering.

Something was wrong. Zenith had never heard her brother speak this way. Even after the blowup and fallout with their father, Harlow had been driven to claw his way back up through the ranks of the Materia navy. He and Zenith got that determination from their mother; it might have been the one virtue they had in common.

 “You need to leave. Go race, or dance, or enjoy whatever piddly schemes you have going on. Do it while you can.”

A sharp pain shot through her head, like it was being squeezed by a vice. She buckled at the waist and noticed everyone in the room was doing the same, all except Hoxley. With no warning or reason, the pain vanished and was replaced by a dull pressure. She looked up and noticed that the masked man, Vaelor, had stopped typing and stood facing them. A warm, welcoming voice reverberated through her skull.

“Forgive my impoliteness; there were pressing matters that needed my attention. I see that you have all been searching for Harlow and I. Can I assume that you are some of Remington’s lot?”

Buddy answered, and it took Zenith a moment to realize her lips weren’t moving as she spoke. “No, not anymore. We’re here for Zenith’s brother and to stop Remington from killing us. We kinda need the thing you stole from the research station in the Arebus system.”

“You do? Well, you are welcome to it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I will gladly give the shard when I am finished with it.”

“You’re not gonna finish anythin’, pal,” Ebby said, glaring at the man.

“Oh, you have one of them in your company. It’s always a treat when a guardian comes to call. And what’s this? Oh,” Vaelor said, a gentle tremor running through his form, “a special guest. How rare it is to meet family in this wide galaxy. But he hasn’t opened himself to me.”

Vaelor’s mask turned slightly, as if the statement were directed at Hoxley and everyone turned to the infernum.

“Why are you all looking at me? And why has no one been saying anything for the last minute?”

“He wants to talk into your head, Hox,” Zenith said.

“Is that what that soft pressure was?” Hoxley asked, sneaking a look at Vaelor before shrinking back behind Jim. “No, I’m good. You guys can all have your mind talk.”

A soft, wet sound emanated from Vaelor as his head jerked and twisted. When he was still again, a new voice, not in their heads, spoke. The words came out choked and gutteral, like an animal trying to speak without the right vocal cords.

“No need to hide from me, brother. Let me in.”

Hoxley grew pale and said nothing.

“I understand your fear. I will not push. You will join when you are ready. Now,” Vaelor said, re-entering their minds with a soothing voice, “I am afraid we will need to leave now. I see that upsets you, guardian.”

Vaelor stepped in front of the desk and pulled something from his robes. A wave of nausea hit Zenith as she beheld the object—the shard. Its shape swam in her vision, spiralling and contorting while somehow maintaining a solid form. Her mind spun and twisted with the object. She tried to focus, to hold on to a single thought, but it was washed away in a sea of others—not just her own, but the thoughts of everyone in the room. All but Hoxley doubled over from the bombardment of sensations.

A blast from the plasma cannon shattered the window overlooking the park. Vaelor walked to the edge and, without hesitation, fell forward. Harlow followed behind, rocketing off in his mech and leaving them all in the silence of the penthouse. The nausea dissipated and Zenith’s head started to clear.

Sturdy was the first to his feet, striding to the computer Vaelor had accessed. Ebby was up a moment later, rushing to the window. Zenith found herself unable to move as the others began turning over the suite. Whatever the shard had done to her had stopped, but her brother’s fatalism had shaken her. He, for better or worse, was a constant in her life. Regardless of their animosity towards each other, she knew he would come if she called. She could say that about all of her family. Even dad.

Ebby’s voice cut through her muddled mind, “I can’t see him!”

“Looks like Illias McIntyre was an information broker with a lot of criminal ties. Not seeing anything about Vae—fuck.”

“What?” Odybrix asked.

“That dwarf from the club, Tibor, had a killswitch. There’s going to be a bounty on all of us.”

“I’ll add it to the fucking pile,” Odybrix said. “What about Vaelor?”

“Perhaps he has a PDA!” BOB said, sidling up to the corpse and awkwardly shoving it onto its back. “There, on his wrist! Downloading and parsing data! It appears two sets of coordinates were downloaded minutes ago! Wait, what is that?”

BOB tilted over the body, extended their manipulator, and pulled McIntyre’s dress shirt. A hole had been torn in the fabric, like a pair of scissors had cut through it. BOB pulled at the opening to reveal a large, bloodless wound in the corpse’s chest. Zenith had seen such a wound once before.

“BOB, get away from there!”

An arm whipped up with extraordinary force, breaking itself at the elbow and knocking BOB to the floor. The body convulsed, its spasms and cracks giving way to cascades of bulging flesh. Bones erupted from skin, which in turn swam across the tears and formed new, horrible angles. Eyes disappeared into a sagging mask of tissue, which then violently pulled taut, erasing what was once a human face. Illias McIntyre rose to his feet, reborn.

A beam blade flashed as Ebby made a lunging strike at the monstrosity, only to be swatted into a wall. Gunshots rang out from behind Zenith as the crew riddled the thing’s greying body with bullets—the wounds began closing the moment they were made. The creature raised a clawed hand and took a step towards her, causing Zenith to stumble backwards. The claw came down like a bolt of lightning, landing just to her right. 

She looked up at the looming creature and noticed it was covered in a steaming brown liquid. BOB stood behind it, coffee spigot dripping. A rapid click undulated from somewhere inside the beast. In a powerful, fluid motion, it pivoted and lunged at BOB. The beast and the bot crashed through the solid wooden desk in a spray of splinters and flew out into the open air of the station.