No time to breathe after Ebon Veil Bloodbath
The Ebon Veil doesn’t let go easy.
Violet glow still veins the rock. Air tastes like recycled piss and bad decisions. Crew stayed behind after bagging Specimen Zero—turned the loading hangar into a killbox. Cargo crates stacked for cover. Double doors shut. Waiting.
Kai’s voice cuts through the comm from Vanguard, low and clipped: “They’re here, Captain. Dropped two craters over. Armored ATV just rolled into the access tunnel. Headed straight for you. They don’t know we’re home.”
Voss doesn’t blink. “Copy. Warm up engines. Hot evac if this goes sideways.”
Jax and Elias spent the wait breathing life back into pirate scrap. Hyper Blaster hums in Voss’s grip again. Hot Shot Pack ready to bite.
The Job
The job was simple, dirty, and nameless. No patron stepped forward with a face or a signature—just a shadow drop of credits and a single line: make sure the Voidstalker salvage team never leaves the asteroid alive. One-time contract, no carryover, no questions. The shadows wanted the people who might claim Specimen Zero gone, not the crate itself. Clean. Quiet. Dead.
We set the trap in the loading hangar, crates dragged into hasty cover, double doors sealed like a coffin lid. The Voidstalkers rolled in cocky—Captain leading, two Lieutenants swinging Shatter Axes, two Shell Gun specialists, four regulars (two packing Flak Guns), all with Hand Lasers hot. Elite bastards, moving like they owned the place. They didn't know we were already home.
The big loading bay doors groan open.
Dull green ATV rolled in slow. Voidstalker salvage team piled out—not a clue in the world.
Surprise was ours. They couldn't act in the opening seconds. Initiative seized, we hit hard and fast.
Hex is already sighted. Driver clears the hatch; two needle rounds punch through his chest. He folds before boots touch deck.
Voss steps out, Hyper Blaster roaring. Lead Shell Gunner splits in half, wet chunks painting the side of their ATV.
Korra lights the Captain up full-auto. Armor holds—just barely. Sparks shower like dying stars.
Jax and Elias slide to cover as the hangar turns into a slaughter pen.
Round 1
Hangar turns into a slaughter pen.
Voss keeps the trigger down—another pirate drops mid-stride, chest blooming red. Korra displaces across the loading bay, blinks over open ground, rattlegun chewing through a fourth man in wet bursts.
Hex snaps two more needles at the Captain—armor swallows them again, the bastard barely flinching, visor still gleaming.
Elias lines up careful and drops the Captain clean through the visor—brain matter sprays in a neat arc.
Jax snaps a round into one Lieutenant’s chest; the big man staggers stunned, cursing, axe half-raised.
Voidstalkers finally wake up. Flak Gunner hoses Voss—armor eats most, but the impacts ring her bell twice, stun stacking like bad whiskey. Shell Gunner screams “For the Captain!” and lobs a grenade. It sails wide, slams the wall, blooms into a useless fireball that scorches paint.
Round 2
Three Scoundrels go fast.
Korra slides behind a crate and turns another Flak Gunner to mist—rattlegun howling like it’s hungry. Voss fires on the Shell Gunner—one solid hit stuns him hard against the crate. Hex follows up—Shell Gunner out, body crumpling like wet paper.
One Lieutenant snaps a laser through cover; burn sears into Voss, stuns her deeper, cyber-eye flickering red. The other Lieutenant boots forward heavy, axe gleaming.
Jax and Elias auto-fire the shooter—Jax blows his head off in a bright red pop, helmet spinning away.
Random event—
Ricochet clips a life-support relay.
Fog rolls in thick and fast. Six-inch visibility. Center of the bay turns whiteout.
Round 3
Voss has had enough.
She walks straight into the soup. Cyber-eye cuts through like it’s nothing. Last Lieutenant never hears her boots. Hyper Blaster presses to his chest—double-tap. He slumps, axe clattering.
Echoes fade. Fog swirls lazy around cooling meat.
The bay went still. Just the hiss of ruptured lines and the copper stink of violent ends.
Post-Battle – Ebon Veil Black Site
Post Battle The Voidstalkers were done. Every last one of them cold on the deck. The contract cleared clean—one-time deal from shadows who never bothered with names. Credits hit the account. No strings, no carryover.
Really Shiny Bits—a fistful of iridescent credit wafers yanked from the Captain's boot (+2 credits).
Battlefield finds: Rage Out stims and a Flak Gun still warm from the last idiot holding it. Loot haul was decent—Hyper Blaster, Shell Gun, Quality Sight, 3 credits reward. We dumped the busted Frakks. No one bleeding, no one screaming. For once, the Fringe played nice.
Then the comm pinged.
Intercepted transmission—unencrypted, sloppy, like someone wanted us to hear it. A low-frequency rumor floating through the black: whispers that Specimen Zero isn't getting buried. Someone's planning to crack the crate open and wake whatever's inside. No names, no proof, just the kind of chatter that gets mercs killed or rich. (campaign event, Rumor)
Voss stared at the screen for a long beat. (Personal Event, new quest) Then her personal line lit up. Encrypted. Header read: “From someone who knows what you just buried.”
The message was short, sharp, personal:
“Specimen Zero wasn’t just a weapon. It was the key. They’re not going to bury it, Voss. They’re going to open it. Meet me on Elyria. Come alone. — Old friend from Valtor-7”
She deleted it without a word. Scar pulled tight. Looked at the humming crate in the hold like it was staring back.
“Another fucking mess,” she muttered.
The Ebon Veil was behind them.
Elyria waited ahead—glowing jungle, thin air, K’Erin clans, and one old ghost from her past who knew too much.
Something worse waiting ahead.
To be continued…
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