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M ira walked onto the bridge with Spot skittering along behind her.

The little drakeen s legs tapped against the metal deck plates, testing each step as if it still couldn t believe its salvation from the scrapyard.

The bridge systems hummed on standby, status lights blinking across various consoles.

Anson hunched over the main tactical console; he didn t look up when she approached.

Spot chirped, brushing against a power coupling. A spark jumped, making him skitter away in fright.

Keep that thing away from critical systems, Anson snapped, eyes narrowed. Those cores aren t pets; they re weapons.

Spot made a buzzing sound, suspiciously like a mechanical raspberry, then ducked behind her legs.

It s okay-Jex figured out that he s been decommissioned for years, she said, leaning down to run her fingers across Spot s smooth casing. Pretty sure his kill-protocols are buried under about seven system resets and a healthy dose of please don t space me .

She dropped into the chair beside Anson, grimacing as she sank too deep into padding designed for seven-foot Latharians. Draanth , she hated feeling small.

Feeds are online, Anson said, tapping controls. Five separate views appeared on the main screen. Team deployment, standard diamond formation.

Five feeds? Where s Jex?

He s in the combat shuttle, Anson replied, pulling up an orbital path on the secondary display. He s the backup extraction if draanth goes sideways.

The screens flickered, then stabilized, giving her a five-way view as the Reapers positioned themselves around a hotel lobby. She caught sight of Davis as he moved, her pulse racing with each glimpse. It was hard to deny the effect he had on her, harder still to figure out what to do about it.

The client is expected momentarily, Ryke s voice came through crisply, more professional than she was used to.

Anson leaned forward and keyed the mic. Comms check, sound off.

Ryke, solid.

Rann here.

Covak. Ready to tear shit up.

Davis. Clear signal.

Jesh, monitoring perimeter.

A sound to her right drew her attention. She looked down, smiling as Spot scrambled up the side of her chair. The drakeen hauled itself onto the armrest, balancing on its hind legs like an attentive meerkat.

Clever boy, she chuckled.

Anson rolled his eyes. It s a war machine, not a pet.

Tell that to him. She patted her lap, and Spot immediately scuttled onto it, circling twice before settling. Its internal systems vibrated against her thighs, oddly comforting.

On-screen, the hotel lift doors parted and a tall figure with purple skin stepped out. Even by alien standards, he was a spectacle: skin catching the light like polished chrome and, instead of hair, tentacles that coiled continuously around his head.

The Reapers! Oh yes! Only the best for Gael Stormix!

His voice blasted through the comms, loud enough to make her wince.

Expensive, yes, but Gael Stormix s adoring fans deserve the peace of mind knowing Gael Stormix is protected by the most feared mercs in the sector!

Everyone must know Gael Stormix only hires the best!

The flamboyant rock star gestured dramatically toward Jesh, whose shoulder-mounted weapon pods gave her an intimidating silhouette. She is unusual. Exotic! he said, sidling her way in what Mira supposed might count as a seductive sashay.

A low growl rumbled through Covak s audio feed, primal and possessive.

Jesh turned her head slightly, a faint smile touching her lips. Exotic, she replied, and very married.

Stormix spun away as though he hadn t heard the warning. Though, between us friends, Gael Stormix actually requested the Warborne, much more exclusive, but unavailable, sadly.

Through Davis s feed, Mira watched Covak adjust something on Davis s tactical harness. The massive Vorrtan rolled his amber eyes dramatically, crossing them for effect.

Covak! Anson barked on the private channel. Eyes front; mind on the job. Now.

Covak grinned and raised his middle finger, perfectly framed in Davis s feed.

Anson sighed. Mature, Covak. Real mature.

The team moved out of the hotel s main entrance with Stormix in tow. A sleek armored transport waited at the curb, its doors sliding open as they approached. Covak and Jesh took handholds on the roof, while Davis balanced on a runner board.

Anson overlaid a city map, highlighting the route. See this? He circled an intersection where three streets converged. Classic choke point; perfect ambush location.

Those rooftops. She leaned closer; through Rann s feed she watched him scan each building, pausing at potential sniper nests. Rann s checking them systematically.

Yeah, and there, Anson said, pointing to an alley visible in Davis s feed, bottleneck. One way in, one way out.

How would you counter that? The question slipped out before she could stop herself, old gaming instincts flaring.

Smoke screen, overwatch from the upper windows, and keep moving, Anson answered, expression softening when he realized she was listening. Never stop moving.

Two minutes to venue, Ryke reported. Crowd sounds massive. Anson, what are we looking at?

On it. Client status?

Nervous, talking nonstop about sound checks, Rann said, bored.

Activity ahead, Davis cut in. Security deploying at the entrance.

Standard procedure? Anson asked.

Looks Davis s voice dropped. Covak, two o clock. Maintenance worker. Something s off.

Mira shifted to Davis s feed: a figure in coveralls moving with too much purpose, reading sight lines instead of equipment. The man s hands never once touched the tools on his belt.

Covak s cam swung toward him; the worker jerked a tool free and aimed it at the ground.

Could be nothing, Covak said.

Or something, Ryke answered, clipped. Stay alert.

The transport slowed at the backstage entrance. Emerald-uniformed security formed a corridor; beyond them, barricades held back screaming fans.

SON-IX! SON-IX! The chant pulsed through the comms.

Jesh, overwatch. Davis and Covak, flank. Rann, on the client s six, Ryke ordered.

Copy, came four voices.

Davis s feed showed him stepping off the board, cataloging threats, density, rooflines-everything a tactical assessment.

I don t like this, he muttered. Too many people, too many sight lines.

Agreed, Rann said as the doors slid open. Let s make this quick.

Anson tapped the console edge. This is the dangerous part, transition from vehicle to building.

Why so critical? she asked, eyes locked on the screen.

That s when the principal is most vulnerable. Any smart attacker hits now, halfway between shelters.

On-screen, Ryke exited first, then Stormix, tentacles writhing as the crowd roared. Rann followed close, hand hovering near the rock star s back.

They made it three steps before the first energy bolt sliced the air. Mira half rose, nearly spilling Spot.

Oh my God!

Shh! Anson hissed, splitting the feeds.

Figures rappelled from the hall s walls. Others burst from cargo containers-straight into Reaper crosshairs. Pulse-rifle glow lit the courtyard; concrete erupted into shards.

Contact, multiple hostiles! Ryke barked. He shoved Stormix toward the entrance. Rann, with me!

Rann dropped to one knee, his repeater unleashing blue-white energy while he backed through the door.

Mira s hand covered her mouth as the massive door sealed with a thunk.

Covak s war cry thundered. Jesh s view showed him charging, skin flushing deep red as claws extended with an audible snick .

Back on Davis s feed, a blast obliterated a planter, ceramic slicing his cheek. Fuck! He ducked, steadied, returned fire: three shots, three hostiles down.

Jesh spun through incoming fire, shoulder cannons targeting multiple attackers. Her feed never stopped moving.

M Suun clan? Anson whispered, zooming a crest on enemy armor. What the draanth are they doing here?

Give me access! Mira snapped. I can help.

Yeah, sure, console live.

Five feeds filled her station. Red for hostiles; blue for cover; yellow for firing lines, the battlefield unfolding like a three-D sim.

Covak, Jesh, two hostiles left, high ground. Davis is pinned!

Jesh answered instantly, one cannon swiveling to vaporize the threat. Davis rolled to an overturned vendor cart, picked off another attacker.

Through Jesh s cam Mira spotted a gunner on an overhead walkway, weapon crackling with violet energy.

Davis, above you! The warning came too late.

The bolt struck Davis s shoulder, spinning him. His feed stuttered with static as purple arcs crawled across his armor.

Fuck, he groaned; his hand went numb, pistol clattering away. He caught the wall, the feed flickering again.

Davis!

Spot chirped, forelegs tapping her arm. She barely noticed; nothing existed but that flickering feed and the pulsing light gnawing at Davis s chest.

This was supposed to be routine, a diva s escort to a concert.

Simple. Safe.

Now everything had gone to shit.

* * *

The world turned upside down in a heartbeat.

The energy bolt slammed into Davis s chest, knocking him flat on his ass in the middle of the crowded plaza. Stars exploded behind his eyes while the air around him crackled with ozone from the blast that had hit him squarely in the chest armor.

Motherfucking assholes!

A burning agony seared through his torso-sharp and electric. It spread outward with each heartbeat, muscles seizing, fingers spasming.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself into a roll.

Shock response be damned. He pushed through it, coming up in a crouch behind a large, overturned planter.

Exotic alien flowers spilled across the concrete, their vibrant petals crushed and scattered like the remains of his dignity.

His chest throbbed with every breath, each inhale sending fresh fire through his rib cage.

Fuck, he muttered, tasting copper and turned to spit blood onto the pavement. He didn t have time for this shit.

NOMAD training came to the fore. Compartmentalize. Function through the pain.