"You boys clean up nicely, considering you were covered in viper guts and toxic sludge yesterday," Sterling said, turning to face them with a smile that didn't quite reach her predatory eyes. "I trust the credits from the acid glands were sufficient to replace your ruined gear and perhaps buy a decent meal?"

  "We managed to scrape by, Director, though my leg still twinges when the gravity stabilizers adjust," Damien said, stepping into the room and stopping a respectful distance from her desk. Modern medicine worked wonders. His leg was actually fine, but he wanted to let her know he took damage. "What can Ultimate Industries do for us today, or rather, what difficult task do you need us to handle?"

  "Direct as always, Damien. I appreciate that in a contractor," Sterling said, tapping a command onto her desk surface, which illuminated with a rotating wireframe of a mission profile. "I’ve got a special contract. It's a high priority with high reward and you would be doing me a favor. Minimal risk, assuming you possess the competence your file suggests."

  "Minimal risk usually translates to maximum headache," Parker muttered under his breath, earning a sharp, assessing glance from Sterling.

  "I have two clients arriving on the next shuttle from the Core Worlds," Sterling continued, ignoring the interruption but filing it away. "They are...VIPs. Wealthy individuals seeking an authentic frontier experience. They wish to accompany a veteran team on a surface raid."

  Damien laughed, a harsh, barking sound that echoed in the lavish office. "You want us to babysit tourists in a death jungle? That’s a suicide pact, Director. They’ll panic, they’ll scream at the first sign of movement, and they’ll get us all eaten before we hit the ground."

  "These aren't ordinary tourists, Damien. They’re paying a premium that would make your eyes water," Sterling countered, her voice taking on a hard, non-negotiable edge. "The primary client is Yeka, heiress to the Val-Korg shipping dynasty. She’s bringing her own security detail to drop with her. An elite of her species. All they need is local guides to keep them away from the worst of the fauna while they pretend to be hunters."

  "And if they die?" Parker asked the practical question hanging heavy in the air like smoke.

  "Then you extract their bodies and we refund half their deposit to the estate," Sterling said coldly. "But if you bring them back alive, along with whatever Spark you find, the bonus will be enough to buy those MK-V suits you were eyeing. And perhaps a bit more for that beach bar you dream about during your downtime."

  Damien locked eyes with Parker, snorting that he’d won the bet, and also that she’d been spying on him. He wasn’t exactly shocked. The money tempted them, undeniably so, but the risk of dragging dead weight through Wesley represented a terrifying variable.

  "We have a few requests.”

  Sterling unhappily folded her arms under her breasts. The ample cleavage had little effect on him, only because he saw her for the viper that she was. “Careful; you haven’t actually earned veteran status yet, but your resume is bigger and the other guys who I rely on are…not as interested in doing something so…abnormal.”

  Parker snickered with a light laugh. “At least she’s honest.”

  “Right. We want veteran status, proper quarters to recover in going forward, and we pick the drop zone," Damien said, laying down his condition with absolute firmness. "If we lead this circus, we decide where the tent gets pitched."

  "Within reason," Sterling nodded. "Where were you thinking?"

  "The Western Sector," Damien said, pointing to the map where the jagged crimson territory of the Red Corsairs met the black industrial zone of Iron-Clad. "Near the failed Iron-Clad forward base in Sector 7-G."

  Sterling raised an eyebrow, surprised. "That area was picked clean months ago. Iron-Clad stripped the vegetation down to the bedrock trying to build their fortress."

  "That was six months ago, Director," Damien corrected her. "The jungle grows back fast. And when the base fell and the noise stopped, the Spark would have returned. It retreats from permanent occupation, but it rushes back when the silence returns. It’s a gamble, but it’s safer than the deep south, and potentially richer too. The North is still the golden land, but that is not where you take tourists."

  "Very well," Sterling agreed, seeing the logic. "Sector 7-G. Your guests will arrive in Hangar Bay Three in an hour. Clean up, get a haircut, and try to be charming. Visit Marco’s for new spacesuits with veteran emblems. Can’t have you looking like new recruits, can we?"

  “No ma’am,” they replied in unison.

  Damien grunted, taking the dismissal to do as ordered. The duo proceeded to get hair cuts, were given new uniforms at the local tailor shop, and then walked through the spaceport to meet Yeka.

  The transition to Hangar Bay Three involved a walk through the shifting strata of station society, moving from the executive silence to the industrial clamor of the launch decks. When they arrived, their "guests" were impossible to miss.

  Standing amidst the crates of ammunition and fuel cells were two figures who appeared as if they had stepped out of a high-fashion holograph in the Core Worlds.

  Yeka was a Xylosian, a species that had evolved under the harsh, ultraviolet glare of a blue giant star. Her skin shone a deep, radiant azure, flawless and shimmering slightly as if infused with starlight. She stood tall, possessing an athletic, capable build that spoke of gravity training rather than just aesthetics.

  She wore a custom-fitted, white polymer skinsuit that was clearly expensive but designed for mobility, not just for show. But it did show her curvy figure, which was a bit over the top for a human, but not unexpected for her species. Big hips and large busts were just standard on Xylosians.

  Her large, violet eyes lacked pupils, but they tracked Damien’s approach with a keen, intelligent curiosity that was far more engaging than simple hunger.

  Beside her stood her bodyguard, who Damien soon learned was called Vinto. He was of the same species, but his skin was a darker, bruised indigo. He was a wall of muscle, clad in heavy, military-grade shock armor that bore the scars of actual combat. He held a massive plasma repeater with the casual ease of someone who slept with it under his pillow.

  "I assume you’re the famous Spark Raiders I'm paying for," Yeka said as they approached, her voice melodic with a strange, harmonic undertone. She extended a hand, her grip firm and professional. "The reports mentioned your efficiency, but they left out the part about the grit. I like grit."

  "Chrome rusts in the humidity, ma'am," Parker said, shaking her hand while eyeing Vinto’s weapon with professional envy. "I'm Parker. This is Damien. We’re your tour guides to the apocalypse."

  "Please, call me Yeka. 'Ma'am' makes me feel like my mother," she smiled, her expression warm and genuine. "This is Vinto. He doesn't talk much, but he ensures I don't do anything too foolish. We’re ready to learn, and more importantly, to experience."

  "This isn't a classroom, Yeka; it’s a scavenging run," Damien corrected her, checking the seals on her suit with a critical eye. "The things down there hunt us. We just try to steal their lunch money and run away."

  "I understand the stakes, Damien," Yeka replied, meeting his gaze evenly. "I may be new to your jungle, but I've cracked the carapaces of Vardino Beetles on the outer rim. I know how to handle a weapon, and I know when to listen to experts."

  "Vardino Beetles act like a hive mind, predictable and swarming," Damien noted, surprised by her resume but testing her. "The things down here are solitary, intelligent, and spiteful…until a swarm finds you. Then yeah, it applies."

  "Then I look forward to the challenge," Yeka said, patting the smooth white flank of her custom pulse rifle. "I didn't come here to be a passenger. I want to really see what this world is like."

  "As long as you follow orders, you might live to tell your friends about it," Damien said, gesturing toward the lockers. "Give us ten minutes to suit up. We can't drop in fancy uniforms."

  Damien and Parker retreated to their designated armory cage, stripping off the stiff formal tunics and tossing them onto a bench with relief. The fresh MK-IV Centurion suits waited for them, painted a matte, light-absorbing black that seemed to drink the illumination of the hangar. The new ceramic ablative coating gave the armor a textured, shark-skin feel, cool to the touch and promising resilience against the chemical horrors below.

  "These smell like new hover car and fun," Parker grinned, stepping into the leg servos and feeling the hydraulics hiss as they engaged around his calves. "I missed the old gray ones, but black is definitely more slimming."

  "Check the seals on the neck ring twice," Damien ordered, sliding his arms into the gauntlets and watching the diagnostic lights flicker from red to green. "The tech said the ablative coating adds five kilos to the total weight, so adjust your glide trim or you'll drop like a stone."

  They ran through the pre-drop ritual with practiced speed: checking oxygen scrubbers, cycling the weapon power cells, and ensuring the emergency beacons were synchronized. Damien strapped his heavy vibro-cutter to his thigh, the magnetic lock engaging with a solid clack, while Parker loaded a fresh belt of explosive rounds into the drum of his Thresher cannon.

  When they returned to the launch bay, fully armored and looking like machines of war, Yeka and Vinto were waiting by the open drop pods.

  "Impressive," Yeka noted, her eyes tracing the lines of the heavy industrial armor. "Function over form. I like it."

  Damien walked a circle around her, inspecting her loadout more closely this time. "That white skinsuit... does it have active shielding?"

  "It generates a localized kinetic barrier," Yeka explained, tapping a node on her collarbone. "Good for three heavy impacts before it needs to recharge. And the rifle is a custom Starlight-7 pulse emitter. Variable frequency."

  "Keep it on high frequency," Damien advised. "The things we're hunting have dense hides. Low frequency just tickles them." He turned to Vinto. "And you, big guy. That repeater is heavy. Can you glide with that?"

  Vinto simply nodded, tapping a gravity-assist harness strapped to his massive chest. "Compensators."

  "Good," Damien said, satisfied. "Here is the drop plan. We are using a diamond formation. I take point in Pod One. Vinto, you are Pod Two, port flank. Parker, Pod Three, starboard flank. Yeka, you are in Pod Four, rear guard position."

  "Rear guard?" Yeka frowned slightly. "I thought I was sticking to you."

  "Once we clear the pods and deploy wings, you’ll glide forward to tuck in right behind me," Damien clarified, pulling up a holographic schematic of the insertion vector. "But for the drop itself, the rear is the safest spot if we hit turbulence. Our nav-computers will be slaved in a master-chain configuration. I fly as the orientation, your pods follow my exact vector until we hit deployment altitude at ten thousand feet. Then the locks disengage, and we switch to manual glide."

  "Synchronized drops can be jarring if the lead pod hits a pocket," Vinto rumbled, his voice like gravel in a mixer. "Do not jerk the stick."

  "I never jerk the stick," Damien assured him, earning a light giggle from Yeka. He raised an eyebrow. "I… Not the best word play, but a handsome man like me can handle his stick like a master.” Parker withheld an eyeroll. “We enter the atmosphere at a steep forty-five-degree angle to minimize thermal exposure. It’ll get hot, it’ll get loud, and the ride will be violent. Do not fight the restraints. Let the pod do the work."

  "Understood," Yeka said, her excitement clearly outweighing her apprehension. "Let's do this."

  "Vinto, make sure her pod is sealed tight," Damien ordered, stepping toward his own vessel. "Parker, link the comms to a private encrypted channel. Frequency Delta-Nine."

  "Channel secure," Parker confirmed, his voice already filtering through the helmet speakers. "Green lights across the board."

  They loaded into the pods, the heavy doors sealing them into the darkness that smelled of grease and anticipation. The magnetic clamps engaged, lifting the pods into the launch tubes.

  The drop into the Western Sector was rougher than their previous descents. The atmospheric currents buffeted the pods, shaking them violently as they plummeted toward the surface. At the right time, the pods popped, releasing them into glided flight.

  They didn’t need the pods, mostly since they were a comfort thing. However, when offered, and others paid the bill, he’d take a pod every day of the week. With the pod boosted to allow more precise flight, things just grew far more interesting. Damien watched his telemetry, guiding his glider wings to fight the crosswinds coming off the mountain range.

  To his surprise, Vinto flew with precision, keeping tight to the formation. Yeka did not flail; she rode the turbulence with focus, her eyes locked on Damien’s lead, mimicking his adjustments with impressive reflexes.

  They broke through the canopy of Sector 7-G, the light shifting from the blinding white of the upper atmosphere to the gloomy twilight of the jungle. The trees here were scarred, bearing the marks of Iron-Clad’s failed attempt to tame the land. Massive stumps rotted in the mud, and rusted girders protruded from the earth like the ribs of dead beasts.

  "Touchdown in three, two, one," Damien announced, flaring his wings and dropping into a crouch on a slab of moss-covered concrete.

  The others landed around him. Vinto hit the ground with a heavy thud, his weapon instantly up and scanning. Yeka landed with a solid impact, rolling to dissipate the force and coming up in a firing stance that evinced trained muscle memory rather than panic.

  "It smells...heavy," Yeka whispered, inhaling deeply through her suit's olfactory filters. "Like a grave waiting to be filled."

  "It smells like failure," Parker corrected, scanning the perimeter. "Iron-Clad lost two battalions holding this ridge. The ground is fertilized with very expensive mistakes."

  "Movement! Three o'clock!" Vinto barked, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated in their chests.

  Damien spun, bringing his rifle to bear. Emerging from the ruins of a collapsed bunker was a creature that moved with a terrifying and fluid grace. It was the size of a small hover-car, low to the ground, with six muscular legs ending in obsidian claws. Its back was covered in a mane of quills that rattled ominously.

  Damien’s HUD flashed red, the tactical database pulling up the file instantly.

  [ TACTICAL ALERT: CLASS-III PREDATOR IDENTIFIED ]

  >> TARGET ID: QUILL-STALKER (RUIN VARIANT)

  >> THREAT LVL: MEDIUM

  [ ATTRIBUTES ]

  > VITALITY: MODERATE (Fast Metabolism)

  > ARMOR: LIGHT (Speed over Protection)

  > AGILITY: HIGH (Sprint Speed > 60 KPH)

  [ ABILITIES ]

  > QUILLS: Projectable Barbed Spines (20m Range)

  > BITE: Scissor-Jaw Mandibles

  > STEALTH: Active Camouflage in Shadows

  [ COMBAT ANALYSIS ]

  ! WEAKNESS: Exposed Leg Joints/Throat Sac

  ! ADVISORY: EVADE RANGED QUILL ATTACKS

  ! TACTIC: CRIPPLE MOBILITY THEN EXECUTE

  "Quill-Stalker!" Damien shouted. "Watch the spines! Get behind cover!"

  The beast roared, unleashing a high-pitched shriek that his suit thankfully muted. In a fit of rage, it shook its body violently. A volley of foot-long quills erupted from its back, whistling through the air like arrows.

  Damien raced to cover Yeka, but she was already moving, sliding behind a rusted metal slab with a fluid elegance that matched his own pace.

  Vinto didn't hide.

  The Xylosian bodyguard stood his ground, his shock armor absorbing a quill that would have skewered a human. He roared back, opening fire with his plasma repeater.

  Blue bolts of energy slammed into the creature, scorching its flank but missing the vital organs as it zig-zagged toward them with incredible speed.

  "It’s too fast for direct tracking!" Parker yelled, his rotary cannon spinning up. "Aim for the legs! Take out the mobility!"

  Damien leaned out from cover, sighting down his rifle. The creature was a blur, closing the distance to Vinto. "Vinto! Brace!"

  As the creature lunged, Damien fired a precise, three-round burst. The plasma bolts caught the beast in the front left knee joint, vaporizing the cartilage. The Quill-Stalker stumbled, its momentum sending it crashing into the mud in a tangle of limbs.

  "Now! Finish it!" Damien commanded.

  Before Parker could unleash the Thresher, a single, high-powered pulse shot rang out from beside Damien. It struck the creature directly in the exposed throat sac as it tried to rise.

  The beast’s head disappeared in a mist of red vapor and bone fragments. It twitched once, then went still.

  Damien turned to see Yeka lowering her custom rifle, smoke drifting from the barrel. She showed no terror; she remained focused, a sheen of sweat on her blue brow.

  "Target neutralized," Parker announced, sounding impressed. "Nice shot, Yeka."

  "Vardino Beetles have a similar weak point under the chin," Yeka explained, checking her weapon's charge. "Though this one was much faster. Good call on the leg, Damien."

  "You kept your head," Damien said, nodding in approval. "Most first-timers freeze up when the proverbial quills start flying."

  "I told you, I'm not here to be a burden," Yeka said, a small, proud smile touching her lips. "Can we check it? The quills might be worth something."

  "It’s dead, and go for it," Damien said, walking over to inspect the kill. "The quills are worth a few credits to arrow fletchers, but not much else. The noise will attract scavengers."

  "Vinto, you took a hit," Yeka said, her tone shifting to concern as she regarded her bodyguard. A quill was embedded in his shoulder plate, protruding like a flag.

  Vinto grunted, gripping the quill with his massive hand and ripping it out in one motion. Greenish blood welled up, but the wound sealed almost instantly, his alien physiology reacting to the trauma. "Armor stopped a lot. Flesh damage is minor. We proceed."