The neon-lit alleyway reeked of ozone and burnt circuitry as Captain Isolde Veyra pressed her back against the rusted service door, her pulse rifle humming in her grip. The bounty hunters had found her—again. She exhaled, watching her breath fog in the cold air, and adjusted the frayed collar of her reinforced synth-leather duster, its deep crimson hue barely visible under the flickering holograms of the Red Sector slums. Her dark, braided hair was streaked with silver, a relic of too many close calls, and the scar along her jawline ached in the damp air.
Six hours earlier, Isolde had been sitting in The Rusted Nebula, a dive bar orbiting the ruins of Old Earth, nursing a glass of synthetic whiskey. The bartender, a cyborg with mismatched ocular implants, slid a data chip across the counter. "From your old CO," he muttered. "Said you’d want to see this before the CorpSec dogs did."
The chip’s contents had turned her blood to ice: classified footage of the Nova Prime, the deep-space carrier she’d commanded before her court-martial. The ship hadn’t been lost to a reactor breach, as the Unified Colonies claimed. It had been hijacked. And the hijackers wore the insignia of her own government.
Shadows in the Grid
Now, cornered in the alley, Isolde thumbed the activation switch on her pulse rifle. The weapon’s blue charge-light reflected in the eyes of the bounty hunter stepping into view—a hulking figure in black tactical armor, his face obscured by a neural-dampening mask. "Captain Veyra," he intoned, voice distorted. "You’re worth more alive. But ‘alive’ is negotiable."
She smirked. "Tell your bosses they’ll need a bigger budget."
The first shot shattered the silence. Isolde twisted, her duster flaring as she returned fire. The bounty hunter staggered, his shield generator overloading in a shower of sparks. She didn’t wait for him to recover—she sprinted for the access ladder, boots clanging against the grated metal. The city stretched above her, a vertical labyrinth of skybridges and floating adverts, their glow staining the smog a sickly orange.
The Truth in the Static
At the rooftop, she jammed the data chip into her wrist terminal. The holographic display flickered to life, revealing coordinates: a derelict orbital station near the ruins of Titan. The last known location of the Nova Prime. But before she could plot a course, her screen glitched—a familiar distortion. The same interference that had plagued the carrier’s systems before its disappearance.
A voice crackled through her earpiece, raw with static. "Isolde… they’re listening." Her breath caught. That voice—Lieutenant Kael Arden, her former navigator. Presumed dead with the rest of the crew.
The bounty hunter’s grapple hook slammed into the rooftop beside her. She turned, pulse rifle raised, but the shot never came. Instead, the hunter’s mask retracted, revealing Kael’s face—his cybernetic eye gleaming, his lips parted in a warning. "Run," he whispered. "They’re already here."
Above them, the sky split open. A warship decloaked, its obsidian hull swallowing the neon glow. The Unified Colonies’ emblem burned crimson on its flank.
Epilogue: The War Beyond the Stars
Isolde’s grip tightened on the rifle. The game had changed. This wasn’t just a cover-up—it was a war. And she was the only one left who knew how to fight it.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: The #1 Most Powerful Anti-Aging Food You Need to Know About
Disclaimer: This article may contain affiliate links. If you click on these links and make a purchase, we may receive a commission at no additional cost to you. Our recommendations and reviews are always independent and objective, aiming to provide you with the best information and resources.
Get Exclusive Stories, Photos, Art & Offers - Subscribe Today!
Post Comment
You must be logged in to post a comment.