I let out a weary sigh, closing the cryogenic chamber and powering it down before leaving the ship. I spot an alien about half my height in a blue jumpsuit and a baseball cap.

“I need a supercharge, and any repairs that it needs now. I don't care about maintenance unless it's in dire need,” I order.

“Yes, Mr. Royal,” the alien responds, hurrying off to charge my ship.

I better not come back to some high-ass fracking bill.

I enter an elevator, sharing it with a couple of authorized Guardians who stare at my silver metal left hand—the only portion of my mechanical arm visible with my leather jacket equipped. They exchange glances and begin whispering. "You ask him," one Cyril insists.

Oh, come on, not this again…

“No, you do it!” the other counters.

Yup. They recognize me. Damn.

“Just get it the frack over with. We're almost to my floor,” I grumble.

“Can we take a picture of you, Sir Kayden?” one Cyril finally asks. I sigh, trying not to be annoyed until I notice their eager gazes.

Frack me. Of course they want a stupid selfie. Fracking reputation biting my ass again.

Groaning as I relent, I nod. “… Make it quick.”

The two Guardians stand on either side of me, posing with peace signs and thumbs up. They snap a picture with their thin, mobile device, capturing a 3D rendering of the three of us. The Cyril with the device marvels at our difference in height in the hologram.

"You're so tall, Kayden. Not bad for a hybrid!" the Guardian grins. I force a smile as the elevator reaches my floor. 

Thank the Creator, I think to myself as I leave the two Guardians.

As I wander through the bustling lower levels of the colony, vehicles and people swarm the metal-grated sidewalks. Hovering vehicles, restricted to a maximum height of five feet, hum through the streets. The colony's towering buildings are interconnected by a network of overhead bridges, all capped by a gray metal roof, creating a maze-like atmosphere. Brilliant artificial lights bathe the colony in a perpetual state of twilight, eliminating any sense of day or night. I squint, the glaring light a harsh imitation of sunlight in the low-cost colony.

Suddenly, my comms flash. I answer to find a familiar muscular Guardian with striking red-on-black eyes and a black mohawk with red tips, two silver ring piercings on his brow, one on his lip, and a beauty mark resting below his left eye. Finally, a friendly face.

Finally, a good familiar face.

“Hey Kay! Feel up for a drink?” the man asks, his deep voice tinged with amusement.

I smirk. “The universe is a big place, Rile. I can't exactly track you down every time I want a drink.”

A chuckle echoes from behind me. “Well, good thing I tracked your ass down, big bro!”

Spinning around, I see Rile approaching, grinning widely. Rile was always the bigger of the two of us, somehow, even as my little brother.

“Rile, you Srog! How long have you been out here?” I ask, my voice filled with warmth. A Srog was an interplanetary dog with blue antennae and two tails, and about three times the size of its biggest Earth counterpart.

“I knew this was where you've been turning in your bounties. Figured if I stuck around long enough, I'd pick up your ship's signal,” Rile replies, still grinning wide.

I missed you too, little brother.

“Frack, you sound almost like a stalker,” I tease with a chuckle.

With a laugh, Rile wraps his arm around my shoulder. “I just don't want my big bro to feel lonely!”

The two of us make our way to a nearby bar, its neon sign buzzing overhead. An advertisement for Sluff, a popular Cyrilin liquor, catches my eye.

“The last time we met for drinks, it ended badly. I hope it’ll be different this time,” I muse, taking a seat at the bar. Rile carries over two bottles of Sluff and extends one toward me. "Just think of them as memories of the times you spent with your little bro, and it'll be fine."

A wry smile crosses my face as I tap my bottle against Rile's.

“How are the missions treating you?” I inquire.

Rile takes a generous swig from his bottle, not needing to verbally respond to the question.

“That bad, huh?” I observe, my brows furrowed in concern.

Rile exhales heavily and wipes his mouth. “Well, they aren't getting any easier despite having done them for over nine-hundred years now. And the current economy doesn't help.”

“Do you think you should take a break? You've gone at it nonstop all this time….” I suggest.

Rile bursts into laughter. “And freelance like someone I know? Missing the use of military-grade weapons? Never getting the chance to wield Beastly?? Hell no!”

I chuckle. “Is that what you're calling your mini-gun now?”

Rile smirks. “Well, that one.” I laugh along.

My gaze drifts, catching sight of a familiar propaganda poster on the bar's wall featuring my image, defaced with the word “Killer.” My expression darkens as my fist clenches.

I didn’t want to see that damn graffiti again so soon….

“You know I can't go back, Rile,” I mutter, my eyes downcast. "I've made a bigger mistake than my career can recover from."

“That's not true,” Rile counters, turning toward me. “I heard they were lifting the ban on your Guardian license.”

My eyebrows raise for a moment, then furrow in anger. “To think I'm only considered again due to their desperation makes me hella pissed off.” I take a long swig from my bottle.

Rile chuckles. “Think about it as an opportunity to get back to doing the job you love.”

It’s not that simple, Rile.

I stare at my bottle in silence, taking another drink.

“I think you're living a pretty lonely lifestyle, Kay," Rile says gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I can't stand watching you slip further and further.”

I glance up, my eyes shining with vulnerability.

I hate watching myself slipping away too, but it’s just easier this way…

“Where did the brother I admired, who looked up to the creed, go?” Rile asks with a pained expression.

Ouch, frack…

I flinch and look away. “He broke the codex with murder, Rile. He's long gone,” I say through gritted teeth.

That ain’t me anymore. Trust me.

Rile's fret deepens.

Suddenly, a boisterous bout of laughter erupts behind us. Rile turns to see a group of Guardians drinking and laughing.

“Well, what can I say—the guy had it coming. After that, though, he definitely showed me some respect!” one Guardian brags.

“You got that right, Rokker! They don't know who they're messin' with—not an epic Guardian like yourself!” another chimes in, slapping Rokker on the back.

Ugh, please shut up.

I struggle to suppress my contempt as I eavesdrop. Rile sighs, rising to confront the noisy Guardians.

“Hey, that's awesome that you're having a good time, but could you keep it down a little?” Rile asks with a polite smile.

The Guardians glare at him. “Why the hell should we? We're celebrating.”