Jarek Thorne hated surprises—and alarms were the worst kind.

Red lights flashed in rhythmic waves, turning the sleek corridors of the Blackhawk warship Sable Cut into a hellish dance of shadow and glare. He pressed himself flat against the cool steel wall, tightening his grip around his blaster as footsteps echoed in the distance. This was supposed to be a straightforward extraction—a quick bounty, minimum fuss.

Clearly, someone else didn’t get the memo.

“Pepe,” Jarek whispered sharply, scanning the dim corridor, “please tell me this chaos was your idea.”

His earpiece crackled cheerfully. “As much as I enjoy spontaneous explosions, I can’t take credit for this one. Though I appreciate the thought.”

Jarek cursed under his breath. “Then who triggered it?”

“Not sure,” Pepe responded helpfully. “But I’m getting excellent readings of ‘you’re screwed.’”

Jarek rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

Suddenly, two shadows flickered ahead—fast and soundless, cloaked in deep black. Blackhawks weren’t standard-issue soldiers; they were assassins, trained to move unseen, strike swiftly, and vanish like smoke.

“Two assassins, straight ahead,” Pepe said with a cheerful beep. “Did you write your will yet?”

“Shut up, Pepe.”

Jarek steadied his breath, aiming his blaster. He had seconds, maybe less, to make a choice. He fired twice, blue bolts searing through the dark—but both assassins vanished into shadows as if his shots were just annoyances.

Before he could react, another assassin slipped silently from behind. A whisper of air was his only warning. He twisted aside, narrowly avoiding a dagger’s edge.

“You’re about to become a fashionable corpse,” Pepe chirped helpfully in his ear.

“Can you just help me?”

“I am helping. Morally.”

The assassins moved fluidly around him, closing in. Jarek’s heart hammered hard in his chest. He’d faced death plenty of times, but never like this—trapped, cornered, and mocked by a talking drone.

Then, with a sudden snap, darkness fell like a curtain. Every light blinked out simultaneously. Pure blackness swallowed the corridor, thick and heavy.

In that split second of perfect shadow, something else moved—something faster, deadlier.

A blade whispered through the dark. One assassin dropped silently. Another turned, eyes wide in shock, but the blade moved again, effortlessly precise. The second assassin collapsed soundlessly to the floor.

Silence settled in, deeper than before.

A new figure emerged slowly from the shadows—hooded, poised, holding twin daggers glowing faintly with unnatural light.

Jarek raised his blaster cautiously. “Who the hell are you?”

Jarek’s instincts screamed not to trust him. But instincts also told him he’d be dead without him. That made it complicated.

“Sai,” the stranger replied calmly. “And if you want to live, follow me.”

Pepe’s voice hummed softly. “Oh, he’s way cooler than you. Can we keep him?”

Brinn’s muscles burned as he pried open the final hatch, tearing through metal and sparks. He’d dreamed of escape every day as a slave-engineer aboard Sable Cut, but this was never how he imagined it. Flames raced through ventilation shafts, alarms wailed like lost souls, and the deck shuddered underfoot.

The ship was dying, and Brinn intended to live.

He burst into the small hangar where the Blackhawks kept their secret shuttles, eyes narrowing. The sleek craft ahead looked flight-ready—but two figures emerged from the shadows opposite him, weapons drawn. One tall, battle-worn and clearly on edge; the other cloaked, quiet, with an assassin’s stance.

Brinn flexed his hands, fire glowing hotly across his knuckles. “Blackhawks?”

“Not exactly,” the taller one said, lowering his gun slightly. “You?”

“Ex-slave,” Brinn answered, eyes flickering with fiery threat. “And I’m taking that shuttle.”

The cloaked man—Sai—gestured calmly toward the shuttle. “There’s room for all of us.”

Pepe chimed in, audible to everyone now through Jarek’s comm. “Three fugitives, one shuttle, and a massive fireball incoming. You do the math.”

Jarek shot Brinn a wary look. “If you can pilot, get in.”

Brinn moved swiftly to the cockpit, fire dissipating from his palms. “Strap in. It’ll be rough.”

Pepe chirped optimistically. “Good news! At least our fiery deaths will be scenic.”

The shuttle tore free from the warship just as explosions began to rip through its hull. Flames roared silently into the vacuum of space, and Brinn cursed, fighting with frantic determination at the controls.

“Trajectory’s off,” Brinn growled, knuckles white on the yoke. “We’re dropping toward that planet—Relic.”

“Define ‘dropping’,” Pepe quipped.

“Crashing,” Sai clarified softly from behind.

“Wonderful,” Pepe said brightly. “This team bonding experience is going great.”

The shuttle rattled violently as they breached the planet’s atmosphere, red heat flaring across the viewport. Warning lights flashed urgently, the craft shaking itself apart.

“We’re going in too fast!” Brinn shouted over the roar of re-entry.

“Any suggestions?” Jarek snapped, gripping the seat tightly.

“Don’t explode?” Pepe offered hopefully.

Sai’s eyes closed briefly, shadows gathering around him. “Hold on.”

Jarek looked back sharply. Sai seemed to whisper something under his breath, a quiet chant, a promise—or perhaps a vow.

The planet rushed up violently to meet them, neon-lit cities sprawling below, bathed in smog and darkness. The ground blurred closer, faster, unavoidable. They had seconds.

“Brace!” Brinn roared, voice nearly lost in the thunderous chaos.

Pepe’s voice was almost cheerful, defiant even in the face of annihilation. “In case anyone survives—remember, I predicted this!”

Sai’s shadows surged outward, cloaking the cabin in darkness just as the shuttle impacted the ground.

For a flicker of a moment, as the shadows faded, Sai staggered. Just a half step—but enough for Jarek to notice.

Light, fire, sound-

Then nothing but silence.

Relic lay quietly beneath a pale sky, waiting patiently to consume whatever remained.