Matt leaned against a crumbling wall, the acrid scent of decay filling his lungs as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. The cold, unforgiving streets around him seemed to reflect his own inner turmoil. He stared at the holographic display projected by Vanguard, the numbers ticking down mercilessly. His eyes flicked between the glowing digits that showed how much time he had before the breeder would arrive at his quarters.
"Set a timer for her arrival," he muttered, his voice low and detached. "How much time do I have to deal with these bases?" Vanguard's voice echoed in his mind, calm and methodical. "Two days until the breeder arrives. You have approximately 39 hours to clear the bases and return."
Matt grunted, already planning his next move. He couldn't rely on his usual weapons for this mission. The military had grown increasingly strict with ammunition. Munitions were scarce, and every shot was meticulously tracked. Even Special Forces soldiers like him couldn't use their equipment without attracting unwanted attention. The thought gnawed at him, but he had no choice. He needed to go to the black market or also known as underworld.
The hum of illicit activity buzzed around Matt as he delved deeper into the underbelly of the black market. His mission was clear: procure weapons that wouldn't register on the Empire's radar. But to access the wealth he had accumulated over years of bloodshed, he needed to navigate the labyrinth of technology that had evolved alongside the planet's collapse.
Matt hadn't often needed to visit the market himself—most of what he knew came from a fellow soldier, Cole, a man with a dangerous fascination for Kraelith female slaves. Cole had vanished shortly after mentioning his intent to make a purchase, and Matt remembered how the disappearance was casually brushed aside by the other Special Forces soldiers. To them, it was just another casualty of the brutal underworld. No questions were asked, no investigation launched—only acceptance. It was as if everyone understood the price of dipping too deeply into the market's darker, more twisted offerings. For them, such disappearances were as routine as the missions they undertook.
Through Cole, Matt had learned how to navigate the black market's murky depths—skills that had proven useful more than once. Cole had taught him who to steer clear of, which factions were dangerous to cross, and the unwritten rules that kept someone like Matt from becoming another faceless casualty. There were key players whose names you didn't speak, and others you only approached when you had the leverage to back it up. Matt learned the delicate balance between survival and ambition in a place where everyone was playing a dangerous game. He had also picked up tips on how to earn extra cash, whether as a mercenary for hire or as a discreet assassin, both roles in demand in the shadows of the market. Cole had shown him which jobs paid the most, who to approach for contracts, and, most importantly, how to disappear once the work was done. The black market was a treacherous place, but it was also a gold mine for those who knew how to work it.
Arkos Prime had once been a thriving world, technologically advanced but limited in its reach. Planetary travel, though on the horizon, had never fully materialized before the Kraelith invasion. When the invaders struck, they brought with them not just devastation but new possibilities. The Astraellan Dominion and its neighbors had been forced to adapt to the alien technology that came with the Kraelith, using what they could reverse-engineer to upgrade their systems. However, these advancements were far from perfect. They could launch skirmishes in orbit, but any direct confrontation against the Kraelith's core planets was still out of the question.
The invasion also led to the expansion of surveillance and security technologies across Arkos Prime, particularly when it came to monitoring the use of military resources. With munitions scarce and heavily regulated, the government had implemented a system that tracked every transaction, every bullet fired, and every movement of official military assets. All salaries, bonuses, and financial dealings of soldiers, including veterans like Matt, were wired into an encrypted empire-wide credit network—part of the effort to maintain some semblance of control amid the chaos. But there was a way around the Empire's strict oversight. After all, Arkos Prime's descent into madness had given birth to a thriving underworld—the black market.
The origins of the black market on Arkos Prime were tied directly to the Dominion's collapse. When the Kraelith invaded, while the soldiers and the common folk suffered. The upper echelons of the Dominion's society were quick to seize any opportunity to profit from the chaos. Corruption, already present in the Dominion, flourished, with high-ranking officials using their positions to facilitate smuggling, trafficking, and under-the-table deals. Some of these elites had ties to the ruling classes of the empires, kingdoms, and counties that managed to survive the invasion till now, ensuring that the black market would not only survive but thrive, feeding off the suffering of the people.
At first, the market had started as a small, clandestine operation—hidden in the ruins of the fallen empire Aetherian. But as the war dragged on and order broke down, it became brazen, transforming into a sprawling bazaar of sin, violence, and despair. The market wasn't hidden—it operated openly, with the tacit approval of the powerful. Those in charge knew that as long as it didn't challenge their authority, the black market could serve as a convenient tool. It provided goods and services that the fractured government couldn't, helping to grease the palms of the remaining elite while giving desperate soldiers and civilians access to essentials and luxuries alike.
To access his wealth, Matt needed to bypass the imperial credit system. His money, like that of every soldier, was tied to his military account, heavily monitored and encrypted. However, a few black-market dealers had developed ways to tap into these accounts without triggering alerts. They used Kraelith technology, hybridized with human systems, to break into the Dominion's secure networks and reroute funds through untraceable channels. It wasn't easy, nor was it cheap, but for those who needed to stay off the radar, it was the only option. Matt had been introduced to these services years ago during his missions, where he'd heard whispers of soldiers using their earnings for off-the-books operations. The process involved shady brokers and tech specialists who had once worked for the Dominion before turning rogue. These "data miners" could unlock restricted accounts, transferring funds to anonymous credit chips that could be spent freely in the market. The chips were simple, metallic slates that stored massive sums of credits without any visible link to their source. With these funds, soldiers could indulge in dark dealings—purchasing weapons for personal use, acquiring slaves from hidden networks, or buying contraband goods from the black market, all without the risk of tracing their transactions back to them.
As Matt approached one of the data miners, a young man hunched over a console buried in the shadows of a derelict stall, his presence seemed to cast a weight on the air. The low hum of the console was the only sound as Matt slid his encrypted military ID across the table. The miner barely looked up, his face half-obscured by the hood of his cloak, but there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he caught sight of the name on the ID—Matt. The man's fingers danced across the holographic display with a skill honed by years of illegal transactions. In seconds, the miner had tapped into Matt's account, bypassing the Empire's encrypted security with practiced ease. His brow furrowed as he scanned the numbers that appeared on the display—a hefty sum, considering Matt hadn't touched his salary for a decade.
'Ten years, huh?' the miner muttered, his voice carrying a hint of awe. 'Five years as regular infantry, five years as Special Forces. Must've racked up quite a pile.' He let out a low whistle. 'It's rare to see a soldier make it out with all this untouched.' Matt said nothing, only watching as the miner completed the transfer.
The miner's fingers stilled as the final figure flashed across the screen—2.5 million credits. "You've been busy, Hellstorm," the man said, his tone shifting as he used Matt's infamous moniker. It was clear the miner knew exactly who Matt was, though he had the sense not to make a spectacle of it. Everyone in the underworld had heard the stories. The Kraelith, feared across entire star systems for their brutality, had a name for him in their guttural tongue: Tash'grath, the "Hellstorm." He was the soldier who cleared out bases by himself, leaving behind nothing but destruction and fear. Entire strongholds turned to ash in his wake, and even the bloodthirsty warlords under the Kraelith Empire whispered his name with unease. 'Don't worry, I'm not about to ask for an autograph,' the miner smirked, though the nervous edge to his voice was clear. He tapped the screen a few more times, finalizing the transaction and preparing the chip. "Standard fee for this kind of transfer is... 100,000 credits. But for you, Hellstorm, I'll take it down to 30,000. Consider it a discount for your... reputation."
Matt's expression remained unreadable as he watched the numbers adjust. 30,000 credits for the transfer—pricey, but worth it to stay off the grid. He slid a finger across the ID again, confirming the payment. The miner handed him the sleek, metallic black-market chip with a small nod of respect. 'There,' the miner grunted, a nervous flicker crossing his face as he finally met Matt's gaze. 'Everything you need, off the grid. Don't spend it all in one place—though I'm sure you'll find ways to make it disappear fast in this place.'
Matt took the chip without a word, feeling its weight in his hand. The entire balance of 2.47 million credits now resided on the small slate, untraceable, outside the Empire's surveillance. It was more money than most soldiers saw in a lifetime, but Matt hadn't earned it for luxury. He turned to leave, his mind already calculating how much of that would be spent on weapons, bribes, and whatever else he needed to clear the bases in the brutal, merciless way that had earned him his nickname. As he stepped back into the market's shadows, the miner watched him go, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Few people made him nervous, but Hellstorm was a force of nature even the underworld feared.
With the chip in hand, Matt could now freely move through the market, making deals without leaving a trace. The black market itself had its own order, though it was anarchic by most standards. The market's rulers were a coalition of crime lords, ex-military leaders, and rogue scientists who had all profited from the collapse. They had their own unspoken rules: Within the market's walls no violence unless sanctioned, no stealing from fellow buyers, and absolutely no interference from the government or the military. The punishments for breaking these rules were swift and brutal, usually carried out by the market's elite mercenaries—killers who would eliminate offenders with terrifying efficiency.