Kalen's footsteps echoed faintly as he moved deeper into the Underspace, his ribs aching from the freelancer's strike. He adjusted the stolen plasma weapon, its weight unfamiliar but comforting in his grip. His mind raced, replaying the freelancer's dying words: *"They'll come for you. All of them."*
Whoever *they* were, they'd just made things infinitely more complicated. The Reach was already a treacherous place for someone like Kalen—an orphan living on the margins. But if someone powerful was connected to this holo-tablet, he wasn't just dealing with the usual mercenary politics. This could bring the full force of one of the Reach's factions down on his head.
He reached his hideaway, slipping into the small, cramped alcove and sealing the makeshift door behind him. The walls were lined with scavenged tech—loose wires, half-working monitors, and a jury-rigged security system Kalen had pieced together from discarded scraps. It wasn't much, but it had kept him alive so far.
He placed the holo-tablet on a rickety metal table and reactivated it. The screen flickered to life, still encrypted. Kalen leaned back, his mind already picking apart the puzzle. He needed help to crack this—someone with real tech expertise. But asking for help was dangerous. Trusting the wrong person could get him killed.
Kalen's gaze drifted to the plasma weapon resting on the table, its sleek surface reflecting the dim light. Whatever was on this tablet, it had people willing to kill for it. And now it was his problem.
The next morning—or what passed for morning on the Reach—Kalen emerged from the Underspace into the mid-levels. This was where the pulse of the Reach truly beat: markets overflowing with stolen goods, repair stations buzzing with activity, and mercenaries gathering at taverns to trade stories and contracts.
The scent of fried protein bars mixed with the metallic tang of engine grease as Kalen weaved through the crowd, keeping his hood low. Above him, massive energy conduits stretched like veins through the ceiling, pulsing faintly with power. The Reach wasn't just an asteroid—it was alive, constantly expanding as engineers and laborers worked to turn it into something more.
Kalen's destination was a tech enclave buried in the northern quadrant of the mid-levels. Run by a rogue A.I. collective known as the *Cogmind Syndicate*, the enclave was a hub for anyone seeking custom tech, information, or illicit software. The Syndicate wasn't known for loyalty, but they valued trade and secrecy, which was as close to trust as anyone got on the Reach.
Kalen stepped into the enclave's entryway, where a pair of humanoid drones scanned him with flickering blue optics.
"State your purpose," one droned, its voice cold and mechanical.
"Looking for Talia," Kalen replied. "She owes me a favor."
The drones buzzed softly, exchanging data before stepping aside. The door hissed open, revealing a cavernous workshop filled with glowing screens and half-assembled machines.
Talia was perched on a swivel chair in the center of the chaos, her long auburn hair tied back as she soldered wires into a cracked drone. She glanced up as Kalen approached, her sharp hazel eyes narrowing.
"You look like hell," she said, setting down her tools.
"You should see the other guy," Kalen shot back, smirking despite himself.
Talia rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Vex? I'm busy."
He pulled the holo-tablet from his jacket and placed it on her workbench. "I need this cracked. Fast."
Her expression shifted, curiosity flickering across her face as she picked up the device. "Where'd you get this?"
"Doesn't matter," Kalen said. "Can you do it or not?"
Talia frowned, running a scanner over the tablet. Symbols danced across the screen, lines of code rippling like static.
"This is military-grade encryption," she muttered, more to herself than to Kalen. "Definitely not local. This thing's worth more than your entire existence."
"Yeah, I figured that part out," Kalen replied dryly. "Can you crack it?"
Talia's lips quirked into a grin. "Oh, I can crack it. But it's going to cost you."
Kalen crossed his arms. "I'm broke."
"You're always broke," Talia said, setting the tablet aside. "But I don't need credits. I need parts—specifically a power core from the northern docks. Think you can manage that?"
Kalen hesitated. The northern docks were crawling with Lazrik's men, and he wasn't exactly eager to run into the warlord again without a solid plan. But he didn't have a choice.
"Fine," he said. "But if I get you that core, you crack this thing. No stalling."
Talia smirked. "Deal. Try not to die out there, Vex."
As Kalen left the enclave, his mind raced. The tablet was a mystery, but the fact that it was military-grade only confirmed his suspicions. This wasn't just about Lazrik. Someone bigger was pulling strings, and if Kalen wasn't careful, he'd end up caught in the crossfire.
Hours later, Kalen crouched behind a stack of shipping crates in the northern docks, his eyes fixed on the power core nestled in a cargo container. Lazrik's men patrolled the area, their weapons gleaming under the harsh overhead lights.
Kalen took a deep breath, his fingers brushing the hilt of his knife. He couldn't afford a direct confrontation—not here, not now. He'd have to do what he did best: move quietly, strike fast, and disappear.
As he crept closer, a voice crackled over one of the mercenaries' comms. "Keep an eye out. There's been chatter about a kid poking around Sector Nine."
Kalen froze. His heart pounded as he realized the warning was about him.
This wasn't going to be easy. But then again, nothing ever was on the Reach.
With one final glance at the mercenaries, Kalen tightened his grip on his weapon and moved.