The docks smelled of burnt coolant and scorched metal, a scent that mingled with the faint tang of ozone in the recycled air. Kalen crouched low behind a stack of rusted cargo containers, his eyes locked on the target—a cylindrical power core housed within a reinforced crate. Its faint blue glow pulsed in rhythm with the hum of nearby machinery.
Around it, Lazrik's men patrolled in tight formation, their movements precise and coordinated. There were four of them, each armed with plasma rifles and combat armor that made them look like walking tanks. Kalen gritted his teeth. This was more than he'd anticipated. The core wasn't just important—it was vital. Lazrik wouldn't spare this much firepower for something trivial.
Kalen's mind raced. A direct approach was out of the question. His small frame and blade wouldn't stand a chance against armor and rifles. He needed to draw them out, separate them, and pick them apart piece by piece.
He spotted a control panel near the far wall, connected to the bay's loading mechanisms. It was old tech, built long before Lazrik had claimed this sector. A smile tugged at Kalen's lips. He couldn't outgun them, but he could outthink them.
Kalen darted silently to the panel, keeping low to avoid detection. His fingers flew over the rusted controls, bypassing ancient protocols with the ease of someone who'd spent years scavenging outdated tech. With a final tap, the loading crane above the mercenaries roared to life, its magnetized claw jerking erratically.
The mercenaries spun toward the noise, their rifles raised.
"Report!" barked the leader, a burly man with a jagged scar running across his cheek.
"It's the crane," one of his men replied, scanning the area. "Might be a malfunction."
"Check it out," the leader ordered. "I don't want any surprises."
One of the mercenaries broke off from the group, his weapon raised as he approached the control panel. Kalen pressed himself against the wall, his knife ready. As the man passed, Kalen stepped out of the shadows and struck.
The blade found its mark, sliding cleanly between the gaps in the man's armor. He gasped, his body stiffening before collapsing to the ground. Kalen caught him and dragged him into the shadows, his movements quick and precise.
Three left.
Kalen wiped the blade on his sleeve, his expression cold and focused. This wasn't about survival anymore. It was about control.
Kalen activated the crane again, this time causing the claw to swing violently, knocking over a stack of barrels. The noise echoed through the dock, drawing the attention of the remaining mercenaries.
"Fan out!" the leader barked. "Something's not right."
The two remaining underlings moved in opposite directions, leaving the leader near the crate. Exactly what Kalen wanted.
He followed one of the mercenaries, his steps silent. The man muttered curses under his breath as he scanned the area, his rifle sweeping left and right. Kalen trailed him until the mercenary turned a blind corner. Then, like a viper, Kalen struck.
This time, he didn't use the knife. Instead, he yanked a loose cable from the wall and looped it around the man's throat. The mercenary thrashed, clawing at the cord, but Kalen held firm. His muscles burned as he tightened his grip, his face emotionless.
When the mercenary finally went limp, Kalen let him drop. Two down.
The last underling returned to the leader, his face pale. "Jax and Marlow aren't responding," he said nervously.
"They're dead," the leader replied coldly, scanning the shadows. His hand tightened on his rifle. "Stay close. Whoever's out there, they want the core."
Kalen smirked from his hiding spot. The leader was sharp—sharper than most—but fear was already creeping into his voice. Kalen decided to push him further.
He picked up a loose bolt and hurled it across the dock. It clanged loudly against the metal floor, drawing the men's attention.
"There!" the underling shouted, raising his rifle.
Kalen used the distraction to move closer, slipping behind another stack of crates. He tapped into the control panel on his wrist, activating a nearby maintenance drone. The small, spider-like machine scuttled out of its hiding place, its glowing eyes casting eerie shadows on the walls.
"What the hell is that?" the underling muttered, his finger twitching on the trigger.
"Focus!" the leader snapped, though his voice wavered.
The drone scuttled closer, emitting a series of mechanical whirs. The underling fired, the plasma bolts ricocheting off the drone's metallic body.
While they were distracted, Kalen struck again. He lunged from the shadows, his knife slicing across the underling's throat in one clean motion. The man dropped, his weapon clattering to the ground.
The leader spun, his rifle raised. "Come out, you coward!" he roared. "Face me like a man!"
Kalen stepped into the open, his knife in one hand and the plasma weapon he'd taken from the freelancer in the other. His expression was calm, almost bored, as he faced the towering leader.
"You want the core?" the leader growled. "You'll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands."
Kalen tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "That's the idea."
The leader fired, but Kalen was already moving. He ducked behind a crate as plasma bolts sizzled past him, his mind working faster than his body. He noticed the leader's pattern—how he aimed, how he moved. Calculating. Predictable.
Kalen rolled out from cover, firing the stolen plasma weapon. His shot wasn't meant to hit—it was meant to push the leader back. The man stumbled, his footing faltering, and that was all Kalen needed.
He closed the distance in a flash, his knife flashing upward. The leader blocked with his rifle, the blade scraping against the weapon's casing. The two struggled, their faces inches apart, but Kalen's smaller size gave him an advantage. He slipped under the leader's arm, driving the knife into the gap between his shoulder and chest plate.
The leader roared in pain, dropping his rifle. He staggered back, clutching his wound, but Kalen didn't give him a chance to recover. He stepped forward, his blade finding its mark once more.
The leader fell to his knees, blood pooling around him. He looked up at Kalen, his eyes filled with disbelief.
"You… you're just a kid," he gasped.
Kalen wiped his knife clean, his face cold and unyielding. "Not anymore."
With that, he grabbed the power core and disappeared into the shadows, leaving the dock silent except for the hum of machinery.
Kalen didn't look back. There was no need. The Reach belonged to the strong, and tonight, he'd proven he was one of them.