The control room was tense, a low hum of machinery punctuated by the hurried footsteps of crew members. The captain of the land wagon, Joe, sat in a locked room nearby under guard, detained on Michel's direct orders. Regret painted his face as he leaned against the wall, his head hanging low, replaying the choices that had led him here.
In the control room, Michel stood over the main console, scanning the distance markers on the screen. His sharp gaze locked onto the Dumayar ships, which were hurtling toward them like a pack of hunting wolves.
"They're coming straight for us, as expected," Michel said, his voice steady but firm. He turned to the second mate, who was busy at his station. "Earlier, the captain mentioned mercenaries assisting with the defense of this land wagon. Can you summon them?"
"Aye, sir!" the second mate replied briskly. "The leader of the mercenaries should already be on his way. The alarm would have reached them by now."
An insistent knock echoed through the control room, cutting through the air like a challenge. Michel motioned for one of the patrolmen to open the door.
As the door swung open, an imposing figure stepped through. The man was a mountain of muscle, clad in a leather jacket that bore the scuffs and scars of countless battles. Gray hair framed his face, and a deep scar ran down his cheek like a badge of survival. On his hips rested two oversized pistols, and his heavy leather boots thudded ominously against the floor. Two companions flanked him: a brown-haired woman with a calculating gaze and a wiry man who seemed more shadow than substance.
The mercenary's sharp eyes scanned the room, noting the absence of the captain. His voice was a low growl. "An alarm at this hour? Where's Joe?"
Michel met his glare without flinching. "Captain Joe is detained under suspicion of irregular dealings with the Dumayar. I'm taking command of this operation."
The mercenary's expression twisted into a sneer. "You? Take command? Listen, whoever you are, I don't answer to usurpers. I've got a contract with Joe, and that's who I take orders from. Not some bureaucrat who fancies himself in charge."
Michel crossed his arms. "You're Albert, correct?"
The mercenary gave a curt nod.
"Good. Then let me make one thing clear," Michel continued. "This land wagon is transporting Corium—one of the most volatile and rare substances known. That makes it Federation property, and I'm the Federation's representative here. You know what happens to those caught smuggling Corium without authorization, don't you?"
Albert's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"A death sentence," Michel said, letting the words hang heavy in the air. "I can see you're a practical man. Help me ensure the safety of this cargo and the people on board, and I'll see to it that your cooperation is taken into account."
Albert's scarred face cracked into a grin. "You drive a hard bargain, Captain Michel. Fine. I'll play along—for now. But don't expect me to stick my neck out without reason."
----
Meanwhile, in the land wagon's cargo hold, tension simmered just below the surface. Prince Andrea and his team stood at the center of a standoff with a group of cloaked figures, their weapons gleaming under the dim lighting.
"You don't belong here, my prince," one of the cloaked men said, his voice calm but menacing. "This isn't your fight. Return to your castle in the north before you get yourself killed."
Andrea's chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, his crest catching the faint glow of the cargo lights. "You know me, then. If you recognize who I am, you should know better than to speak so disrespectfully. Tell me the truth about this cargo."
The cloaked man chuckled darkly. "We're professionals, your highness. Our contract forbids us from spilling details. But I'll say this much—you don't want to be here when this all goes south. Walk away while you still can."
Andrea's eyes burned with resolve. "I won't be dismissed like some commoner. Speak, or face the consequences."
The man's grin faded. "You leave me no choice."
Andrea glanced at Roy, his most trusted ally, and gave a subtle nod.
"Understood, my prince," Roy said quietly.
A hiss of pressurized gas filled the air, and suddenly, smoke billowed out from small canisters Andrea's men had scattered moments before. The cloaked men, caught off guard, opened fire blindly into the haze. Bullets ricocheted off metal crates, the sound echoing through the hold like a chaotic symphony.
Andrea and his men moved swiftly, taking cover behind large containers and returning fire with precision. Despite the cacophony, Andrea's thoughts remained clear.
"Stop firing, you fools!" the leader of the cloaked men bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "You'll hit the Corium! Do you want to blow us all to hell?"
The gunfire ceased abruptly, replaced by a tense silence punctuated by the hiss of dissipating smoke.
Andrea stepped forward, his weapon trained on the leader. "Now, you'll tell me who you're working for and what this cargo is really about."
The cloaked leader raised his hands slightly, his posture rigid but unyielding. "You think you have the upper hand, Prince Andrea? You don't. This cargo isn't just rare—it's dangerous. Far more dangerous than you realize."
"Enlighten me," Andrea demanded.
The cloaked leader smirked. "Corium."
Andrea's eyes widened. Corium—an element so rare and powerful it could tip the balance of nations—was being smuggled through the lands under his kingdom's protection. Fury surged within him.
"Who is your client?" Andrea pressed, his voice sharp as a blade.
The leader's smirk didn't waver. "Soon, they'll come to collect it themselves. You can ask them directly. My job is to make sure this cargo stays intact until then."
Roy stepped forward, his usual calm replaced with grim determination. In his hand, he held a detonator. The cloaked men froze, their faces paling.
"You wouldn't dare," the leader hissed.
"Oh, I would," Roy replied with a cold grin, his thumb hovering over the trigger. "Now, let's renegotiate who has the upper hand."