High above glittering skyscrapers and bustling streets, Jen sat atop the tallest spire gazing pensively down at the city below as ships streamed by in orderly transit lanes overhead. From up here, the capital world of Centauri Prime seemed a model of prosperous order and civilization. But Jen knew the rot festering beneath that shiny facade, having rubbed shoulders with the corrupt forces holding sway on these streets not so long ago. He had profited from their games then, hungry for glory and credits regardless of the cost. Now much had changed for the ex-underworld racing legend - but from this perch, the past felt unsettlingly close at hand. Jen leaned back against an antenna array with a heavy sigh, digits drumming the sleek chrome casing of the new sniper rifle laying across his lap. State-of-the-art, capable of eliminating a target from two clicks away without leaving a trace. An assassin's perfect tool. So why the hesitation? This contract should have been routine work for Jen's deadly skillset. A corporate executive with too many dirty secrets needed disappearing before he could make a deal with the authorities - quick, clean and untraceable. Morality was a luxury Jen had shed long ago in darker days. So why the strange unease at the thought of ending another life through his scope? Shaking his head irritably, Jen glanced at the time display inside his eyepiece - still a few minutes yet until the target was scheduled to exit the tower below. He had a prime vantage point here to catch the businessman alone emerging from the private elevator into the parking hangar. Likely the poor fool's last breaths would be savoring the night air, unaware death watched from above. Part of Jen recoiled, but the ruthless hunter in him pushed on unflinchingly - this was the job, nothing more. His hardened psyche should be untroubled by notions of innocence. Only the contract mattered, and his reputation for flawless fulfillment preceding him. Attachment 7 Yet unease continued gnawing his gut as Jen lay motionless, crosshairs trained unwaveringly on the elevator door far below. He had taken countless lives in his bloody ascent to the top of the professional killing game - what made this one different? Was his infallible focus slipping as age dulled the killer instinct he had honed to razor sharpness over so many cold years? Or was this creeping remorse a sign he should quit these bleak rains altogether while determined purpose was yet left unsmothered? Jen's thoughts turned reluctantly back to the family he had abandoned 2.5 years ago now. Though he had evolved far from that naive father and husband, some faint embers yet smoldered for the smiling child borne of kinder seasons. How old would be his Aurora be now? Still innocent eyes full of joy and wonder at life's daily miracles? Or had harsh lessons changed her too in the yawning years since her mother's embrace last sheltered Jen from the grimmer realities he came to inhabit? Either way she remained forever an ageless ideal in memory, his one tether to who he was before the darkness took hold. Those recollections had no place in this chilling ambush. Jen shook himself mentally. Doubt was a toxin he could not afford with a contract pending. But the voices would not still - memories of Aurora's laughing Contagious spirit, of wise Liya's gentle counsel, tore at long-silenced parts of his soul. If they could see the black-hearted mercenary now perched to kill without hesitation, would any trace flicker of the man they once knew and loved? Or was he gone entirely, body and spirit consumed by the insatiable flames of ego? Had he traded everything for bloody laurels now turned to ash in his mouth? A flicker of light from the tower below caught Jen's eye as the executive's elevator reached the prearranged level right on schedule. This was it - one long breath and gentle squeeze and the target would slump silently to enrich the earth while Jen vanished untraceable as a wraith. No one would ever connect the distant crack through thick glass to the slumped corpse bleeding out on sleek concrete. He tuned his audio implants, breaths measured to deadly slow rhythm. It was just another job, a means to an end. Nothing else mattered, least of all the dark stains spreading relentlessly across Jen's bartered soul. His finger tensed instinctively on the trigger as elevator doors slid open... With blurring speed, Jen swung the rifle sight up and right, finger tightening before doubts could intervene again. The thunderous shot seemed to shake the city's foundations through his enhanced auditory sensors. For a heart-stopping instant, Jen was back behind the grips of an uncontrollable star-racer, instincts alone guiding his path through searing plasma. Then the moment passed, leaving only smoldering adrenaline and the reek of seared metal. Peering through the scope, Jen saw his shot had cleanly eliminated the rooftop cooling unit instead of the intended human target. A malfunction completely untraceable to his gun, but ruinous nonetheless for any sniper plans. The hyper-heated condenser would make any perch atop this tower untenable for days until repairs could be made. Time enough for regrets to settle and that troublesome loose end to find safer pastures off-world away from former cronies with sinister designs. Much easier for all if ghosts remain buried instead of summoned. Jen stowed the rifle and grappling gear swiftly and made his exit before security drones were dispatched to the ruined equipment. He left no trace save swirling steel vapors marking one deadly contract unfulfilled. Descending to street level cloaked and hooded, Jen slipped unseen through the familiar sinuous alleys toward the spaceport tunnel. He always kept an escape craft prepped for quick exits as his old racing instincts demanded. Many in this city's underworld would be enraged at the lost payday, but their wrath held no sway over him now. There were always more creds to chase among the Outer Verge's less scrupulous factions. But departing the neon-stained metropolis behind, Jen realized his path lay along another bearing from here on. He had turned down irrevocably from the highStyled life of a sleekly ruthless guns-for-hire. That road ended only in slow-spiraling degradation, each day's dark deeds weighing heavier than the last while hard-won fortune brought no real solace. Perhaps his family's memories shone within after all, a distant beacon through the gathering void that had nearly swallowed Jen's compromised spirit. Setting course for the frontier worlds spinning slowly through drawn-out seasons unburdened by high technology's churning demands, Jen turned his gaze firmly from the receding city. That haunted existence was behind him, left to become just one more ephemeral lawless legend passed between admiring thieves in the neon-washed night while newer and more terrible shadowlords arose to claim their own infamy. The Jen they invoked to prove their mettle was gone, faded into twilight along with the cold credits and colder hearts that had fettered him. What lay ahead now was uncertain, but the stars called irresistibly. Out there among the scattered colonies reigniting humanity's questing spirit, Jen might yet find a flicker of possible redemption through simple deeds. His apt hands could build, not just destroy, and lost talents of creation be reawakened far from the cynics who had praised his cruelty. All was not yet silenced inside, no matter how deeply buried. But reaching that faint promise would require traversing many harsh leagues and sacrifices, shedding arrogance and weaponry alike. Jen had never shunned adversity, but to embrace hardship now for principle instead of glory felt novel, even naively idealistic. Yet his jaded heart stirred with an emotion long forgotten - hope. So let Jen vanish from the throats where his name had been invincibly proclaimed not so long ago. Let his passing from prominence be mourned only briefly before hungers turned toward fresh notorious champions. For better or worse, that fleeting age now died away behind, its bitter pyrrhic fruits fully tasted at last. What lay ahead remained unknown, but the stars called on beckoning. Their patient beacons had guided travelers since the first eyes gazed up in wonder from simple shelters that held enduring love close through the cold endless night. Not all paths were forever closed while life yet quickened mind and limb. The sleeping spirit might waken to better possibilities before the last embers cooled. Setting course toward the frontier's forgotten edges, Jen turned his gaze from opulent high-civilization already fading to bittersweet memory. What lay ahead held no certainties, but he would face it alone and unafraid. Jen piloted his sleek shuttle into the dusty spaceport on the frontier world of Caldor V, an isolated planet off the major hyperlanes. Stepping off onto cracked concrete, he drew his cloak tightly to avoid the inquisitive stares from a rough crowd. Anonymity was his ally now that former lives were behind him. The nondescript clothes and blaster concealed beneath his poncho marked Jen as just another drifter here, nothing more. He made his way warily through gritty streets lined by prefab barracks and supply depots. The raw colony was expanding rapidly to extract resources for Centauri Prime's insatiable markets, human lives valued only for their labor. Watching haggard workers trudge obliviously past, Jen was reminded there were countless ways to exploit the vulnerable beyond his former criminal trades. Suffering bred suffering wherever the powerful grew blinded by greed. Jen bypassed crowded watering holes where prospectors drank away their dangerous days in sullen misery. He had no desire to mingle with the desperate souls here chasing fantasies of the good life awaiting back on "civilized" worlds after fortunes were made. Jen sought something quieter than this anonymous squalor - a place removed where new purpose might seed despite the trampled barren soil. On the outskirts beyond government oversight and amenities, Jen found a dilapidated shelter tucked behind sagging metal sheds. The previous tenant was unlikely to return from a mishap in the deep mines. It was the perfect hideaway to begin grappling with his existential reckoning undisclosed. Over the ensuing weeks, Jen adjusted to the spartan life, finding refuge in its simplicity. He repaired and fortified the shack, planted a small garden, fixed salvaged tools and tech to sell in town for essentials. It was amazing how quickly pride in such humble accomplishments returned after so long pursuing only adrenaline, power and notoriety. Each day left him wearily fulfilled rather than desperate for fresh excesses. But old habits came creeping back in idle moments - twitching for a thrill, hungering for distractions, demonic whispers promising he could not change. Temptation brewed constantly around him. Jen resisted, but chaining his monstrous past felt like containing a ravenous beast with fraying bonds. He had not yet found meaning strong enough to lift this albatross. So Jen clung on day to day, trying to smother vices that might reignite if given the slightest spark. Keeping his head down and finding honest work proved difficult at first thanks to Jen's menacing aura that broadcast danger like a beacon. The decent folks of Caldor V wanted nothing to do with the brooding newcomer who skulked around the trade quarter's fringes. But Jen's persistence eventually found an elderly shopkeeper willing to overlook shadows in his gaze for able hands assisting customers and unloading stock. Small steps on the road to credibility. The humble work kept Jen's mind focused, even if doubts plagued restless nights. Was this subsistence living just another escapist distraction? He dared not hope darkened stains on his soul might be cleansed through meek obedience now after so much wanton transgression. But this hardscrabble colony depended on faith and fellowship, not judging new arrivals on past sins if they contributed earnestly. So Jen persisted putting his imposing strength to tasks benefiting the struggling community, earning trust in time through steadfast reliability. With grudging introductions came chances at larger ventures - guarding miners' payloads from thieves, providing security on remote expeditions, repelling raids by indigenous tribes beyond colony walls. Violence still stalked Jen's measure, but wielded now with principle against lawlessness, not propagating it. That crucial difference kindled a sense of honor fast forgotten under neon Sybaris nights. Here each small contribution might nurture life, not take it casually. No longer did Jen stand above as judge but labored alongside imperfect kin however checkered their past trails.

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