POV: KIRA VARNE

The walk to Zedd’s house felt like dragging lead boots across gravel.

Every crunch underfoot gnawed at Kira’s nerves, filling the silence that clung to the prefab like a thick fog. Usually, there’d be something—faint music leaking out a half-open window, maybe the hum of one of his many projects sparking to life in the garage.

Today? Dead quiet.

Her eyes caught on the garage door, sealed shut and devoid of the usual chaotic sprawl of tools and half-dismantled tech he left lying around like breadcrumbs. The absence hit wrong, even the scrap heap he always swore he’d “get around to” by the side of the garage was cleared out.

First time in the last few months.

“The fuck’s got you locked up this time?” she muttered, half under her breath, the words meant more for the air than anything else. It didn’t help the unease threading into her chest. Z’s fine.

Just being his usual maniac self, probably buried in whatever half-brained genius idea’s taken over this week.

But two weeks since the gala and dead quiet from the gearhead… it just felt odd. Not normal. Even for him.

Kira pushed herself forward, boots crunching against the path until she reached the door. Her hand hovered over the doorbell, hesitation prickling at her fingertips. Stupid. No reason to hesitate. but it was there all the same, the silence from the house bleeding into her own head.

She pressed the bell anyway, the faint buzz breaking the stillness. She waited.

Shifted her weight. Waited longer.

Nothing.

Her jaw tightened. Alright, if he wanted to play it like this—

“Who are you?”

The voice came low, calm, and sharper than glass.

Kira spun on her heel, tension snapping through her body as she scanned for the source. Her gaze landed on a woman standing a few feet away, hands tucked casually into the pockets of an oversized t-shirt. Caramel-skinned, curly hair framing her face in an effortless kind of way that definitely wasn’t. The shirt caught Kira’s attention first—it was big, baggy, familiar in a way she couldn’t shake.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” Kira threw the words back.

“I asked first.” The woman’s tone stayed even, but the steel underneath was impossible to miss.

Kira shifted, crossing her arms as she leaned slightly into her stance, tilting her head. “Yeah, and I don't care. What do you want?”

The woman took a step closer, slow but deliberate, the kind of movement that made you notice every inch of space shrinking between you. “What are you doing here?”

Kira didn’t move, didn’t flinch. The heat in her chest burned brighter as she took a step forward herself, the air between them taut. “Visiting a friend. Why? Not your place.”

The woman’s gaze stayed locked on hers, and for a moment, nothing moved. But Kira caught the flicker in her eyes—protective, territorial. “It kinda is, actually,” the woman said, her voice softening but not losing its weight.

Kira’s lips twitched into a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, yeah? Didn’t know Zedd was giving out keys.”

The woman tilted her head, mirroring Kira’s stance almost perfectly. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Kira looked her over with a tight sneer on her lips. the shirt—the way it hung loose over the woman’s frame like she owned it. The calm, grounded way she stood, like she’d been here long enough to claim it. but what really hit was the look in her eyes.

She broke the silence first, letting her voice carry just enough bite to keep it interesting. “You gonna tell me who you are, or are we just gonna keep circling?”

The woman’s lips twitched, a smile halfway between smug and pissed. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Kira’s jaw tightened. something twisted in her chest, sharper now. Zedd didn’t talk about people—never like this. Never enough to explain… this.

But this wasn’t about him. Not yet. no way in hell was she gonna let anyone else stake their claim. She shrugged, her smirk sharpening as she leaned lazily against the doorframe, as if she had all the time in the world. “You wanna play territorial? Fine. But here’s the thing, sweetheart: I'm not going anywhere.”

The woman’s calm slipped, just for a second. “Neither am i.”

That tension sat there, coiled tight and buzzing, just waiting for one of them to snap first. Kira jabbed at the doorbell hard enough to make the whole thing wobble, then glanced back over her shoulder, smirking sharp. “Hope you’re cool standing out here all day.”

The woman didn’t even blink.

Her jaw ticked, but that was it. Almost as if he was too chill to care or too stupid to know better. Kira couldn’t decide which pissed her off more—the calm, cocky posture or how she just stood there, like the half a foot Kira had on her didn’t even matter.

The woman took a step forward, slow, deliberate. Arms crossed and head tilted. “You always show up where you’re not wanted, or is today special?”

Kira narrowed her eyes, leaning into the edge that came so naturally. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Nah.” The woman’s voice stayed low, steady, cutting. “I'm where I’m supposed to be. You? Not so much.”

That knot Kira had been ignoring in her chest tightened, sharp enough to make her fingers twitch. But she forced her smirk wider, locking her stance. Focus, Varnes. Don’t let her drag you into this. Not worth the rank, not worth the drama.

“Look,” Kira said, keeping her tone calm, measured, just enough bite to let her know who had control here. “I'm not here to trade insults with you, so why don’t you tell me who the hell you are and why you care?”

The woman tilted her head, eyes flicking up and down as if sizing Kira up. She took another step closer, close enough that Kira caught the faint freckles across her nose. “You first.”

Kira exhaled, annoyed, but fine. She flicked on her omnitool with a practiced snap, letting her holo-badge hover there, glowing orange between them. “Lance Corporal Kira Varnes. New Abraham Militia and Security Corps, Special Operations. Watch your tone, civilian.”

The woman blinked, and there it was—just a flicker of hesitation. Kira caught it, though, even as the woman’s face locked down again.

“So, you’re Kira,” the woman said, quieter now.

Kira frowned, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah, I just said that. why?”

The woman’s lips twitched into something halfway between a smirk and a sneer. “You’re the slut who’s been trying to move in on my man, that’s why.”

Kira blinked, caught off guard for half a second. “First of all, what? Second, when?” Her voice dropped, colder now, the sharpness coming through clear. “And third, watch your fucking tone, civilian.”

The woman didn’t flinch as she squared her shoulders, leaning just slightly forward, and her voice came out razor-sharp. “I’m not watching my fucking tone, bitch. Didn’t know the mili was recruiting whores.”

Kira’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together hard enough to hurt. She could feel the heat rushing up the back of her neck, that pulse of anger that wanted to explode right there, but—focus. Focus. “My man?” she mouthed the phrase silently, piecing it together in her head before the realization clicked.

She exhaled sharply, locking eyes with the woman again. “...wait. you’re Nina?”

The woman’s expression flickered, just for a second. Recognition, then defiance. “Yeah, I'm Nina. You’re Kira. and you’re in my fucking way.”

Kira let out a laugh—sharp, cold, just this side of cruel. She dragged her gaze over Nina, slow and deliberate, before shrugging like it wasn’t worth her time. “Wow.”

“What?” Nina snapped, her arms tightening across her chest.

“I dunno.” Kira let the words hang there, dripping with mockery. “I just thought Zedd had better taste.”

Nina’s voice spiked. “You what?” Her hands curled into fists, shoulders twitching.

Kira’s smirk widened, her retort already loading up when the sound of Zedd’s voice cut clean through the tension.

“Hey, if you guys are gonna fight, could you not do it… here?”

Both women turned at once, finding Zedd leaning against the doorway like it was the only thing holding him upright. A lab coat hung limp over a t-shirt that had clearly seen better days, the hem just barely covering the edge of his boxers. Goggles perched lopsided on his forehead, tangled in his hair. He looked like death fucked over, dark circles dragging his face down, and somehow still managed to pull off that lazy smirk.

“Zedd!” Nina’s voice softened, but the tension in her shoulders stayed locked in place.

His eyes flicked to her, the smirk twitching but not quite breaking. “Hey, Neen.”

Then his gaze shifted, landing on Kira, and for the first time in weeks, something real cracked through his exhaustion.

A tired grin.

Not big, not flashy, but enough. “What's up, baby blue?”

Kira’s pulse stumbled, but she shoved it aside, leaning into her default instead—a sharp-edged smirk. “not much, richie. You good?”

Nina didn’t even give him a chance to answer. “I've been worried about you, Zee,” she said, stepping forward as if staking a claim. “You haven’t picked up my holo in weeks.”

Zedd slowly raked a stained hand down his face, the weight in his movements bleeding into his voice. “Yeah... probably ‘cause you haven’t talked to me in months. You told me not to.”

“That was because you were cheating on me,” Nina snapped, her arm swinging up to point directly at Kira. “With her.”

Kira blinked, her hands shooting up instinctively. “Me?” she asked, the word coming out somewhere between confused and insulted.

Zedd let out a low, drawn-out groan, the look on his face making it clear he would love nothing more than to physically push the entire conversation away. “I wasn't. Told you, she’s a friend.”

Nina’s glare didn’t budge, her voice slicing through his words. “I didn't even know you had friends. You don’t like people, why would you have friends?”

Kira tilted her head, struggling not to laugh. “Fair point,” she muttered under her breath.

Zedd snorted faintly, mouth pulling up just enough to match Kira’s expression. “Ouch... but yeah, also fair.”

Nina’s arms crossed, her glare hardening. “And you never even tried to call me back.”

Zedd stared at her, baffled. “...‘cause you said, and I quote, ‘never speak to me again, you fucking dick.’”

Kira’s eyebrows shot up so high they practically hit her hairline. “Wow,” she said, mostly to herself, biting back the laugh bubbling in her throat.

Nina’s tone dropped, quieter now but no less sharp. “That doesn’t mean don’t try.”

Zedd exhaled heavily, running a hand through his already disastrous hair. “...my fault, I guess. Whatever. I don't really care right now.”

Nina scoffed, her sarcasm hitting like a slap. “Wow, so different from usual. What’s the occasion?”

“C’mon…” Zedd groaned again, his voice cracking under the sheer weight of the moment. “You know I don’t mean it like-”

But Nina wasn’t letting up. “No, I mean it. Zedd not caring about something? That's a whole new personality, right there. You’re a stupid, fake, nonchalant—” she broke off mid-sentence, huffing like she might actually explode. “Okay, fine. I’m fine. My fault, too much.” Her face turned downwards in a look that told Kira the woman was actually hurting. “Still, you could’ve at least tried to get back together. Half a year, Zedd. Nothing.”

He sighed, the sound raspy and low as he looked the shorter woman in the eyes. “Neen…”

“No!” She cut in, shaking her head. “Like…, did you even care? Not even a message?”

Zedd pulled a face, something half between a frown and an awkward grimace. “But you said th-”

“Be serious with me right now!” Nina wasn’t having it clearly, judging by her tone and volume as she threw her hands up. “Come the fuck on, Zee! Fucking dead silence is one thing. But then I hear you punch out that creep Connor for me? But you’re also hanging out with her?” She jabbed a thumb in Kira’s face, the blue-haired girl frowning but not flinching. “Mixed messages, what even…”

Zedd’s face twisted up again, before his mouth opened in an odd smile that made Kira frown as she spotted what looked like flecks of blood on his teeth. “Mixed messages… from you. Neen, I like you, but that’s a fuckin’ joke.”

Said woman flinched, shrinking in on herself as she somehow seemed to get even smaller.

The sleep-deprived repairman shook his head and continued with a sigh, “And I didn’t punch Connor for you. If anything, I did that for me.”

“And on my end,” Kira threw her hands up, cutting through the escalating tension. “I just came here to check on him, okay? This feels like a lot.”

Nina’s head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. “You stay out of this. You’re not involved.”

Kira straightened, letting the words hit her and bounce right off. Her tone came out calm, steady, but there was steel under it. “Feeling pretty involved right now.”

The argument spiraled, voices overlapping until Zedd’s patience finally gave out.

Stolen story; please report.

“Shut. Up.”

His voice hit like a hammer, freezing both women mid-sentence. Not loud, not angry, but packed with enough force to clear the air completely.

Zedd dragged both hands through his rat’s nest of hair, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking. “I haven't slept in days, I've got a hundred projects half-finished, and I'm not doing this right now. Both of you, just—go home or something.”

Zedd slumped against the doorframe, the porch light throwing hard shadows over his face. The lab coat draped across his shoulders looked as if it had lost a fight with both a grease fire and a chemistry set. The hollowed-out bruises under his eyes made him look less "burnt out" and more "straight-up haunting the place” and yet those same eyes were wide enough she could notice the fact he wasn’t really blinking.

Kira’s gaze swept over him, cataloging details on autopilot. twitchy fingers half-gripping the doorframe. the slight wobble in his stance, like his legs hadn’t decided whether they wanted to hold him up. His shoulders looked… wrong.

Almost as if they weren’t broad enough anymore, just weighed down by something heavy she couldn’t quite see.

This wasn’t Zedd. Not the version she knew, anyway.

Nina didn’t move, didn’t even flinch.

Her arms stayed crossed so tight against her chest, it was honestly a wonder she hadn’t cracked a rib yet. The tension pouring off her felt sharp enough to cut through steel, and Kira hated how it made her feel like clenching her own fists just to keep from reacting.

“Listen…” Zedd’s voice scraped out rough, as if from the back end of a sandblaster.

He gestured vaguely at the space between the two of them, like he was drawing an invisible line they’d both already crossed. “I appreciate the… uh, energy here—delayed as it might be for one of you—but I'm kind of drowning right now. So can we reschedule this for like… a week? Give or take?”

Kira raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms to match Nina’s stance. “Give or take what?”

His head whipped toward her, and she caught the faintest twitch in his right eye. “I don't know—another week? Blue, y-you gotta cut me some slack. I'm busy.”

“Busy doing what? You're twitching, Zee,” she shot back, voice sharp but not unkind. The edge in it wasn’t just for him. “Whatever the hell you’re doing in there, it’s not worth killing yourself over.”

“Yeah,” Nina added, her voice dripping with suspicion. A half-second later, she sniffed the air, her nose scrunching up. “When was the last time you showered even?” The hell are you doing in there?”

Zedd’s gaze flicked toward Nina, and for half a second, his lips twitched like he was considering something. Then he snorted softly. “W-working my way across the tech tree.”

Kira blinked. “What?”

“Are... are video games lame again in the future?” he deadpanned, voice dry as the gravel under Nina’s boots.

Both of them looked back at him: “What?”

He let out a low laugh, the sound just this side of manic. “Love the stereo, but I haven't slept in… a long time. I'm saying stuff. Just… just give me some space.”

Nina didn’t miss a beat, her voice cutting clean through the weird half-pause that followed. “Are you gonna call me?” the words came out hard, sharp as the glare she leveled at him.

“Are we gonna talk?” Kira added, her tone lighter but laced with an equally pointed undertone.

Zedd’s head tilted back against the doorframe, eyes fluttering shut like they were carrying bricks. “Later,” he muttered, barely audible over the sudden thud of his door slamming shut.

Nina let out a sharp huff, the sound loud enough to echo off the quiet street as she spun on her heel. Her boots hit the pavement hard, each step radiating an irritation that practically burned in the cold air. Kira stayed rooted in place, her arms loosening slightly as she watched the other girl stomp toward her car.

“...hey.” The word slipped out before she could stop herself, low but enough to make Nina hesitate mid-step.

She didn’t turn.

“Nina!” Kira’s voice sharpened, slicing through the space between them.

The shorter woman stopped, exhaling sharply before spinning back around. Her expression was a mix of exasperation and something else Kira couldn’t quite pin down. “What?”

Kira shrugged, keeping her tone lighter, cautious. “Listen… no hard feelings, alright? Me and Zedd… we never did anything. Like, ever. At all.”

Nina’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin, tight line. For a second, Kira thought she might snap again. but instead, Nina’s shoulders dropped just enough to register as something almost… defeated.

“...yeah,” Nina muttered, her tone quieter but no less bitter. “I can tell that now.”

Kira blinked, caught off guard. “So… we’re cool?”

The laugh Nina let out was sharp, bitter, and so quick it almost didn’t sound like one. “Fuck no.”

Kira’s hands slowly dropped to her sides, fists curling for a second before she forced them loose. “Then what the fuck is your problem?”

Nina stepped closer, voice low enough to cut but sharp enough to sting. “Because I've got eyes. I see the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him.” She scoffed, the sound harsh and dismissive. “You were all tough until he showed up, and now suddenly you’re sweet as sugar. Spare me.”

Kira bit her tongue, heat rising in her chest as the words hung there. She wanted to hit back, to snap something clever or cutting, but nothing came fast enough. Her teeth dug into the inside of her cheek. Screw this.

Nina’s scoff hit again, sharper this time. “So unless you can stop acting like some fucking princess every time he so much as breathes your way... we’re not cool.”

The jab landed harder than Kira wanted to admit. Her jaw tightened, and she opened her mouth to fire something back—anything—but all that came out was a heavy, exasperated sigh. She threw her hands up. “Jesus…”

Nina shook her head, her expression cold as steel. She didn’t bother looking back as she spun on her heel, her voice just loud enough to carry. “Thought so.”

Kira stayed rooted in place, watching as Nina stomped toward her car. The tension in her chest started to unravel, but not fast enough. The sound of Nina slamming her car door and peeling out onto the street echoed in the silence, fading out as the vehicle went down the road.

The street felt too still now, like even the air didn’t know what to do. Kira let out a slow, shaky breath and ran a hand through her hair, her fingers catching on the tangles she hadn’t bothered to fix that morning.

“What the hell, richie?” she muttered under her breath, her voice tight with frustration that didn’t know where to go.

Her gaze shifted back to Zedd’s closed door. For a moment, the idea of ringing the bell again crossed her mind—forcing him to answer, to explain—but the thought fizzled out almost as fast as it came.

She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and turned away.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The hallways of Militia HQ stretched out in front of her, quiet and empty.

Her boots echoed faintly against the polished floors, each step feeling louder than it had any right to. The faint smell of ozone lingered in the air, biotic discharge, sweat, and whatever burned-out energy fields left behind.

Late enough that most of the recruits were gone, the stillness felt suffocating.

Her thoughts circled back to Nina like a bad song stuck on repeat. Acting like a princess.

The words dug in, humming in the back of her head until she wanted to scream. Her fists clenched at her sides as her pace picked up as she kept walking. It wasn’t just the insult; it was everything under it. The way Nina had thrown it out, like it was fact.

As if she knew something Kira didn’t, like she had some kind of claim.

“Bitch doesn’t know me,” Kira muttered under her breath, jaw tight as she rounded a corner.

The private biotic gym came into view, its reinforced door glowing faintly from the access panel. she didn’t hesitate, her omnitool flickering to life as it scanned her credentials. The door slid open with a soft hiss, the hum of machinery inside welcoming her like an old friend she wasn’t quite ready to see.

the gym wasn’t much, but it worked. bare walls, a handful of reinforced dummies shoved off to one side, and the biotic obstacle course flickering weakly in the corner.

It was functional, sure. Inspiring? Not so much.

Twenty biotics in the entire New Abraham militia, out of an active roster of eight thousand. The numbers weren’t bad compared to most colonies, but they were still low enough to make this place feel like an afterthought. Whatever.

It’d do.

“Perfect,” Kira muttered, stepping inside and letting the door slide shut behind her.

She didn’t waste time.

There was a reinforced dummy near the far wall, its frame dented and battered from years of abuse. Kira exhaled, her breath evening out as she raised one hand. The familiar ripple of biotic energy shimmered across her fingers, a faint violet glow snapping into place as her focus locked on.

“Get over here!”

The Lift field snapped into place, hauling the dummy off the ground like it weighed nothing. It hung there, jerking awkwardly in the air before Kira’s wrist flicked sharp and deliberate. The thing flew across the room, slamming into another target with a hollow thud.

The second dummy toppled over, its metal frame groaning against the floor.

Better.

She moved to the obstacle course next, her steps quick, precise.

Platforms shifted under her boots, the rhythm of dodging and leaping instinctual. Disks hovered ahead, just long enough for her to vault them before snapping out of reach. Biotics flared like muscle memory, pulling targets into her path before she slammed them into the floor with bursts of raw force.

Her breathing picked up, heat burning in her limbs as she vaulted another platform. A holographic target appeared on her left, translucent body flickering just a second too late. Kira lashed out with a throw, the energy field hitting dead-center. The projection shattered into static, pixelated fragments dispersing across the air.

But it still wasn’t enough. Every hit, every motion felt hollow. Like she was trying to fight something that wasn’t really there, something too intangible to break through.

“Effective.”

The voice came clean, steady. Kira froze mid-step, her pulse skipping once before her head snapped toward the doorway.

Lieutenant Adams leaned there like he’d been watching the whole time, arms crossed against his chest. His gaze tracked her movements—not cold exactly, but focused.

She brushed loose strands of blue hair from her face, breathing heavy but leveling out. “Sir.”

Adams pushed off the doorframe, his boots clicking softly as he stepped into the room. His eyes flicked to the dummies, the scorched metal of the course, the faint distortion still hanging in the air from her biotics. “That idiot still missing your hints” he asked, tone dry, “or is this about something else?”

I wish. Kira rolled her eyes, grabbing a towel off the nearby rack. “Just… getting practice in.”

He didn’t move. didn’t look away either, that calm, level expression still pinned on her. “You’ve been here almost every night this week,” he said. His voice dropped slightly, not enough to lose its evenness, but enough to press the words in. “Practice is one thing. whatever this is? It’s starting to look a lot more like avoidance.”

The words hit sharper than she wanted to admit.

Kira stiffened for half a second, then threw the towel onto the bench with more force than necessary. “What do you want me to say? I'm pissed? I’m tired of people acting like they know what’s best for everyone while their own shit’s falling apart?”

Her jaw tightened.

The next words spilled out before she could stop them, heat lacing her voice. “Or maybe i’m just tired of people who can’t say what they fucking want because they think everything has to be some big struggle.”

The echo of her own voice in the empty room dragged too loud, too long.

Adams didn’t flinch.

He never did, the man too controlled with both his body and biotics.

His posture stayed steady, his tone even. “I want you to say whatever’s actually on your mind. For your own good, kid.”

He stepped closer, gaze holding hers like it wasn’t up for debate. “You’re one of the best recruits we’ve got, Varnes. But carrying this much weight around isn’t going to make you better. It’s going to make you sloppy.”

Kira let out a long sigh. She knew that much; biotics was in the head more than anything else, literally and otherwise. She opened her mouth to snap back, to argue, but…as expected, nothing came out.

Because he wasn’t wrong, and that only made it worse.

Her shoulders dipped slightly, the smallest crack in her stance. she looked away, her voice quieter but sharp enough to cut. “It's not about me.”

Adams raised an eyebrow, unbothered by the shift. “From where i’m standing, it’s all about you.”

Kira’s gaze flicked back to him, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “...harsh, sir.”

His lips twitched, almost a smirk but not quite. “I will do my best.” his tone shifted back, firm but lighter. “Now hit the showers. Can’t have you dead on your feet when a real emergency comes up.”

Kira snorted faintly at that, her head shaking as she turned away. “Emergency,” she muttered under her breath, the edge of a smirk ghosting her face. We’re about three weeks off the nearest relay. What emergency?

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

POV: GRA'HAL DRO'KASH

The Blood Tithe thrummed beneath Gra’hal Dro’kash’s boots, a steady rhythm that seeped into his bones. The ship’s hum wasn’t just noise—it was alive, as heated circuits mingled their scent with the musk of the bridge crew, thick and layered, carrying the tang of effort and discipline. His upper eyes fixed on the tactical displays hovering mid-air, scanning the flickering contours of Arkadia IV, while his lower set tracked his subordinates like a predator monitoring its pack.

The planet glowed faintly against the deck’s low light, its holographic lines too smooth, too clean.

A weakling.

No teeth to snarl, no claws to lash out.

The lack of an Alliance garrison painted the picture clear—no shepard to sour the air with their two-eyed defiance, no butcher or savior to twist desperation into something filthy and wrong.

This would be what Elysium wasn’t.

Clean. Precise. Proper.

His lower eyes caught Kranik’s chin—a tilt too high, a sliver of time too long.

Gra’hal’s jaw tightened, the gesture digging into instinct.

Small slights festered if left unchecked. The upper pair stayed fixed on the planetary defense markers, steady and unbroken, but his lower set drilled into Kranik until the officer’s head dipped, the angle corrected to deference. Correct.

The moment passed, balance restored.

“Report,” Gra’hal commanded, his voice a low grind against the steady pulse of the ship. The weight of it cut cleanly through the hum. There was no need to bark when steel could break bone with a whisper.

Kranik straightened, his hands moving over his console with the crispness of someone who’d felt a line and knew not to cross it. “The colony’s defenses are minimal, captain. Two anti-ship batteries, both inactive for several cycles. Majority of militia presence is clustered in the southern quadrant—a training ground. Their response will be slow.”

Gra’hal’s upper eyes flicked across the display, noting the positioning of the batteries and their coverage arcs. His lower eyes narrowed slightly, the thought forming sharp and silent. Two missiles, two graves. The militia was barely worth a mention—largely corporate tools clinging to pay rather than duty.

They’d scatter before they’d stand.

The cost of their failure wouldn’t even scratch the ledger.

“Two batteries,” Gra’hal murmured, the rumble of his voice largely more to himself than the bridge. “One strike to cripple their systems, another to remind them of their place.”

Harrak stood by the weapons console, stance angled just right—head low, shoulders aligned, eyes not daring to meet Gra’hal’s. His movements spoke without need for words. Proper.

“Prepare overload missiles for each battery,” Gra’hal ordered, voice even and finall. “Detonation upon defensive range entry. no excess.”

“Yes, captain,” Harrak replied, his words clipped. He moved with precision, hands already adjusting settings on the console. There was no hesitation, no question.

Gra’hal’s upper eyes swept back to the colony layout as Harrak worked, scanning the lines of infrastructure with clinical ease.

Power hubs, storage clusters, militia points—they unfolded naturally under his gaze, each detail slotting into the larger framework. He absorbed the picture, layer by layer, the potential resistance reduced to raw cost and yield.

“Hmmm.”

Elysium. The scar ran deep, the Shepard a jagged blade twisted in the wound.

A colony of humans, disorganized and underdefended, defying what should have been inevitable. The Blitz had carved its humiliation across the collective pride of the Batarians, a crack in caste and face that never properly healed. Gra’hal’s teeth ground together, the faint bitterness lingering like bile.

This colony would not be another Elysium.

Torfan’s specter lingered next, unbidden but inescapable.

The reek of scorched flesh, the riot of screams—slaves driven to rebel by a chaos that was pure Shepard. Jane Shepard's savagery had reeked of a two-eyed arrogance, unbound and abhorrent.

Hierarchy upended. Caste ignored. Face obliterated.

He pulled himself from the memories as Harrak’s voice punctured the silence, sharp but measured. “Missiles armed and locked, Captain.”

Gra’hal tilted his head just enough to acknowledge him, upper eyes locked on the tactical display while his lower set fixed on Harrak, gauging every flick of movement in the officer’s stance. “Fire.”

The Blood Tithe’s frame rumbled faintly, an energy rippling through its decks that resonated like a pulse. The missiles streaked toward Arkadia IV, leaving faint trails across the holographic display.

Gra’hal’s lower eyes flicked briefly to the Sovereign’s Will and the Iridani Fang, both maintaining perfect formation. Their captains were waiting—silent, compliant. As they should be.

The anti-ship batteries jolted to life on the display, sluggish and erratic.

Poorly maintained. Predictable.

The first overload missile detonated before they could respond, its electromagnetic wave cascading outward, shorting circuits and plunging defenses into stillness. The second missile struck seconds later, its detonation sharp and final.

On the surface, the southern quadrant dimmed, the faint glow of emergency lights struggling against encroaching darkness.

Gra’hal exhaled through his teeth, a faint hiss of satisfaction. His gaze sharpened, tracking every movement of the displays and his crew.

“Begin approach,” he commanded, his voice calm but cutting through the hum of the deck like a blade. “All ships to combat stations.”

The Blood Tithe shifted course, its engines humming with a calculated menace.

Gra’hal’s upper eyes stayed fixed on the colony’s image, now a dull flicker of darkened structures and static defenses, while his lower pair swept the bridge. Officers moved with precision, their roles executed without hesitation.

There was no room for error here.

Face will be restored.

Order will be upheld.