Fireworks burst in dazzling colours across the Andromedan sky, casting a radiant glow against the distant gas giant and its shimmering rings. Below, a marbled mansion buzzed with lively activity; guests mingled and danced as a private jazz band played smooth, enchanting melodies.
At the centre, a crowd encircled a richly decorated stage, where an array of exquisite artefacts was on display. A man stepped forward to the microphone, holding a sheet of paper with practised ease.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we present for auction a two-thousand-year-old painting of the Zenith system. The starting bid is five hundred thousand Marks,” he declared.
Across the room, a man in a sharply tailored white suit, accented with black and gold, moved through the crowd with effortless grace. A cigar was casually clenched between his fingers, and a roguish grin curved his lips as he engaged with various guests.
“Hope you’re enjoying the evening,” he said, flashing a charismatic smile.
As the man in the white suit strolled down the hallway, he spotted a couple standing near a grand window. With a sly grin, he approached them, his cigar dangling from his fingertips.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” he said mischievously. “You two look like you could conquer the universe.”
The man in the black suit raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Thanks, mate.”
“You seem new around here,” the man in the white suit continued, taking a slow drag from his cigar. “Where are you from?”
“From Rhodon,” the black-suited man replied.
“Ah, a Rhodosian.” The man’s eyes lit up with interest. “Wonderful planet, beautiful beaches, plenty of casinos. Are you an estate owner?”
“Nah, just a trader,” he replied with a casual shrug. “Been to quite a few places.”
The white-suited man’s enthusiasm dimmed slightly. “I see.”
Turning his attention to the woman beside him, he leaned in with a charming smile. “And who might this beauty be?”
“She’s... my wife,” the black-suited man said, shifting uncomfortably.
The white-suited man's smile widened as he leaned closer to the woman. “And what do you have to say for yourself, pumpkin?”
The black-suited man stepped in, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “She’s not much for talking. I’d suggest giving her a bit of space.”
“Right, right,” the man in the white suit said, stepping back with a polite nod, his expression softening. “My apologies.”
Across the hallway, a butler approached the man in the white suit, his posture formal and respectful.
“Sir, there’s a visitor here to see you,” the butler announced.
The man in the white suit, visibly irritated, waved a dismissive hand. “What do they want? An autograph?”
“She appears to be a member of the Collective, sir,” the butler clarified.
The man’s expression shifted as he replied, “I see. Take me to her.”
The butler guided him through the opulent halls and intricate corridors of the mansion until they reached a lavishly decorated room. There, an elegant woman stood poised, draped in a sumptuous dress and a luxurious fur scarf.
“Jeremiah Pikeman, enjoying your evening?” she asked, her tone smooth yet slightly icy.
“Miss Waller,” he replied with a courteous nod, a smirk playing on his lips. “The Treasure Duchess herself. Please, call me Jerry.” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Can’t resist my parties, eh?”
“Hmm,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “Normally, the Collective wouldn’t condone such events.”
“And yet, here you are,” Jerry remarked as he walked across the room. “You know, I thought you were supposed to be chasing after that secret mumbo-jumbo project. What brings you here, Hellen?”
“You have something that belongs to the Collective,” she said, her voice firm.
“And which one would that be?” Jerry’s smirk widened as he leaned slightly forward, his hand casually tucked into his pocket.
“Don’t play coy, Mr. Pikeman. You know very well its significance,” she replied, her tone sharp.
“I’d love to sell it to you, sweet pea,” he said with a sly smile, taking a slow drag from his cigar. Smoke curled around him as he leaned back. “But you’ll have to deal with the other patrons first. What's your bid?”
“A full pardon,” she offered. “You will be granted full membership into the Directorates, and any crimes committed against the Eulin and Volkin Governments will be permanently erased from records.”
Jerry laughed heartily and genuinely. “Ha! That’s quite an offer. For someone in the Collective, you sure know how to make a bargain.”
“We all have our skills, Mr. Pikeman,” she said with a knowing smile.
Jerry’s smile widened as he gestured toward the command table with a determined stride, pulling out a sleek radio device. His voice was clear and authoritative as he spoke into it. “Artifact number 451—I want it off the table immediately. And ensure the guests are served complimentary drinks; it's on the house.”
Before the auctioneers could continue, a cracking voice from the announcement radio cut through the murmur of the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re taking a short break. We’ll resume shortly. In the meantime, please enjoy our complimentary Alterrian brandy as a token of appreciation. We hope you continue to enjoy your evening.”
The staff swiftly moved into action as they carefully retrieved the artefact from the stage. A wave of mixed reactions swept through the crowd; some guests looked baffled and confused by the abrupt change in lot order, while others eagerly accepted the free drinks, their attention diverted by the unexpected generosity.
The staff handled the artefact with meticulous care, placing it into a secure, armoured briefcase. As they locked it with a decisive click, security personnel positioned themselves around the stage, creating a discrete barrier to shield the artefact from prying eyes.
Jerry pressed his cigar into the ashtray, extinguishing it with a deliberate motion. He turned toward the woman, confidence radiating from his posture as he gestured to the monitor showing live footage of the artefact being securely transported. “Good as yours,” he said, offering a self-assured smile. “Why don’t you and I take a break tonight? All this chasing can be quite exhausting.”
“Is that confidence, Mr. Pikeman?” she replied, her expression remaining cold and unimpressed. “I wouldn’t let my guard down if I were you.”
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Jerry chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Relax. You're looking at the best thief-proof security this galaxy has to offer. Spared no expense. Handpicked the most ruthless guards and advanced sensors—every inch of this place is locked down tight. No one’s getting near that briefcase.”
Before he could continue, the blare of alarms cut through the air, red and yellow lights flashing violently across the room. A voice crackled urgently through the radio.
“Sir! Someone's taken the briefcase!” a staff member yelled in panic.
Jerry’s confident grin faded instantly as he glanced at Miss Waller, who raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “You were saying, Mr. Pikeman?”
***
Chaos erupted in the mansion. Security teams sprinted down corridors, weapons drawn, as they raced to intercept the thieves.
“Sensors and detectors are down,” crackled the voice from their radios. “You’re going in blind. Take extreme caution.”
A squad of five armed guards stormed the area where the heist had occurred, finding four of their comrades already down, their bodies sprawled across the floor. A canister hissed, releasing the last remnants of smoke that filled the hallway.
“There! The one with the briefcase!” one of the guards shouted, opening fire in the general direction of the fleeing figures.
The mansion descended into pandemonium. Guests scrambled to escape as gunshots echoed, smoke and debris clouding the once-opulent corridors.
In the fog, the thieves retaliated, one of them launching a crackling ball of electricity that struck a guard square in the chest, dropping him instantly. More energy projectiles followed as the thieves slipped deeper into the smoke.
The remaining guards moved cautiously through the swirling fog. Without warning, a gunshot echoed, and one of them dropped instantly. Panic gripped the remaining three. They spun around, firing blindly into the mist. Bullets ricocheted, shattering decorations and sending fragments flying. Before they could react, two more guards were taken down with deadly accuracy.
The last guard stood frozen, desperation in his eyes. Clutching his rifle, he unleashed a spray of bullets, laughing maniacally. “Is that all you got?!”
His shots tore through the hall, ripping apart marble and wood. But then, in the blink of an eye, a blade sliced through the fog, striking him between the eyes. His laughter stopped, and he crumpled to the ground, his radio fading to static.
***
Back in the control room, Jerry slammed his fist against the table, fury boiling over as he grabbed the radio. His voice was venomous, seething with rage. “I want every armed bastard at the front of this mansion, now! Block every road, every exit. Bring the tanks, the mechs, the gunships—I don’t care! No one’s leaving here with that briefcase!”
“Already on it, sir!” came the shaky voice of a security staff member. “We’re engaging suspects in Hall B. The response team’s been signalled.”
Jerry’s patience snapped. “When are they going to get here?!”
“Response team’s en route, sir. They're cutting through town now,” the command officer stammered, tracking their progress on a flickering map. “ETA should be—”
Suddenly, the officer's voice was cut off by a sharp clattering of metal overhead. The radio commander's eyes shot upward, his instincts kicking in. There was movement in the air vents, a faint tapping of metal on metal, barely audible. Without hesitation, he raised his rifle and opened fire along the vent's trail, each shot reverberating in the enclosed room.
“There’s more of them! They’re heading for the power grid!” the commander shouted into the radio just as the lights cut out, plunging the room into darkness. Emergency lights flickered on, casting the room in a red glow.
Jerry cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Son of a bitch!”
A soft, mocking voice cut through the tension. “Need something, Mr. Pikeman?” The Duchess, Hellen Waller, leaned against the wall, her tone playful, a cruel smile tugging at her lips.
“No. No, I’ve got it. Everything is under control,” Jerry insisted, though the twitch in his eye betrayed him.
Hellen chuckled softly, her amusement clear. “You don’t look like you’re in control, darling. Perhaps you need a little demonstration.”
With a sharp snap of her fingers, two shadows peeled away from the corners of the command room, revealing themselves as heavily armoured agents. Their forms shimmered into existence, cloaks deactivating to reveal dark exosuits, helmets adorned with gas masks that filtered their voices into eerie, mechanical tones.
“Mistress,” they said in unison, their voices low and distorted.
Hellen’s eyes gleamed as she addressed them. “Deal with the interlopers.”
The agents gave a curt nod, disappearing back into invisibility as quickly as they had appeared, slipping through the room like ghosts.
Jerry’s jaw dropped, his shock evident. “W-Were they always here?” he stammered, looking at Hellen in disbelief.
The Duchess smiled slyly. “It’s best not to question things, Mr. Pikeman,” she teased, her voice smooth as silk. “Now, I’d suggest we find ourselves some seats. The real show’s about to begin.”
***
The mansion’s hallways erupted into chaos. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkened corridors as security forces exchanged fire with the intruders. The thieves moved through the shadows, eliminating anyone who dared stand in their way.
Perched silently in a dark corner above the fray, a cloaked agent watched the scene unfold. His infrared sensors revealed the culprits: a boy and girl in grey coats, accompanied by a sharply dressed man and woman.
“I’ve got eyes on the Viscounts,” the agent reported, his voice a low metallic rasp through the gas mask.
The suspects pressed forward, blasting their way toward the maintenance hallways, scattering the disoriented security teams. The agent remained motionless, tracking their every move.
“Dagger-2, the Viscounts are on the move,” he reported coldly.
In the shadows, plastic explosives had been discreetly affixed to the walls, their placement precise. A soft beep echoed, followed by the faint glow of a red light. “Copy that, Dagger-1. Guillotine on standby,” came the response over the comms.
The culprits reached the access elevator, oblivious to the unseen gaze following them. As they waited for the lift, their tension eased. They exchanged quiet words, quick sighs escaping, unaware of the danger closing in. The elevator chimed and its doors slid open. As one of them stepped into the kill zone, the agent's lips curled into a sinister grin beneath his mask.
“Executing Guillotine,” he whispered, finger hovering over the detonator.
With a dark chuckle, he pressed down. “Divide and conquer.”
The explosives detonated, obliterating the elevator and sending a massive pile of debris crashing down. The blast split the culprits, trapping them on either side of the wreckage. Dust and smoke filled the air, concealing the agent’s continued surveillance.
Through the haze, his audio sensors picked up muffled conversation between the separated thieves.
“There’s no use, kid. You’ll have to find another way around. Don’t worry about us; we’ll handle these wankers. Take the other access across the hallway. We’ll meet you with the others,” a voice crackled over the radio, barely audible through static.
The agent's masked face remained unreadable as he relayed the intel. “You hearing all this?” he asked, his metallic voice cutting through the radio.
“Loud and clear,” came Hellen’s voice, laced with dark amusement. “Your priority is the girl and the boy. Make sure they’ll never forget this night.”
***
Jerry stormed through the dimly lit halls of the mansion, rallying the scattered security team. “Listen up! We’re moving into the maintenance wing. If you don’t get your asses over there, I’ll shoot you myself!” His voice thundered, echoing off the walls.
As he reached the maintenance lobby, he snatched up his radio, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Patch me through to the response team,” he demanded, his tone clipped. “Where the hell is that backup?”
The radio crackled to life, an audible click signalling the connection. “Where the hell are you people!?” Jerry barked into the device, his impatience boiling over.
“W-We’re—sss—need ASSISTANCE!” The voice crackled through, punctuated by gunfire and terrified screams from the other side. The radio erupted in static, then fell silent.
“What the hell is going on!?” Jerry shouted, panic creeping into his voice.
He barged into the fire exit, making his way up the stairs. “Command, I want that roof locked down. Cover the remaining exits and put the guards on overwatch. We’ve got these bastards corne—”
Suddenly, he collided with a man in a sharp black suit. Without warning, the man threw a punch, sending Jerry crashing backward, rolling down the stairwell for a dozen floors.
“See ya, Sunshine,” the man chuckled, his voice fading into the distance as Jerry tumbled into darkness.
***
On the east side of the maintenance wing, the agent remained hidden, keenly observing the boy and girl as they scrambled toward the room’s last access elevator. The moment they called for the lift, he sprang into action.
With a swift motion, he drew a revolver from his holster, deactivating his cloaking device. He took aim, firing deliberately at the elevator doors, the sharp cracks of gunfire slicing through the air. The sound caught the duo's attention, and they immediately reacted. The boy conjured a magnetic barrier while the girl launched a series of energy projectiles in the agent's direction. He ducked behind cover, unloading his weapon as he sought refuge.
The two unleashed a relentless barrage of energy blasts, trying to pin him down as they awaited the elevator's arrival. Behind his cover, the agent methodically loaded his revolver with special rounds, the gun pulsating with a violet glow as he prepared for his next strike.
An audible chime signalled the elevator's arrival, and the agent's grip tightened around his revolver. The girl moved first, making a break for the exit while the boy maintained their defence.
Realising her intent, the agent swiftly emerged from his hiding spot, firing a shot that struck the girl from behind, piercing through her lower abdomen.
“Sis!” the boy yelled, rushing to aid his sister as he hurled the briefcase into the elevator just in time.
The agent fired again, the bullet piercing the boy's shoulder blade. Both siblings collapsed but managed to stumble into the elevator as the doors slid shut, carrying them upward. The agent lowered his weapon, staring at the closed doors in frustration.
A beep echoed from his radio, and Hellen's voice crackled through. “Status?”
“Escaped. Both injured. Asset not secured,” the agent replied, his tone laced with disappointment.
“That’s enough for now,” Hellen responded, her voice devoid of emotion.
***
The security team reached the mansion's rooftop, their breath visible in the cold night air as they scanned for the thieves. “There they are,” one guard whispered, barely audible.
In the distance, a pair of thieves emerged—injured, limping, and clutching the prized briefcase. They exchanged looks of relief as some tended to their wounds. The head of security quickly signaled his team. In an instant, they formed a tight line, weapons raised, iron sights locking onto the targets. Fingers hovered over triggers, ready to fire.
A faint metallic hum echoed in the distance, growing louder by the second. The guards noticed too late. A missile screamed toward them, detonating with a thunderous explosion that sent them sprawling across the rooftop like rag dolls. Out of the swirling chaos, a sleek, armed dropship decloaked, descending onto the roof to extract the thieves.
The few conscious guards scrambled to respond, only to find their weapons disabled—either jammed or destroyed. Within moments, the dropship lifted off, vanishing into the night, cloaked once more in darkness.
Hellen Waller and a battered Jeremiah Pikeman arrived at the scene, surveying the carnage as their eyes drifted toward the now-empty sky.
Jerry, visibly shaken and furious, took in the wreckage of his mansion. “Who the hell were they? Who the hell were those people?” he shouted, his voice thick with frustration.
Hellen let out a soft, amused chuckle, her eyes gleaming. “They are one of humanity’s ancient enemies, Mr. Pikeman,” she replied, lighting her personal smoking pipe and taking a slow, deliberate drag. “The PEREN Imperials.”