Somewhere in Earth Middle of the Night

In the neon-lit heart of the city where Leviathan Industries thrived, chaos reigned within the walls of the Red Viper Tavern. The massive glowing sign above its entrance pulsed erratically, reflecting the untamed energy inside. The futuristic establishment was alive with a cacophony of noise. The clash of mugs, drunken laughter, shouted insults, and the occasional thud of fists meeting faces. Patrons crowded the dimly lit interior, their shadows flickering against walls covered with holo-ads and scrawled graffiti.

The bartender, an older man with a mechanical arm and a permanent scowl, shouted over the noise, his voice barely audible. “Enough you bastards! Take it outside before you trash my place!”

But the din only grew louder, drowning him out completely. A fistfight erupted near the center of the room, sending chairs tumbling and spilling drinks across the stained floor. Several patrons cheered the brawl on, others turned back to their drinks, uninterested.

Amid the pandemonium, a hooded figure slipped quietly through the entrance, unnoticed. Cloaked in a long, nondescript robe, Ronan Vale moved with practiced ease, navigating through the chaos without drawing attention. He kept his hood low, obscuring his face from the tavern’s many security cameras. Ronan wasn’t here to drink or join the revelry. His purpose was far more precise.

Toward the back of the tavern, the chaos ebbed. A heavy metal gate separated the general patrons from a more controlled section. The work area. This space was reserved for those in the mercenary trade. People who valued privacy and professionalism. It was quieter here, the hum of conversation replacing the shouts and crashes from the main hall. Some of the mercenaries glanced at Ronan as he entered, their eyes sharp and assessing. Most ignored him, returning to their discussions or weapon maintenance.

Ronan moved with deliberate steps toward the massive gate at the far end of the work area. Two towering bodyguards flanked it, each one clad in heavy armor and equipped with plasma rifles that hummed faintly in the dim light. They eyed him with suspicion as he approached.

“Stop.” one of them growled, stepping forward. “This area’s restricted. Turn around.”

Without a word, Ronan reached into his robe and produced a small card. The insignia on it shimmered faintly, a black serpent coiled around a sword. The sight of it made both guards stiffen, their expressions shifting to wariness. They exchanged a glance, then stepped aside, allowing Ronan to pass.

The gate creaked open, revealing another workroom. This one was far more organized, exuding an air of deadly precision. Unlike the rowdier mercenaries outside, the individuals here radiated professionalism. Their gear was polished and advanced, their conversations quiet and purposeful. These were not common thugs. These were killers, tacticians, and operators. The best money could buy.

Ronan scanned the room, his eyes searching for a specific face. It didn’t take long to find her.

Seated at a corner table was Seren Veyra. One of the most sought-after mercenaries in the sector. Her piercing gray eyes darted between the data streaming across a small holographic interface in front of her. Her dark, shoulder-length hair framed a face marked by a thin scar that ran from her temple to her cheekbone—a reminder of a past contract gone awry. Seren wore lightweight combat armor customized for both mobility and protection, its dark surface etched with faint, intricate designs.

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Seren had carved a name for herself over the years, earning a reputation as a tactical genius and a relentless operator. She specialized in covert extractions, high-stakes sabotage, and operations where failure wasn’t an option. Her success had made her both respected and feared in equal measure.

Ronan approached her table, his movements measured. Seren glanced up as he neared, her expression cool but curious. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms.

“You’ve got five seconds to explain why you’re here before I lose interest.” Seren said, her tone even but edged with warning.

Ronan pulled back his hood, revealing his sharp features and well-groomed appearance. “The name’s Elias Vaughn.” he said, using the alias he had prepared. “I represent a client with a job that requires discretion, precision, and... flexibility.”

Seren raised an eyebrow, motioning for him to continue. Ronan slid into the seat across from her, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

“My client needs a team to travel to a remote colony to infiltrate an ongoing operation and extract sensitive information. The job may also require asset retrieval or... containment should the situation escalate.”

Seren regarded him carefully, her mind already piecing together the possibilities. “Sounds like you’re leaving out some details.”

“Details will come once you accept.” Ronan replied smoothly. He slid a data pad across the table, its screen displaying a set of numbers. “But I think you’ll find the compensation more than adequate.”

Seren glanced at the figure displayed and let out a low whistle. “Well, aren’t you generous.” she said, though her tone was laced with sarcasm. “What’s the catch?”

“Let’s just say you’ll be dealing with some high-level opposition. Think corporate.” Ronan said.

That piqued Seren’s interest. Corporate jobs were always messy, but the rewards often justified the risks. She considered for a moment, then nodded.

“I’ll need my crew.” Seren said. “We don’t do solo ops for jobs this big.”

“Understood.” Ronan said, standing. “Be ready to leave within twenty-four hours. You’ll receive the full briefing enroute.”

Seren smirked. “We’ll be ready. But if you’re lying about anything, Vaughn, you won’t live to regret it.”

Ronan smiled faintly. “I never lie about money.”

Somewhere Else

Back on Helios-3, the infirmary was quiet, Except for the faint hum of medical equipment. Finn stirred in his bed, his head throbbing as he woke. His memories were hazy at first, the crater, the pillar, the fall. But, they slowly came into focus. He reached up, touching the bandage on his forehead, wincing as his fingers brushed the tender wound.

He sat up slowly, glancing around the dimly lit room. The events of the day weighed heavily on him, but before he could process them fully, a voice broke through the silence.

“Awake at last.”

Finn froze, his heart pounding as he turned toward the source of the voice. Standing beside his bed, shrouded in the faint shadows of the infirmary, was the Flesh God. Its mummified form was grotesque yet strangely compelling, its hollow eye locked onto Finn’s with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Who... what are you?” Finn stammered, his voice trembling.

The Flesh God tilted its head slightly, its movements unnervingly fluid. “Calm yourself. I mean you no harm.”

Finn’s instincts screamed otherwise. But the being’s voice carried an oddly soothing cadence. “You didn’t answer my question.” Finn said, his voice firmer this time.

The Flesh God chuckled softly, a sound like dry leaves rustling. “I am... an observer. Bound to this place by forces you cannot comprehend. You, however, have given me something precious. A connection to the world beyond my prison.”

Finn’s hand instinctively went to the bandage on his forehead. “The blood...”

“Yes.” the Flesh God said, its voice almost reverent. “A thread of vitality. Through you, I can glimpse the world outside once more.”

Finn’s unease deepened, but curiosity tempered his fear. “What do you want from me?”

“For now? Only your questions.” the Flesh God said. “Ask them. One by one. We have the rest of the night.”