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The Heist

The Heist

It was unlike anything else. Some might disagree, knowing there were 3,000 SCM-12 Jump Freighters scattered across the galaxy. The differences were minor—slight modifications to the warp drive, a few scuffs from years of use—but the one distinction that mattered was me. I shouldn’t have been here. I shouldn’t have been sitting at the controls of the Mammut. There should’ve been over a dozen security measures preventing me from even stepping foot on this ship.

But here I was, defying every “should” that existed.

Getting to the shipyards that orbited the planet hadn’t been difficult. Tourists were common, and with a friend of a friend getting me tickets, no one would’ve thought twice about my presence. But what happened next? That would make them reconsider.

You see, I, Flicker Wick, had been scoping out the Mammut for years. The only reason I was able to get anywhere near the freighter was that it was being decommissioned. Once it was broken down, its parts would be used to keep other freighters barely functional. Saving the corporations that used them money.

The Mammut was an old girl, one of the first in the fleet of SCM-12 Jump Freighters. Built for hauling cargo across vast stretches of space, her design was fascinating, almost comforting. It wasn’t just about transporting goods—it was about enduring. Her hull, scarred from years of service, told a story of resilience. But in the eyes of the galaxy, she was just another freighter. Forgotten. Waiting to be dismantled.

But not to me. To me, she was an escape from everything. Freedom and its truest form. I had watched from the shadows for years doing odd jobs here and there, learning the ship’s every nuance. The hum of its warp drive, the creeks of its aging frame. I memorized the schematics, built a network of inside sources, and studied its security protocols. The Mammut, with its outdated systems, had more holes in its defenses than most freighters. And I was damn good at exploiting them.

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By the time the crew left for their final trip, I knew exactly when and where to strike. The decommissioning crew was light—just a couple of techs and security guards—and their attention was elsewhere, distracted by new arrivals and future cargo. I had everything timed to perfection.

Now, I sat in the captain’s chair. The soft glow of the control panels flickered around me, a silent reminder that I was inside the heart of the ship. I should’ve felt something—nervousness, guilt—but I didn’t. All I felt was exhilaration. The kind of high only someone like me could understand.

The ship’s systems hummed as I ran my fingers along the interface. The cockpit lights cast long shadows on the walls. The dashboard, old and retro, felt nostalgic. This was an era when craftsmanship mattered. Simple. Brutal. Functional. I liked it.

I reached for the ignition panel. A soft beep confirmed that the main systems were still active, even at minimal power. I’d already hacked the ship’s maintenance console, bypassing the failsafes. Now it was just a matter of time before I could take her out of dry dock. My heart raced as I connected to the core system.

I glanced at the communications screen. No incoming messages. No red alerts. No shouts of discovery. It was the perfect moment.

Then, the Mammut groaned, her engines coming to life with a deep, almost mournful rumble. A grin spread across my face. It was working. I was really doing it. Flicker Wick, the supposed nobody, was about to make history.

"Let's get this show on the road," I muttered, engaging the auxiliary engines. The ship lurched forward, the dry dock’s protective barriers sliding away. I kept my hands steady on the controls, eyes darting from screen to screen, checking for anything that might go wrong.

But there was a problem. One I hadn’t anticipated.

The outside cameras flickered to life, and a voice crackled over the comms. Distorted, but unmistakable.

“Unauthorized access detected. Initiating lockdown procedures.”

My blood ran cold. The lockdowns weren’t supposed to activate unless the ship was fully operational—and it wasn’t supposed to be operational unless the crew authorized it or, worse, the station AI. It shouldn’t have even seen me. I had studied the AI’s algorithm, how it searched the station for discrepancies. I was sure I’d slipped under its radar.

A cold sweat dripped down my neck. I had minutes—maybe seconds—before the tech crew and guards returned. But I was Flicker Wick. And when the impossible reared its head, that’s when I thrived.

I took a deep breath and swiped through screens, faster than ever. I pulled up the security override protocols, deactivating the automated defenses. Footsteps echoed down the metal floors behind me. They weren’t far off.

This was it.

I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up, but I did know one thing.

I wasn’t going to stay here for another second.

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