High above the Sun's familiar warmth, nestled in the endless void of the Asteroid Belt, Hygiea drifted in quiet defiance.

A colossal, carbon-rich rock, it drifted among the giants of the Asteroid Belt—a forgotten shard of creation suspended between Mars and Jupiter.

Once just a faint point of light in a telescope's lens, Hygiea had transformed into something far more significant: a sanctuary, a labyrinth, and a battleground where desperate hopes clashed with dark ambitions.

Pocked with craters and scarred by millennia of cosmic collisions, its surface revealed nothing of the life concealed within.

Beneath the rugged exterior stretched a sprawling network of tunnels and caverns, carved deep into the asteroid's core by years of quiet industry and cunning hands.

Here, law and order were as distant as the planets Hygiea orbited—a place where survival thrived on bartered secrets and shadowed deals.

Shuddering light bulbs bathed the asteroid’s hollowed core in an uneasy glow.

Shadows danced under the sputtering beams, their distorted shapes writhing as if alive in the gloom.

This was the heart of Hygiea's black market.

A haven for drifters of all kinds—smugglers, exiles, mercenaries, and refugees—drawn together by necessity and chance.

For Nia Caldera, the chaos of Hygiea's black market was more than an opportunity—it was a challenge, a puzzle she was uniquely suited to solve.

Her knack for navigating shadows had earned her the role of Chief of Recruitment for Captain Gaia's forces, a position she'd held for years.

She searched for rare sparks of defiance amid the wreckage of broken loyalties and crumbling ideals, offering them a chance at purpose.

It was a skill she sharpened with every whispered negotiation and every wary glance exchanged.

To her, this wasn't just recruitment—it was reconnaissance.

The air inside the bar hung heavy with smoke and stale alcohol, a blend as murky as the shadowy figures lurking in its far corners.

This was no place for grand speeches or bold declarations.

Here, everything unfolded in the hushed whispers of backroom deals.

At a battered table, Nia leaned forward, her fingers idly tracing slow circles along the rim of her glass.

So, how should I start...

Across from her sat three potential recruits: a former corporate insider who had seen too much, a disgruntled miner with hands still caked in Martian dust, and a refugee soldier whose haunted eyes spoke of battles long past.

Ah, straight to the point. Soldiers rarely have patience for idealism—they’re trained to act, not dream.

Their stares bore into her, heavy with the hope of salvation.

“I won’t lie to you,” Nia began, her voice subdued yet edged with urgency.

“Our mission isn’t easy," Nia paused, making eye contact with each person at the table.

"We’re fighting the largest corporate machines Earth has ever known. But that’s exactly why we need people like you—people who want to make a difference.

"You’ve seen what the elite of Earth and Luna have done—how they hoard resources, leaving the rest of us to rot.”

The miner, a hulking man with calloused hands, frowned. “And what’s castaways like us got to do with it? You think we’re anything more than a speck in their eyes?”

I get it—he’s lived his life being ignored, exploited, and cast aside.

But that’s why he’s exactly who we need.

The ones who’ve suffered the most fight the hardest when given a chance.

Nia allowed herself a small, disarming smile. “That’s where you’re wrong. The Belt isn't just some backwater—it’s a powder keg.

"And with your help, we'll light the fuse to topple Earth’s corrupt grip—and Luna’s oppressive rule along with it.”

The ex-soldier leaned forward, seemingly uninterested in the morale politics at play.

“And what do we get if we join?”

Fair question, though it’s never just about the pay.

As a fighter, he wants assurance that this isn’t a pitch based on idealistic nonsense.

“You will be compensated, provided supplies, and given my assurance that this isn’t just some idealistic folly,” Nia replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “This is a war—one where every fighter counts. And you have the skills to make a real difference.”

The miner's skepticism is written all over his face, but he'll trust the soldier's instincts.

The soldier’s the key. If I can convince him, the miner will follow.

As their conversation deepened, a ripple passed through the room, silencing murmurs and stilling even the bar’s low hum. Nia’s instincts sharpened. Someone of importance had just entered.

“Recruiting soldiers in my Belt, Nia?” The voice cut through the air like silk through steel.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Nia looked up, her eyes narrowing. “Tessandrialyth Vale—or should I say, Tess.”

Tess stood at the entrance, flanked by two operatives. Dressed in sleek, dark attire, she radiated quiet authority, her presence enough to silence even the boldest patrons.

The miner’s voice dropped to a murmur. "What’s the head of the MBMC doing here?”

Tess’s expression softened into a smile as she approached the table, her tone smooth but edged with control. “I’m a little hurt. If you needed help recruiting, I could’ve arranged something more comfortable. Are we no longer allies?”

The recruits exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the tension building between the two women.

Nia leaned back, composed. “Didn’t think I needed permission, Tess. The Belt’s neutrality is its strength, isn’t it?”

Tess’s smile remained, but her eyes sharpened. “Neutrality, yes. But it’s still my Belt. Recruiting without a word? Bad manners. Unless, of course, you’ve decided to go it alone.”

Nia held her gaze, refusing to be baited. “The EFC isn’t here to undermine you. We’re offering a purpose for those looking to change the future. A partnership. Earth and Luna are restless, and when they knock on your door, you may appreciate a few more allies.”

The tension between them was palpable, the room watching as subtle power plays unfolded.

Tess’s expression softened slightly, though her voice held firm. “If you want to stir the waters, best not to cause a storm. Or at least, not without me.”

Nia inclined her head. “Understood. And Administrator Vale, I never planned on stirring anything without you.”

An unspoken truce hovered between them until Nia’s comm device buzzed softly. She glanced at it, reading the message with a furrowed brow.

It was Gaia.

Nia looked back at Tess, her calm mask slipping for a brief moment. “Excuse me, Tess. This will just take a second.”

Turning slightly, she accepted the call. Gaia’s voice came through, tight with urgency.

“Nia, we’ve got a situation.”

Nia listened, her eyes widening as Gaia continued.

“He was piloting an old Earth Titan. He did all that with a Razor?”

Another pause. Then, Gaia dropped the surprise.

“He says he’s from Saturn.”

Nia’s breath caught, and she turned back to Tess, the weight of Gaia’s words settling in. “From Saturn?”

For a moment, everything else faded—the recruits, the power plays, even the low murmurs of the bar. A ripple of astonishment spread through the patrons as a rare, hearty laugh broke the tension.

Nia faced Tess, her voice quiet. “Administrator Vale, Captain Gaia is requesting assistance.”

Tess raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What could my favorite freedom fighter need from me?”

The stakes had shifted, their conversation charged with newfound weight. Both women were now confronted with a situation far more significant than they’d anticipated.

In the dim, sterile heart of the Lunar Intelligence Directorate (LID), screens flickered to life, illuminating tense faces of agents. Lines of code and tactical reports streamed across consoles as they scrambled to analyze the recent assault. Scar’s attack—unexpected and brutal—left a mark they couldn’t ignore.

“Reports of Scar’s assault have heightened activity within the LID, prompting an immediate investigation,” murmured one agent, piecing together data from the field.

Another agent glanced up, his face shadowed with concern. “If Scar’s tactics get out, it could spark rebellion across the Belt, maybe even on Mars. We can’t let it go unchecked.”

In the war room, a large screen displayed grainy footage of the confrontation, showing Scar piloting an ancient Earth Titan—the Razor—its swift, unpredictable maneuvers leaving a dent in Luna’s pride. The team leader, a senior intelligence officer with a reputation for ruthless precision, watched in silence, hands clasped behind his back.

“Scar’s presence in the field is unprecedented,” he said, his low, steady voice cutting through the murmur. “But we need to act, not just observe. Contact House Brimstone—they’ll want to see this.”

Orders rippled out, each agent mobilizing into action. Scar’s assault would be dissected, countered, and ultimately erased from Lunar memory.

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Miles away, news of Scar’s attack echoed through the private comm channels of House Brimstone. Engineers, strategists, and military advisors gathered in a sleek, polished chamber, voices laced with thinly veiled indignation and intrigue. For House Brimstone, Luna’s pride in military innovation, Scar’s actions were both a challenge and an opportunity.

At the head of the table, Lord Kaelar Brimstone sat stone-faced, his hand resting on the hilt of a prototype energy saber—a silent testament to his commitment to Luna’s martial superiority. With a wave, he commanded silence, and the room fell still.

“Scar’s reported assault on Lunar forces has stirred both embarrassment and opportunity for us,” he began, his voice echoing through the chamber. “An Earth Titan—a Razor, no less—made a mockery of our forces. This isn’t just a breach. It’s a challenge.”

One of his advisors, a sharp-eyed woman in charge of weapons development, leaned forward. “If he can exploit our weaknesses, others might too. We need countermeasures—and fast.”

Lord Kaelar’s gaze hardened, a flicker of ambition igniting in his eyes. “Then we’ll create them. I want prototypes that can outmaneuver any Earth relic he throws at us. Surveillance systems that track and predict his every move. And I want it done yesterday.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the room as engineers and strategists took note. Scar’s tactics would serve as a blueprint—not only to reinforce their arsenal but to ensure that House Brimstone would never again be caught off guard.

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At HawkSight Academy, the effects of Scar’s assault were felt differently. HawkSight’s elite instructors saw his unconventional methods as both a warning and an opportunity to evolve. In the Academy’s command center, simulations were reconfigured and new tactical scenarios inspired by Scar’s maneuvers integrated into the curriculum. The holographic map of the training grounds buzzed with red markers—a reminder of Scar’s audacity.

HawkSight’s Chief Instructor, a seasoned veteran known for forging warriors from raw recruits, addressed his team in the Academy’s briefing room.

“Scar’s assault has given us something unexpected—a chance to learn,” he began, his voice hard with resolve. “His tactics, though outdated, exploited weaknesses in our protocols. From now on, cadets will be drilled in improvisation, leveraging unconventional maneuvers in high-stakes situations. We’ll be prepared for anything—or anyone—who tries to surprise us.”

The instructors nodded, a grim resolve in their faces. HawkSight Academy would adapt, ensuring that every cadet who passed through its gates could counter any threat, no matter how unorthodox.

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Meanwhile, in the grand halls of House Qilin, a council meeting had devolved into tense whispers. House Qilin, responsible for overseeing Luna’s vast resources, saw Scar’s assault as a threat to resource security, a potential disruptor to Luna’s power structure.

The head of House Qilin, a stoic woman known for her sharp judgment, tapped her fingers on the polished table, commanding the attention of her council.

“Scar’s assault raises issues beyond military concerns,” she announced. “If he or anyone like him targets our mining sites, it could spell disaster.”

A younger council member with a background in logistics nodded. “Our sites are vulnerable. One incursion could disrupt Helium-3 production, setting us back by weeks, maybe months.”

The woman’s gaze turned steely. “We won’t let that happen. I propose enhanced security at all key locations. Send word to House Brimstone—we need their prototypes on-site as soon as they’re operational.”

The council members exchanged tense glances but nodded in agreement. Scar’s attack had struck deeper than anticipated, and they would meet it with fortified defenses.

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Across Luna’s surface, a new message pulsed through public channels. The nobility, wary of potential unrest inspired by Scar’s actions, launched a public relations campaign to reinforce Luna’s strength and unity. In gleaming towers overlooking fortified cities, billboards and holo-displays shimmered with images of Lunar heroes, past victories, and tales of loyalty.

A voiceover, deep and commanding, reverberated through the plaza, recounting stories of Lunar soldiers holding the line against impossible odds, technological marvels born from sacrifice, and the unity binding Luna.

“The nobility reaffirms Luna’s strength and control,” the voice declared. “We are Luna, inheritors of the stars, and no force can stand against us. Our power is unmatched; our legacy, eternal.”

In the crowd, a young woman scoffed, nudging her friend with a smirk. “So, they’re just going to pretend that guy in the Titan didn’t tear through them?”

Her friend shrugged, casting a wary glance around. “Maybe. But they want us to remember who’s really in control—and that’s not him.”

Others exchanged knowing glances, whispers circulating like sparks through dry kindling. Scar’s assault had become more than an incident; it was a symbol, igniting questions and a quiet, growing sense of defiance.

Within Luna’s silent corridors of power, the nobility could only hope their campaign would succeed. But as Scar’s name circulated, whispered among those who dreamed of freedom, they knew the tremors his actions set off were far from over.