FOREMAN: "Follow me to the office. The crew can handle the prep work."
He led them away from the roaring saws to a modular office unit perched at the edge of the clearing. Inside, it was organized chaos blueprint rolls, sample boards, and the rich smell of treated timber.
"Now, you said village rebuild. Standard package uses organic lumber good, honest wood. Then you got your upgrades." He slapped three sample boards onto the desk. "Rubberwood treated for impact dispersion. Bullet-resistant, not proof. Then Colorwood stain-sealed, repels sand-rot and UV fade. Holds paint like a dream."
(He slid a laminated catalog toward Veyra.)
"And then there's Ironwood. That's a different beast. Hard as synth-steel, twice the price. You don't need it unless you're expecting artillery."
VEYRA studied the samples, her fingers tapping the rubberwood's dense grain, then the smooth finish of the colorwood. "Rubberwood for the outer shells and guard posts. Colorwood for living quarters and the inn. Sensible."
FOREMAN: (A broad, approving grin) "Smart choice. Tell you what I'll throw in Steelwood framing for your inn's foundation. No extra charge. Consider it a welcome-to-Briarwood gift." He winked. "You're new. I like supporting people who are actually building something."
VEYRA: (Eyes narrowing slightly, not out of suspicion but calculation) "Thanks. That's… generous. You're sure? It's just a small village."
FOREMAN: He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confident rumble. "Even better. Small villages become towns. Towns become trading partners. I'm not just selling you wood I'm investing in the frontier." He extended a calloused hand across the desk. "We got a deal."
FOREMAN: "So, where is this village?"
KIRO: "Close by. Small place. Just starting out. They used to do deals with this city."
FOREMAN: A flicker of recognition, then sympathy, crossed his face. "Oh. That place. Long time since the last deal… five years, maybe. Heard bad stuff happened there. Hope they're doing okay now." He clapped Kiro on the shoulder. "New deals, new beginnings. Good." His eyes dropped to the collar. "So, what'd you do to earn the jewelry?"
KIRO: "It's for kicking the army out of that same village. The 'theft' part… that was an accident. Kind of crashed their precious Cube."
FOREMAN: He let out a short, sharp laugh. "Sounds like a funny long story. But 'thief'? Yeah, that'll get you the collar around here. Thieves are bad for business."
They left the dome and returned to the inn. As they entered their rooms, Veyra paused.
VEYRA: "Stop. I'm going to do some information gathering on that thief. If he's in this city, the bounty boards will have whispers. I'll head out tonight."
AURORA: "Sure. Kiro can take the single. We'll take the double."
KIRO: (A tired but genuine grin) "Yes. A room all to myself. Finally."
They split up.
As the sun set, Veyra moved through Briarwood's lantern-lit streets. Her first stop: the Bounty Hunter's Guild.
The building was marked by a massive, stylized skull over its doors. Inside, it was a controlled riot of noise and violence. A rowdy group argued over a bounty puck. On the other side, two drunks brawled, one hurling the other across a scarred metal table.
Veyra's eyes scanned the active postings on a central hologram. One listing stood out.
NAME: NISHANT
BOUNTY: 80,000 Credits
CRIMES: Theft (Artifact-Class), Assault, Vandalism
She peeled the puck from the board and walked to the reception cage, where a bored-looking clerk monitored the chaos.
CLERK: "Membership card. Need to check your rank."
VEYRA: Slid a worn card across the counter. "Bronze-One. Still new, but capable."
The clerk scanned it. "It's clear. But your rank's too low for this retrieval. Nishant's flagged as 'High-Risk Syndicate Affiliated.' You need at least Silver."
VEYRA: Kept her voice low, persuasive. "I can handle it. I've had harder fights. And I'm not alone. I'm backing up a… friend. This one's personal."
CLERK: Shook his head. "Rules are rules. Can't give you the info packet."
Before Veyra could press further, a new voice cut through the guild hall's din cool, commanding, and sharp as a whip crack.
GUILDMASTER: "Get it together, men. This isn't a sand-pit saloon. Back to work."
Every hunter in the room snapped to attention. "YES, GUILDMASTER!"
Veyra turned. The woman was tall six feet easily with a cascade of crimson hair and a black eye patch over her right eye. Strikingly beautiful and utterly terrifying.
GUILDMASTER: Her single green eye fixed on Veyra. "You. Must be new. Transferred from another charter?" She didn't wait for an answer, glancing at the puck in Veyra's hand. "Nishant. Nasty little weasel. We can give you the packet, but you take him on at your own risk. Our one rule here…" She smiled, a flash of white in the gloom. "We like danger."
VEYRA: Nodded once. "Understood. Thank you."
GUILDMASTER: Leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "He's got a flop at the 'Sleeping Gator' inn. That's his crew's hangout. The true info… last verified location was the weapon shop he hit two nights ago. But be warned he's Syndicate muscle. Reports to a boss named Silas. They fall under the 'Legendary Thieves' gang. Nasty business." Her eye held Veyra's. "They steal from everyone. Even friends."
VEYRA: "This helps a lot. They stole from a friend of mine. This is personal."
The Guildmaster gave a slow, approving nod. Veyra turned and left, the weight of the new information and the woman's piercing gaze lingering as she stepped back into the night.
The moment Veyra's hand touched the guild's outer door, it burst open.
Three figures strode in, their presence slicing through the room's chaos like a cold wind. They wore stark white flight suits with black tactical harnesses, and on their backs were compact, folded wing-units Air Force Rapid Response.
A nervous rookie hovered behind them, his eyes wide as he took in the den of hunters.
ROOKIE: (Voice hushed) "Captain, are you sure we should be in a place like this? They don't... like anyone from the government."
CAPTAIN: (Not looking at him, his gaze sweeping the room with disdain) "They'll have to get used to it, Airman. We're the law, even here." He stopped before the Guildmaster's podium, his posture rigid. "Guildmaster. We require all current intelligence on Syndicate movement within a hundred clicks. Asset designations, last known vectors."
The Guildmaster didn't rise from her seat. She took a slow sip from a metal cup, her single eye fixed on the Captain.
GUILDMASTER: "You're not wanted here. And you..." Her eye shifted to the rookie. "...you're new. Smart enough to be scared. Get lost."
CAPTAIN: (Face flushing) "How dare you? We have a sovereign base in this sector, and you will"
ROOKIE: (Tugging at the Captain's sleeve, voice desperate) "Sir, please don't start a fight with her. She's... she's a legend."
A slow, predatory smile spread across the Guildmaster's lips. "I like him. He reads." Her smile vanished. "Boys. Our guests want trouble. Show them the door."
Every hunter in the hall stopped what they were doing. Chairs scraped. Weapons were casually re-gripped. Dozens of eyes, hard and unwelcoming, locked onto the white suits.
The Captain's bravado crumbled under the weight of the room's silent, violent promise. He stiffened, gave a curt, furious nod, and turned on his heel. "This isn't over."
They were escorted out, not with shoves, but with the palpable pressure of the crowd parting behind them.
As they passed Veyra on the threshold, the rookie's eyes still scanning the room in terror snagged on her. He did a double-take, his brow furrowing in dawning recognition. Then he was gone, pulled away by his retreating squad.
Veyra didn't linger. She melted into the shadows of the street, her heart beating a steady, tactical rhythm. He saw me.
She reached the Sleeping Gator Inn. The place lived down to its name—it stank of stale sweat, cheap synth-ale, and despair. Lowlifes, informants, and off-duty smugglers hunched in dark corners.
She approached the bar. The bartender, a grizzled man with a cybernetic eye, was pouring a murky liquid for a patron.
PATRON: (Slurring) "...heard of any grey jobs? The real payout kind?"
BARTENDER: (Grumbling) "Ask the weasel in the back booth. He's always buying info, never sharing."
Veyra's gaze followed his subtle nod to a shadowy booth in the far corner. A figure was hunched there, face obscured, one hand nervously tracing the rim of a glass.
Veyra paid the bartender and ordered a cold beer she had no intention of drinking—a prop for her cover. She held the frosted glass, letting the chill seep into her fingers as she listened.
The slurring patron from earlier shambled over to the shadowed booth.
PATRON: "Heard you got work. Real work."
The suspicious man unfolded himself from the shadows. He was lean, with quick, darting eyes. Nishant.
NISHANT: "I'm Nishant. If you want work from the Chain, you can be a grunt. We're hitting the logging dome's secure vault tomorrow afternoon. Be there. Bring muscle."
PATRON: "Sure, sure. How's it pay?"
NISHANT: "Five hundred per man. Bonus for size and quality a hundred extra for bulk, two hundred for proven fighters. Bring quality. The Boss likes a clean job." A nasty grin split his face. "And the Boss… he'll be there himself. Got a new toy to play with."
With that, Nishant dropped a few credits on the table for his drink and slipped out of the booth, melting into the crowd near the back exit.
Veyra gave it a three-count, then followed, abandoning her full glass on the bar.
The night air outside the Sleeping Gator was cold and still. She caught a glimpse of Nishant turning into a narrow service alley between two prefab buildings. She pressed herself against the wall, peered around the corner…
The alley was empty.
Not a door in sight. No ladder, no grate large enough for a man. Just damp walls and scattered trash. He had vanished into thin air.
A cold knot tightened in Veyra's stomach. This wasn't just a thief. This was a Syndicate operative with access to serious, gear or powers.
She waited a full minute, senses straining, but only the distant hum of the city answered. No sound, no shimmer, no sign.
Tomorrow afternoon. The dome.
With one last look at the empty alley, Veyra turned and faded back into the night, the new information a heavy weight in her mind. She moved with purpose but without haste, ensuring she wasn't followed, before finally returning to the sanctuary of their rented rooms.