The wastes blurred past.
Rad-dust kicking up under my boots.
New body thrumming.
Every step lighter.
Sharper.
Scales hidden under skin.
Venom blood waiting.
Symbiote whispering survival.
But creds?
Low.
Bio-fuel cells heavy in my pack.
Vizor-Eye Mk7 tucked safe.
Black market called.
Undergrid sprawl.
Neon burn flickering in hab-domes.
Vendors hawking dripcore gear.
Chromeheads haggling over augs.
I zeroed in.
Shady stall.
Reeking of synth-booze and rust.
Same as before.
Vendor leered.
Scarred face twisting.
"What you got, short-stack?"
Vizor-Eye Mk7 first.
OptiCorp's premium model.
Thermal scans piercing fog.
Low-sec hacks on auto.
AR overlays for pinpoint targeting.
"Prime loot," I quipped.
Sly tongue working.
"Rare as void-ghosts.
Corp-grade edge."
He lowballed.
I pushed back.
Haggling fierce.
Arguing creds.
Flashing specs.
His greed cracked.
Deal struck.
Good profit.
Fuel cells?
Nah.
Too valuable.
Veynar's eternal hum.
Kept 'em close.
Stack grew.
But not enough.
Hitch a ride?
Off this rock?
Still short.
Conning options swirled.
Side gigs?
Hack a transport?
Steal outright?
Headed back.
To the scavenged rover.
Parked in shadows.
Then.
Vortex scum.
Patrolling the edge.
Corporate suit.
Flanked by soldiers.
Armored goons.
Pulse rifles humming.
Got low.
Crouched in rad-muck.
New senses kicked in.
Symbiote reflex sharpening.
Ears tuning.
Overheard snippets.
Suit barking.
That was Darius Kane.
Vortex's top dog in Asset Retrieval Division.
Tall, augmented to hell—chrome limbs gleaming, neural amps buzzing under his shaved skull.
Eyes cold as void ice.
Known for cracking down on low-level workers.
Orphans like me.
Indentures extended.
Fodder ground to dust.
No mercy.
"Traces lead here," Kane snarled.
"Black market buzz on that Nox runt.
Pilfered data cache from the survey bot.
Boss wants him deleted—or retrieved.
Alive for questioning."
Soldier nodded.
"Got eyes on his rover.
Won't slip far."
Then the assistant approached.
Woman striding up.
Great sex appeal.
Curves amplified by cosmetic augs—synskin glowing subtle, hips swaying like a predator's lure.
Fiery neon green hair cascading in electric waves.
Face sculpted perfect.
Eyes augmented violet.
That was Lira Voss—no relation to the broadcast prick, but sharp as his edge.
"Boss," she purred, voice silk over steel.
"Sorry to interrupt, but your purchase cleared.
The Stellar Marauder.
Void-class cruiser.
Personal quarters deluxe.
Training sim-room.
Medic bay with auto-surgeons.
Armory stocked.
Stealth cloak system.
Hyperdrive accelerator for quick jumps.
And the crown—its own Titan Frame bay.
Empty for now.
You couldn't afford the new Titan, so I only cred-dropped on the ship."
Soldier chuckled low.
Kane's face twisted.
Smack echoed.
Backhand across her cheek.
Synskin rippling from impact.
"Watch your mouth, bitch.
Or I'll upgrade you to scrap."
She touched her lip.
Blood trickling.
But eyes unbowed.
Kane grinned then.
"Hell yeah.
My one-way trip to Elysium Bliss is gonna be smooth.
No Void Reavers raiding this beauty."
My eyes lit up.
Pupils slitting.
Snake-like.
Drakon urge stirring.
Faint.
That ship.
My target.
Plan forming.
Sly tongue plotting.
Hustle igniting.
Steal the Marauder.
From right under Kane's nose.
But then.
Crunch.
Foot slipped.
Stepped on a Dustscuttler.
Rad-rat bastard.
Squealed loud.
Piercing the shadows.
They whirled.
Pulse rifles raised.
"Contact!"
Kane barked.
"You soldiers—chase him down!
I want that runt breathing!"
Soldiers charged.
Boots pounding.
I bolted.
Symbiote reflex ignite.
Parkour through the sprawl.
Leaping crates.
Vaulting stalls.
Rooftops calling.
Scaled a hab-dome wall.
Fingers gripping rust.
Body attuned.
Muscles coiling perfect.
Symbiote guiding leaps.
Precog flashes dodging debris.
Thrilling rush.
Wind whipping dreads.
Adrenaline singing.
Soldiers lagging.
Plasma bursts sizzling past.
One clipped a crate.
Explosion of sparks.
I twisted mid-air.
Landed rolling.
Symbiote surge.
Time slowed.
Flash event.
Saw the bolt coming.
Dermal shift—scales hardening subtle.
Deflected graze.
Burned but sealed quick.
Regen kicking in.
"Fuck yeah," I grinned internal.
This body?
God-tier.
Another leap.
Over a chasm between domes.
Soldiers cursed.
"What the fuck?"
One shouted.
"What type of augs did that runt get?
Moving like a sparked demon!"
Others yelled.
"Lost him!"
"Roof collapse ahead!"
Twist hit.
Hab-dome crumbled between us.
Debris cascade.
Isolated one chaser.
The boxer type.
Arm augs gleaming.
Vortex Pugilist Mk3 fists.
HydraCorp build.
Pneumatic punches.
One arm shield—Deflecto-Barrier field.
Rippling energy.
He wanted hands-on.
Close quarters.
Rooftop standoff.
Pulse rifle tossed.
Fists up.
Grinning feral.
"Come on, runt.
Let's box."
"Well," I muttered, hand gripping the flux-knife tight.
"Gotta start getting better at combat somehow."
Lunged in.
Blade humming.
The uprising accelerated here.