Of - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur... Official

“We’re hitting the Aegis refinery at 0400,” London grumbled, his voice like gravel. “No mistakes. This isn’t a training sim.”

London straightened, his gaze sweeping over his team. “Faruk, get us in. Mercur, you’re the ghost—neutralize the internal sensors. I’ll handle the heavy lifting.”

“To the edge?” Mercur asked, checking the edge of his vibro-blade. OF - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur...

“And back,” London replied, slamming a fresh power cell into his rifle.

The air in the sterile briefing room was thick with the scent of ozone and recycled oxygen. , his face a map of scars and sun-faded tattoos, leaned over the holographic display. He was the anchor, the veteran who had seen more deep-space combat than the rest of the crew combined. “We’re hitting the Aegis refinery at 0400,” London

“I never miss,” Faruk replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Beside him, adjusted his flight suit. Faruk was the navigator, a man who could find a wormhole in a vacuum. His eyes, dark and sharp, never left the scrolling data streams. “The gravitational fluctuations near the refinery are spiking, Lawrence. If we don’t time the exit perfectly, we’re cosmic dust.” “Faruk, get us in

As they prepped their gear, the camaraderie was unspoken but absolute. They were the outliers, the ones the Federation called when diplomacy failed and the odds were impossible.