“I never miss,” Faruk replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
“We’re hitting the Aegis refinery at 0400,” London grumbled, his voice like gravel. “No mistakes. This isn’t a training sim.” OF - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur...
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.” “I never miss,” Faruk replied, a ghost of
The hangar doors hissed open, revealing the sleek, black silhouette of their ship. The mission was suicide to some, but to London, Faruk, and Mercur, it was just another Tuesday in the void. This isn’t a training sim
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.
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.”