Of - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur... May 2026

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.

How should the once they breach the refinery's perimeter? OF - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur...

“I never miss,” Faruk replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. The air in the sterile briefing room was

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. How should the once they breach the refinery's perimeter

“To the edge?” Mercur asked, checking the edge of his vibro-blade.

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.

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.”