"Echo 357, the doctor summons you."
A guard in full-body armor growled the words, his glowing plasma rifle aimed at her chest like an executioner's blade. The blue light hummed with threatening energy. Kaela didn't flinch—but her pulse did.
The metal collar around her neck sent a cruel jolt as if to remind her: she wasn't a person. She was property. A lab rat. A numbered test subject stripped of even her name.
Echo 357.
She closed her eyes. The memory always came unbidden.
"Do you need a refill?"
The voice broke through the haze. Kaela blinked, coming back to the present—the dingy bar on Ganrok, a sleazy little corner of the galaxy where rules didn't matter and pasts like hers were common.
She gave a slight nod to the bartender. The light-purple liquor swirled in her glass like vaporized gemstones, faintly luminous under the cracked ceiling lights.
Around her, the bar was alive. Voices clashed like clinking glasses, loud mercenary laughter intermingling with pirate haggling. The patrons were a chaotic blend: beast-borns in towering, lupine forms with glinting fangs; insectoid warriors like living armor-plated nightmares, clawed and chittering. Chitinari, Scortans, Dreklarr. Species from across the galaxy gathered here for a shared creed—lawless freedom.
The air reeked of sweat, spilt drinks, and ozone from half-working tech. Overhead, a busted vent wheezed. Somewhere, a gambler cursed over lost credits.
Kaela sat still.
Her hands trembled, her fingers ghosting over the rim of the glass. Pain danced in her spine. The black eyepatch covering her left eye throbbed in pulses, a reminder of the nightmare carved into her skull.
"Rough day?" the bartender asked.
Alenya's flame-orange hair blazed like wildfire against the dim lights. Her cracked-marble skin glowed faintly, ember-like veins pulsing in her arms—classic Dreklarr traits.
"Rough life," Kaela muttered.
"Come on, Kaela. Try to enjoy yourself a little. You're always so gloomy."
"Nothing worth enjoying."
Alenya sighed but grinned. "Well, I heard about a job. Might be your kind of deal."
Kaela turned toward her with a suspicious glare. "Any time you have a job offer, I almost don't come back alive."
"You know I'm telling you anyway."
Kaela sighed. Fate sealed.
"Spill it. If it's stupid, I'm walking."
"The Exo Arbiter Collective mercenary guild is hiring. Real contract—GCA sanctioned. Big payout. Word is, it's one of the highest-paying in months. Everyone's whispering about it."
GCA—the Galactic Core Alliance. The power behind the thrones. A coalition of leaders from every major race.
"Sounds vague."
"They'll give full mission details after sign-ups."
"That's suspicious as hell. Why not send the Imperial Army if it's a GCA job?"
"They don't want the heat. Or maybe they need deniability. Either way, jobs like these attract big players. You don't even have to fight—just hide behind the heavy-hitters and let the credits roll."
Kaela's frown deepened. "Why are they gathering so many cultivators, Alenya?"
"Listen," Alenya said, voice quieter, serious. "We're all just trying to survive out here. You've been scraping by on scraps for three years. Maybe this is the break. Maybe it sets you up for a long time."
Kaela looked away. Her hand drifted to her eyepatch. That eye—what they did to her—she could never forget.
"Why not find me a mining or escort gig instead? Something safe."
Alenya's eyes softened. "If you had a real choice, you'd already be living in GCA territory. You know that. You don't have to go. Just check it out. Head to Planet Veyron. See for yourself."
Kaela hesitated… then nodded. "Fine."
"Good. There's a shuttle leaving tomorrow. I'll send you the QComm ticket. I'll be there too. Meet me before the briefing."
Kaela scanned her wristband, paid, and left.
Outside, Ganrok greeted her like always—with grime, chaos, and low-hanging smog that tasted metallic. Her tiny hotel room reeked of old rust and mold. She collapsed on the hard bed, eyes locked on the cracked ceiling. The ache in her body pulsed like a wound trying to reopen.
Then the dreams came.
***
She was small. Powerless.
"You're late," the voice said, disgusted. The doctor.
Kaela tried to run. She couldn't. Her limbs were stone. Her throat was locked.
"Doesn't matter. I've got a gift."
He smiled, all void-black eyes and transparent skin. His veins shimmered like cables of living starlight, throbbing with unnatural joy.
He held up something.
An eye. Beautiful and horrible—a swirling galaxy of tech and energy. A marvel forged from Nyari soul-seer magic and brutal enhancements.
"Prototype," he whispered. "You'll be the first. No anesthesia. Let me know if it hurts."
His voice was cheerful. His scalpel was not.
The pain hit her like a sun exploding behind her eye socket. Screams echoed, then broke. Her voice fled. Blood filled her mouth. She choked, trembling, as her old eye was ripped out.
The new one clicked in. Her head split open from the inside.
***
Kaela awoke, sweat-drenched.
The digital clock read: 4:00 AM.
"Ten minutes more than yesterday," she murmured.
At 9 AM, Kaela arrived at the dock.
Ganrok's dock station was chaos incarnate—rows of jury-rigged landing pads, leaking pipelines, flickering neon signs, and overworked droids shouting departure updates. The air buzzed with heat and fuel. Merchants yelled over each other, hawking smuggled tech and scrap metal. Oil puddles reflected a sickly yellow sun.
The shuttle towered above the mess—a gleaming white behemoth humming with blue qi-tech. The Tirellis-class cruiser. Kaela stared up at it. This thing didn't belong in the fringes.
"What do you think the job is, Goxxan?"
She turned slightly at the voice behind her.
Two towering aliens stood talking. One was a Chitinari—beetle-like armor, mandibles twitching. The other, a Drelkarr with glowing blue veins like lightning trapped in stone.
"Not sure, Khorr'Tal," Goxxan replied, arms crossed. "Renting a Tirellis just for a job briefing is absurd. We could've used our ships."
"Maybe there's a time limit. If everyone flew individually, it might take months."
Goxxan's brow furrowed. "Still, something smells off. A shuttle this big? A job this vague? No details? We have children, Khorr'Tal. If something happens—"
"I know," the Chitinari said quietly. "The fringe is already a graveyard. We take risks just to feed our own. But we still need to know what we're walking into. No glory's worth dying for if we leave our kin defenseless."
Kaela's chest ached at those words. She said nothing.
Eventually, they boarded. Alenya had sent her a good ticket: meal plan, shared bunks, clean air. A luxury.
The inside of the Tirellis shuttle felt like a palace compared to Ganrok. Smooth white walls, reinforced silver seats, artificial gravity tuned to perfection. The qi-engine thrummed with a comforting, low pulse like a heartbeat.
The month-long journey passed. Kaela didn't socialize. Her nights were filled with pain. Her left eye pulsed erratically—as if something was coming.
Then she saw Veyron.
It took her breath away.
The planet gleamed in orbit—its rings shimmering with golden particulate. The shuttle descended into a world of divine precision. Skyscrapers of gold and silver rose like temples. Hovercabs floated in neat lines above glassy roads. Bioluminescent gardens glowed between pristine white buildings.
Vey—the capital city—looked like something from a dream. Or a trap.
Security drones drifted silently through the air, watching everything. No graffiti. No beggars. No loose wires or rusted doors. Even the air smelled like lavender and ionized mist.
Kaela blinked. "Maybe I should move here."
She passed marble fountains that shimmered with encoded runes, their waters singing soft notes. Everything was too perfect. Too clean.
This city belonged to mercenaries?
She made her way to the EAC Guild Hall. Her boots echoed on the crystalline floors.
It was time to uncover the truth behind the job—and the danger she had just walked into.