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## **Chapter: the outpost**
As we boarded the Heavy Metal's warship, Felix led me toward the front deck, where the hum of high-tier tech filled the silence between us.
"So… what have you been doing these past few years?" he asked, not turning to look.
"Just… improving myself," I replied, my gaze drifting to the flashing consoles and the polished steel walls. Thinking of how can take the role of a captain.
Felix glanced at me from the corner of his eye.
"You've come a long way."
"Uncle…" I hesitated, then continued, "Can I ask for your guidance?"
That finally made him stop walking.
"My team—some of them feel... unapproachable. Distant. I don't think they trust me as their captain. It's like… I'm trying to lead ghosts."
Felix nodded slowly, as if he'd expected this.
"It's not that you're a bad captain," he said. "It's just that they don't see *you* yet. They see a title, not a person. Trust isn't given because of rank—it's earned through connection. You need to understand their goals, their reasons for being here. That's where everything begins."
"I get it. But it's not easy."
"It's not supposed to be." He stepped closer. "The first thing you do as a captain is listen. Observe. Ask yourself: *why are they like that?* What are they fighting for?"
I nodded, taking it in.
"Mind if I ask something, though?" he said with a grin. "How did you end up with Nyx?"
I smirked. "I always hear people say we don't make good partners… like fire and ice."
"Exactly what I heard. But now? You two cause more noise together than an entire battalion."
"Maybe you're right," I said, chuckling under my breath. "We're a strange pair… but somehow, we work."
Felix laughed, then rested his hand—his *metal* hand—on the rail beside us. The fingers flexed, sleek and precise.
"Can I ask about that?" I gestured to his arm. "What happened?"
He smiled faintly, lifting the arm.
"Awesome, right?"
I didn't answer, just looked at it closely—at the scars around the metal and the wear on the alloy.
"It's a mark of our heroism," he said. "But you won't understand it yet. Maybe you will... after you've saved lives with your own hands. Only then will you feel the *weight* of what you've given up."
---
The warship settled into a gentle glide, stars passing across the glass like drifting fireflies.
Felix turned serious again. "Are you still chasing that dream… about your father?"
"I will keep searching until I find the truth," I said.
His face darkened. "It's been eleven years, Sean… since that incident."
I narrowed my eyes. "Is that why you wanted to see me?"
"You know, no matter what you say… it won't change my mind."
"I figured," Felix replied, his voice quieter. "But if you're really going to pursue that goal… be careful. I don't want you to disappear like he did."
I left Uncle Felix because I couldn't bear to talk more about my father. The memory of my mother crying—the way he vanished without a word—still clings to me. I want to see her smile again, to give her back something she lost.
----
Felix watched him go, his voice barely above a whisper.
"He's really just like you in every way, brother... I just hope he won't follow the same path you did."
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******
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"We're finally here. Welcome to the Interstellar Outpost," Felix announced as the warship descended. His voice echoed through the vast metal corridors of the shuttle.
I stepped closer to the viewport.
The outpost loomed like a metallic city, its sheer scale far larger than anything I'd read about. Towers jutted out into the atmosphere, docking bays stacked like hives, alive with movement.
"We'll drop you off here," Felix said, nodding toward the nearest docking platform. "We don't want to attract attention."
He paused at the doorway. "Good luck, rookie."
With that, Felix and his squad returned to their warship, the doors closing with a hiss before they launched back into the void.
---
The outpost was buzzing with life.
As we entered, we were immediately surrounded by hundreds of warriors—some moving in tight formations, others loitering near equipment hubs or mission terminals. There were glances thrown our way—some cautious, some indifferent, a few borderline hostile.
Everyone belonged to a different tier.
The distinctions were impossible to miss. Higher-tier squads wore sleeker, heavier armor with built-in enhancements. Their badges glowed with refined energy cores, while ours still shimmered with the dull blue light of recent promotion.
Upgrades. I remembered: they were earned through task completion points or direct tier support. The better you performed, the more resources you were trusted with.
I tried not to let it all overwhelm me. This wasn't a sightseeing trip.
We had our first mission soon.
Even if I wasn't sure yet if this team could truly *function* as one.
---
"Captain, I'll stay here," Ava said suddenly. Her voice was flat, arms crossed. "It's best if someone guards the war shuttle. Too many people here for my taste."
I nodded. Ava remained by the shuttle, her posture rigid, like she didn't trust a single person around us.
"I'll stay too, Captain," Aster added. "Wouldn't feel right letting a melee fighter be the only one guarding our ship. I'm the tank, after all."
He gave a sheepish smile, but I could tell it was sincere. His loyalty wasn't forced—it was simply who he was.
I looked to Nyx, who gave a subtle nod.
"Alright," I said, turning toward the terminal gate. "We'll go ahead."
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******
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Nyx and I parted ways—he said he had some "business" to take care of. Knowing him since we were kids, that probably meant flirting with every girl within a five-mile radius.
Now, I stood alone in front of a holographic sphere, its soft glow illuminating the tiered task menu hovering in midair. Missions were organized by rank—standard protocol we'd learned back in the academy.
I wasn't looking for anything too simple. We needed a real challenge—something with enough points to push us up the ladder. There's something I need to obtain, and higher tiers are the only way to reach it.
Just as I was about to lock in a mission, the screen flickered.
> **ERROR:**
> *"You cannot receive a new tier mission. Please complete your designated task."*
What?
I hadn't selected anything yet.
Was this a glitch?
I glanced around the task hall. Other cadets were moving on normally, screens flashing green, confirming missions.
I stepped toward the nearest attendant—an employee in a standard-issue navy vest, her hair tied back, expression unreadable.
"Excuse me," I said. "There's something wrong with my sphere. It says I already have a mission—but I haven't chosen anything."
She gave a polite smile. "Let me see..."
A few taps on her wrist console. She blinked at the screen.
"According to the system, Captain Sean Gains, you were assigned a mission shortly after registering your tier. The log confirms it."
"What?" My brow furrowed. "I never selected anything."
"The system shows otherwise, sir," she replied, her tone still professional. "And our records are synced across the central database. It's… highly unlikely there's an error."
I stared at the screen, frustration building.
Her response was unhelpful.