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

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

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.

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.” OF - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur...

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

“And back,” London replied, slamming a fresh power cell into his rifle. “I never miss,” Faruk replied, a ghost of

“Then don’t miss,” a cool, melodic voice interjected. stood by the window, watching the distant stars. He was the team’s specialist—agile, silent, and dangerously precise. His reputation preceded him; some said he was more machine than man, a whisper in the dark that ended wars before they began.

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. He was the anchor, the veteran who had

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.