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 a smile playing on his lips. OF - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur...
“To the edge?” Mercur asked, checking the edge of his vibro-blade. Beside him, adjusted his flight suit
“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. “Then don’t miss,” a cool, melodic voice interjected
“And back,” London replied, slamming a fresh power cell into his rifle.
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.