Eridani Prime Chronicles: Mercy's Shadow Syndicate

PART : 1 "Shattered Sky"

The sun was a blistering, pale orb, obscured by the vast and flickering Solar Shield--Hexodome or Hex, as it came to be called. High above, the illusion of clear blue skies and fluffy white clouds glitched sporadically, revealing the metal panels of the Hex. Below, Ironmarsh surrounded the Eridani Prime Intergalactic Space Station. The city was a mess of rusted buildings and neon lights shrouded in a polluted smog.

"Move your ass, Dax!" shouted Cutter, a burly man with a scar that split down the middle of his face. His voice was barely audible over the sounds of gunfire and explosions.

"Fuck off, Cutter! We’re moving!” Dax Thorn growled back, ducking behind a crumbling wall as bullets whizzed past. He checked his weapon—a battered, old plasma rifle—and peeked over the edge. Across the street, a group of thugs from the Black Serpent gang were firing their blasters and piling into small aerocruisers.

"We're sitting ducks here!" Cutter yelled, returning fire with his own rifle. "Where's that backup you promised?"

"Should be here any second," Dax muttered, though he wasn't sure if he believed it. This part of Ironmarsh was a no-man's-land, where law and order were as scarce as clean air. The gangs ruled the streets, and survival was a daily battle.

A sudden explosion rocked the ground, sending debris and smoke into the air. Dax shielded his eyes and glanced up to see the HoloSky flicker again, revealing more burnt-out panels. "Fucking piece of shit," he muttered. The once-great marvel of technology had become a crumbling relic, much like the rest of the world of Eridani Prime.

"Thorn! Over here!" A woman's voice cut through the chaos. Dax turned to see Lyra Voss waving from the entrance of a dilapidated building. "I've got a way out!"

"About damn time," Dax said, sprinting towards her as Cutter provided cover fire. He slid into the building, breathing heavily. "What's the plan?"

"There's a maintenance tunnel that leads to the space station," Lyra explained, her eyes darting nervously. "It's our best shot."

"Great, more shit to wade through," Dax grumbled. "Lead the way, let’s go."

They moved quickly, navigating through dark, narrow corridors filled with the stench of decay and chemical pollution. The city’s infrastructure was a monument of years of neglect and corruption. Everywhere they turned, there were signs of decay—cracked walls, leaking pipes, and flickering signs.

As they descended into the maintenance tunnel, the air grew cooler and even more stale. The tunnel was a maze of metal and grime, with faint echoes of distant machinery.

"Just like old times, huh?" Cutter remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Yeah, except now we're older and the world’s even shittier," Dax replied. "Keep moving."

They emerged into the lower levels of Ironmarsh, where the city's poorest inhabitants eked out a miserable existence. Here, the neon lights of the upper city gave way to darkness and desperation. People huddled in makeshift shelters, their faces gaunt and eyes hollow.

"Almost there," Lyra said, leading them to a hidden entrance. She punched in a code, and the heavy door grunted open. “Extraction point is dead ahead."

She led them into a clearing just beyond the outskirts of Ironmarsh. Just ahead by a few hundred steps was the warehouse that contained the shipment of hostages to be smuggled off-world by the Black Serpents.

Lyra pulled up an iridescent map with a flashing yellow coordinate. “This is definitely the spot,” she breathed.

"Another beautiful day in paradise," Cutter said dryly, surveying the rundown facility.

"Shut up and keep watch," Dax ordered, as he and Lyra moved towards the building across the debris-littered field.

Lyra worked quickly, her fingers searching her wristband for the entrance codes to the building. Another light flashed on the hologram. "Boys, they’re firing up the ship,” she said, her voice tense.

"Fuck," Dax spat. "We need to get down there now."

As they approached the storage decks, Dax signaled for silence. They crept forward, weapons at the ready. The sounds of the Black Serpent gang reached their ears—laughter, rough voices, and the occasional scream of a hostage.

"On my mark," Dax whispered. "We go in hard and fast. No mercy."

Cutter nodded, gripping his rifle tightly. Lyra readied her own weapon, a compact yet powerful blaster. The three of them moved like shadows, inching closer to the source of the ruckus.

"Now," Dax commanded.

They burst into the room, guns blazing. The gang members were caught off guard, and chaos erupted. Dax took out the nearest thug with a well-placed shot to the head, while Cutter's rifle spat plasma bolts, tearing through flesh and bone. Lyra's blaster crackled, stunning the thugs and reducing them to a smoldering heap of remains.

"Get those girls out of here!" Dax shouted, moving towards a group of frightened young women huddled in the corner. Their eyes were wide with terror, and their wrists bore deep, bloody ligature marks

"We're here to help," Lyra said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Follow me."

The hostages hesitated, but the sound of another explosion nearby jolted them into action. They stumbled towards Lyra, who led them towards the exit.

"Move, move, move!" Cutter yelled, covering their retreat. More gang members poured into the room, but Dax and Cutter held the line, mowing them down with brutal efficiency.

"How many are there?" Dax growled, reloading his rifle.

"Too fucking many," Cutter replied, slamming a fresh battery into his weapon. "We need to fall back."

"Roger that," Dax said. "Lyra, get them to the tunnel!"

Lyra nodded, urging the women to move faster. They crossed the field and entered the drab tunnel, the sounds of battle fading behind them. They navigated the tunnel quickly, emerging back into the lower levels of Ironmarsh. The city was still in chaos, but they managed to avoid most of the gang patrols. Dax led them through a series of back alleys and hidden paths until they reached the spaceport. Dax and Cutter followed, providing cover fire until they were safely inside.

"Seal the door," Dax ordered. Lyra punched in the code, and the door slid shut with a satisfying thud. They were safe, at least for the moment.

The space station floated like a ghost above the city. It still served as a layover point for intergalactic travelers and a center for trade, but its glory days were long gone. They climbed the access ladder and entered the station, the air thick with the smell of burnt wiring and ozone.

They made their way through the station, moving past grimy eateries, shabby hotel rooms, and the occasional escort offering their services. The station was a melting pot of species, all mingling in a desperate bid to survive and make a living in the decaying orbit of Eridani Prime.

"Everyone okay?" Dax asked, scanning the group. The women nodded, though their faces were pale and drawn.

"We need to get them to the authorities," Lyra said. "They'll be safe there."

"Safe as it gets in this shithole," Cutter muttered. "Let's move."

"Stay close," he instructed the women. "We're almost there."

The spaceport was a hive of activity, with travelers and traders bustling about. It was dingy and overcrowded, but it offered a semblance of security. Dax spotted a group of armed Port Enforcers near one of the entrances and approached them.

"Next time we gotta come to Ironmarsh, it’s gonna cost you double," he said, gesturing to the women. "These girls were kidnapped by the Black Serpent gang. They need protection, and maybe a ride home."

The guard captain, a grizzled veteran with a cybernetic eye, nodded grimly. "We'll take care of them. You did the right thing bringing them here."

Cutter grunted in agreement, though his expression remained grim. Lyra frowned, her concern evident.

“What happens to them now?” she asked, her voice steady.

The Enforcer glanced at her impassively, handing each of them a data chip containing their reward—ten thousand units each. “We will be in touch should we require your services again.”

Lyra’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing more as the Enforcers escorted the women away. Dax sighed heavily, feeling the weight of their world-weary existence settling in once more.

"Sounds like a plan," Dax responded, knowing they were too far away to even hear him. "But first, I think we’ve earned ourselves a cold one."

“Dax, my boy!” Cutter slapped Dax on the back, breaking the tension. “I gotta get home to my wife and Nihila. You understand.”

Dax nodded, offering a tired smile. “Of course, Cutter. Give them my best.”

Cutter nodded and headed off, leaving Dax and Lyra standing alone amidst the bustling space station.

"D'you wanna grab a drink?" Dax asked, trying to lighten the mood. "My treat."

Lyra smirked, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "You trying to get me drunk, Thorn?"

Dax chuckled, a grin spreading across his face. "Just trying to celebrate a successful mission with my favorite partner in crime."

Lyra nodded, scanning the bustling space station around them. "Well in that case… Why the hell not?"

They navigated through the station, a cacophony of alien languages and clinking glasses. Dax found a secluded corner seat at a rough-and-tumble bar, manned by an angry-looking alien with multiple eyes serving a colorful array of inebriates.

Lyra settled onto the stool opposite Dax. Her expression was guarded, yet there was a hint of playfulness in her eyes. Adjusting her tactical gear, she unzipped the top of her uniform, revealing a bit of cleavage and heaved a deep sigh.

"Here's to surviving another day," Dax said, raising his glass of dark blue liquid.

Lyra clinked her glass against his, her smile now more subdued. "And may the shadow of mercy carry us through the night."

They drank, the harsh liquid burning their throats, momentarily drowning out the noise around them. The weight of their grim reality hung heavily between them. This was their first mission together in over two years, but she had lived rent-free in his mind every day since.

“I’m surprised you took the job, to be completely honest.” Dax stated as he ordered another round.

“What? You didn’t think I could hold my own with a few little smugglers?” She scoffed.

He rolled his eyes, remembering how arrogant she could be when it came to missions. But being one of only a few women in the mercenary field, he couldn’t really blame her. “It’s not that at all,” he began. “I just didn’t think you’d have much interest in being in such a close vicinity to me.”

“Oh don’t kid yourself, Thorn. You’re not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” she paused for a moment, “some things just aren’t supposed to last too long.”

"You ever think things could have been different between us?" Dax asked quietly, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Lyra's gaze softened, but her face remained stoic. "Sometimes I do, Dax," she admitted. "But we can't change the past, and the future... I refuse to waste my time on anything so uncertain."

Dax sighed, leaning back in his seat. "What happened to us, Lyra? We used to have so much fun together."

Lyra's expression hardened slightly, her fingers tapping impatiently on the bar. She snapped her fingers for another drink from the bartender. "No, Dax. You had so much fun," she retorted, taking a large gulp from her new glass. "You had enough fun for you and me both... and the Verispellian, and the Reptilian…” her voice began to rise defiantly. “Shall I go on?"

Dax winced at the reminder of his mistakes. "I know I fucked up, Lyra. I was young, stupid... I made mistakes."

Lyra's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and sadness. "Mistakes? Is that what you call it?"

Dax reached a hand to hers. "I'm not asking you to forget, Lyra. Just... forgive me."

She met his gaze, her demeanor softening slightly. "Forgive you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I forgave you a long time ago, but I don’t think I can give you what you want."

He nodded, crumbling under the weight of her words. "I know. But maybe... we could start over. Take it slow. See where things go."

Lyra hesitated, her resolve wavering. "Maybe," she finally answered, her tone uncertain.

Dax's heart skipped a beat, hope flickering in his eyes. "Really?"

She sighed, glancing away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "Maybe," she repeated softly.

Dax leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe we could find a hotel room around here. They do those rent-by-the-minute deals. Could be just what we need for... some relief."

Lyra laughed sarcastically. "You're incorrigible, Thorn. Let me know next time you need my help covering your ass." She finished her drink in one smooth motion and rose from the bar.

Dax watched her go, a mix of disappointment and hope swirling inside him.”In all fairness, I paid extra to have the Verispellian shifter look like you.”

"Take care of yourself, Dax," Lyra said curtly, casting a final glance over her shoulder before disappearing into the bustling crowd of the space station.

Dax sat back, his mind racing with thoughts of what could be. As he nursed his drink, the bartender approached him. “Tough break,” he started as he wiped a clean glass with a dry towel.

“What? Oh her,” he chuckled. “You’ve got no idea.”

“I’ve got something here that’ll cheer ya up. We’re running a special tonight.” The bartender typed a code into a handheld device.

Within a few moments, Dax felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Turning, he was met with the uncanny sight of a pleasure bot. It’s exaggerated feminine features were striking yet artificial, with synthetic skin stretched tightly over its metal musculature.

"Hi, I’m B3LLA," the robot said in a soft, mechanical voice. "If you are interested in a good time, tonight I am offering discounted half-hour massage sessions, room included, at an amazing discount." She was a third gen model of the five-series Bio-Emotive Lifelike Leisure Automaton, still functional and fairly maintained despite the visible wear from years of use.

Dax hesitated, glancing around the bar uncomfortably. B3LLA stood patiently, its expressionless face gazing slightly past him. Its body was adorned with a bondage bodysuit made of iridescent nanofibers that crisscrossed strategically across its humanoid figure.

"Fuck it—how much?" Dax finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Two hundred units," it responded as a slot opened on its sternum, prompting him for payment.

Dax transferred the units without another word. The robot nodded in acknowledgment and gestured for him to follow it towards discreet door at the far end of the bar. Its hips swayed side to side with weightless grace as it walked. They entered a small, dimly lit hallway lined with small rooms. Each was furnished with minimalistic decor—a bed, two chairs, retractable nightstand and a soft glow emanating from hidden sources along the ceiling.

"Please make yourself comfortable, I will return shortly."

Dax slumped onto the padded cot. He’d been through hell and back in Ironmarsh, and now he just craved a moment of respite. A low hum filled the room as the door slid open, and B3LLA glided out of the room. Minutes passed before it returned with a stack of crisply folded towels. It helped Dax undress with deft hands, and from a subtle compartment in its palm it dispensed the lubricant. From the back of its head, a small projector produced a vivid porno on the wall behind it.

“Are you ready to begin?”

“I guess so,” Dax muttered gruffly, closing his eyes.

B3LLA proceeded with clinical precision, fulfilling its purpose without deviation. The session went by in a haze, B3LLA's soft synthetic hands working his manhood with graceful efficacy.

Suddenly, to Dax’s discomfort, it began to moan as its hands moved in a rapid rhythmic motion up and down his shaft. “Your cock is so big in my hands. Try to imagine some other places I could put it,” it’s soft voice droned. “Don’t try to hold back, baby. I want you to come for me.”

B3LLA kept pumping its hand, moaning and whining as its outfit shifted to reveal an anatomically accurate female body. Its breasts jiggled as it continued its cycle of lewd phrases.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally released a few disappointing squirts of projectile, and the thirty minutes was up. The robot’s nanotech ensemble crept back across its form before silently leaving Dax alone with his thoughts once more. He wiped down and dressed quickly, a mix of dread and relief washing over him.

As he exited the room and returned to the terminal complex, he found himself searching the crowd for any sign of Lyra. But she was gone, so Dax ordered another drink, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue.

A messaged flashed across his wristband that read: “Get some rest while you can, soldier. We have work to do.” Signed at the bottom, “—Broker.”

PART 2: "The Solitude of Dax Thorn"

Lumina City, nestled in the western region of Eridani Prime was coming to life, its streets buzzing with the late-afternoon crowd. The dim light of the HoloSky filtered through layers of smog, casting a sickly glow over the towering buildings. Inside a quaint house on the outskirts of the city, Dax Thorn lay sprawled on his bed, the remnants of last night’s excess still fogging his mind.

A U-Vax hoverbot whirred over him, its mechanical arms preparing a morning routine. "Good morning, Mr. Thorn. Time for your daily booster," it intoned, a hint of artificial cheer in its voice. Dax groaned but didn't resist as the bot injected him with a stamina booster, the cold sting quickly followed by a rush of energy coursing through his veins.

He got up, stretched his limbs, and moved into the small living room. Various AI bots whirred around, performing their chores. One cleaned the grimy windows, another prepared a simple breakfast, and a third was tidying up the cluttered room.

"Coffee, black," he muttered to one of the devices, which promptly handed him a steaming mug. He took a sip, feeling slightly more human, then moved to the back door.

The backyard was a patch of dirt surrounded by a rusted fence. Here, Dax had set up a combat training area. Several robots, known as Sparbots, stood at the ready. They were agile machines designed for advanced combat training. He nodded to them, and they powered up, their eyes glowing a bright blue.

"Let's do this," Dax said, setting down his coffee and stepping into the ring. The Sparbots attacked without warning, their movements fluid and precise. Dax countered with practiced ease, each punch and kick a testament to his years of training. Despite the aches and pains from his lifestyle, his body moved with a grace that came from muscle memory and sheer willpower.

A Sparbot lunged at him with a swift kick aimed at his midsection. Dax twisted to the side, grabbing the bot's leg and using its momentum to throw it into its mechanical comrade. They crashed together in a tangle of metal limbs, but two more advanced on him. One swung a metallic fist at his face, which he blocked with his forearm before delivering a powerful uppercut that sent the bot reeling. The next bot attempted to sweep his legs, but Dax jumped and landed a roundhouse kick to its head, detaching it with a satisfying crunch.

"Come on, is that all you've got?" Dax taunted as sweat trickled off of his nose and chin. The remaining Sparbots regrouped and attacked in unison. He fought them off with a series of rapid strikes, leaving a pile of defeated metal in his wake.

After a long and satisfying session, he deactivated the Sparbots, breathing heavily but feeling more centered. He wiped the sweat from his brow and went back inside to shower. As the hot water cascaded over him, he tried to shake off the memories of Lyra that always seemed to surface during his quiet moments. Their time together had been the best—and worst—years of his life.

Cleaned up and dressed in his usual street attire—a black nanofiber jacket adorned with glowing circuit patterns, paired with dark, tech-enhanced cargo pants. His boots hummed softly with concealed energy coils as he strode through the streets into town. The multi-level streets were crowded with a mix of predominantly humans and some humanoid species, all going about their business in the underbelly of society. He made his way to his usual haunt, a dimly lit pub tucked away in an alley.

Dax slid onto a barstool and ordered a drink. The bartender, an old friend named Jarek, gave him a knowing look. "Rough night?"

"You could say that," Dax replied, taking a long swig of his drink.

As the inebriate started to take effect, Dax's eyes wandered across the room and landed on an alluring alien woman sitting alone at a table. She had pale violet skin, long flowing gold hair, and eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Her lithe, athletic body was draped in a shiny, gold minidress that hugged every curve and crevice perfectly. With a confidence bolstered by the elixir, he sauntered over.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, flashing a charming smile.

She looked him over with a hint of amusement. "Depends. Can you handle a drink with a Cyphrian?"

"I can handle a lot of things," Dax replied, taking a seat.

Her eyes darted up and down his exposed torso as she smirked. “Something tells me that’s probably the only truth I’d manage to get out of you all night.”

“Oh I think you can get a lot more than that…”

Just as he was starting to think he was making progress, a hulking male approached, his red skin and towering frame marking him as a Kalderian.

"Is this guy bothering you?" He growled, glaring at Dax.

"Just having a friendly conversation," Dax slurred, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Karym, it’s nothing-“ the Cyphrian woman tried to interject, tugging feebly at his hand.

"It’s time for you to go," Karym declared, placing a firm hand against his chest, not quite knocking Dax off his footing.

Dax gripped his hand firmly, feeling his bones crack under his grip. "I don't think that's necessary,” he grinned.

Before he could react, the Kalderian's fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling. The bar fell silent before erupting into shouts and jeers. Dax, despite his intoxication, managed to get back on his feet and landed a few solid punches. But the Kalderian was too strong and too quick. He grabbed Dax by the lapels and lifted him off the ground, then threw him across the room. Dax crashed into a table, shattering it and leaving him dazed.

The Kalderian stomped over and hauled Dax up again, delivering a series of crushing blows to his ribs, each strike ushering him closer to the door. Dax tried to fight back, but the combination of tonic and the Kalderian's brute strength was too much. The final punch sent him flying out of the bar and into the street.

He lay there for a moment, the cool pavement soothing his bruised face. Groaning, he got to his feet and stumbled down the street. The humiliation and pain mingled with a familiar emptiness that gnawed at him. He found a dark opening niched amidst a string of empty storefronts. He pulled a cartridge out of the sole of his boot, revealing a tournicate, syringe, and small vial of a tar-like substance.

He effortlessly injected the RezinX, or simply Rez, as he had done many times. It was a sort of bonus gift from the Broker. As he tightened the rubber cinch, he inserted the needle effortlessly into the bulging vein at the inner aspect of his elbow. He slowly injected the Rez, releasing the band as a wave of euphoria swept over his body, locking him in a trance-like calmness.

As he gathered his bearings, a flickering neon sign two levels up caught his eye: "Massage XXX Parlor." The world spun around him, but he steadied himself, accustomed to managing his footing despite the intense effects of the drug.

Tingling all over and desperate for some semblance of comfort, he entered the parlor and was greeted by a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a loose fitting silver tunic. "Rough night?" she asked, echoing Jarek's earlier question.

"You could say that," Dax repeated and transferred some credits.

He was led to a dark room lined with dim, red neon lights. Once the door closed, he stripped all of his clothing and laid face-down on the massage table. The table started to grow warmer under his body, and soon a pretty woman in a snug but comfortable uniform with long black hair entered the room.

“Good evening Mister Thorn. My name is Jericha, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” She introduced herself curtly as she heated the lotion in her hands and applied it liberally to his back, curiously tracing his thick sinuous scars.

As her skilled hands worked the tension from his muscles, he felt a fleeting moment of peace. Her touch was firm yet gentle, each broad stroke easing the tension from his battle-scarred body. "You’re carrying a lot of stress," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm.

Dax closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink into the sensation. "Yeah, it's been a rough few years."

Her hands moved lower, working the muscles of his lower back. "You need to take better care of yourself. A man like you shouldn't be so hard on his body."

He smirked, the irony of her words not lost on him. "Easier said than done."

She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, "Let me help you forget for a while."

He flipped over to his back and she placed a warm towel across his thighs, covering his groin. Her hands roamed his body with guided purpose. Dax's mind drifted, the combination of her touch and the remnants of the Rez lulling him into a haze. She began working his neck and shoulders, her hands dragging long, warm strokes across his chest and down his biceps.

For a moment, he allowed himself to forget the pain, the regrets, and the loneliness. The emptiness, though, never fully left. As her hands slid down his lower abdomen and thighs, Dax surrendered to the familiar and calming sensations.

As Jericha worked her hands over his tense muscles, Dax couldn’t help but feel a stirring of remorse deep within him. The scent of the oils in the room, their warm, earthy notes, stirred memories of Lyra—the way she used to wear a similar fragrance, or maybe it was her shampoo. In the dim light, he even thought he noticed a resemblance in the therapist, a fleeting similarity in her lips and eyes.

She quickly removed the towel and Dax felt a jolt of vulnerability that snatched him back into reality. He reached out, angrily gripping her wrist before she could proceed further.

"Don’t,” he commanded, squeezing his eyes shut and dropping her hand.

She stepped back, looking confused and dismayed. “But Mr. Thorn, it’s included in your package… you still have 15 minutes left.”

Dax hesitated, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Eventually, he shook his head. "No, just spend the last few minutes on my feet then," he suggested, a touch of frustration in his voice. "Could you do that?"

Her brow furrowed with frustration. "I'm really not too keen on touching feet," she admitted. With a sigh, she pressed on, “if you’d prefer, I can use my mouth instead for an additional 90 units.”

A wave of resignation washed over him. "Alright," he murmured, feeling the call of the void to his spirit. "I’ll pay you the 90 units for using your mouth... But I just want you to kiss me."

She considered his offer for a moment. "Sure," she agreed finally, holding out a device to transfer the units as he sat up on the table. “But don’t try to pull any funny shit, mister.”

Dax placed the towel back over himself and dug his fingers into her hips, lifting her as he placed her on his lap. His lips locked with hers and his arms wrapped around her waist. Her hands crept up to his face but he pulled them away, holding her small wrists tightly behind her back as he deepened their kiss.

Their tongues swirled around each other and he lost himself in the warm wetness of her mouth. Images of Lyra finally flooded back into his mind. He tightened his grip on Jericha’s hands as his other hand made its way up her back. He began to grow stiff under the towel and pressed himself against her, breathing deeply. “Fuck I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her lips and pulled her body tighter against his own, thrusting his hips against the soft towel between his cock and her tight uniform.

The room pulsed around him as he pushed her hips down on him, grinding harder against her, and she started to pull away. Dax only removed the towel and squeezed her tighter, edging himself against her moist pants. She fought a little harder against him, but his large hand firmly held her head steady as he bit her lip. The harder she fought, the more excited he got, his body aching for release.

Jericha finally managed to get free from his grasp, quickly stepping away from him. “Fuck you, motherfucker!” She yelled as she threw his towel at him. “Get dressed and get the fuck out or I'll call the Enforcers to come drag your drunk, sorry ass out of here!” She stormed out of the room and he could still hear her irate voice down the hall, "Can you believe that weird piece of shit just tried to dryfuck me!"

He walked past the hateful glares of the other employees as he made his way out of the spa. He stumbled through the narrow alleys of Lumina City. Each step felt heavier than the last as he trudged toward the humble building he called home.

Entering his cramped house, Dax kicked the door shut with a resounding thud. The room was dimly lit by flickering touchpads and the faint glow of neon filtering through the blinds. He staggered to the worn-out couch, barely making it before collapsing into its familiar embrace.

But sleep eluded him. Images of his mistakes flashed before his eyes, his regret echoing in the recesses of his mind. He had once dreamed of a different life, away from the shadows of Eridani Prime’s underbelly. But his demons always found a way to drag him back, tearing apart what little semblance of happiness he could find.

He reached for a half-empty bottle on the table. The liquid momentarily dulled the ache but never truly silenced the chaos within him. He stared at the ceiling, lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts.

Outside, the city rumbled on, indifferent to his struggles. In Lumina City, where hope was a currency traded sparingly, Dax Thorn was just another soul navigating the labyrinth of his own making.

No sooner did his body relax into a light sleep, he was awakened by a message from Cutter first thing the next morning. Dax groggily fumbled for his wristwatch and activated the holographic interface. Cutter’s frantic face appeared, his eyes wild with panic.

“Dax, thank the stars you’re awake,” Cutter exclaimed, his voice trembling. “Nihila’s gone. She’s missing.”

Dax’s heart skipped a beat. Nihila, Cutter’s teenage daughter, was like family to him. “What do you mean she’s gone?” he demanded, sitting up straight.

“She didn’t come home last night,” Cutter replied, his voice breaking. “I’ve checked everywhere—the usual spots, her friends’ places, but there’s no sign of her. Dax, I need your help. I’m losing my fucking mind. That’s my little girl, Dax. My baby girl.”

Dax rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his brain. “Breathe, Cutter. I’m on my way. We’ll find her.”

“Thanks brother,” Cutter said, a mix of relief and desperation in his eyes. “Just hurry. If those Black Serpent bastards have her, if anyone touches a hair on her head…” his words were cut short as panic seized his lungs.

As the hologram blinked out, Dax sprang into action. He dressed quickly, the urgency of the situation pushing him forward. Nihila was out there somewhere, and there was no way in hell Dax would let anything happen to her.

He went outside and mounted his Vortex XR7 hoverbike, known for its cutting-edge anti-gravity tech and ion thruster engine. It also featured biometric scanners, HUD and retractable blaster cannons, making it an instrument of speed and stealth.

As Dax started the bike, he activated his wrist communicator. The holographic interface flickered to life, and he tapped Lyra's contact. After a few rings, her face appeared, stern and wary.

"Dax? Is everything okay?”

"I need your help, Lyra," he said urgently. "Cutter's daughter, Nihila, is missing. We can't do this alone."

Lyra's eyes softened. "Alright. Tell me what you need and I’m there.”

"We'll meet at the old rendezvous point," Dax replied. "I don’t know much else, but be prepared for anything."