The desert stretched endlessly beneath a burnt-orange sky.
Leo's ship, Vanguard, cut through the haze and descended toward the glowing sprawl below — D'rein City, a lonely beacon in the wasteland. From orbit, it looked alive; from up close, it looked tired. Rusted towers leaned over narrow streets, patched with cheap neon signs that flickered between languages. The hum of hover engines mixed with the sound of generators and shouting merchants.
Leo landed his ship on the outer pad, paid the docking fee, and stepped into the heat. The air smelled of oil, dust, and the faint tang of ozone. He adjusted the strap of his side bag and moved through the crowd — his eyes scanning every alley, every camera drone, every pattern of movement. The old instincts never really left.
D'rein wasn't lawless, but it was close. The Scorven Syndicate called themselves a "security corporation." They wore clean uniforms, carried expensive weapons, and claimed to keep peace — but everyone in the streets knew the truth. You paid them, or you disappeared.
Leo walked deeper into the city. Stalls sold parts from wrecked ships, old world tech, and black-market energy cells. He passed a vendor offering water at triple the normal rate. The man looked up, saw Leo's cold expression, and didn't bother trying to sell.
He wasn't here to stay. Just repairs, supplies, and then gone.
That was the plan — until he heard the sound.
A sharp voice. Arguing.
He turned.
Across the square, a young woman stood behind a small hover cart loaded with scrap metal and old components. Three Scorven enforcers circled her like wolves. Their armor was clean but their faces weren't. One of them reached out and pushed her cart over. Metal clattered across the sand.
"Come on, Rina," one said with a smirk. "You know the rules. You sell here, you pay the fee."
"I already paid last week!" she shouted back. Her tone was steady, but her hands shook. "Your boss said it covered the month."
The leader chuckled, tapping his baton against his thigh. "That was the old rate. Prices go up."
Leo exhaled quietly. He didn't want trouble.
But he hated seeing patterns repeat — the powerful crushing the helpless just because they could.
His boots shifted slightly in the sand.
When one of the enforcers grabbed Rina's arm, Leo moved.
He crossed the distance in seconds — fast, silent, controlled. His left hand caught the enforcer's wrist; his right hand slammed the man's arm sideways, the pop of a joint snapping under pressure. Before the others could react, Leo's knife flashed — a short, black combat blade pulled from his hip sheath.
One strike.
Two.
Precise and quiet.
The second thug went down with a gurgle before he could shout.
The third tried to draw his pistol — Leo kicked his knee out, twisted the weapon free, and pressed the muzzle to the man's throat.
"Walk away," Leo said flatly.
The man froze. The look in his eyes said he knew he was facing someone trained — someone who killed without hesitation.
He dropped the weapon and stumbled back, dragging his injured friends away.
Leo crouched, picked up a few scattered components, and placed them back on the fallen cart.
"You okay?" he asked.
Rina was staring, wide-eyed. Her breathing was uneven. "Y-Yeah… I— yeah. You didn't have to—"
"They would've come back worse next time," Leo said, brushing sand from his sleeve. "You've got a place nearby?"
She nodded quickly. "Our shop's just a few blocks north. My brother's waiting there. Please — let me repay you. At least with a drink. It's the least I can do."
Leo hesitated, scanning the crowd. A few faces had seen what happened, but most looked away. That was the way of D'rein — survival meant pretending not to notice.
He finally nodded. "Lead the way."
---
Rina's shop sat in a quieter district — metal walls, flickering lights, and a hand-painted sign that read "Rina & Jalen Salvage and Repair." Inside, the air was cooler. The scent of machine oil and spice tea mixed together.
A young man — a few years older than Rina — looked up from a disassembled plasma coil when they entered. His expression shifted from curiosity to alarm.
"What happened?" he asked sharply. "Rina, are you—"
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Scorven again. But he helped."
Jalen's eyes flicked to Leo — sizing him up. "Helped, huh? That doesn't look like a civilian move."
Leo gave a small shrug. "Old habits."
Rina rolled her eyes. "Don't start, Jalen. He saved me."
Jalen sighed, wiped his hands on a rag, and extended one. "Appreciate it, stranger. Scorven's been bleeding this district dry. You cross them, they don't forget."
Leo shook his hand. Firm grip. "I'm not staying long."
"Good," Jalen muttered, half-joking but half-serious. "Because anyone who fights them either ends up dead or on their payroll."
Rina ignored her brother, moving to the counter. "Sit down. I'll get you something. We've got synth tea — not the good kind, but it's hot."
Leo sat, glancing around the shop. Old machinery lined the shelves — repurposed drone cores, half-functional starship parts, and a dusty holographic map of trade routes long abandoned.
"How long've they been running things here?" he asked quietly.
"Scorven?" Jalen scoffed. "Since before I was born. Used to be scavengers, then they got funding from some off-world investors. Now they call themselves a 'corporate authority.' They own the port, the water plants, half the trade routes. Everyone else just… survives."
Rina poured the tea, her voice soft. "People try to fight back sometimes. Doesn't end well. The city's full of ghosts."
Leo nodded slowly, taking a sip. It was bitter, but warm.
"Then why stay?"
"Because it's home," Rina said simply. "And someone has to fix the ships the Syndicate doesn't blow up."
Jalen laughed dryly. "That's her noble speech. Truth is, we can't afford to leave."
Leo didn't reply. His eyes drifted toward the window, where the neon glow of Scorven patrol drones flickered outside.
He could already see the patterns — patrol routes, guard rotations, key intersections. The habits of control. The weakness in routine.
He finished the tea and set the cup down gently.
"I'll pay for supplies," he said. "Fuel cells, ration packs, ammo — whatever you can spare."
Rina frowned. "You don't have to—"
"I do," Leo interrupted, his tone quiet but firm. "You helped me with information. That's enough."
She nodded reluctantly and began gathering what he asked for. Jalen watched him carefully the entire time.
When the transaction was done, Leo stood. "Thank you."
"Hey," Jalen said, folding his arms. "If you're planning to do something stupid — don't. Scorven's got eyes everywhere."
Leo paused at the door, glancing back. His expression didn't change. "I don't plan. I execute."
Then he stepped outside.
---
Night fell fast on D'rein. The desert winds carried dust like golden fog under the city lights. Leo walked along the high ledges of the old starport ruins, the hum of distant engines echoing through the empty air.
Below, Scorven patrols moved in perfect formation — armored transports, drones, enforcers shaking down merchants for "fees." The whole system was built on fear and routine. But every system had flaws.
He crouched on the edge of the ledge, eyes fixed on the city core — a black tower marked with the Scorven insignia. His mind was already piecing things together: how they moved, where they hid, how to dismantle them quietly.
He'd told himself he was done with war. Done with operations, with tactics, with death.
But looking down at D'rein City — at the people forced to bow and the lights that hid corruption — he knew better.
Peace was never something he could just live in. It was something he had to carve out.
And for the first time since he retired, Leo felt his pulse became faster — not with fear, but with purpose.
The hunt would start soon.