The following weeks blurred into violence and silence. Contract after contract, the reputation of the Black Ladybug spread through Finite Space like a poisonous weed. Every kill was clean, brutal, efficient. Ishtar turned the Star-Mite—once a symbol of her humiliation—into an omen of death. She bought better shields, a stronger reactor, armor-piercing ammunition. But every upgrade only reminded her of the dead end she was trapped in.
The name Raul Smith Lee and SSL 3D Printing remained a ghost that mocked her.
She pressed the mannequin for more information, but the answer was always the same:
[What you seek is not in a market. It is in a vault.]
After her tenth successful mission—one that involved the elimination of an entire mercenary squad—the mannequin's response changed.
[Your reputation now speaks for you. There is only one name known to open the vault you seek. But he is not found. He finds. His name is Khepri.]
Ishtar had heard the name before, whispered through encrypted channels. Khepri wasn't a player. He was a myth. A demon in the code, a hacker so proficient that some believed he was one of the game's original developers gone rogue. He was the unofficial leader—the gray eminence—of the Guild of the Exiled.
There was no way to contact him. Frustration tightened into a cold knot in Ishtar's stomach. She was back at square one.
Then the game universe choked.
She was drifting through what should have been an empty region of Finite Space when her sensors went insane. Her ship froze—not from an attack, but as if the very code of space had been paused. Ahead of her, the void warped. Polygons stretched, textures flickered, and out of nothing, a thing materialized.
It wasn't a ship. It was an avatar—but one that should not exist. A twisted mass of code, a grotesque sculpture of broken textures and impossible geometry. Vaguely, it resembled a giant scarab, its limbs formed from glowing lines of code that unraveled as they moved. At the center of the abomination, two points of white light burned like dying stars.
Khepri.
He didn't attack. He didn't bargain. He simply spoke—and his voice wasn't sound, but text that formed directly in Ishtar's mind, cold and emotionless.
[Ishtar. Leader of the guild "The Five." Master of the Pirs Maneuver, which you used to break Apex's blockade in the Orionis system four years ago. A 92% win rate across more than 4,000 recorded engagements. I see you are looking for me. But you do not belong in this place.]
Helen's blood ran cold. Years of anonymity, her identity carefully buried—undone in a single instant by a ghost in the code. Her hand instinctively moved toward the weapon controls, but she knew it was pointless.
[I can find who paid SSL 3D Printing for your… gift,] Khepri continued, indifferent to her silent hostility. [I can trace the transaction back to its origin.]
Ishtar found her voice, typing a reply with controlled fury.
[What's the price?]
[Data leaves an echo. The order came from outside the game, but the delivery was to you. To find the sender's echo, I must analyze the recipient's source. I require partial, temporary access to your personal system logs.]
The offer hung in the air, more threatening than any cannon. Giving someone access to her system was suicide. That was how Alexandre had betrayed her. It was her blind spot. Her greatest vulnerability. The refusal was instant, visceral.
[No.]
Khepri did not react. The two white points of light merely watched her.
[Your paranoia is the armor that has kept you alive, Ishtar. But it is also the cage that keeps you blind. They know where you live. They attacked you in the real world. And you are here, hunting pirates for scraps, because you are too afraid to trust the only one who can give you the weapon you truly need.]
The distorted avatar began to dissolve, code unraveling back into nothing.
[The choice is yours. Remain blind in your fortress, or give me the key—and I will show you the face of your true enemy.]
Ishtar stood frozen. Trust was weakness. Refusal was blindness.
She looked at the name Khepri. Looked at the empty void where the avatar had been. The image of the broken miniature on her table in the real world burned in her mind. She was trapped.
And there was only one way out.
With fingers trembling in powerless rage, she typed a single word, each letter tasting like poison.
[Granted.]