AN: 14 Advanced Chapters on my Patreon. Book 2 already started there, will be publishing the 3rd chapter (15th advanced) later today.
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Mark walked up to one of the station attendants, a man in his early 20s with a growing goatee and a mustache, approaching him with the intention to ask for help with getting to the nearest store to buy a G-Comm Mobile. The young man looked up from his own device and was startled when he took Mark's height in.
"Holy shit, man, you're fucking tall," the young attendant said. He then stammered a little bit before going back to his normal self. "S-sorry about that, sir, you just caught me off-guard. I mean, have you seen yourself?"
Mark simply chuckled at the young man and waved at him, "Yeah, no need to worry about it. I understand your reaction. I was actually wondering if you'd be able to help me with something. I need to get myself a G-Comm Mobile, but, as you can probably tell, I don't have a single clue of where to go."
The young man nodded eagerly. "Sure thing. We're in the Logistics Ring right now, but all the consumer shops are located in the promenade sector, about two hundred meters forward, then down a level. If you want, I can walk you there."
Mark studied him for a second, looking at his easy grin, the station jumpsuit half-zipped, and his badge reading L. JARO – DOCK OPERATIONS. He didn't look like trouble, just someone making an honest living.
"Sure, why not?" Mark said, nodding once.
Voices overlapped in the wide circular corridor: traders arguing over shipment quotas, mechanics talking over the hiss of pressure tools, the faint music leaking from a bar two decks up.
Voices overlapped in the wide circular corridor as traders argued over shipment quotas, mechanics talked over the hiss of pressure tools, and faint music leaked from a small speaker in one of the workers' toolbelts. As they moved, the scenery began to change. They moved through the flow of people easily, as most gave Mark space, their eyes flicking toward his armor or rifle before deciding to look away.
The utilitarian gray of the docking sector slowly gave way to warmer tones from panels colored in deep amber and steel-blue, with dim light strips running along the ceiling in rhythmic patterns that gave the illusion of sunlight.
When they stepped onto the promenade deck, the place opened up like a city under glass. The deck stretched a kilometer in a sweeping arc, the far side hidden behind a shimmering dome where a digital sky displayed a stylized sunrise. Dozens of storefronts lined both sides, and holographic banners flashed with bright colors as vendors called out prices.
Kids laughed as they ran between the crowds, their shoes tapping on the metal deck. A group of teenagers lounged against a railing overlooking the lower levels, the glow from their holo-tablet screens painting their faces in shifting neon colors.
But even though they were in the commercial area of the station, its rougher edges were still visible as a few men sat outside a bar, their eyes following every passerby with predatory boredom. Station Security patrolled in pairs, their rifles slung low while their presence served as a quiet but firm reminder of order.
"This is the promenade," Jaro said, spreading his arms as if he'd built it himself. "Best you're gonna get out here in the fringe. We've got traders from the Solari System, Hadan Reach, and even a few from the Vickie territories. Everything from synth-food to..." Jaro paused and looked around before speaking in a hushed tone. "Don't tell anyone I told you, but you can even find some smuggled brandies, all depends on how deep your pockets are."
Mark nodded, taking in the information as his gaze moved across the storefronts until he spotted one with a minimalist blue logo: G-COMM RETAIL OUTLET 47-B.
"That's the one," Jaro said while pointing at it. "If that's all, I'll take my leave."
"Yeah, have a good one," Mark said to Jaro's retreating back.
He then turned and walked towards the store. As he stepped inside the store, he was met with a bright and compact, sterile light, white counters, and the subtle hum from a few wall-mounted display panels. The air smelled faintly of plastic and ozone, that "new tech" scent that only seemed to fade after a while.
A young woman, maybe eighteen, nineteen at most, looked up from behind the counter. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, streaked with blue highlights that caught the light, and her nametag read TESSA.
"Welcome to G-Comm," she said with a professional smile. "Looking for a local or multi-system unit today?"
"Uh, multi-system," Mark replied, stepping forward. "Something more top-end and reliable."
She tapped at a console. "Alright, let's see... We've currently got the 9X model in stock. Sure, it's an older flagship, but it's a solid unit and the best you're gonna get out here. You can get a signal across five systems if there's a beacon chain. If you're heading deeper into the core, though, you might want to wait until you reach a larger hub. The 13X just dropped, and it's got faster processors, tighter encryption, and better translight sync. I wish I could order it, but it's really hard to save up that kind of scratch."
Mark nodded and looked around before leaning against the counter slightly. "I think I'll take the 9X. I need something for the moment and don't want to wait too long."
Tessa hesitated, then shrugged. "Your call. You might be able to trade it in, but it won't be for as much as you're about to pay. Speaking of, that'll be six thousand five hundred credits, sir."
Mark instinctively reached for his left pocket and stopped as his fingers met nothing but the cool surface of his armor plate. Of course, he hadn't thought this through. He'd built a ship from nothing, fought pirates, crossed various systems, had a whole plan laid out, but not once did he stop to consider how to pay for something.
Mark looked back up. "Do you have a bank branch terminal nearby? I need to access my account and get a card printed."
Tessa nodded, pulling up a holo-map. "Plenty of banks around here. Which one's yours?"
Mark exhaled, his memory flicking back to his last conversation about the bank account with Anahrin a few months ago. "Uh, Helix Intergalactic."
Tessa gave a low whistle. "Ooh, fancy. You must have deep pockets to bank with them. Their branch is just down the deck, past the food stalls. Can't miss it, big silver doors, lots of security."
"Thanks," he said as he turned to leave.
But Tessa called after him, grinning. "Don't forget to come back! We don't do holds for walkouts."
Mark gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "I hope I won't be long, then."
Outside, the promenade had grown busier, and a line had formed near one of the canteens whose smell of fried protein and soy oil drifted through the air. Someone was playing a stringed instrument that resembled a guitar near the center walkway, its sound crisp and melodic despite the background noise.
He moved through the crowd easily, his height and armor parting the flow of bodies without any effort.
The Helix Intergalactic branch stood exactly where Tessa had said it was. It was a sleek structure of reflective silver alloys and transparent panels with a stylized helix coil encircling a planet that rotated lazily in holographic blue above the entrance.
The guards gave him a side glance as he stepped through the doors. Inside, the air was cooler and the atmosphere was much quieter. The hum of the promenade vanished, replaced by the soft buzz of holo-screens and the faint tap of fingers against glass. The tellers sat behind curved transparent barriers, their desks neat and symmetrical.
Mark took in the look of the place, admiring the architecture of the establishment as it seemed to resemble a mix between Modern and Neo-Classical. He stepped up to one of them, and the attendant, a woman with bronze skin and an accent that hinted that she was from one of teh VIC colonies, looked up with a practiced smile. "Welcome to Helix Intergalactic. How may I assist you today?"
"I need a replacement card," Mark said, resting his forearm on the counter. "My ship's storage got rearranged, and my old one's gone missing."
"Of course, sir." She slid a pad toward him. "May I have your identification and account number, and code?"
Mark nodded and recited the information. "My name is Mark Shephard. Account number is 375...22. Uh, the account code should be 3784.
Once he finished reciting the information, an account popped up in the holographic screen before the attendant, which caused her eyes to widen slightly as the readout scrolled. "Mark Shephard… account registered to Helix Core Holdings. You are registered as one of our Platinum members."
"Yeah," Mark said, voice flat. 'Nice one, Ani, but to hell with the low profile bullshit,' he thought to himself.
The attendant typed quickly. "Understood. You currently have a balance of 107,567 Imperial credits. Shall I authorize a new card imprint?"
Mark nodded with a soft smile on his face, "Please."
She nodded, inserted a blank card into the imager, and after a few seconds, handed it to him. The transparent card shimmered faintly with embedded circuitry. It was elegant, clean, and clearly high-end, something befitting the status of a Platinum member.
Mark turned it over in his fingers, admiring the craftsmanship.
"It may look a little different than you may remember. This is our latest design," the attendant said proudly. "It is hardened against EMP interference and signal spoofing. Please enjoy your day, esteemed customer."
He thanked her and pretended to pocket the card while putting it into his inventory. He then turned around and left. When he stepped out of the bank, the guards nodded to him, their expressions still blank. He made his way back into the promenade and noticed that the artificial sunrise had shifted, casting a soft amber glow through the dome. He walked back toward the G-Comm store with the crowd parting around him once more.
Tessa looked up as he entered. "Back already?"
Mark nodded and, as he pretended to search for his card in his pocket, taking it out of the inventory. He then slid the card across the counter. "I guess I didn't take too long."
She smiled, running the card through the reader. "Alright, Captain Reliable. One 9X Mobile for you. It is system-synced and fully unlocked."
The transaction cleared with a faint tone as Tessa handed him a slim white box with his card on top of it. "As our slogan says, 'No subscriptions, no hidden fees. Welcome to the future.'"
Mark opened it on the counter. The device was sleek, all glass and alloy, about the size of his palm, so rather big. When he powered it on, the holographic interface bloomed above it in cool blue light, and a voice greeted him softly: "Welcome to G-Comm Network. Please input your designation."
He smiled faintly as he spoke. "Mark Shephard."
The device registered the name and synced immediately with the nearest beacon. "Network established."
He couldn't help but feel a quiet satisfaction. "Thanks," he said, pretending to pocket his device while putting it into his inventory.
"Anytime," Tessa said. "And hey, try not to lose this one, yeah? It's worth about a month and a half of my salary."
Mark chuckled and left.
He spent the next couple of hours wandering the promenade, trying out the food stalls' spiced protein skewers and synthetic bread while sipping on a drink that claimed to be "Terran Cola" but tasted vaguely metallic. He sat for a while at a balcony overlooking the docking bay, watching ships come and go, everything from battered cargo freighters to liners and sleek escort corvettes. He would glance every once in a while in the direction of the Shepherd, which sat in Bay Twelve, her hull gleaming under the lights.
It was weird for him because this view felt oddly peaceful. It felt like what he used to chase when he put on his headphones in his past life on Earth and daydreamed. He reminisced on how he was now living in one of the very same stories that he used to spend hours reading. He stayed on that balcony for about an hour more before finally deciding he'd had enough for the day and got up.
As he made his way back toward the docking sector, the crowds began to thin, and although it was technically the middle of the day, the music and chatter faded away and were replaced by the low hum of the station's circulators. As he walked, the wide corridors narrowed and the lights became dimmer.
He passed a familiar group on his way back, the same thugs he'd noticed earlier outside the bar. They were still there, sitting in the same spot, but this time their conversation stopped as he walked by.
Mark kept his eyes forward, his boots echoing against the deck floor as he kept them in mind. It didn't even take ten seconds when he noticed movement in the reflection of a storefront window as one of the thugs had stood up, followed by another.
However, Mark didn't react. He just kept on walking ahead as if he was having a regular stroll, all the while his mind cataloged the sound of every footstep that wasn't his own. He kept on walking in the direction of his ship while keeping in mind the people who were tailing him.
When he was about 100 meters from the Strathos' Shepherd, a group of 10 blocked his path, all of them holding some sort of weapon, from makeshift pipes to actual guns. He recognized one of the men in the group. The man was dressed distinctively and had been aboard his ship only some hours ago, inspecting it.
Mark stared at the young dockworker who had accompanied the older dockworker to help inspect his ship earlier and locked eyes with him. 'You have got to be shitting me,' he thought to himself as he stopped in his tracks and scanned the faces of all the guys in front of him. He turned his head and looked behind him to notice that there were 5 more men behind him, all of them armed as well.
"Captain! Shit, I was finally able to get to you." Marcos' voice came through Mark's earpiece. "They have some sort of short-range jammers that weren't letting me get any messages through to you. There's an ambush waiting for you at the ship. The fucking bastards have been trying to crack the cargo bay for the last fifteen minutes, but they've only managed to do a number on the paint job."
"I can see that," Mark replied in a low and shaky voice as he scanned the faces of the men around him with a calm facade, but his adrenaline was starting to run rampant inside of him.
"Oi, ye tall fockin' bastard," one of the men spoke, his accent thick, reminding Mark of someone of Scottish descent. "We heard ye're a new face. Dunno if ye been told, but new faces pay a price. I fancy yer ship. So be a good boy and hand'er over and maybe ye live t' breathe vacuum tomorrow."
Mark exhaled slowly. "You really don't want to do this."
The man spat at the floor. "Oh, ye? But I think I fockin' do."
Without any more preamble, the men all rushed him at once from both sides. Mark's armor flared to life, with a faint shimmer as its nano-composite plating hardened and the internal servos locked, covering the only exposed part of him, his head.
He felt a pipe strike him from the right and made an attempt to block it, but was unable to do so, the hit landing on his armor by his ribs. The sound was like steel hitting steel, followed by the yelp of the attacker who clutched his wrist as the vibration up through his bone.
Mark pivoted, accidentally elbowing another man square in the chest, and the force of the blow sent the thug sprawling backward into two others. He wasn't trying to kill anyone. Hell, he had never even been in an actual fist-fight in either one of his lives. His body was just moving on pure reflex and impulse.
But there were too many people for Mark, and he felt a blow connect with the back of his helmet, making him stagger for a second before another hit caught him on the side again. The suit's systems compensated instantly, distributing impact through its kinetic mesh, but Mark actually felt the shove in his ribs this time.
He took another hit, then another, and for a moment, the swarm pressed him backward toward a stack of cargo containers. His boots screeched against the deck.
"Marcos," he grunted, "status on those signal jammers?"
"Uh, they're still active, Cap," Marcos replied. "I've pinpointed their location, and from what I can tell, they're some portable units, probably two or three of them. Want me to light them up with the autocannons?"
"Are you fucking crazy?" Mark barked. "You'll punch a bunch of holes through the damn station and space me along with these idiots."
"Oh, stop telling me how good a time that course of action would be," Marcos said, the sense of a smile could be felt in the AI's tone of voice. "I'd really enjoy that."
Mark ducked a swing aimed at his head, twisted, and slammed his fist into one of his attacker's faces, caving it with ease. Mark's eyes widened as he stared at the dead man who had been tossed aside by his fellow thugs. He snapped back into reality just in time to sidestep and grab the arm of a man who pointed a gun at his face, pulling it down with one arm while pushing up with the other, easily breaking the man's arm.
What he had just done wasn't skill, no, it was accomplished by extremely heightened senses and inhuman strength. It had been a long time since he had last seen how strong he was, and he had forgotten he had been genetically engineered by Anahrin to push far beyond humanity's current levels in an attempt to reach what they once were.
Then he realized that he wasn't hurt whatsoever. Hell, he wasn't even bruised. His armor had been taking every hit without so much as a hairline fracture. The impacts registered, but they didn't matter. He straightened to his full height, over two meters of armored composite and reinforced muscle, and exhaled.
"Guess I'm done playing nice," he said, pulling a move from an actor from his previous life and reloading his arms. "It's my turn now."
He uppercut a man who had come at him with a wrench, instantly shattering his jaw and knocking him out. The sound was sharp and wet, making the other thugs freeze momentarily as he dropped like a melon dropped on concrete.
Mark froze again, staring at the smear of red across his suit's knuckles. This was now the second man he had probably killed accidentally. But the shock quickly wore off as another attacker lunged at him with a knife in hand. Mark reacted out of pure instinct, grabbing him by the throat and hurling him sideways into a bulkhead, slamming his head against it. The sound of his skull cracking registered in Mark's ears, but he ignored it to continue throwing punches.
But just as he was getting into a rhythm, the sound of gunfire registered and three sharp cracks echoed through the large corridor, striking Mark in the chest. The impact forced him back for a second, and he turned toward the source. It was the dockworker. The same young man from earlier, holding a pistol with trembling hands, muzzle smoking.
Mark stared at him and raised a hand in warning. "Don't you fucking-."
But the kid fired again, forcing Mark to dive behind a cargo stack for cover as the rounds ricocheted off his armor plating and sparks were sent scattering across the deck.
"Hey, Cap," Marcos' voice came again into Mark's earpiece. "If you want, I can take care of these guys. Just give me the word."
"I said stand down," Mark growled. "I don't want any holes on my ship, I don't want any holes in the station, I don't want any fucking holes anywhere."
"Sheesh, drama queen much? Could've just said no," Marcus spoke, his voice oozing with sarcasm. "I'll remind you to install tasers after this. Should work 45% of the time."
More gunfire erupted as some of the men he'd accidentally knocked down were getting back up, drawing their sidearms from jackets and waist holsters. Bullets pinged off the walls, accompanied by the high-pitched whine of ricochets.
Mark's heart was pounding, and his breathing was quickening by the millisecond. His muscles tensed under the armor as his body was experiencing a dump of adrenaline way too fast. He closed his eyes and forced himself to slowly exhale.
"Calm down, Mark. Calm down," he whispered to himself. And that's when something changed within him. He felt as the pounding in his chest slowed and the flood of adrenaline was replaced by something cold and focused. He felt his vision sharpen, and every single one of his senses became more attuned and sensitive. He felt as though he could hear every single heartbeat in the corridor.
It was as if he became a whole different person. He rolled out from cover, his K-272 energy rifle already drawn and humming as he squeezed the trigger once. A bolt of condensed plasma cracked through the air, hitting one of the gunmen square in the chest. The impact vaporized fabric and scorched flesh as it went through him and dispersed as it made contact with the ground.
Mark noticed that his attackers froze from his action. So he didn't waste any time, instantly locking onto another man and firing as he moved forward methodically. Controlled bursts of lighting lit the corridor in strobing blue flashes as they escaped his rifle's barrel, and his boots rang against the metal floor. Each one of his shots found a target, be it a shoulder, a thigh, or center-mass. Those who were still standing screamed and scattered for cover, but they were unlucky as Mark managed to hit them.
The dockworker tried to run, but Mark aimed low and fired, striking him in the leg. The kid collapsed, clutching at the smoking hole that had already been cauterized. The corridor fell silent except for the hiss of the K-272 and the faint hum of Mark's armor systems stabilizing.
He walked forward slowly, each one of his steps echoing through the now silent corridor. The dockworker's breathing hitched as he stared at how Mark would pause every other step to fire a shot into the head of every single one of the men he had downed and were in his path, before he finally stood over him. Mark's seven-foot armored silhouette stared down at him as the red color of Mark's visor reflected the harsh overhead lights. Mark stopped a meter away, pointing the rifle at the kid, letting its muzzle hover near his face.
"Talk," Mark said quietly.
The young man's voice trembled. "I-I just wanted to make some money. I noticed your ship was devoid of crew earlier this morning and that you had some precious cargo in your bay. I was just looking for a way to-"
"Make a quick score," Mark finished for him.
The dockworker nodded frantically. "I-I swear on my mother's life, I'm sorry. I'll never do something like this again. Just forgive me this once. Come on, man. It's not a crime befitting death."
Mark stared at him for a long moment as the tension between them hung in the air.
"You're not sorry for what you did," Mark said finally, his voice emotionless. "You're only sorry you got caught. And no, it's not a crime befitting of death, but you can't just shoot at someone and not expect them to shoot back."
The man opened his mouth to beg, but the sound never escaped his lips as Mark pulled the trigger, the sound echoing one last time in the corridor before fading into silence. He stood there for several seconds, breathing steadily as he analyzed the scene surrounding him. The corridor had become a warzone, and 15 bodies lay strewn across the deck with scorch marks on the walls and the ground.
"Hey, Cap," Marcos spoke, his tone soft. "You doing alright?"
Mark didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked down at his armor and the blood that had splattered across his chest plate and streaked along his hands.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I'm fine."
"Sure, if you say so," Marcos replied, going silent for a second. "Station security's inbound. You might wanna look harmless."
Mark sucked his teeth as he stared at the approaching security officers after they rounded the corner, their rifles raised and eyes wide at the carnage. "Tch. Not much chance of that."
"Drop the weapon!" one shouted. "Now!"
Mark didn't move for a second before sighing softly. He placed the rifle on the deck with a metallic clatter and knelt slowly and deliberately, interlacing his fingers behind his head. The security team fanned out with their weapons still trained on him, their faces paling as they took in the twisted bodies with smoking wounds around Mark. Some of them even had blood pooling from their head.
One of the security officers swore under his breath. "Holy shit..."
Another muttered, "Holy fuck…"
They cuffed him without a word, magnetic restraints snapping over his wrists. Mark didn't resist, bowing his head as he walked and shaking it while speaking under his breath. "So much for not attracting any fucking attention."