I'm in the Arkvault's engine room, a massive hall of thumping pistons and sparking machinery, facing a neon-slime alien that's anything but slow.
Fiona's white-and-black suit glows, her flux staff in sword mode, braid swaying as she glares at the swirling blob. Dmitri looms, orange-and-black suit snug, magma spear poised, shield flickering with fire. The slime, oozing in a wall crevice, spins like a galactic blender, spraying goo that burns the air. "This blob's got moves!" I yell, diving with my power fist. The slime dodges, spraying a glob that singes my sleeve. "Oi, that's my good suit!" I shout, flux flaring.
"Less whining, more punching!" Fiona snaps, her staff slashing, flux slicing the air. The slime spins, deflecting her attack with a gooey spray. "This thing's a dodgeball champ!" she groans, ducking a glob.
Dmitri charges, shield blazing. "Slow, my foot!" he roars, slamming it into the slime. The blob sprays goo, sticking his boots. "Gah, like cosmic glue!" he growls, wrenching free. My bracelet pings: Attack dodged. Query: Gooey cardio penalty? "Not helping!" I yell, firing my pistol. The plasma grazes the slime, which spins faster, flinging me back. "Mate, you're supposed to be dim-witted!" I shout, skidding.
"Intel's bunk!" Fiona calls, her staff shifting to bow mode, arrows zipping. The slime sprays goo, deflecting them. "It's like fighting a sentient smoothie!" she huffs, braid bouncing.
"Keep it cornered!" Dmitri barks, spear slashing, fire sparking. I roll, flux sparking, and we herd the slime toward a pipe cluster. "Now, Fiona!" I yell. Her staff pulses, flux spreading like a net, pinning the blob. I leap, bag open. "Into the sack, you slippery git!" The slime thrashes, but Fiona's flux holds, and I shove it in, the metal-cloth sealing tight. Dmitri's shield pins it down, wind howling. "Got you!" I grin, tying the bag. My bracelet pings: Target bagged. Query: Cosmic laundry badge?
"Nice lift, team!" Fiona laughs, staff dimming. Dmitri smirks, wiping goo off his shield. "Tougher than eel queens." We tap our bracelets—elder's chips humming discreetly—and teleport to the Guild hall, its red dome throbbing. The receptionist, disco-ball eyes glinting, takes the wriggling bag. "This slime mutated in the engine room's energy field," she hums, scanning it. "C-rank threat, not D-rank. Extra 500 credits each for the trouble. Total: 1,000." My bracelet pings: Credits: +1,000. Total: ~15,500. Query: Hazard pay PR?
"Blimey, C-rank?" I exclaim. "That blob was a beast!"
"Mutated, huh?" Fiona says, smirking. "Explains the spin cycle."
"Pay's good," Dmitri grunts, spear retracted. "Let's spend it."
We hit the Guild armory, a gleaming shop of suits and weapons. "New gear time!" I cheer, eyeing sleek suits. The armorer, a spiky Vordex, hums, "First suits free, upgrades cost the difference." I swap my red-and-black suit for a sleeker version, tougher fibers humming with flux conduits, paying 2,000 credits. Fiona's new white-and-black suit shimmers, 2,000 credits lighter. Dmitri's orange-and-black suit, now reinforced, costs him 2,000. "Weapons stay," I say, flexing my power fist. "These are D-rank solid."
"My staff's fine," Fiona agrees, twirling it.
"Spear's hot enough," Dmitri smirks, shield glinting.
"Looking sharp, Ramblers!" I grin, admiring our new threads. My bracelet pings: Gear upgraded. Query: Cosmic catwalk badge? "Cheeky," I mutter.
We teleport to Habitat-382, hitting a restaurant with neon-lit tables and synth-food that smells like stardust. Over glowing noodles and fizzing drinks, we trade laughs. "That slime spun like my old gym's spin class!" I say, slurping.
Fiona giggles, braid swaying. "You screamed when it sprayed you."
"Did not!" I protest, grinning. "Okay, maybe a little."
Dmitri smirks, sipping. "You two flirted through the goo. Pathetic."
"Oi, you're just jealous of our teamwork!" I shoot back, winking at Fiona. She blushes, kicking my shin under the table. "Teamwork, sure," she teases, eyes sparkling.
"Lovebirds," Dmitri mutters, smirking wider. We laugh, clinking glasses, the restaurant humming with alien chatter. Back at our flats, I linger outside, heart pumping like pre-lift jitters. I want to hug Fiona, but my body freezes, like a barbell's glued to the floor. She steps close, eyes soft, and wraps me in a quick hug, her warmth like a flux spark. "Good night," she says, cheeks red, darting to Unit 58.
I'm a statue, brain blank. "G-good night!" I stammer, as she slips away. My bracelet pings: Incident: Romantic hug. Query: Brain blank, stammering?