Cassian Drehl sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze lost in the dark.
Behind him, the woman moved.
Neon light slid over her, sketching soft shadows along her silhouette.
Her gestures had the slow quiet of a calmed breath; the swell of her perfect, oversized breasts, the lines of her hips—everything seemed engineered to echo what perfection had erased: warmth, motion, life.
Under the skin, pinpricks of light pulsed like artificial heartbeats.
It was a body built to please.
She came closer and brushed his shoulder.
"It was good," she whispered.
A line without conviction, memorized, mechanical.
Cassian didn't answer. His hands stayed clasped between his knees, rigid. His eyes lingered on his palms, as if searching for something he'd lost a long time ago.
A signal hummed in his head.
An internal chime, cold and insistent.
"Agent Drehl. You are required at Headquarters. Alpha-level emergency."
He stood without a word. The voice resonated directly through his cortex.
The woman stepped back, startled by the abruptness of the move.
"What's going on?" he thought.
"You in a cave or something? Look out the window."
Cassian drew the curtain aside.
The window opened onto the city.
In the rain, screens flickered for kilometers: a woman's face, amethyst eyes, a name pulsing on every façade.
LEA ASKION — WANTED. ENEMY OF THE EMPIRE.
"I see," Cassian murmured. "I'm on my way."
The channel cut off with a dry beep.
"Anastasia," he thought, "get the car."
"Of course, sir," answered the smooth voice of the embedded AI.
He slipped on his black shirt, his investigator's coat, pinned the silver seal to his sleeve.
Before leaving, he glanced at the woman; her artificial eyes shone with a violet glint.
"It was… perfect," he said simply. "Until next time."
He slid his palm briefly against hers.
A notification blinked at the edge of his vision:
Transfer completed: 400 Alkada.
Cassian left without looking back.
The hotel corridors breathed steam and disinfectant.
Downstairs, the black car was already waiting.
Rain drummed the bodywork as he climbed in, silent.
"Central Bureau," he said.
"Route set," Anastasia replied.
The door sighed shut. The vehicle rose over the city.
Through the rain, the words LEA ASKION kept burning from every screen.
Cassian rested his head against the seat. The engine's purr thrummed through the chassis like an artificial heartbeat.
"Resume where I left off," he said.
"At once, sir," Anastasia answered, her voice soft and perfectly neutral.
Text unfurled in the air before him, projected across the windshield—white letters floating in the reflection of rain.
Litany of Perfection — Verse IV
Year 127 of the Order.
We are born imperfect, forged in the chaos of chance.Our flesh is weak, our will trembles, our minds drown in emotion.But through the Vision of Alkardus, the Empire made us pure.It taught us to replace the heart's beating with the circuit's precision.It gave us form, order, and meaning—and through meaning, salvation.The machine does not doubt.The machine does not lie.The machine does not weep.To rise is to obey.To obey is to exist.Thus speaks the Empire.
The text faded slowly into the air.
Cassian laced his fingers, closed his eyes for a moment. His breathing evened out. A mute prayer, codified, learned since childhood. Nothing emotional, nothing spiritual—just a habit embedded, a reflex of programming.
"We have arrived at Imperial Headquarters, sir," Anastasia announced.
Cassian opened his eyes.
Ahead, through the wet glass, a colossal structure of steel and glass rose. Alkardus sigils gleamed like mechanical crosses across its façades.
He stepped out without a word.
The air bit cold.
A stream of suit-clad agents crossed the entrance, files in hand, eyes tethered to their internal interfaces. Fatigue ghosted through their movements, but no one stopped: the Empire did not permit pauses.
Cassian passed his wrist before the gate.
A dry click, and the door slid open.
Behind him, two guards in heavy armor held particle lances—long weapons with luminous tips, able to vaporize a body in a breath.
One of them was fully synthetic, the other half-human; their masked faces reflected the neon without expression.
The detector flashed green.
Cassian entered.
The lobby stretched across multiple levels, cut by suspended walkways. Transparent elevators slid along glass walls. Drones skimmed overhead with sealed crates.
He walked to an elevator, measured steps.
The door opened with a sigh.
"Seventy-sixth floor," he said calmly.
"Order confirmed," replied the synthetic voice.
The floor hummed lightly under his boots.
Through the translucent walls, the city rose in a tangle of light and rain. Holograms of metallic angels towered over streets, chanting slogans of faith and order.
Cassian kept still, eyes on his reflection in the glass.
A perfect man. Empty, precise, necessary.
The elevator stopped. The doors parted on the seventy-sixth floor.
The level vibrated with activity. Dozens of agents labored behind translucent screens, faces tired, eyes carved out by blue light. Across the floor, a superior delivered a brisk briefing to a cluster of investigators—the words Lea Askion looping over and over on the holo displays.
The air smelled of burnt coffee, adrenaline, and hierarchy.
Cassian was moving toward his desk when a voice called him.
A man in a brown suit hurried over, tablet in hand.
"The boss wants you," he said under his breath. "Watch what you say—he's furious. The top brass are all over him to bring her in."
Cassian nodded.
"Give me a quick brief."
The other man sighed and scrolled.
"She stole a technology the Empire was synthesizing. Something big. We don't know the exact nature of the prototype yet, but Science Bureau says it could shake the very foundations of society."
He paused.
"And with tensions rising these last few years, news like that could relight the flames."
"Understood."
"Good luck, man," he said, tapping Cassian's shoulder. "And… try not to end up like the others."
Cassian didn't answer.
He reached a heavy metal door.
He knocked twice.
"Come in, Cassian," a deep voice called from beyond.
The smell of alcohol hit him at once. The light was dim, rain trailing down the panoramic window.
A man stood with his back to him, massive silhouette, squared shoulders.
"Sit," he said without turning.
Cassian obeyed. The man slowly turned.
His black shirt hung open at the chest, revealing a torso partially mechanized—exoskeletal plates meshed with flesh. One arm fully robotic, eyes white with cross-shaped pupils, a long scar over the right eye. White hair, long, framed a face of rigid, imperial beauty.
"Drink?" he asked, already pouring his own.
"No thank you, sir."
He arched a brow, took a sip, then looked back at the window.
"You know, Cassian… my father placed me here. He trusted me."
He paused, watching the city in the rain.
Eden Travidius Von Kharius—eighth son of Emperor Philippe XIX, Supreme Governor of Earth—kept this planet like a prestige outpost.
"And that trust," he went on, tightening his grip on the glass, "is inches from shattering."
His voice rose, sudden and sharp.
"I've already sent hunters, agents, entire squadrons—every one of them after that FUCKING VIOLET WITCH!"
The glass exploded in his robotic hand.
Shards skittered across the desk.
"None of them found her! Not one!"
He inhaled, jaw locked.
"I hope you, Drehl, live up to your reputation. They've sung your praises."
Cassian stood, straight-backed, gaze hard. His right hand came to his heart.
"I'll fulfill the duty entrusted to me by the Empire's White Flower. I swear it on my life, sir."
Eden studied him for a long moment, then a thin smile pulled at his lips.
He swept a strand of hair behind his ear and set his mechanical hand on Cassian's shoulder.
"Good… very good. But listen carefully, Agent Drehl."
His voice dipped, almost a whisper.
"If you fail, take your own life. Don't expect to breathe again under my jurisdiction. Understood?"
Cassian didn't flinch.
"Yes, sir."
"Then go. You'll receive all necessary files before departure."
"Thank you for your trust, sir."
He saluted and left.
The door shut behind him with a hard clap.
Cassian drew a long breath, features set.
At the end of the corridor, Agent Karth was waiting.
"So?"
"Pack your gear," Cassian said without slowing. "Tell the team to do the same."
"We're leaving?"
"In one hour. Meet at the docks."
He straightened his coat, eyes on the elevator.
"We're hunting the terrorist."
Karth nodded, wordless. Rain had started drumming the windows again.
Cassian stepped into the elevator, silent.
"Lea Askion…" he thought. "Perfection is finally going to find you."
An hour later, the imperial hangar throbbed like a storm cage. Under the vault of steel and glass, catwalks crisscrossed at multiple levels. Drones welded, cranes set parts in place, holograms threw tactical plans and Lea Askion's face into the air. The air smelled of ion fuel and heated metal.
At the center, one ship ruled them all: seventy meters across, a predator ready to spring.
Its black hull, woven from Obsidian-Lattice composites, seemed to swallow light; violet striations pulsed slow and steady—the heartbeat of a cutting-edge fusion core. On the flank, in silver letters: INTERCEPTOR-CLASS "AURORA STRIKE" — MODEL XV-9 PROTOTYPE.
They said it could clear orbit and jump to hyperspace in under twenty minutes.
A weapon of grace, speed, and pitiless intent.
Before the beast, Cassian Drehl stood straight. At his feet, a hundred and fifty agents held perfect lines.
Rain hammered the platform; spotlights drew argent glints over their armor.
Cassian, long coat and steady gaze, embodied the Empire's cold discipline.
He raised his hand, and silence dropped like a slab.
"The Empire's White Flower has entrusted us with a mission that allows no failure," he began, voice clear and cool. "Lea Askion is wanted for treason and theft of classified technology. What she took isn't a mere prototype—it's a key. In her hands, it could set worlds ablaze. In ours, it must remain sealed. Understand this: either we succeed, or we fall."
A thunder of voices answered, sharp.
"YES, CAPTAIN!"
Cassian let the echo die, pinning the crowd with a gaze that allowed neither weakness nor detour.
"According to our latest data," he continued, gesturing as a holo-map opened before them, projecting a stellar trajectory and a ping on the planet Xorzia, "her last signature tracked toward the Xorzian system. She left Earth's orbit twenty-four hours ago. The jump looks improvised—classic flight: fast, chaotic. We leave now."
Officers moved at once with mechanical precision. Maintenance teams ran final checks; techs locked pilots into zero-g seats; engineers verified compartment seals. Harness clicks, generator hum, and the metallic voice of weapons systems reporting "ready" braided into a single, rising pulse.
"Agent Karth!" Cassian called when he spotted him. "Final verification—cargo and armament status."
The brown-haired agent answered, tablet up:
"Armament optimal. Distortion range nominal. Shields set at fifty percent to keep maneuverability. Refuel capacity ready for a short jump. Pursuit team assigned, two squadrons of light fighters, orbital support on standby."
Cassian nodded, almost imperceptibly.
"Good. You have ten minutes to board. We launch on signal. Keep this in mind: no flashy heroics. If she tries to light the fuse, we snuff it out; if she reaches for allies, we cut them away. The mission is simple: bring the target back. Clean."
A current of approval coursed through the ranks before they fanned out in silence. Cables dropped from the ceiling, locking crates and charges; ramps lowered in a precise ballet. Squadrons took their moorings—fast, methodical—like bees around a hive.
Cassian descended the ramp, letting his fingertips brush the Aurora Strike's hull. The core vibrated under his palm, low and alive.
"Spin-up time: twenty minutes," Anastasia announced in his ear. "Stellar corridors to Xorzia secured."
"Good."
Behind him, technicians sealed panels; robots locked the hold. The hangar rumbled, hot with sparks and metal. A pilot approached, helmet under his arm.
"We'll put a spotlight on her neck, cap."
"Just do your job and come home in one piece."
The ramps slammed shut. The Aurora Strike tipped its nose toward the hangar vault; its engines roared. The platform slid away; restraint rings retracted. The ship's heart climbed in pitch, singing like a mechanical animal straining at the leash.
Cassian climbed the gangway and took the command chair. The console shimmered—stars about to sprout.
"Bring her online," he said.
The engines obeyed.
The hangar doors opened into a dawn of steel.
The Aurora Strike rose—first a breath, then a bellow. Its plasma thrusters cut the gray sky, swallowed the rain, and carried a hundred and fifty souls toward one mission: find the violet-named terrorist, and restore the Empire's order.