Word spread fast through the colony.
By midday, everyone knew a syndicate enforcer was dead—fried by his own baton. Metal Jaw ran straight to the tower, calling for backup.
Lian stayed in the ruined pod.
Sitting in his spot. Void eyes staring at Harlan's bed.
Old Jax came and begged him to leave. "They'll kill you, kid. Run now."
Lian didn't answer.
Jax left more food and walked away shaking his head.
Evening came. The twin suns bled red across the dunes.
Then the boots arrived.
Heavy. Many.
Twelve syndicate guards this time. Full black armor. Plasma rifles charged and glowing. Metal Jaw led them, red eye burning angry. A captain walked beside him—big man with full face augs and a grav-hammer on his back.
They surrounded the pod.
The captain's voice boomed, smooth and augmented. "Lian Yu. Come out. Hands empty. You're under arrest for murder."
Silence.
Metal Jaw stepped forward. "Don't play games, kid. We'll drag you out in pieces."
Lian stood up slow.
He picked up the shock baton. Held it loose.
Walked to the broken doorway.
Stopped.
His void eyes looked over the line of rifles pointed at him.
The captain spoke again. "Drop the baton. Last chance."
Lian looked at Metal Jaw.
Then at the nearest guard.
He moved.
Fast.
One step out. Baton swung hard at the closest guard's arm.
Crack—wrist bone broke. The guard screamed and dropped his rifle.
Lian grabbed the falling rifle. Fired once from the hip.
A plasma bolt hit the guard square in the chest plate. Armor melted. The man fell back, smoking.
That was all he got.
The rest opened fire.
Plasma bolts filled the air—green and blue streaks.
Lian dove sideways. Most missed.
Two hit.
One burned across his left shoulder—flesh sizzled, skin blackened and peeled.
The second grazed his side—deep burn along his ribs, cloth and skin melting together.
Pain exploded. White hot.
He hit the ground hard.
Boots rushed in.
They were on him fast.
Rifle butts slammed down.
One cracked his ribs.
Another split his lip.
Metal fists punched his stomach, his back, his face.
He curled up, arms over head.
Tried to crawl away.
A boot stomped his hand—fingers cracked.
They beat him until blood ran from his nose, mouth, ears.
Until his vision blurred red.
Until he could barely breathe through the pain.
Metal Jaw leaned down last. Grabbed Lian's hair. Pulled his head up.
"You think you're tough now?" he hissed. "You're nothing."
He slammed Lian's face into the metal floor.
Darkness tried to take him.
But Lian didn't go out.
He waited.
They thought he was done.
The captain waved a hand. "Chain him. Take him to the cells."
Two guards bent to grab his arms.
Lian moved.
Weak. Slow.
But sudden.
He rolled into the nearest guard's legs.
Tripped him.
Grabbed the fallen shock baton again.
Jammed it into the second guard's ankle gap in the armor.
Turned it on.
Sparks. Scream. The guard dropped.
The circle tightened.
More shots.
Lian crawled through the smoke and dust.
Behind the pod. Through the small back hole he'd known forever.
Into the shadows of junk piles and dunes.
Plasma bolts burned the metal behind him.
One more grazed his leg—burned a line down his calf.
He kept crawling.
Then running.
Limping bad. Blood trailing.
Pain everywhere.
New scars smoking on shoulder, side, leg.
But he didn't stop.
He slipped into the dark between hab-blocks.
Hid in scrap.
Waited until the shouts faded.
Until search lights moved away.
Hours later, under cold stars, he limped toward the outer landing pads.
A big supply freighter sat there—engines warming for dawn takeoff.
He found a cargo crate half-loaded.
Climbed inside.
Curled up among Qi crystal containers.
Chest heaving. Blood dripping.
Scars burning fresh.
He closed his void eyes.
The ship would leave soon.
Take him off Khar-9.
Away from the syndicate hunt.
Toward something bigger.
His broken body hurt with every breath.
But inside the void, the spark burned hotter.
He would heal
He would grow strong.
He would come back one day.
And they would pay.
All of them.