Of — - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur...

London straightened, his gaze sweeping over his team. “Faruk, get us in. Mercur, you’re the ghost—neutralize the internal sensors. I’ll handle the heavy lifting.”

The air in the sterile briefing room was thick with the scent of ozone and recycled oxygen. , his face a map of scars and sun-faded tattoos, leaned over the holographic display. He was the anchor, the veteran who had seen more deep-space combat than the rest of the crew combined.

“I never miss,” Faruk replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. OF - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur...

How should the once they breach the refinery's perimeter?

Beside him, adjusted his flight suit. Faruk was the navigator, a man who could find a wormhole in a vacuum. His eyes, dark and sharp, never left the scrolling data streams. “The gravitational fluctuations near the refinery are spiking, Lawrence. If we don’t time the exit perfectly, we’re cosmic dust.” London straightened, his gaze sweeping over his team

“We’re hitting the Aegis refinery at 0400,” London grumbled, his voice like gravel. “No mistakes. This isn’t a training sim.”

The hangar doors hissed open, revealing the sleek, black silhouette of their ship. The mission was suicide to some, but to London, Faruk, and Mercur, it was just another Tuesday in the void. I’ll handle the heavy lifting

“And back,” London replied, slamming a fresh power cell into his rifle.