"Three minutes, you idiot! We have three minutes before this place becomes a crematorium!"
Lyra wasn't just yelling; she was vibrating. She tried to yank her wrist away, but the magnetic limiter Kane had slapped on her held firm. The metal bit into her skin, a cold reminder that she was currently tethered to a walking disaster area.
Kane didn't flinch. He was staring at the holographic display bleeding from the scavenger's dead wrist. Red warnings flashed in a rhythmic, violent pulse. *Void Signature Detected. Imperial Beacon Active.*
"Stop shaking," Kane said. His voice was flat, devoid of the panic she was radiating. "It's distracting."
"Distracting?" Lyra let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "We just rang the dinner bell for the most sadistic hunter in the sector! If Vargas catches us, he won't just kill us. He'll peel our skins off while we're still breathing just to see how the limiter works!"
Kane finally looked at her. His eyes weren't normal. There was something shifting behind the iris—a swirling, ink-black vacuum that seemed to pull the light out of the room. He stepped closer, invading her space until she was pressed back against a rusted support beam. The smell of ozone and old rain clung to him.
"Then tell me how to shut it off," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave. He didn't touch her, but the heat radiating from his body was oppressive. "Now."
Lyra swallowed hard, her gaze flickering from his eyes to the pulsing red light. "I can't. The beacon is hardwired into the signal you emitted. The only way to stop it is to kill the source. But the source is... well, it's you, you gorgeous freak."
"I'm the source?" Kane's brow furrowed. He looked down at his own hands. He didn't feel like a beacon. He felt like a hole in the world, a void waiting to be filled.
"Yes! You're a walking flare!" Lyra snapped, though she didn't pull away. Her breathing was shallow, her chest brushing against his jacket with every gasp. "Vargas doesn't track people. He tracks energy. And right now, you're screaming your location to the entire Empire in a language only he understands."
Suddenly, the ceiling groaned. A thunderous crash echoed through the scrapyard, followed by the high-pitched whine of a plasma cutter. A section of the corrugated roof vanished in a shower of white-hot sparks.
"Too late," Lyra whispered.
Through the hole in the roof, a figure descended. He didn't use a parachute; he used gravity-boots that slammed into the metal floor with a bone-shaking thud. The man was clad in matte-black imperial armor, a jagged visor obscuring his face. In his right hand, he held a disruptor blade that hummed with a sickening purple light.
This wasn't Vargas. This was a Vanguard—a high-tier hunter built specifically to reclaim rogue weapons.
"Specimen Zero," the hunter rasped. The voice was synthesized, metallic. "Return to the cradle, or be dismantled on site."
Kane stepped in front of Lyra, his body shielding hers. The power dynamic shifted instantly. He wasn't the confused amnesiac anymore; he was a predator recognizing another predator.
"I don't remember any cradle," Kane said. "But I remember I don't like your voice."
"Sass is a glitch," the hunter replied. He moved with a blur of augmented speed, the disruptor blade slashing toward Kane's neck.
Kane didn't dodge. He didn't even raise his arms. He just... reached out.
As the blade made contact, there was no clang of metal. Instead, a vacuum opened. A sphere of absolute darkness erupted from Kane's palm, swallowing the purple energy of the blade. The hunter froze, his arm locked in place as if caught in invisible cement.
"What the hell..." Lyra breathed, leaning forward, her eyes wide.
Kane felt it. The moment the void touched the blade, a surge of electricity shot up his arm. It wasn't pain. It was hunger. A ravenous, screaming need for more. He could feel the hunter's energy—the kinetic boosters in his legs, the neural link in his brain, the raw power of the disruptor—all of it flowing toward him like a river of gold.
*Take it,* a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not his voice. Something older. Something forbidden. *Devour.*
Kane gripped the hunter's wrist. The contact was electric. He could feel the man's pulse racing, the terror finally breaking through the synthesized voice.
"Get off me!" the hunter screamed, trying to trigger a blast, but the energy never left his suit. It was being sucked out through his skin, stripped away by the void.
Kane's eyes went completely black. He felt a rush of euphoria so intense it made his vision swim. It was better than air. Better than memory. He felt his muscles tighten, his reflexes sharpen, and a new set of data streaming into his brain: *Combat Protocol 7. Thermal Vision. Kinetic Dampening.*
He wasn't just fighting the man; he was stealing his existence.
"Stop!" Lyra shouted, though she sounded more fascinated than horrified. "Kane, you're literally draining him!"
Kane didn't stop. He couldn't. He squeezed harder, and with a final, violent shiver, the hunter collapsed. The armor went dim. The purple glow vanished. The man hit the floor like a suit of empty clothes, his chest barely moving, his eyes vacant.
Kane stepped back, gasping for air. He felt... godlike. Every nerve ending was on fire. He looked at his hand, and for a second, he saw sparks of purple electricity dancing between his fingers.
"Did you just..." Lyra started, stepping closer. She reached out, her fingers hovering just an inch from his arm. "You stole his power. You actually took it."
"It felt... right," Kane whispered. He looked at her, and for the first time, the predatory edge in his gaze softened into something more dangerous—curiosity. "I can feel everything now. The air. The heat coming off you. The way your heart is hammering against your ribs."
Lyra flushed, stepping back a half-inch. "Shut up. Just... shut up and let's move before the rest of the squad shows up."
"Wait," Kane said, his voice suddenly sharp. He knelt beside the fallen hunter.
He reached into the armor's neck seal and pulled out a small, glowing data-chip. As his fingers touched the metal, a final fragment of the hunter's consciousness leaked out—a dying psychic echo.
Kane froze. The image flashed in his mind: a towering figure in white armor, standing over a field of broken weapons. A man with a scar running across his bridge of nose and eyes that looked like frozen stars.
"Vargas," Kane whispered.
"What?" Lyra asked, her voice tight. "What did he say?"
Kane looked up at her, the euphoria replaced by a cold, hard realization. The hunter hadn't been the target. He had been the scout.
"He didn't say it," Kane said, standing up. "I felt it. He wasn't afraid of me. He was afraid of what's coming behind him."
Lyra checked her wrist-comp. Her face went pale. "The signal... it didn't stop. The steal just made it stronger. Kane, we're not hiding anymore. We're a beacon."
From the distance, a low, rhythmic thrumming began to shake the ground. It wasn't a ship. It was a drop-pod. A single, massive spike of Imperial steel slamming into the city, one block away.
"He's here," Kane said.
Lyra grabbed his arm, her grip desperate. "We have to run. Now!"
But as they turned to flee, the wall of the warehouse exploded inward. Dust and shrapnel flew everywhere. Through the haze, a voice boomed—smooth, cultured, and absolutely lethal.
"Zero. I've spent three years dreaming of the day you'd wake up."
A tall man stepped through the debris. He didn't wear a helmet. His eyes were the exact color of the void Kane had just unleashed, and he was smiling.
"Now," Vargas said, his gaze sliding to Lyra with a look of pure disgust, "who is this little parasite you've decided to keep?"