Welcome Party Briefing
"Everyone gathered? Alright, let's talk!"
Luca arrived late, having been checking his gear. The entire Errant Mercenary Group was assembled in the lobby. Roena began explaining the job scheduled for two days later.
"The place we're infiltrating is here—Kairen Island. It's a remote island off to the left of the city."
"They have a base there?"
"Not exactly a main base. It's an island owned by the Sakil Cartel. They're holding a secret party there in two days. The invitees are high-ranking execs from various corporations and organizations."
It was clearly the savory aroma of delicious food wafting through the air, yet a rotten stench of corruption seeped in from somewhere.
Roena pointed at the briefing display and continued. "We'll attend the party as guests invited by Calypso Corp. Our job is to uncover the collusion between Bahara Corp and the mafia."
"Isn't their very presence there proof enough?"
"Sure, but that'd be too easy, right? Calypso thinks even that can be swept under the rug. We need solid evidence—ledgers or lists showing transactions, exchanged messages, that sort of thing."
"Got it. So, what's the plan?"
"Leah and I will team up to make contact with the execs. Seriana-unnie and Luca will hack the internal network. Meanwhile, Ian sneaks in and swipes the documents."
"Technically, it's stealing. Can we even use them as evidence?"
Roena tilted her head at my question. She didn't have specifics either. "Who knows? My guess is we'll just leak them. Hit their image hard."
"Leah, that's not our call. Don't worry about it."
"Understood. Sounds straightforward. Luca, can you pull off the hack?"
"With the right gear, nothing's impossible."
He rubbed his tired eyes as he spoke.
"If we play it right, we might not even have to fight. Nice, huh?" Seriana chimed in.
"Any more questions?"
Everyone stayed quiet. These ops were always planned in broad strokes—real action had its own rules. No one here needed reminding, so no questions.
Roena fiddled with the display to queue up some music. She returned to her seat with a cheerful grin. "Alright then, let's drink! Cheers!"
I clinked my champagne flute with the others, matching the vibe.
"Cheers!"
It had been ages since my last drink. With my enhanced senses, the tasty snacks and sweet champagne melted away the tension, drawing me into the mood. I wasn't rowdy or chatty, but listening to the crew's adventure tales lifted my spirits.
"You should've seen Ian-hyung back then, nuna. Totally out of nowhere."
"Aw, too bad. Show me! Drones must've caught it on video!"
"Hyung, you okay?"
"No."
"Aww, why~!"
"Drink up, Roena."
Everyone but Luca downed another round, getting buzzed. I kept going too. One glass, two, three... ten, eleven...?
"Not getting drunk."
What the hell. I just ended up hitting the bathroom a lot.
"No matter how much I drink, nothing."
Ha, some lifestyle body. Can't sleep, can't get drunk. This ain't daily life.
"What? You don't get drunk? Epic!"
Roena was already sloshed.
"Amazing, Leah! So cute!"
She lunged at me, hugging tight and ruffling my neatly combed hair.
"Damn it, Seriana. Peel her off me!"
"Luca~. Pretty please~."
"Sigh... Always me. I'm the youngest."
Luca sighed and stood.
"Thanks. I'll get you a nice coat."
"Black casual coat, please. Brand: 'Luib'."
"Sure, sure~."
He half-dragged her to her room.
"Need some air."
Ian headed to the balcony. Suddenly, it was just Seriana and me.
"Forgive Roena for being a handful, Leah. She's just affectionate like that."
"...I know. It's fine."
"Such a good girl."
"...Whatever."
Me, 'good'? I'd lived on battlefields since I was a kid. Over a hundred dead by my hand—guns, blades, even beaten to death with my fists.
Seriana slid to the floor, back against the sofa. She hugged her knees, head tilted.
"Can't be helped. That's how you survive places like this."
She looked at me, but her gaze drifted far away as she spoke. Not really to me—musing to someone, or herself. The mood turned awkward. She straightened up.
"Ahem. No buzz, huh? The prosthetic body?"
"Probably. I used to get drunk before."
"Then I'll snag some full-body booze next time. The strong stuff. Hehe."
"Haha, thanks, Seriana. Appreciate it. Oh, right—got any sleeping pills?"
"Sleeping pills?"
"Can't sleep well because of the body."
"Ah~. Gotcha. Strong ones?"
"Yeah, the heavy-duty kind. Can't function without sleep."
I grabbed a few snacks—bruschetta Ian made earlier. Crispy bread paired perfectly with the fresh tomatoes' texture. Pepper and olive oil seasoned it just right.
I headed out to the external balcony where Ian was. Not a true balcony—just a flat spot on the hull.
"Ian. Here to finish our talk."
He glanced at me, sipping his glass, listening silently. I grinned. The cool breeze felt great.
"Not spilling everything, of course. You need motivation too, right?"
He stared ahead. The empty wasteland stretched under three moons filling the sky.
"Handle it your way. But you tell me everything before we hit Orbis. That's my condition."
"Cutting straight to it, huh? Thought you'd cling harder—you tried to kill me, after all."
I punched his shoulder lightly.
"Just sorted my thoughts."
"Start with Romer planet. Why the Empire wiped it out."
"I dug that up plenty. I know."
The Empire's blunder. Romer's fall. It started as bad blood. Two planets in one system—Romer and van't Hoff—close enough for similar compositions. Their industries and histories evolved alike. Allies and rivals. Over millennia, diplomatic spats and petty quarrels turned them into mortal enemies. Trade cutoffs, local terror attacks, political brawls at Imperial assemblies. Tensions peaked; van't Hoff crossed the line. They faked a Romer rebellion. Fabricated it overnight and pounced. Romerians galaxy-wide were rounded up, no regard for age or gender. Oppression ended only after the Empire's planet-killer turned Romer to rubble. Truth came out too late. Fooled by one planet's scheme, the Empire had torched its own turf. Ultimate humiliation—they buried it. Late pardons for Romerians, but they'd vanished. Empire didn't spare van't Hoff either. Real rebellion this time, same end.
"Lean built his rep punishing van't Hoff."
"And?"
"But Lean saw more than that. Romerians too—captives held by van't Hoff. That's what I know."
"I see... You said he and family."
Family includes me. Spot on.
"Yeah."
"Little sister?"
"...Yeah. Not blood, but."
Lean had no known kin publicly, so the cover worked.
"...Hope it works out. For him and you."
"Thanks."
The wasteland wind picked up, chill piercing my thin shirt.
"Let's head in."
Novar's worst mafia, the Sakil Cartel. Ivan Volk was their godfather. Unmodified flesh scarred head to toe. Receding hairline, advancing gut wobbling with age. Still, he ruled half of Sakar planet. In an office rivaling city hall's grandeur, he poured whiskey.
Drip, drip—the liquid sang beautifully against the glass.
"Mmm. Perfect."
Savoring it, he addressed the others. "Preparations on track?"
"Yes, boss. The Kairen Island party will go off without a hitch."
"Hospitality set?"
"1.5 times expected headcount. By now, they're so dosed they can't think straight."
"Good. Nail this, and we won't just own the shadows—we'll take the light too."
He picked up a baggie of white powder from his desk. Drugs. The pinnacle: hallucinogen-aphrodisiac blend, ultra-pure. R.O.S.E., aka Rose. Sakil's ticket to the top. Leagues beyond street trash.
Yeah. Time to swallow Sakar whole.
The city's rebirth under mafia rule was near. Their kingdom on this fringe world.
"Military's just men like us. Grease 'em with cash and pleasure, they fold."
Dreams as chaser, Ivan downed his whiskey. Always sweet.