Boomslang revved the engine of her matte-black combat bike, the hum vibrating through the steel frame beneath her. The mission data flashed across her visor, each detail a cold reminder of the task ahead. She'd handled tougher situations than this, but the pressure of securing an entry into the Intergalactic Tournament added a weight that didn't sit well.
Embervault Reach was the next stop, and the rumors about an entry ticket into the tournament had drawn her in like a moth to a flame. She'd fought her way through the worst the Redline had to offer, battled for every inch, and survived it all. But now, in NGN, things were different. She was expected to adapt, to blend ancient ninja precision with alien tech—something her instincts fought against every step of the way.
Her mind drifted back to the Redline Territories, the lawless stretch of wastelands that had shaped her. Every encounter there was a fight for survival, no rules, no mercy. She didn't have time to think; every move was instinctual, born from a lifetime of being underestimated and underestimated right back. That was her world. Here, it felt like she was trying to fit herself into someone else's mold.
But she wasn't unfamiliar with high-stakes situations. She knew how to keep her focus when it mattered. She just needed to stay sharp.
Boomslang parked her bike at the edge of a gritty Redline town, the streets soaked with oil and the air thick with heat. She felt the familiar burn of the place in her gut. It reminded her of home, a reminder that the world had a way of never letting go.
The inn was just ahead. Her body was sore from the ride, but there was something else gnawing at her—the same frustration she'd been carrying for weeks. The scroll's teachings. She'd been practicing its techniques, the precise, deadly moves it demanded. She wasn't used to it. In the Redline, fighting was wild, untamed, a brutal dance of instincts. But here, NGN's training forced control, patience, and precision.
Boomslang had been trying to mold herself to the scroll's exacting style. But every time she tried, the moves felt too rigid. Too foreign. She wasn't used to following the script. Her body ached for the unpredictability of her old way of fighting, for the freedom to flow and adapt.
She thought she had it all under control. She could handle it. Hell, she could do this in her sleep.
But as she moved toward the alley behind the inn, she realized something else: she'd been tailed. She'd noticed them when she pulled into town. Two figures shadowing her movements from a distance. She'd seen their kind before. Thugs looking to make a quick score.
Boomslang smirked. She was confident. Too confident, maybe. Instead of losing them, she decided to let them follow her. It was the perfect opportunity to practice. The scroll's technique wasn't just about precision—it was about control, about refinement. She'd use these thugs to perfect it.
She ducked into the alley, giving them time to catch up. The air was thick with anticipation as the footsteps grew closer. She smiled to herself. They were playing right into her hands.
As the first thug rounded the corner, Boomslang raised her hand, stopping him in his tracks.
"Going somewhere?" she teased, her voice low but laced with amusement.
The thug, a lanky guy with greasy hair, sneered at her. "You think you're tough, huh?"
"I don't think. I know," she shot back, taking a step closer. "But hey, if you want a demonstration, I'm happy to oblige."
He lunged at her, swinging wildly. Boomslang sidestepped with ease, her body flowing like water as she executed a flawless sweep. He crashed to the ground with a grunt.
The second thug, heavier set and tattooed, stepped forward, eyeing Boomslang carefully. "Nice moves," he growled. "But let's see if you can handle both of us."
Boomslang raised an eyebrow. "Is that the best you've got? You guys sure you didn't skip a class or two in thug school?"
The thug snarled and charged. This time, Boomslang didn't even need to think. She dodged, twisting into the air and landing behind him, her foot catching him in the back. He grunted, falling forward, but before he could rise, she was already facing the third thug.
Now, the burly man with the scar across his cheek took a step forward, chuckling. "You sure you want to keep talking, princess?"
Boomslang smirked, her eyes narrowing. "I've got all day, but you don't look like you're going to last much longer."
He lunged with his pulse weapon aimed directly at her. This time, she wasn't quick enough to dodge. The shot hit her square in the side, sending a jolt of pain through her body. Her vision blurred, and for a moment, everything spun.
"Damn it," she hissed, staggering back as the world around her started to tilt. She felt the burn of the alien tech coursing through her, disorienting and sharp.
The thugs moved in, thinking they had the upper hand. Boomslang's fingers twitched, and she activated her gauntlets. She wasn't going to let them walk away from this. With a fierce growl, she unleashed a shockwave blast that knocked the burly thug back, giving her the chance to leap into the air, flipping out of their reach.
She didn't waste any time. She bolted toward the bike, slammed the throttle down, and tore through the alley. The hum of the engine roared in her ears as she put as much distance between herself and the thugs as possible. The thugs might have thought they'd gained the upper hand, but Boomslang had learned her lesson. Pride was a dangerous thing, especially when it clouded her judgment.
Boomslang rode into the parking lot of the inn with her body screaming in protest. The pulse weapon's blast still rang in her ears, and her side throbbed with every breath. She barely had the strength to keep her bike steady, but she knew she had to get inside and assess the damage before it got worse.
She skidded to a stop in front of the lobby and stumbled off her bike, barely managing to keep her balance. The clerk behind the counter was a girl, probably around 13, with wide eyes and a look of curiosity on her face. She froze for a moment when she saw Boomslang's bruised and bloody appearance.
"One room," Boomslang snapped, her voice strained. "Now."
The girl blinked, clearly taken aback by Boomslang's condition, but quickly handed her the room key. "Uh, sure. Are… are you okay?"
Boomslang didn't respond. She grabbed the key and started toward the stairs, her muscles stiff and trembling. She had to get to her room. She had to fix herself up.
As she hurried past the counter, something heavy slipped from her waist, hitting the floor with a soft clink. A beautiful blue metal rose—shining like sapphire and heavy with memories—slipped from her bag, a treasured keepsake from a life she barely remembered, and rolled across the floor and stopped by the counter. The girl watched it for a moment, then quickly leaned down and picked it up.
By the time she stood up again, Boomslang had already disappeared around the corner, heading for her room. The girl turned the metal rose over in her hands, mesmerized by its delicate craftsmanship and the way it shimmered in the light. She slipped it into her pocket, curiosity bubbling inside her.
Boomslang didn't even know she had lost it. The rose was a symbol—one of the few pieces of her past she kept close. It wasn't just an ornament. It was a reminder of a time before NGN, before the missions, before everything had gotten complicated.
But even as the blue rose slipped from her thoughts, the hush of the hallway pressed in, stale air drifting from the corridor like an old secret. Boomslang was already focused on the next task. Inside her room, she quickly kicked off her boots, and the second she sat on the bed, she winced, assessing the damage. Her side throbbed from the pulse weapon's hit, and her head ached. No time to rest just yet.
She grabbed her comm device, her fingers trembling as she activated it. "Glitch... you there?"
His voice crackled through, sounding distant. "Boomslang. Your vitals spiked. What happened?"
"I'm fine," Boomslang replied, though admitting it felt like surrender, her pride stiffening her voice as she brushed off his concern. "Just a little roughed up. The fight wasn't as clean as I would've liked, but it's nothing."
Glitch's tone was sharp, a note of urgency in his voice. "It's not about how clean the fight is. It's about surviving. This isn't a sport. You need to take it more seriously."
Boomslang's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond. She didn't want to admit it—she wasn't the type to admit she'd made a mistake. Glitch, however, wasn't done.
"The gauntlets are there for one reason," he continued, his voice growing more intense. "To keep you alive. You're too overconfident in your own abilities. You think you're invincible because of your training. But this? This is life and death. And if you don't start respecting that, it'll be the last fight you ever make."
Boomslang sat back on the bed, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He wasn't wrong, and yet, admitting it felt like weakness.
"Don't worry about me," she muttered, though there was no bite in her words. "I'm good."
"I'll send you a medkit," Glitch replied, his tone still stern but softer now. "Use it. And get your head back in the game."
"Yeah, yeah," Boomslang replied, her fingers absently tapping on the bed. She had no choice but to listen—she always did when it came to survival.
But the pain was too much. She could feel her eyelids growing heavy, the exhaustion from the fight and the damage taking their toll. Her vision blurred, her head spun, and before she could fight it, the darkness overtook her.
On the other side of the country, Solin fastened her long coat, recalling the briefing that sent her here to Oridian Haven—to investigate rising tensions and unexplained disappearances in the new city as she stepped off the mag-rail and into a city unlike any other.
The buildings shimmered, constructed from hybrid materials—glass, fiber alloy, and luminous alien stone. Holographic trees swayed in planters. Neon veins pulsed across windows. This was Oridian Haven, one of Earth's newest cities built in partnership with the alien species that fled their conquered homeworld six years ago.
The aliens had skin like molten gold or deep violet. They mimicked human expressions and forms, blending in with near-perfect accuracy—except their eyes, which shimmered like prisms. They'd come seeking shelter, offering tech and research in exchange for habitation. Earth wasn't fully part of the Intergalactic Network yet; Breakline Day's communicator gave humanity twenty years to prepare.
But Oridian Haven wasn't just a city. It was the dream of one of Earth's most powerful warriors—a man who had fought for peace in the midst of a fractured world. He'd created the city to establish a place where everyone, regardless of origin, could live without fear of discrimination. His vision was simple: treat everyone fairly, regardless of species or past mistakes. He didn't want to repeat history. He didn't want the mistakes of the past to define their future.
Solin's job wasn't diplomacy.
She walked the perimeter of a shaded plaza where alien flora bloomed in vibrant spirals. Gold-veined leaves shimmered under dual sunlamps. Nearby, a pair of Velari children chased one another, their laughter carrying a musical, layered tone—like flutes beneath water.
She approached a stall offering crystal-based beverages and caught the eye of a Velari woman, tall and radiant, with iridescent violet skin that shimmered like dusk against a glassy sky. Her facial features were sharp, symmetrical—yet held a warmth that softened the strangeness.
"Peace to you," Solin greeted, adopting the standard gesture—an open hand crossed over the chest.
The woman smiled. "And clarity to your path. You are new here."
"Very. First time seeing a city like this," Solin admitted. "It's impressive."
The woman's gaze swept the skyline. ""It is a gift—a vision from Governor Auren, the warrior who refused to let fear or prejudice define this new home.""
Solin nodded. "He must be powerful."
"He is… and kind. That is rarer than strength."
Solin hesitated. "I'd like to see more. Somewhere where everyone mingles—where the lines blur."
The woman's expression changed, a glint of concern flickering. "Then you should visit The X. It's a gathering place—a sort of open club, hosted weekly. Art, dance, discussion. Very popular. But…"
"But?"
"There have been disappearances. Velari and humans alike. No one talks openly, but most were last seen after attending."
Solin's instincts twitched. "Any pattern?"
"Only that it's those who linger. Who wander off or stay too late. Just… keep your light close. Not everyone who smiles means peace."
"Thank you," Solin said. "Truly."
The woman gave a slight bow. "May your path remain steady."
As Solin turned, her eyes drifted upward to a neon flare in the sky—an advert announcing the next session at The X.
She smiled grimly. That would be her next stop.