Murask, along with a few of his loyal guards, were riding in a stolen police vehicle. Staying cloaked was the key to successfully maneuvering around the city. A fake transponder was installed to throw off the police and avoid detection.

  The town was abuzz with the busyness of the workday, creating a vibrant energy throughout. Much like diligent bees tirelessly producing mouthwatering honey, thousands of civilian vehicles darted around the busy streets of New York City. As the horns blared, the city, tamed by the law, was calm. No criminal incidents had been reported, and it was now 3:00 PM.

  Murask sat firmly, eyes wide open, gazing at the scenery from his comfortable back seat. The open windows sent in a breeze that was forcefully pushing towards his chest. The wind seemed to be guiding him on this clear sunny day. He experienced the gentle touch of warm humidity creeping towards his senses, while also recognizing the soft moisture delicately expelling from his body.

  His thoughts contemplate murder as he pondered the significance of the disruption of money within the syndicate. He acknowledged the existence of the Oblia Alien race and was fully aware of their ancestry tracing back to the state of Kadian. Time and time again, he showed his passion for his business. He looked forward; always staying ahead of the game.

  I shall bring that Simo to his knees when we meet again, Murask thought.

  Keeping his thoughts to himself, he avoided useless numbing distractions. The way he carefully constructed his plans only added to his air of authority, leaving no doubt that he was born to reign over this criminal enterprise.

  He had just received word that his former close associate, Quintus Le Fray, was murdered in the warehouse. The announcement caused him to smile; iron chains were tightly bound around the body, as if to ensure his complete immobilization. There were consequences of becoming a traitor. His plan to regain control was on schedule.

  Le Fray was a fool, he thought. He was allowed to spread his lies for far too long; violating his agreement to kill a key politician was the last straw. The constant discussion surrounding the desire to preserve the family dynasty has now resulted in the tragic killing of what used to be a trusted associate. He played a fool’s game and lost his life and his family lost access to his title. To ensure the proper closing of Quintus’ Estate, he established a contract with Alex to recapture the assets.

  Murask turned toward one of his bodyguards sitting alongside him. His guards served as his sole means of protection. They were fully aware that he was the one in charge and would never question his bidding. In comparison to Quintus, none of his guards were foolish enough to do anything daft.

  Sending orders to his guards was like telling children to do a chore. Children don’t get to question why; they do what they are told without debate. Those foolish enough to ask questions would be severely berated.

  The police vehicle sped towards the abandoned construction site. Upon arrival, the pilot lowered his speed, descending safely onto a landing pad adjacent to what will be a rooftop patio/office space. Murask was the first to exit, followed by two armed bodyguards. As he headed toward the entrance, he looked at the two guards, frowning: “If you don’t mind.”

  “You know where to find us,” said the guard on his left. His boss requesting privacy was not unusual. “Holler out to me if you need anything.”

  Murask smiled, as the bodyguards backed off to comply with his privacy request. Sighing, he thought: Ok, Murask. Pull it together. I just need to work with my client, then I can take my leave.

  Inside the building, the noise of footsteps resonated loudly, reverberating against the hard, metallic surface of the floor. The floor was bathed in a bright illumination; rays of light shined upon it. Abandoned equipment was lined up neatly in the center of the room. Particles of dust blanketed various deserted construction materials, nails, screws, hammers lay scattered on the floor.

  The skeleton framed project required numerous finishing touches. Due to a strike, the place was empty, allowing Murask to secure a private meeting space. He stood calmly in the empty room, awaiting his associate’s appearance. He anticipated his emergence from the darkness.

  “Did you find the documents?” The shadowy voice said in an almost resentful tone.

  “Yes, but I could not access them without the right credentials. The chances of covering our tracks are growing slimmer by the day. We must get Darku out.”

  “We are extremely close to achieving our goal. Last night, I infiltrated the NYPD HQ database. Based on the records, Darku is locked up in a penitentiary. Apparently, the Frontier finds his occupation repulsive, and I doubt they would approve of what I do either. Anyway, he is being held on an asteroid which houses The Dabbarow Prison. The UGF controls this site. Right next to it is a very lucrative mining facility. The prisoners are forced to work there, and the entire place is packed with security. We must break him out before the Frontier causes devastating damage to the Stratiti factory.”

  “Do you have anyone who will siege The Dabbarow prison?” Murrask asked.

  Before his voice could respond, Alex slowly stepped into the light, making himself visible. His red-by-red LED eyes vibrantly glowed, his face was stone cold. He assumed the form of a dark-skinned human. He revealed his solution, stating: “I have a valuable client who would be happy to tackle the prison’s security system for you. He goes by the name of Nikolson Ladi. You may know his work; he created the Awakening Encryption messaging App. I must warn you. It’ll cost you.”

  “How much?”

  “Ladi is just one small part. The amount of manpower required to pull off this mission is enormous,” Alex smirked. “Lucky for you, I’ve already sent some of our boys to help take part in this expedition. Of course, the Quadia Pathers will aid in this daring heist as well. So, the cost? Well, it will add up quickly.”

  Wow, an expedition fleet, Murrask snapped, then smiled. That was an admirable response. Nikolson brought a big mop to clean up the mess Darku created. I no longer bear this burden alone.

  “Seems like you’re operating ahead of schedule. I like it. Is there anything else that needs to be done?”

  “Not currently. I think we have done enough for today,” Alex said. He offered a content smile; satisfied that he had fearlessly answered all Murask questions while yielding his snake tongue. “It’s crucial that you continue your normal work. No matter what issues arise, you must keep your guard up. I need you to keep your eyes open and your ears to the ground.”

  “That won’t be a problem. Assuming I don’t interfere with the Quadia Pathers, we will all get along just fine. Just remember that I run an honest business; I don’t associate with traitors.”

  Alex frowned, then he thought: I hate it when he says that. I’m no traitor. I don’t deceive; I don’t steal; I follow my own rules. Liars feast among the savages, truthtellers seek their own justice.

  “Do what you wish,” Alex said. “Please make sure to keep in touch with me if any issues arise.”

  “If any come up, they shouldn’t be too hard to mitigate. I’ll see you in a bit. Cheers.”

  With a delightful smile, Murask settled the meeting and started on the path back to his vehicle.

  Isolated, Alex walked to the right edge of the patio. Offering a small window into the heart of the city, he stood listening to the rhythm of the city traffic. The somber sounds felt very moody. While the city seemed alive and well, there existed a mysterious corner connected to the dark underworld hidden from the Frontier’s prying eye. Their survival against the onslaught of the Simidolian’s was not guaranteed; it remained uncertain whether Alex and the Quadia Pathers would continue to thrive. Their future looked bleak.

  To increase their chances, Nickolson knew he needed to carefully execute a plan involving the kidnapping of Darku, thus eliminating the evidence that could bring them down. Nikolson Ladi was the key to the entire operation. The Pathers must thwart the Frontier’s attempt to dissolve the Stratiti Factory.

  ***

  “Glad to see you in peace, Avolsky,” Laurnace Dadoke said. He sat at his desk, arms resting on the table. Jake returned to Dadoke’s office for his next assignment, unscratched.

  Stepping foot into Laurance’s office again brought back a familiar feeling, almost like being back at home. The dark blue room provided a serene ambiance for Jake, who delighted in witnessing the mesmerizing blue light elegantly moving about the main command center.

  The office space allowed Laurance to effectively oversee the command center. Operating continuously, there never seemed to be any dull moments. Day and night, their attention focused on discovering both internal and external threats to the state.

  Laurance was a former human general in the Galactic Strategic Service. He left after the Great Galaxy War. To celebrate, he grew a scruffy beard. At the age of 60, he was set in his ways. Two weeks into his retirement, he accepted the position as the administrator of The Simidolians. This critical role was responsible for overseeing a vast network of secretive military police branches. His directives were to safeguard the state by coordinating the operatives assigned to hunt down bounties within the underworld.

  Jake looked up to Laurance. His training in the armed force was embedded within the secretive organization. As his mentor, he taught him how to keenly observe operations. He offered guidance with an element of surprise. Jake found his techniques to be extremely valuable. The harsh training was not something that everyone could endure; it was reserved only for the best of the best. To achieve his dream of becoming a professional, Jake would have to fight fiercely and overcome numerous obstacles; otherwise, he would find himself crawling back to the urban street.

  Looking back, Jake was - without a doubt - impressed to see Alex cheat death during the Quadia war. That bastard was trying to take him down, now he wanted him dead. Furious with his former brother, he wanted to see him suffer. Masking his emotions effectively, he constantly fought between his desire for vengeance and his need to remain focused on his current mission.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “I’ve been monitoring your progress in Operation Syad. It looks like we got something bigger than we ever imagined. The Gualtimi brothers have done a tremendous job looking into Darku's database. They were able to determine what type of software locked the data. A utility program was used to upload a worm into our system. This worm executes if the user types in the wrong security code five times, making the risk of guessing too great. If you find yourself in an IT role, you must be extremely careful about which software you interact with. We figured it might be possible to breach the security code by utilizing our own hacking software, but this process is time consuming. We do have one safer option available to us.”

  Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get Darku, Jake thought. His mind raced for a moment before emerging with a plan that was poised to become a famous chess move. He felt impatient. His desire to begin was overwhelming.

  “I know exactly what we need to do,” Jake said confidently. “I looked up Darku in the criminal database. He was taken to an asteroid base called The Dabbarow Prison. A simple extraction from his cellar could be done with minimal incidents.”

  Looks like I’ll need to spill the bad news, Laurance shrugged. He appreciated Jake’s laser focused discipline. Best to get this over with.

  “I hate to say this, Avolsky. We are currently receiving troubling reports about that prison,” Laurance said in disappointment. “Let me tune in to GNN.”

  With a few quick taps on his desk, Laurance summoned a hologram to appear. The digital television station booted up; the feed displayed on the right side of the wall.

  Reporting live at the Pentagon, a female news reporter, flanked by two military officials protecting the entrance, stood ready for her report. Staff members could be seen strolling into the building, clearly ready to begin their normal daily routine of actively gathering classified Intel.

  The news anchor cued her to initiate the report.

  ‘At 17:55, we received word that the terrorist unit called the Moldan, raided The Dabbarow Prison. This penitentiary is located within the Sol system. It is used to house extremely dangerous criminals. The secretary general reported that the terrorist group hacked into the command center. Our sources tell us that the Moldans hijacked it by using a ‘phishing’ scheme. Once breached, they disabled the security and defense infrastructure. This sparked a deadly dogfight, resulting in the crippling of several squadron units. At this point, the terrorists deployed troops to launch a devastating ground assault. Currently, the base security unit has been overrun, and the terrorist now control the area. The Moldans issued a warning to the Frontier that the base will self-destruct if there are any attempts to retake. We will continue to report on this story as it is still developing.’

  Maddened by the entire situation, Jake muted the news in his mind. Enraged, he clenched his fists.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jake growled. “They knew where to hit!”

  “We might want to go for a more traditional approach. Report to the Gualtimi brothers. They'll help you plan for your infiltration.”

  “Got it. I'll report at once,” he nodded.

  “Dismissed.”

  Jake rose from his chair and approached the glass door. Laurance sat still, gazing at his desk. Once more, time was of the essence; the new vigilante would need to strategically utilize all his resources to have any chance of succeeding.

  ***

  Ed, Jake, and Lenny sat at a large wooden table contemplating their next course of action. The small stack of paperwork offered them an in-depth analysis of the overall layout and schedule of the prison. A hologram globe of the Sol system displayed from the center of the table; the asteroid base they were focused on was marked in red.

  Lenny Gaultimi and his brother Ed were of the Numale race; they bore a striking resemblance to a Bandicoot. A clean-shave Lenny wore a black shirt without a tie, and he sported a purple jacket; indicating that style was important to him. He possessed a smooth, round jawline which added to his charm.

  Ed, who was wearing a blue shirt, wore an orange jacket; style was not his thing. Ed was the youngest sibling. The brothers were fortunate to be in good physical condition, as they found great enjoyment in going on marathon runs after completing a long day of work.

  Eager to start the mission, Jake thoroughly analyzed the hologram from all angles. The excitement of infiltrating the base increased as the details emerged.

  Sitting silently next to Lenny, Ed thought: Here I am, sitting at a desk reviewing intel. We secured compliments from the Federal Authority, I doubt we’ll see any action even with all our hard work. Brilliant Lenny, just brilliant. Then he added: It’s best if I don’t do anything daft. Those Quadia Pather have a knife across the Frontier’s throat, best to get this show on the road.

  Conducting analysis is perhaps the most unappreciated and the least admirable position to take. Let's hope my sibling doesn't make a mistake, Ed thought.

  “This infiltration will not be a simple undertaking,” Lenny warned in a serious tone. “We investigated multiple methods of breaking into this base, mate. After a further analysis, I know where you need to go.”

  “Your best option is to fly toward the base and land at the bottom of this crater,” Ed added, pointing to a spot on the asteroid map. “To do that, you'll need to enable 'go dark' on the flight controllers and disable the transponder.”

  “While you're undercover, try not to get too close to the enemy's fighter. Wouldn't want to provoke a grouchy bear now, would we?”

  “Oi, I know turning off the transponder is illegal in civilized space; you need to do it once you're away from Earth.”

  Well, this is an underwhelming plan, Jake thought. I was hoping for much more.

  Having become tired of analyzing the plan, he looked at Ed. He listened carefully as Ed detailed the entire route. After meticulously crafting a mental map, he knew it was his turn to strike. Jake knew he was the star of the operation and he needed to get cracking.

  A few seconds ticked by when Jake realized Darku’s location was the last missing piece of his puzzle.

  “Did you locate Darku’s cellar?” Jake asked.

  “He is currently being held on basement level five in cell number 1138,” Ed answered.

  “I would advise you to take the loading dock as a detour and use the elevator,” Lenny suggested. “Try to get in there without making a mess.”

  “One more thing. I believe Pizalo is almost done installing new stealth technology on your ship. Make sure you check with him first. Be sure to test out your new gadget before you go.”

  Jake pushed the paperwork aside. After what seemed like an eternity, he got up.

  “Thanks,” Jake said as he turned toward the automatic door.

  Lenny and Ed did not respond.

  As he passed through the office, Jake was pleased he possessed the skills necessary to read the surveillance reports; scanning for the details was second nature at this point. For much of this mission, he would be solo; he alone was responsible for the safe return of Darku. With any luck, he would accomplish this task plus obtain additional credits along the way.

  Great, now I have a rescue operation.

  ***

  Before heading to the hanger, Jake decided to make a quick stop at the armory. There he filled a small worn duffel bag with supplies.

  It did not take long for Jake to reach the hanger entrance. About half-way down the tunnel, he spotted his ship. His eyes were drawn to the moody silver light emanating from within. Deon Junior stood half-way down the ramp; he was expecting Jake’s arrival.

  Junior, a descendant from the Lisalo race, was in his mid-20’s. His frog-like appearance was highlighted by his yellow neck that was slightly longer than the average human’s. Physically he appeared weak, but he was skilled in swimming and IT support. He sported a casual business suit, wore a red-white baseball cap.

  “Ah, Avolsky,” Deon Jr. said in a croaky tone. “I've been waiting for you. John Pazalinto finished the stealth technology installation. Come with me and I'll show you.”

  “Just in time,” Jake smiled. Only a little.

  Now, how much potential will this demonstration reveal? he wondered.

  Upon walking through the automatic door, Junior and Jake found themselves just inside the hanger. Positioned in the center of the room, stood a remarkable old ship known as Reva. The former cargo ship was converted into a small, rusted fighter. At approximately 10 meters long and no higher than 6.5 meters, the two engines on its wings made it fast and agile. The engines were known to cough and sputter after using the boosters for an extended period. After over ten years in service, the ship was proven to be ideal for transporting small goods. The vehicle seemed fully repaired and ready for take-off.

  It had been two days since Jake last flew. Regrettably, with no time to practice for a dogfight, he hoped his skills had not become rusty.

  John - working with pit droids - was interacting with a terminal. He seemed stressed, working collaboratively with newly purchased droids was a challenge. Teaching them to be flight repair mechanics was no easy task.

  As a descendant of the Uflra race, he was known for his falcon-like appearance. He was often seen wearing an old Frontier veteran flight jacket; it represented his inherent loyalty towards his state.

  Lecturing the droids on how to correctly perform ship repairs was a burden. The urge to shut a droid down with a punch to its nose grew within him after he witnessed one of them inflicting irreversible damage to a critical component. Despite these common mistakes, he continued to try to relish his day.

  The newly purchased droid’s expertise did not extend to ship repairs, as their programming primarily revolved around land vehicles. John knew that once they fully grasped the methods, the droids’ abilities would surpass the average human mechanic.

  John closed his tablet, allowing one of the droids to assume control of the main terminal.

  “Avolsky, good to see you,” John said, greeting him with open wings. “Apologize for the long wait. She has a new engine, and the droids just completed installing Nanite armor to your shield. The process was time consuming, but the Nanite should aid you as you approach The Dabbarow Prison.”

  “Try it out,” Junior added. He handed the remote device to Jake, who gladly took it.

  Enjoy the show, Junior smiled.

  With the intention of examining the effectiveness of the Nanites, Jake pressed the black button. The ship disappeared, cloaked in invisibility. Impressed, his jaw dropped in shock.

  “Now you see your ship. Now you don't,” John rhymed. “So, what do you think?”

  “You made my ship impossible to detect,” Jake said as he reached out to softly touch its shell. In response, the nanites rumbled, causing a rippling effect. “These Nanites should make my job effortless.”

  Touching the film was like playing with invisible gooey jell. Jake moved his hand away; the ship remained hidden. One touch did not reveal its identity.

  “Be careful with the armor plating, Avolsky. You might drain the power,” Deon Jr. warned him.

  Jake shook his head; he would not test it again. He smiled, confident in the effectiveness of the technology.

  “Charming.”

  “How’s the operation going?” Junior asked.

  “Doing fine,” Jake answered. Exhaustion was setting in, but there was no time to catch a breather. “I swear, this operation has been a bloody mess since the start.”

  “Did something peculiar happen?” Pazalo asked. He could tell something was bothering Jake from within. He needed a definitive answer.

  Instead of offering a clear answer, Jake briefly paused. His surroundings froze as his eyes glanced toward an empty space, flashed.

  Safely tucked behind a tree, Jake could see the open battlefield. His face felt the powerful gusts of the raging dust storm. A distinct scent of smoke and gunfire filled the air. His commander, along with Alex Mosses, had been left stranded. Above them, an enemy armor combat vehicle was searching for any remaining hostiles. Hommodiel manned the gun. As Jake watched his brothers seemingly being carried away by the clouds, he struggled with the desire to shout out.

  “No. Nothing unexpected,” Jake snapped, remaining tight-lipped.

  “You sure?” Pazalow asked. He suspected that something was off.

  “I'll be fine,” he reassured.

  Is it me, or was Jake staring towards death? Pazalow thought. He was disturbed by what he had seen. No matter.

  Having expressed his desire to uncover Jake’s troubling past, he took the hint to leave it alone. He hoped that Jake would maintain his positive spirit.

  “Jake, I know you have supplies you need to drop off. I still need to do a pre-flight check before your departure.”

  “Copy that, let me know when you are done. I want to get started.”