The drone was a ghost, a small, matte-black quadrotor. Its rotors were utterly silent, and its optic-scatterers warped the light around it seamlessly. Chen mused as it exited its launch-pod from the side of the 'Juno'. Flora patched its visual feed through. A secondary tactical display flickered with static, then blared to life.

  Through its crystal-clear feed, the camp of was laid bare on the cockpit screens of the , a tableau of methodical occupation amidst the smoldering ruins of the once-living settlement.

  "Passive sensor sweep complete," Flora's voice was a flat, data-stream monotone over the internal comm. "Unit composition confirmed: One -pattern MBT, commander variant. Five -pattern MBTs, normal variant. Four -pattern IFVs. One hundred and thirty-seven infantry signatures, designated 'Dharma Troopers.'”

  “…Standard Syndicate Punitive Company loadout," Chen Feng added. "Can we extract a regimental number?”

  “Delhi SecureCorp, 7th Punitive Regiment.” Flora replied, “Exoskeleton: standard Syndicate -pattern enforcer assault armor. Armor Class is estimated to be SK-3.3. Infantry weapons being mass accelerators. I do not see infantry AT or AA munitions.”

  “They do not need them," Alina Ludwig added, her voice hoarse. "The Legion withdrew its armored units and ceded air superiority.”

  Flora Rosenkrantz: “This alone cannot be a sufficient justification for their absence. Prediction: they’ve hidden it.”

  “There is a possibility that they really did not bring them.” Chen shrugged, trying to shake away the sights of the pervious slaughter from his mind, “these men-”

  Alina abruptly interrupted: "-'monsters.' Watch your tongue, Private. You will not humanize the abominations."

  Chen Feng, his tone was thick with displeasure. "Their label is irrelevant to the tactical details. These are private security of a hyper-capitalistic business-political entity. They operate on a different logic than the People's Liberation Army.

  If I were them, I would bring every carriable munition just for doctrine and the pre-emptive preparation’s sake. They don’t. They stop bringing recoilless anti-tank rifles and anti-aircraft missiles to save costs. Perfect capitalist logic.”

  Chen: “Also, when did you get back online? You're welcome to go back to brooding, you know.”

  Alina did not reply to this taunt.

  Flora: “Chen, shut it.”

  The technical data scrolled the a secondary screen—thermal signatures, weapon serials pulled from unencrypted maintenance logs, fuel consumption rates.

  Then Flora's tone shifted, a minute change detectable only to those who had served with her for months. "Interception of company-level communications is active. Requesting permission to decrypt.”

  Chen Feng looked to the direction of the command station. The latter did not respond.

  Flora: “If that is the case… since both other squad members are not responsive-“

  Chen Feng: “-Decrypt. I say carry out a decryption. I was waiting for the Feldwebel to give command. She did not.”

  Flora: “Acknowledged. Executing standard cyber-warfare protocols on their company-level communications. Breaking their ciphers is... trivial. Their cyber-warfare suite is decades behind Republic standards. Patching decrypted audio to cabin now."

  The air became thick with a different kind of tension—the focused stillness of predators waiting for a vital piece of prey. Alina had straightened in her seat. Chen's gaze was fixed on the speaker. Flora's hands were poised over her console.

  The crackle of the decrypted Syndicate channel broke the silence.

  A snort of laughter.

  “What in the blazes are they talking about?" Alina Ludwig inquired.

  “Curry flavors and nicotine gums. It's obvious." Chen's voice carried a hint of grim amusement. "I didn't expect they still had curry in this god-forsaken future.”

  Alina: “They are talking about food? These monsters are talking about food?” She started fuming again.

  Flora Rosenkrantz: “Hush! I am listening. Do you two want us to miss key tactical details?”

  an older voice chimed into the comm which the squad was spying on. A soft chime indicated a file transfer over the channel.

  The Syndicate comm cracks with people’s laughter.

  The banter was mundane, utterly ordinary, as casual as discussing the weather.

  Flora: “…The trooper that was talking about his children. I am sure he helped hauling a few people’s corpses for biomass recycling just a few moments ago. And he was among the firing squad that killed these people.”

  Alina: “They even have children?”

  Chen Feng: “I failed to comprehend which part of this is surprising.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Inside the , the air grew thick.

  Alina Ludwig, who had been sitting in simmering silence, slowly straightened in her commander's seat. Her helmeted head tilted, trying to reconcile the horror they had witnessed with the sheer, staggering normalcy of the voices on the comm.

  “… heard that, people? A ‘Stormfang’ crashed near Saint Aurora. We should go there and investigate the place. We might find survivors.” Flora says, her tone leaning into eagerness, “Aldermire-Luthur Mk.IIa gunship, vertical OAG (Orbital Anti-Gravity) deployment to surface. 2,510,000kg mass, 4 crew members, FTL travel capability. That thing is an interstellar starship. Whoever riding them must be important to our Theocracy allies. Saving them should be our priority task, people!”

  “I am with you in this notion. But would it be tactically feasible?” Chen inquires.

  “… Now you are speaking

  saving people, Chen?” Alina raising her voice, “Where your empathy when we were discussing the slaughtered people here? And Teodulo’s prisoners?”

  Chen Feng: "This is different. The Theocracy is the Republic's allied force, at least officially. Securing them—or their wreckage—grants the Republic significant political leverage and..."

  Alina interrupted: “To the point.”

  Chen Feng: “Investigating them is politically and strategically sound and they are more useful

  easier to rescue compared to local civilians.”

  The cabin fell silent again, save for the hum of the idling IFV. Alina's helmeted head turned slowly toward him.

  Alina: "You really don't have any belief, do youAre you really the soldier our revolution wants?"

  Chen: "I do not know what you are implying, but I really want to assure you that I am thinking on behalf of my new country. I am just...” He sighs under his breath. “Fatalistic."

  Flora: “Query: please define word: fatalism. I do not find this in my vocabulary.”

  Chen: “Need-to-know basis. You can look it up after the mission is done. Now we move out, quickly.”

  ——————

  The office was a tomb of a dead era. Located on the second floor of a skeletal administrative building, its windows, grime-caked and cracked, offered a panoramic view of the encampment below. The air was thick with the smell of dust, rot, and stale water.

  Vikas Rajan’s Dharma Troopers had hastily swept the worst of the debris into a corner, but the room remained a bleak, temporary briefing room, its discomfort a deliberate reflection of his unit's operational purity.

  Vikas stood by the window, his back to the door, one hand resting on the cold sill, the other idly stroking the segmented, cybernetic skull of his war-hound. The animal’s low, electronic growl was the first announcement of the newcomers.

  The air shifted as the door groaned open.

  Teodulo Leir Cade IV swept in as if entering a boardroom, his two hulking, armor-clad cohorts remaining outside. He was a study in anachronism. He wore an impeccably tailored 19th-century-style frock coat of deep burgundy, a silk cravat, and polished leather boots that seemed absurdly out of place in the filth.

  He tapped his cane impatiently on the grimy desk and dropped into the old, dusty chair without invitation, offering a wide grin to Vikas's back.

  "Corp-Major Rajan," Teodulo began, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone. His tone was earnest, but the smile he offered was rigid and professional, that didn't quite reach his eyes. "A pleasure to finally meet the commander of the illustrious . Your unit's efficiency is the talk of the sector. It is, truly, an honor to be here and visit a man of your formidable reputations."

  Vikas turned slowly. His gold-trimmed armor was a stark, brutalist counterpoint to Teodulo's antiquated finery.

  "Leir Cade," he acknowledged, his tone flat.

  Internally, he cataloged the man: A common, if puzzling, pathology among the ultra-wealthy. That was Vikas “Karma” Rajan’s first impression on Teodulo Leir Cade IV.

  "I shall be brief, as time is a depreciating asset," Teodulo said, tapping his cane lightly on the rotten floorboards. "My conglomerate and your Syndicate are engaged in a joint-venture. As the senior military asset here, your unit is, in theory, obligated to provide support for venture-related acquisitions."

  "My dharma is to secure this sector," Vikas replied, unmoved. "I am not a hound you can whistle for to fetch your trinkets——nor are my warriors. If you want contractual PMC service, follow protocol and contract Delhi Syndicate Intercompany Diplomatic Office."

  Teodulo's smile tightened. "Come now, Major. Surely operational flexibility is within your purview? This falls under the umbrella of our collaborative market expansion. The potential ROI for the Syndicate, through my success, would be most

  Vikas stared at him blankly.

  He began to speak faster, layering on dense, corporate-legal jargon. "Per the subsidiary accord clauses 12-B and 14-D of our integrated operational framework, cross-functional tactical support is mandated for high-yield portfolio augmentation," he continued, barely pausing for breath. "We're discussing a synergistic, force-multiplier scenario here, Major. Your current sector-security KPI is, by definition, contingent upon the stabilization of the commercial ecosystem. My acquisition is the lynchpin of that stabilization.”

  He paused, letting the jargon hang in the dusty air. "Therefore, your non-participation creates a critical-path vulnerability that directly jeopardizes your mandate. I'm advocating for a proactive, integrated solution. Failure to leverage this cross-functional asset alignment constitutes a tangible liability on your unit's performance ledger."

  One of the Dharma Troopers by the door shifted his weight, his helmet tilting slightly. "Corp-Major," the trooper ventured, his voice hesitant through the vox-grille, "the joint-venture clause in the Syndicate TOS, Article 2, sub-section D aligned with Lord Leir Cade’s narrative... if his acquisition aligns with portfolio purification, would that not fall under our proactive purview?"

  Vikas did not look at the trooper. His blank, unwavering gaze remained on Teodulo. "Our purview is defined by our command chain, not by the operational whims of allied contractors."

  Teodulo's smile was thin and sharp. "My dear Corp-Major, let us not be bogged down by rigid, siloed thinking. This is a matter of . A high-value, one-of-a-kind asset has presented itself. Its acquisition would significantly boost the ROI for our entities. A simple, temporary redeployment of your forces to facilitate a smooth transfer..."

  "I will notify the Syndicate Department of War of your request," Vikas stated, his voice cutting through the bureaucratic smokescreen like a mono-knife. "The does not receive orders outside its designated command chain. Even from allies."

  Teodulo’s kept smiling, “Corp-Major, that would not be necessary, you see-”

  He was abruptly interrupted by Vikas: “It is. You are a civilian trespassing in an active military zone. You will leave. Now."

  The air chilled. Teodulo's polished composure cracked for a fraction of a second. He took a half-step forward, his voice dropping, losing its theatricality and gaining a hard, pragmatic edge.

  "Corp-Major. There is no need to involve the department. Surely, we can come to an... understanding between professionals." He let the implication hang, heavy and unstated. "A gesture of goodwill, for a gesture of assistance. The Leir Cade family is known for its generosity to its strategic partners."

  That was the line.

  In a motion too fast to track, Vikas's ornate officer's saber was in his hand, its finely honed edge resting against Teodulo's throat, precisely where the cravat met his jawline. The two enforcers froze, their hands halfway to their own weapons. The cyber-hound emitted a high-frequency whine, its optic sensors locking onto them.

  "The Dharma Troopers of are not for sale," Vikas said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Our loyalty is not a line item on a grocery store shelf. It is our karma."

  He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod to his troopers. They moved instantly, grabbing Teodulo by his impeccably tailored arms.

  "Escort Mr. Leir Cade and his associates beyond our perimeter. Politely."

  "You barbarian!" Teodulo spat, his composure shattered as he was unceremoniously marched towards the door, his cane clattering to the floor. "This is not over! You have no idea who you are dealing with! I will remember this insult, Rajan!"

  His protests faded as he was unceremoniously hauled down the corridor and out of the building. Vikas sheathed his sword. The trooper who had spoken earlier looked down, chastened. "My apologies, Corp-Major. I was confused."

  “Irrelevant.” Vikas replies, “The thread of your logic is weak. It snaps against a firm resolve. The decision was mine.”

  “But, is it wise, Master Rajan?” the other armored Dharma Trooper inquired, “Leir Cade has a reputation of being a grudge-holder. Crossing him might be unwise.”

  “The man is a liability.” Vikas replied coldly, “I reminded him that his wealth is a shield of paper. My sword is forged steel. A slaver who profits from vat-grown flesh and harvested organs knows nothing of true strength. His karma is rotten.”

  “If he speaks ill of the again, and that will be the last words he speaks.”