London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur... — Of - Lawrence

London straightened, his gaze sweeping over his team. “Faruk, get us in. Mercur, you’re the ghost—neutralize the internal sensors. I’ll handle the heavy lifting.”

“We’re hitting the Aegis refinery at 0400,” London grumbled, his voice like gravel. “No mistakes. This isn’t a training sim.”

“And back,” London replied, slamming a fresh power cell into his rifle. OF - Lawrence London, Halif Faruk, Roman Mercur...

The hangar doors hissed open, revealing the sleek, black silhouette of their ship. The mission was suicide to some, but to London, Faruk, and Mercur, it was just another Tuesday in the void.

The air in the sterile briefing room was thick with the scent of ozone and recycled oxygen. , his face a map of scars and sun-faded tattoos, leaned over the holographic display. He was the anchor, the veteran who had seen more deep-space combat than the rest of the crew combined. London straightened, his gaze sweeping over his team

Beside him, adjusted his flight suit. Faruk was the navigator, a man who could find a wormhole in a vacuum. His eyes, dark and sharp, never left the scrolling data streams. “The gravitational fluctuations near the refinery are spiking, Lawrence. If we don’t time the exit perfectly, we’re cosmic dust.”

How should the once they breach the refinery's perimeter? I’ll handle the heavy lifting

“I never miss,” Faruk replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.