Contract work - Reggie Lilienthal

The wind on Lyria didn't just blow; it screamed. It whipped fine sheets of frozen dust across the canopy of the Rig as it entered orbit, the sun casting long, jagged shadows over the planet's icy canyons.

Inside the cockpit, the atmosphere was dead silent save for the hum of the quantum drive cooling down and the robotic drone of the ship's computer reading back a rap sheet.

"Possession of controlled substances. Grand theft. Identity theft using illicit regeneration equipment. Kidnapping. Slaughter."

"Quite the resume," Ava Huxley muttered, flicking a switch to bring the Corsair's massive shield generators to full power.

Ava sat comfortably in the pilot's seat, her fingers flying across the controls with an effortless precision that defied her past. To the rest of the verse, she was a well-known mercenary who could hunt down a target in the blackest corners of Pyro. To the entertainment feeds, she was still the former actress who had walked away from the high-life. But out here, nobody cared about your past film credits—they only cared if you could hold a flight line under fire. And Ava could.

"I heard the bounty office was desperate to find Reggie Lilienthal," she said, her voice smooth and completely unbothered by the turbulence shaking the hull. "Glad our intel paid off."

The coordinates led us deep into the frozen waste, right to the skeletal remains of a Caterpillar that had broken its back on the moon's surface weeks prior. It was the perfect place for a rat to hide.

"Alright, eyes up," Ava radioed back to the crew quarters. "We do an aerial recon first. Snake Eyes, you’ve got the ground team. Roland Rye, KPJax—lock and load. Survivability is the priority here. I don't want anyone waking up in a medical clinic today."

Ava banked the the Rig to the right, letting the thrust vectors fight the moon's gravity as she gave the crew a clear view of the crash site through the starboard viewport. Below, poking out of the blinding white snow, was the mangled hull of the Caterpillar.

"I don't see any suitable cover for the ship down there," Rye said, checking the optics on his long-range sniper rifle. "Drop me off on that ridge at your twelve o'clock. I'll hang back and provide overwatch."

"Roger that, Rye. Take the high ground," Snake Eyes replied, moving toward the vehicle bay. "The rest of us are taking the Ursa."

Ava brought the heavy Corsair down into a steady, low hover, just close enough to the frozen crust for the Ursa Rover to roll off the ramp. The moment the rover's tires chewed into the ice, Ava pulled the ship back into a tight orbit, keeping her weapons slaved to her tracking reticle just in case things went sideways.

As the rover bounced across the terrain toward the wreckage, the turret operator scanned the horizon.

I called out "Movement," my  voice tense over the comms. "Multiple targets around the first chunk of the wreckage. Looks like maybe five of them, spread out."

"Hold up," Rye's voice crackled through the radio from his sniper perch high above. "I'm looking through the scope. I see a primary target... it's him."

Crack.

The sniper rifle's report was muffled by the thin atmosphere, but the result was instantaneous. Down in the snow, a figure collapsed.

"Target hit," Rye reported calmly. "Wait... he’s still moving. Tough bastard."

Crack.

"Now he’s dead."

"Good shooting," Snake Eyes said, bringing the Ursa to a halt near the debris. "Engines off, keep the power to the shields. If anyone else pops their head out, let 'em have it. Jax, out the back door. Follow me."

The ground team stepped out into the biting cold, weapons raised. The rules of engagement were simple: shoot on sight. They swept around the left side of the wreckage, their boots crunching in the snow, eyes darting between the jagged sheets of torn metal. The remaining lookouts didn't stand a chance against the coordinated crossfire.

Within minutes, the area went dead quiet again.

Snake Eyes approached the first body Rye had dropped. He knelt in the snow and brought up his MobiGlas, running a biometric scan over the frozen face. A green notification chimed.

"Positive ID. Reggie Lilienthal is down. Deceased" .... "No known regeneration record on file". 

"Copy that," Ava’s voice came over the comms, echoing into their helmets with theatrical clarity. "Contract requirement met. The bondsman just pinged me—we’re cleared to return to Grim Hex for debrief."

The crew did a quick sweep of the Caterpillar’s rear hull, but the forward hatches were completely crushed and inaccessible. There was nothing left to do but collect their paycheck.

They piled back into the Ursa, the heavy vehicle rumbling back to the waiting Corsair. Ava lowered the ramp, and as the rover cleared the threshold, she executed a flawless climb, leaving the freezing winds of Lyria far behind.

Later, the Rig drifted into the chaotic, shadow-drenched docks of Grim Hex. The pirate haven was busier than usual, crowded with ships hiding out from the UEE Bengal fleet rumored to be patrolling nearby. But inside the hangar, as Ava gently kissed the landing gear to the pad, the mood was light.

The elevator ride to the main concourse was slow, the heavy air smelling of recycled oxygen and cheap fuel.

I stretched my arms, a smirk spreading across my face. "Man, we were only gone for an hour, but it feels like a week."

Ava smiled, tapping a few buttons on her wrist console to lock down the Corsair's systems. "Just another day's work. Let's go get paid."