Douklan stepped off the grav train first, rifle raised and eyes scanning the cargo bay area just off the platform. The space opened wide before him—a rectangular chamber filled with shipping containers and pallets arranged in semi-organized rows. Some crates were toppled, some left ajar, but there were no signs of combat or sabotage. No blood. No corpses. No claw marks.
And more importantly... No immediate threats.
"Nothing hostile," Douklan muttered into comms, moving forward cautiously, eyes sweeping across the cargo manifest labels etched or sprayed onto container sides. The stacks reached about eight to ten feet high, maybe more in spots where boxes had been lazily stacked without concern for future access.
He paused by one particularly large container that had "Hydraulic Components: Deck Transfer" marked on it in faded stenciling. Others bore similar industrial designations.
"Hey, guys," he said, keeping his voice level,
"how big would you say the Heaven’s Wing parts are? Because we might be able to eliminate most of these boxes from suspicion just by knowing what won’t fit inside them."
Corbin joined him, scanning the area briefly.
"Hard to say exactly," he admitted.
"But I can tell you right now—whatever those parts are, they’re not in here. Wrong type of shipping, no engineering seals, no registry codes. They wouldn’t toss precision FTL components in here with spare pistons and cooling jackets."
"Got it." Douklan nodded once, already moving ahead.
The group proceeded beyond the cargo area, passing through a short pressure-sealed corridor into what used to be
Sensor Operations. The space was originally designed for stellar cartography, with a wide central platform for tactical holomaps and region-scale scans.
But that was no longer the case.
Now, the room had been completely repurposed—cables and heavy conduits snaked across the floor and ceiling, converging on a massive 10-foot-tall circular construct at the center of the chamber, where the
holo pit used to be.
A wormhole gate, crude but functional, pulsed with unnatural energy.
At its base were charred and modified FTL drive components, unmistakably scavenged from an advanced vessel. The Heaven’s Wing.
The gate was active. A swirling mass of light and distortion filled the ring, a visible rupture in space.

And then...
A shape emerged from the vortex.
Then another.
And another.
Four of them, in total.
All identical.
Ryan Carter. Each clad in the same melted, tattered uniform. Each with that slick, black-oil skin, luminous green eyes glowing like deep-sea predators. They stepped forward in perfect synchrony, gazes locked on the team.