A transport ship descended through Sirius Prime's atmosphere like a falling star, its hull scarred from battles fought across three worlds. Inside the cramped passenger bay, the Widow sat with predatory stillness, her regenerated tail coiled around her feet like a sleeping serpent. Across from her, a single-horn pilot nervously adjusted his controls, stealing glances at the creature who had torn through human defenses like paper.
The ship's landing thrusters kicked in with a metallic groan, sending vibrations through the deck plating. Through the viewports, the landscape revealed itself in stark detail: a facility that sprawled across kilometers of barren rock, its surfaces gleaming with alien technology and human engineering fused into something that belonged to neither species.
But it was the perimeter that made the single-horn's breathing hitch.
