Unknown Location - Outskirt - Babel City – Moon Base
Behind a dark, desolate, shut-down facility—one of many forgotten relics from the bithrete mining boom—a man stood at the edge of a behemoth tunnel, large enough to swallow two airplanes side by side. Once, these tunnels buzzed with diggers and transport vehicles. Now, they were abandoned. Empty. Silent.
Much like the man standing there.
Scars marked his face. Stern eyes. Hair the color of dried blood. Guerrero Chavez. A relic from a time long buried. He looked close to fifty, though his body said otherwise. Tall. Muscular. Tough. Beneath his worn jacket, his dark green-striped exo-suit shimmered faintly, its bulk hinting at hidden power. His arms—steel, mechanized limbs—clicked softly with every slight movement. Blue Cybernetic implants ran from shoulder to fingertip.
He didn't fidget. He didn't blink. He waited.
Then, his comm-device beeped. A holographic display flared to life. A girl. A scientist. Facility layouts. Escape routes. GPS tracking. Schematics. All projected in glowing layers before his eyes.
He sighed.
Took one last drag from his cigarette—and flicked it into the yawning abyss.
It vanished without a sound.
He turned and walked away.
Inside the Facility – Deeper Below
Three others occupied the shadows.
Firefly sat before a massive wall of monitors, typing, clicking, scanning through feeds and encrypted layers. His suit bore a purple stripe. Older, stockier, and focused, he barely acknowledged the others.
"So... we... are... moving?"
The voice was fractured—like different people speaking one after the other to form a sentence. A child. A woman. A man. A growl. One voice, stitched from many.
Echo.
Another stood nearby, his jaw and neck fully mechanized. He said nothing. His suit bore a yellow stripe, matching the glow in his cybernetic eyes.
Above them, nestled in the ceiling's shadows, two red eyes opened.
Spydra.
Her exo-suit, unlike the others, came with additional limbs. Eight in total. Spider-like. She dropped silently to the floor. The extra limbs folded and fused back into her main suit. She grinned. Ready.
All four bore the same thin, metallic collar around their necks. It blinked green every few seconds. Always watching. Always reminding.
"We've got our first mission," Guerrero said as he re-entered.
They all turned.
He walked to the far wall—a reinforced steel barrier, dented and scarred with dozens of deep fist marks. The aftermath of rage. Of drills. Of control.
Guerrero lit another cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled slowly.
Then turned to leave.
Cryo Observation site - Babel City - Moon Base
The cryo facility was quiet, nestled behind blackened craters and crumbling steel towers. It was a relic like so many others, long past its prime—until now. Four armored personnel trucks crawled out of the northern hangar bay in single formation, headlights slicing through the cold void, tires pressing silently into the regolith-covered path.
Inside the lead vehicle, Captain Vorne sat sternly, hand on his sidearm, helmet visor down. Around him, six personnel sat in tense silence—four soldiers and two ASM3s, high-spec Assault Model Three droids with reinforced plating, biometric targeting, and anti-tank capabilities. The kind of machines you bring when a single mistake means death.
Behind them, in the third truck, two younger officers whispered between themselves, helmets loosely fastened.
"Another transport gig, huh?" one said, arms crossed.
"Not the usual. This one's different. Look at the way they've secured the cargo. Cryo-pods… just one of 'em. I saw the case markings—Level 9 clearance."
"Shit," the second muttered. "We never do anything beyond level 5, what do You think is in there ?"
"I don't think, I know. It's always Something."
"Whatever. As long as the bonus lands."
"Just pray we make it to handoff."
A bark from Captain Vorne silenced them. "Keep chatter to zero. Watch for signal interference. This route's dark."
The vehicles crawled forward, and towards a tunnel.
the feed glitched—once, twice—then flatlined.
"Sir, we lost visuals," a technician stammered. "Comms dead. GPS tracking disabled."
On the other side of the moon, Firefly sat grinning.
Lines of code raced across the screens, lighting his goggled face with wicked delight. "And... extra sprinkles on top." He pressed a key.
Behind him, distant booms echoed as power cores in the cryo facility overloaded. Sparks flew. Monitors cracked. Firefly leaned back, satisfied. "They'll be blind for at least forty five."
He opened comms. "They're yours. You've got forty."
Inside the lead vehicle, an officer squinted through the windshield. "Contact—twelve o'clock."
A lone figure stood in the middle of the dusty road, half-shrouded in cloak and smoke. Broad shoulders. Tall frame. Red hair flaring like fire in low gravity. His arms—massive, metallic—hung at his sides.
Captain Vorne didn't hesitate. "Drive through him! Engage auto-fire!"
The trucks surged forward, weapons clicking into place. The ASM3s activated, rising like sentinels from their stowed slots. Red lights blinked on their visors.
Guerrero Chavez didn't flinch. It was all coming back to him.