Graffiti screamed "No Rules" across rusted walls, a torn Federation banner dangling, air thick with cigarette smoke and Ikona hum. Sylira hunched over a console, her wire-like Ikona coiling around her wrist, sparking as it patched into the system, her blue shard flickering.
Roachaline slammed her knife into a table, shards sparking, her insect Ikona skittering beside her. "Talk," she said, voice sharp, leaning forward, her attractiveness fierce, scars glinting. Sylira's fingers danced, console beeping, map sharpening. "Depot's got rations, ammo, three shard signatures," she said, voice low, wire Ikona twitching. "Patrols cycle hourly."
Torqa lumbered in, stone Ikona grinding, ochre shard pulsing. "We hit now," he growled, cracking his knuckles, sand dusting his boots. Vexen's hawk screeched, landing, as she leaned against a crate. "Not yet," she said, eyes narrowing at Torqa. "Need the shard count locked." Her green shard glowed, hawk's amber eyes scanning.
