Days bled into weeks in the Manufacturing biome's hidden safebase, a damp, concrete bunker buried beneath a derelict factory, its walls scarred with rust and graffiti, the air heavy with mildew and rationed food.
Vera, Syn, Aster, and Pako had slipped the Kingdom's net, dodging drones and facial scans, their faces—by some miracle—untraced in the chaos of the warehouse fire and safehouse massacre.
The bunker was stocked with stolen crates from the agriculture biome, enough grain and dried fruit to last a month, maybe two.
But they couldn't be happy that they came out of the chaos alive, it felt hollow, the cost too high.
The Kingdom's news feeds blared through a cracked holo-screen, crowing about the pirates' annihilation, their spies hunted, contacts tapped, the rebellion crushed.
All pirates dead, the Kingdom's reporters claimed, unaware of the four who'd vanished into the shadows.
