The next morning…

  A grand research vessel loomed over the Imperial spaceport, its polished ivory hull gleaming beneath the morning light. The spaceport buzzed with activity as crew members hauled goods and containers into the ship’s massive cargo hold.

  A sleek, luxurious car rolled onto the scene, gliding to a stop. The twins and their parents stepped out, clad in crisp research uniforms, their eyes widening as they took in the ship's majestic shape.

  “Beautiful,” Marci said, brimming with excitement.

  Among the bustling crew, Reagan emerged and made his way over to the family, clutching a stack of folders, documents, and a checklist. He offered a sharp salute before handing the papers to the twins' father. “The ship is prepped and ready, sir.”

  Their father scanned the documents briefly. “Good. Any word from the Admiral?”

  Reagan's expression remained steady. “Admiral Vasiliev still recommended that we should join the fleet. He’s still uneasy about the expedition.”

  A small frown tugged at his mouth. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll draw less attention travelling separately. I’ll contact the Admiral once we’re underway.”

  “Understood, sir,” Reagan responded, his tone respectful.

  The family handed their luggage to a waiting attendant and made a final check before heading toward the ship. Just as they reached the boarding ramp, the growl of another engine broke through the morning air. An Imperial car pulled up swiftly, and out stepped the spokesman, a cigar clamped between his teeth. His gaze sweeping over the group, lingering with amusement.

  “What is he doing here?” Marci whispered to Marcus, her brow furrowing.

  The spokesman strode toward the family, exhaling a cloud of smoke before speaking. “Mr. Briggs,” he said smoothly, “I’ll be accompanying you. The Magistrate wants someone to oversee your operations and ensure compliance with the project. We will negotiate after you have settled. What do you say?”

  “They're not letting us go without a leash, are they?” Marcus muttered to his sister.

  Their father’s sigh was barely audible, his jaw tightening for a brief moment. “Fine,” he replied. “We’ll talk after the outpost is established.”

  The spokesman’s lips curled into a slight smirk. “Excellent, Mr. Briggs.” He flicked the cigar away, crushing it under his heel as he step behind the family, following them up the ramp.

  “Apologies for my abrupt... behaviour yesterday,” the spokesman added as they walked.

  The twins' mother turned to him with a polite nod. “No need to apologise. The family understands the gravity of the situation and the magistrate's concerns.”

  “I appreciate the acknowledgement,” he replied, a glimmer of sincerity in his voice. “Perhaps I might be able to assist with the family's endeavours during the journey.”

  Moments later, the crew completed their preparations. Mechs, cargo handlers, security personnel, and the remaining crew boarded the vessel as the massive cargo bay doors sealed shut. The ship’s engines came to life, emitting a deep, resonant hum that grew into a thunderous roar. Slowly, the vessel lifted off the ground, retracting its landing gear as it stabilised in mid-air.

  For a brief moment, the ship hovered, adjusting its orientation toward its intended trajectory. Then, with a final surge of power, it accelerated upward, piercing the atmosphere before disappearing into the vastness of space.

  ***

  Inside the ship's sleek hallways, the twins walked side by side with their parents, the metallic hum of the vessel filling the room.

  “Do we really have to deal with that guy?” Marci asked, her voice laced with irritation.

  “We just need you two to keep him... entertained,” their father replied. “It’s hard to get any work done with him breathing down our necks.”

  “Can’t someone else do that?” Marcus questioned, a frown forming on his face.

  Their mother gave them an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you two will manage. Just try to get along. I know you can do it!”

  "If you need anything, just reach us through the Comms. The key cards are at the office if you need them," their father said. With a final nod, their parents headed toward the ship's bridge, leaving the twins standing there, exchanging a resigned sigh as the sound of their parents' footsteps faded down the corridor.

  A few hours later…

  In the ship’s recreational lounge, the twins sat uncomfortably on a plush sofa, while across from them, the spokesman reclined in an armchair, his expression unreadable. The silence in the room went on, punctuated only by the distant hum of the ship’s engines.

  “So,” the spokesman finally said.

  The twins exchanged a brief glance, not saying a single word.

  “Not much for conversation, are you?” he remarked, a smirk tugging at his lips. Reaching for a cigar on the nearby table, he snapped his fingers, summoning a small flame above his palm. The fire danced for a moment before he used it to light the cigar, extinguishing the flame with a casual flick afterwards.

  “At your age, children with potential like yours should be striving for greater knowledge,” he said, taking a slow drag from the cigar. “Been keeping up with your studies?” he asked, smoke curling from his lips.

  Marci glanced at the table, where a spread of snacks lay untouched. She pointed a hand, and two pastries rose into the air, hovering momentarily before one drifted towards Marcus. Immediately, Marcus gestured, guiding the pastry above his hand with a smooth telekinetic motion. They each plucked their pastries out of the air and took a bite, as if it were the most natural thing in the universe.

  The spokesman's brow arched slightly. “Ah, I see you’ve grasped the basics of the School of Motion. An admirable start, though a bit rudimentary. If you were truly committed, You’d be well into your hundreds before mastering the School of Elements. But at least you’re not completely idle like some of the delinquents I’ve come across.”

  The twins remained quiet, finishing their snacks with indifferent expressions.

  “Right,” he continued, unperturbed by their lack of response. “Since your parents informed me that you’ve been neglecting your university education, I’ll be taking it upon myself to give you both a complimentary lecture. Consider it a favour.”

  The twins exchanged another look, their faces deadpan, clearly uninterested.

  “Not to worry,” he assured, sensing their reluctance. “I was once a professor for the Alterrian Educational Institution. All my lectures come from personal experience—genuine quality, I’d say. Now, let’s begin with an introduction to the foundational Schools of Matter, Motion, Elements, and Dilation. We’ll start with—”

  He rambled on, the words spilling forth like an endless tide as the hours stretched on, the twins' bored expressions only growing more pronounced.

  Hours dragged on as the lectures continued, and Marci’s attention drifted to the window behind her. She leaned closer, eyes glazing over as she lost herself in the view of the endless void outside. The ship was approaching a neighbouring planet, gliding into an asteroid belt. She watched as jagged rocks floated by, revealing glimpses of the massive gas giant beyond.

  Marci let out a quiet sigh, savouring the view. Then, something unusual caught her eye. Behind the drifting asteroids, faint shimmers flickered, like heat waves rising from a boiler. There were several of them, almost camouflaged against the darkness. She glanced at her brother, who was slouched in his position, looking exhausted and half-asleep from the seemingly endless lectures. She nudged him, drawing his attention to the strange phenomenon outside.

  "Now, the School of Dilation is a unique experience," the spokesman droned on. "Only the user can perceive the exact effects when they manipulate—what are you two doing? Have you not been paying attention?" His grumpy tone cut through the twins' quiet observation.

  Caught in the action, they reluctantly turned back, resuming their positions with the same bored expressions.

  "Hmph! Children…" the Spokesman grumbled. "As I was saying, the School of Dilation allows one to manipulate ti—"

  His words were cut short by a sudden explosion that violently shook the entire vessel. The ship lurched, sending crew members stumbling and some crashing to the floor. Alarms blared as the lights flickered erratically.

  "What the bloody hell is happening!?" the Spokesman yelled, struggling to keep his balance.

  “Rebels! They're attacking the ship!” a crewman's voice echoed from outside the room.

  Muffled gunfire and screams echoed through the blaring alarm, as another explosion rocked the ship, sending a jolt through the hull.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this!” the Spokesman declared, already striding toward the door. “Stay here, both of you.”

  “W-wait! You’re just going to leave us like—” Marci's voice trailed off as the door slammed shut behind him, cutting her off.

  Marcus shook his head, disbelief etched on his face. “That was… incredibly irresponsible.”

  Before they could process the situation, the comms unit in the corner of the room buzzed to life. Marci scrambled over to answer, Marcus right beside her.

  “Hello?” Marci’s voice trembled with worry.

  “Kid? You there?” Reagan’s voice crackled through the static.

  “Reagan?! What's happening? Where’s Mom and Dad?” she asked, panic rising in her voice.

  “No time. You need to get out of there now!” The comms sputtered with static. “We’ll meet at Hangar 4. Get going!” The connection went dead, leaving them alone with the gunfire and frequent explosions drawing nearer.

  “We need to move. Now,” Marcus said, grabbing Marci’s hand as they bolted out the door.

  Racing down the ship's exit halls, Marcus slammed his hand against the door scanner, but the panel flashed red with a dull beep.

  “Damn it, locked!” he grunted.

  “The key card! It’s in the office!” Marci shouted, pulling Marcus toward the hallway leading there. They reached the office door, but it refused to open as well.

  “It’s locked, too,” Marci muttered under her breath.

  Marcus spotted a loose panel on the wall nearby. He pried it open, revealing the air vents. “Over here! We can crawl through.”

  Clambering into the vents, the twins shuffled along the dusty metal passages, making their way toward the office. Through a small opening, they could see the golden key card glinting on a shelf.

  “There it is!” Marci whispered eagerly. “Let’s go ge—”

  “Wait!” Marcus grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the shadows.

  Heavy footsteps thudded outside as one of the office doors was kicked open. The Spokesman staggered in, clutching a bleeding wound at his side. Behind him, three rebels stormed into the room, their weapons drawn.

  “N-no, please!” the Spokesman begged, his voice trembling. “You don’t have to do this! I’ll do anything! Anything but—no! NO!”

  A gunshot thundered through the room, silencing him. The Spokesman collapsed, lifeless.

  Marci and Marcus gasped, horrified. Clamping their hands over their mouths, they tried to stifle any sound.

  "Fascist. Imperial bastard!" one of the rebels spat.

  The second thug nudged the lifeless body with his boot. "Man, that guy fought like a cornered animal. You sure he’s actually dead this time, boss?"

  The third rebel, clearly in charge, stepped forward, a faint violet glow emanating from the sleek pistol in his hand. "Trust me, they don’t call these things Kingslayers for nothing." He held up the gun for his comrades to see, its ominous glow casting eerie shadows across the room.

  Hidden within the narrow confines of the vents, Marci took a steadying breath and focused. She extended her telekinetic reach toward the key card perched on the shelf, slowly guiding it toward them without drawing attention.

  "Maybe we should put another round in him, you know, just to be sure," a thug suggested, his voice a bit nervous.

  The officer gave him a cold glare. "What’s the matter, scared he’ll come back to haunt you?" He gestured toward the corpse. "These weapons are the only things that can kill these bastards. Do you see him glowing? No? He’s dead."

  "Still… unless he turns into a zombie or something," the thug muttered, "I wouldn’t be too surprised if he jumped up and tried to kill us again."

  With a long irritated grunt, the officer raised The gun and fired two more shots into the body. The gunshots thundered through the room, the force of the sound so sudden that it jolted Marci's concentration, causing the key card to slip and fall to the floor with a sharp clatter.

  "There! Feel better now?" the officer barked, holstering his weapon.

  "Ha! Now he's double dead. Dead-dead. Get it?" The thug chuckled, his laughter grating against the room.

  Crouched in the vent, Marcus squeezed in closer to his sister, helping steady her shaking hands as he assisted with his own telekinesis. The key card slowly lifted from the floor, wobbling slightly in the air.

  "Wasted perfectly good bullets on a dumb joke," the officer grumbled, turning away.

  "Come on, boss, it was funny," the thug pressed, only to be met with a withering stare.

  "Shut the fuck up and start sweeping," the officer snapped. "The sooner we find what we came for, the faster we can get the hell out of this place."

  As the rebels resumed their search, Marcus and Marci managed to levitate the key card through the vent grille, slipping away before any one of them noticed.

  “They… they killed him,” Marci whispered, her voice trembling. “I thought that was impossible.”

  Marcus wrapped an arm around her shoulders, steadying her. “I know… but we have to keep moving.” Marcus urged, holding her close as they exited the vents and hurried back into the hallway.

  ***

  The twins sprinted back to the exit, swiping the key card frantically. As the door slid open, they bolted through, racing deeper into the ship’s shaking corridors. The entire vessel trembled under the escalating assault, explosions and gunfire reverberating through the hull.

  Struggling to keep their balance, the twins pressed on, finally reaching the halls leading to the hangar bay.

  “Almost there!” Marcus shouted, his voice strained from the chaos around them.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Another door blocked their path. Marcus swiped the key card once more, but as it opened, a rebel stood directly on the other side.

  Acting on instinct, Marcus drove his fist into the man’s face, the impact sending him stumbling back. Without hesitation, the twins dashed past him, their footsteps pounding down the final stretch of hallway.

  The rebel regained his footing and swung his rifle up, locking onto the retreating figures. Before he could squeeze the trigger, a large figure barreled into him from the side, slamming him against the wall with a bone-rattling thud.

  “Oi! You two!” a familiar voice bellowed.

  “Callum!” they cried out in relief, skidding to a stop as they saw the burly man towering over the unconscious rebel.

  Behind him, Reagan appeared, followed closely by their parents, all of them looking exhausted but very much alive.

  “Reagan! Mom! Dad!” The twins rushed forward, embracing their parents tightly.

  Reagan sucked in a sharp breath. “Okay… now that we’re all here…”

  Their father rested a steadying hand on each of the twins’ shoulders. “Listen, there’s a shuttle waiting for you in the hangar. You need to board it and get out of here. You’ll be safe.”

  “What? No, you have to come with us!” Marci’s voice quivered, her eyes widening in disbelief.

  Their father shook his head. “We can’t, sweetheart. There’s still something we need to finish here. You both have to be strong.”

  “Dad, please! I don’t want you to—” Marci’s words faltered as tears welled in her eyes.

  “Shh, we’re not going to die,” he said, though his voice softened and a bit uncertain.

  “Mom… Dad…” Marcus’s voice cracked. “You have to.”

  Their father pulled them both close, his embrace strong yet trembling. Their mother followed, wrapping her arms around them as if to shield them from the world. “I promise,” he whispered, “we’ll see each other again. Just get to safety.”

  The family clung to the moment, reluctant to let go. But eventually, they did.

  Their father’s gaze hardened as he turned to his trusted servant. “Reagan, Keep them safe,” their father said, his voice steady.

  Their parents gave one last nod before turning to leave, Callum following closely behind, ready to protect them to the last.

  With reluctant breath, Reagan took the twins by the hands and pulled them to their feet. “Come on, you two,” he said urgently. “We’re running out of time.”

  ***

  The three sprinted into Hangar 4, their eyes locking onto the shuttle at the docking wall, its doors wide open and ready for departure.

  “There it is!” Reagan shouted, pushing forward.

  They dashed aboard, relief washing over them. Reagan quickly slid into the cockpit and attempted to start the shuttle, but the doors refused to close, and warning signals blared through the cabin.

  “Ah, shit!” he cursed, slamming his fist against the console.

  Outside, a group of rebels stormed into the hangar, scanning the area with weapons raised.

  “There! Stop them!” one of the rebels shouted, spotting the three.

  Gunfire erupted, bullets tearing through the air and ricocheting off the shuttle's metal frame. The twins dove to the floor, scrambling out of the line of fire.

  “R-Reagan!” Marci cried, huddling close to her brother behind the cover of a bulkhead.

  “Hang tight! I’ve got you!” Reagan yelled back, leaping from the cockpit. He grabbed his rifle and returned fire, taking cover behind the shuttle’s passenger seats while picking off rebels who ventured too close. “The doors are jammed! Someone needs to fix them while I hold these bastards off!”

  “We’ll do it!” the twins shouted in unison.

  Reagan glanced back at them, his brow furrowed. “You sure you can handle it?”

  The twins exchanged a resolute nod.

  “Alright! Go!” Reagan ordered, blazing a path of cover fire as he charged out of the shuttle, blasting away at the advancing rebels. He kicked over barrels and flipped tables, setting up a makeshift barricade for the twins to work behind.

  Marcus and Marci scrambled to the shuttle’s door controls, prying open the panel to reveal a chaotic tangle of wires.

  “Okay… how did this go again?” Marci stammered, her hands trembling. “You remember any of this from senior high?”

  “B-barely,” Marcus stammered, his hands already reaching for the wires. “But we have to try.”

  They frantically worked to rewire the system while Reagan continued to lay down cover fire, gunning down any rebels who drew near.

  “Come on, come on!” Marcus muttered, his fingers fumbling to reconnect the wires in their proper slots. Marci mirrored his movements, testing different combinations as they pieced the system back together.

  Finally, with a surge of power, the door systems hummed to life.

  “We did it!” the twins shouted.

  “Great! Now let's get out of—” Reagan’s voice was cut off as an explosion tore through the hangar, blasting apart the floor between them. The shockwave threw the twins into the shuttle, slamming them against the seats as the doors sealed shut.

  The blast had ripped their uniforms, leaving them scraped and bruised. As they struggled to recover, Reagan’s voice echoed through the walls, muffled and desperate.

  “Kid? Kid!” His voice came through, muffled by the sealed doors.

  Marci was the first to regain her senses. “Reagan? Reagan!” She rushed to the door, her heart pounding.

  Before she could reach it, another explosion struck, sending the shuttle spiraling into deep space. The force of the blast knocked Marci to the floor, her eyes wide with horror as she watched the ship they had fled from shrinking into the distance.

  “No… no… NO!” Marci screamed, falling to her knees as helplessness gripped her. She staggered to the cockpit, frantically hitting buttons and pulling levers, desperate to regain control. “Come on, work! Please, work!” she sobbed, slamming her fists against the unresponsive console.

  Marcus, still dazed from the blast, saw her struggle and immediately sprang into action. Without a word, he rushed to the cockpit, working feverishly to tinker with the console's wiring in hopes of bringing it back to life. When nothing changed, he sprinted to the engine room, trying different fixes and rerouting power, only to dash back to the cockpit moments later, repeating the cycle over and over.

  The navigation remained dead. The twins' desperate attempts stretched on, their frustration kept at it, hour after hour after hour after hour.

  ***

  Hours passed, the two’s efforts becoming slower and weaker. Marci's hands pathetically slapped the controls, her strength completely spent.

  “Sis… stop…” Marcus whispered, his voice weak and exhausted. He was slumped against the wall, just as weary as his sister.

  She didn’t respond, her stubbornness refusing to let her quit.

  “Marci!” Marcus shouted, forcing himself upright. His voice snapped her out of the daze.

  Her hands froze, and she collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face as despair took hold of her. Marcus dragged himself over, wrapping his arms around her as she cried uncontrollably.

  “We… we’re… lost…” Marci choked.

  Marcus held her tighter, his own tears falling silently. Hours later, the twins sat side by side, staring out the window at the endless void outside.

  “So… this is it,” Marcus said quietly.

  Marci said nothing, the silence between them heavier than gravity.

  “This is how it ends…” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible.

  Marci lowered her head, overwhelmed by a crushing emptiness.

  “Maybe… we should… rest,” he suggested, struggling to muster any emotion.

  Marci only nodded, numb to everything.

  Marcus rose and helped her to her feet, guiding her to the cabins near the cockpit. They lay down on the narrow beds, attempting to sleep. But time dragged on, and rest never came.

  After what felt like an eternity, Marci rose and wandered the shuttle aimlessly. She drifted from room to room, pacing the same halls over and over—from the passenger compartments to the storage areas, the engine room, the cockpit, and back. The silence pressed down on her like weights, heavy and unyielding.

  Several hours later, fatigue took hold of her again. She yawned, her limbs feeling heavy. On her way back to the cabin, she stumbled and fell, her face hitting the floor. As she struggled to her knees, she noticed a faint glow in the corner of the storage room. Marci stared at the dim light for a long moment until a sudden realisation struck her.

  “M-Marcus!” she shouted, rushing to wake him. “Look!” She pointed toward the glowing spot.

  The twins approached the source, and Marcus reached out, brushing his hands around the surface until he felt something like a metal latch. With a firm pull, a panel swung open, releasing a blast of cold air that filled the room.

  “Is that…?” Marcus whispered, running his hand along the frosted casing and the soft leather surface of the interior.

  “A cryo chamber…” Marci breathed.

  The twins shared a long glance. They knew what needed to be done if they wanted to hold onto their sanity. Without another word, they climbed into the chamber, holding each other tightly. Their eyes met one last time, giving each other a final nod, they sealed the door.

  The machine rumbled to life, the temperature plummeted, and soon, the universe faded away as the cold overtook them, plunging them into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ***

  Time has passed…

  The cryo chamber hissed, releasing a cloud of chilled air as its doors creaked open. The twins stumbled out, collapsing to the floor, their bodies shivering uncontrollably as they fought to catch their breath. Coughing, they struggled to regain their senses.

  Blinking through blurred vision, they looked around the cabin, only to find it disturbingly unfamiliar. The once sleek shuttle interior now appeared rusted and heavily industrialised, with exposed metal and rough wiring crisscrossing the walls. The cryo chamber was mounted high on the bulkhead, as if repurposed, while the cabin layout bore no resemblance to what they remembered. And standing just a few feet away was a figure—humanoid.

  As their vision sharpened, the twins saw a man clad in a worn, industrial jacket. His face was hidden behind a gas mask, the lenses gleaming faintly in the shadows.

  “W-who… are you?” Marci's voice quivered, still weak from the cold.

  The man didn’t answer. He merely turned and took a few steps away, pulling a small radio from his pocket. “You seeing this?” he spoke into it, his voice muffled by the mask. “Yeah… uh-huh… understood.”

  “W-Who is he talking to?” Marcus whispered, his senses finally returned, still shivering.

  The man turned back, stepping closer to the siblings. He kneeled, crouching down to their level, his gaze hidden behind the glassy lenses of the mask. He studied them closely, The twins stared back, a mix of anxiety and confusion twisting in their chests.

  “W-who are you?” Marci asked again, her body still shuddering from the cold.

  The man let out a long sigh, as if weighing whether to answer. Slowly, he reached up and peeled the gas mask from his face, revealing a worn but familiar figure beneath.

  “N-no…” Marcus breathed, a chill creeping down his spine.

  “R-Reagan?” Marci whispered, her voice filled with disbelief and shock.

  “Morning… kids,” Reagan replied, his voice hoarse and slightly strained. He looked older, the lines on his face deeper, his eyes carrying a weight the twins didn’t remember.

  “I-I don’t understand…” Marci stammered, her voice quivering. “The explosion… w-we saw you—”

  “Hey, hey. Slow down,” Reagan interrupted, holding up his hands. “You’re freezing.” He reached out and pulled them close, trying to share some warmth.

  He rose and rummaged through the storage cabinets through the room, returning with two thick grey coats. “Here. Put these on,” he said, draping the heavy fabric over their shoulders. “They’ll keep you warm.”

  Marcus clutched the coat tightly around him, his breath still shaky. “Reagan… where are we? What happened?”

  Reagan exhaled deeply, as though carrying the weight of years in that single breath. “I’d love to explain everything… but not right now.”

  “W-why not?” Marci's voice cracked with worry, her confusion only growing.

  “Listen,” Reagan insisted, his tone firm but a trace of impatience slipping into his voice. “Now’s not the best time. I need you two to—”

  “Who were you talking to?” Marcus interrupted, his eyes narrowing.

  “And why is the ship different? Where are we?” Marci added, her questions spilling out in a rush.

  “Stop! Both of you.” Reagan’s voice rose, then softened as he placed a hand on each of their shoulders, his touch heavy with unspoken emotion. “I know you’ve been through a lot… but I need you to trust me on this one. Okay?... Please?”

  The twins looked at him, hesitation lingering in their gaze. But as they saw the earnestness in his eyes, they slowly nodded, though felt very uncertain.

  ***

  Outside the window, the ship descended through the planet’s atmosphere. Its surface resembled a barren moon, with vast patches of snow blanketing the landscape. Inside, the twins had settled on the less dilapidated side of the ship, trying to gather their thoughts and recover from the long cryosleep. Though the room was still worn and rusted, the sofas were intact enough to offer some comfort.

  Suddenly, the clanging of metal echoed from the other side of the ship. The noise was jarring, but the twins assumed it was Reagan at work. Moments later, he appeared, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder, brimming with gear.

  “Here, take this,” he said, tossing a bottle toward them.

  Marcus caught it, examining the label. “What is this?”

  “Amphetamines. They’ll help you shake off the cryo fatigue,” Reagan replied.

  Marci frowned. “I’d prefer some hot coffee right now…”

  “Sorry, kid. That’s the best I’ve got available,” Reagan said.

  The twins reluctantly took the pills, downing them dry. Meanwhile, Reagan unzipped the bag and began rummaging through its contents.

  After a moment, he pulled out a silver watch and walked over to Marci. “Put this on,” he instructed.

  “A watch?” Marci echoed, slipping it onto her wrist.

  “Sort of,” Reagan replied. “When I give you the signal, point your wrist at the ground and squeeze.”

  “Wait, what signal? How am I supposed to know when?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

  “You’ll know it when you see it,” Reagan said simply, a flicker of reassurance crossing his expression.

  He rummaged through the bag again, pulling out a sleek, polymer pistol. Turning to Marcus, he held it out. “Ever used a gun before?”

  “Uh… Dad’s sporting pistol, once,” Marcus admitted, hesitantly taking the firearm.

  “This one’s different,” Reagan said, his voice brisk as he explained. “Mag goes under here. Seventeen rounds. Safety’s on the side. Rack the top before you fire. Point and shoot. Got it?”

  Marcus gave a slow nod, still processing the quick instructions.

  “Alright,” Reagan zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Get yourselves ready.” he turned and stepped out of the room, leaving the twins alone with their thoughts.

  ***

  The ship descended onto the snowy landscape, approaching what looked like a small, weather-beaten town nestled next to a sprawling industrial complex. Rusted metal and cracked concrete filled the area, but newer technology and heavy equipment hinted at some recent activity.

  “Now arriving. Planet Gelidus. CCID research facilities. Sector C. Hangar bays. Thank you for choosing Rel Co. as your personal navigation system. We hope you have a very pleasant day,” a computerized voice echoed through the ship’s speakers.

  The vessel glided into the hangar, its doors sealing shut behind it as the landing gear extended, settling onto the marked pavement with a muted thud. The cargo ramp lowered, revealing Reagan and the twins, who were already bracing themselves for whatever awaited them.

  "Alright, here's the plan," Reagan said as they descended the ramp. "Stay close. We’ll make our way to another hangar, grab a transport, and get out of here. No detours." His tone left no room for argument as they began their cautious march toward the entrance to the compound’s grand hallways.

  “W-wait,” Marcus said, his voice trembling with uncertainty. “Can’t we just use the ship we came in on?”

  Reagan shot him a quick, hard look. “Trust me, there’s a damn good reason we’re not doing that,” he replied as they reached the hallway doors.

  He approached the console beside the entrance and keyed in a code. The heavy metal door creaked and slid open, but as it did, a voice greeted them.

  "A good reason indeed," came the drawl from the other side.

  A squad of soldiers stood waiting, their rifles aimed and ready. At the centre of the group, an officer stepped forward, his uniform decorated with medals and a adorned cap perched on his head.

  "Seems like you're not the rightful owner of this vessel, Comrade," he said, his voice dripping with disdain.

  Reagan froze, his jaw tightening. "Shit. Should’ve seen this coming," he muttered.

  "You PEREN Imperials are so predictable," the officer continued, his lip curling into a sneer. "You think you can just walk in here as if it's one of your grand galas.”

  Reagan's eyes narrowed. "I’m no Imperial, Sunshine. How about you take that fancy hat of yours and shove it right up your arse."

  The officer’s gaze didn’t waver. “Imperial or not, you’re all cut from the same cloth,” the officer spat. “Still clinging to the ashes of your precious empire,”

  “Hey!” Marci stepped forward, her voice quivering defiantly. “What does the Empire have to do with any of you?”

  The officer's chuckle was bitter. “Struck a nerve, did I? Poor little girl, have you been living under a rock? The Empire did many things to us.”

  “L-like what?” Marci’s voice trembled.

  “Genocide,” he replied coldly, his eyes boring into hers. “When the Empire conquered, they promised us prosperity, colonies, support. What did they give us instead? They treated us like vermin.”

  “No…” Marci whispered, her voice breaking.

  “On every planet they touched, people questioned their rule. They sought answers, demanded justice,” the officer continued, his tone growing harsher. “Those people were dragged from their homes, beaten, burned, tortured. Their only crime was being seen as lesser.”

  Marci took a step back, her face pale. “That’s… that’s not true,”

  “I can see it in your eyes,” the officer sneered. “Swallowed the Empire’s propaganda whole, did you? Delicious, no?”

  Reagan and Marcus exchanged a troubled glance. There was nothing they could say.

  "Five hundred years," the officer continued, his voice growing louder. "Five hundred years since the Empire fell, and we hunted down every last member of the Imperial war machine. Cowards, hiding among society—teachers, doctors, engineers, workers, scientists. They all played their part. Not one of them was innocent."

  Marcus's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in shock as the realisation sank in. "F-five hundred years...?" he whispered, his voice trembling at how long they'd been in cryosleep.

  Marci’s gaze dropped to the floor, her face pale. Tears welled up in her eyes, her breath catching in her throat.

  “Looks like your Momma and Papa might’ve been murderers, little girl.” one of the soldiers jeered, prompting his comrades to laugh.

  “You’re no different,” the officer said, his voice slicing through the air. “The three of you are just more vermin to be eradicated.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “But I’ll offer you a deal. You come quietly, and I promise… your deaths will be swift.”

  Silence hung heavily over the trio as the officer’s words settled in. Marci kept her gaze down, struggling to process everything. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Reagan’s heel tapping against the ground in an unusual rhythm—a pattern too deliberate to be nervous fidgeting.

  “No answers? I’ll take that as a yes,” the officer sneered. “Detain these parasites,” he barked, his soldiers stepping forward to comply.

  Reagan's heel twitched again, this time subtly in Marci's direction, as if trying to catch her attention. Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place. Without hesitation, she aimed her wrist downward and squeezed the silver watch.

  A small metal pellet shot out, striking the floor with a sharp ping before bouncing upward. It exploded in a burst of light and sound, flooding the room with a blinding flash and a deafening bang.

  “Blyat! You motherfuckers!” the officer shouted, staggering as the disorienting effects took hold.

  Reagan, who had turned away just in time, lunged at a nearby soldier, swiftly taking him down and snatching his rifle. “Move!” he shouted, grabbing Marci and Marcus and yanking them behind the metal doors. He fired a burst at the door console, and the doors slammed shut, trapping the disoriented soldiers inside.

  "Time to move, kids," Reagan said, already sprinting down the hallway, leading them deeper into the compound.

  "W-where are we going now?" Marci panted, still disoriented from the flashbang.

  “Hangar 7,” Reagan replied, darting around a corner. “I got a dead drop waiting there.”

  “A dead drop?” Marcus repeated, struggling to keep up.

  The trio skidded to a halt in front of Hangar 7’s doors, tucked away at the side of the hallway. Reagan quickly got to work on the console, his fingers flying over the keys. "Marci, give me a hand," he called, keeping his focus on bypassing the security lock.

  Back at the main entrance, a deep buzzing sound reverberated through the air, followed by a sudden, thunderous burst. The metal doors buckled, then shattered as an industrial mech stomped through. Its hulking frame bristled with sawblades and blowtorches, the tools of a makeshift war machine.

  “Uh, guys?” Marcus's voice wavered as he spotted the mechanical monstrosity. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?” Reagan shot back, his attention still on the console as Marci assisted him.

  "It's big, and I don't like it!" Marcus shouted, pulling a pistol from under his coat and firing at the mech in a desperate attempt to slow its advance.

  The mech lumbered forward, using its blades to shield the pilot and it's more vulnerable components. Behind the machine, more soldiers surged into the hallway, weapons at the ready.

  “This is bad,” Marcus muttered as his pistol clicked empty, the bullets having done little more than scratch the machine’s reinforced exterior.

  “Here!” Reagan tossed a small satchel from his pack. “Pull the string and throw it!”

  Marcus nodded, his movements sharp with adrenaline. He pulled the cord and hurled the satchel at the mech. The package stuck near the centre of its chassis and detonated with a thunderous blast, tearing off limbs and sending shrapnel flying across the room. The soldiers behind the mech were knocked off their feet as flames and debris filled the corridor.

  The door to Hangar 7 finally slid open with a groan. “Alright, let’s go!” Reagan shouted, ushering Marci and Marcus to sprint inside as smoke and fire engulfed the chaos behind them.

  In the centre of the hangar sat a transport ship, its cargo ramp lowered and yawning open, ready for a swift escape. Reagan nudged the twins forward, practically shoving them toward the vehicle. "Get in and head straight to the cockpit! I'll hold them off," he ordered, his voice tense as he fired a volley of shots toward the entryway, keeping the soldiers pinned down.

  Marci and Marcus sprinted up the ramp, but just as Marci reached the top, she glanced back over her shoulder. Her heart sank. Reagan was still in the open, his rifle spitting fire at the advancing soldiers—then came the sudden, brutal crack of a shot finding its mark. Reagan staggered, his body crumpling to the cold pavement.

  “NO!” Marci screamed, her voice breaking as she tried to run back. But Marcus grabbed her arm, yanking her inside before she could reach the edge of the ramp. The cargo doors groaned shut behind them, sealing off the sight of Reagan lying motionless.

  The twins stumbled into the cockpit, their hearts still heavy from the shocking sight they had witnessed. Just as they settled into their seats, a sudden beep crackled through the ship’s radio.

  “Kid? You there?” Reagan’s voice came through.

  “Reagan!?” the twins exclaimed in unison, shock flooding their voices.

  “W-we just saw you die! How did you—”

  “No time! I’ll explain later!” Reagan shouted, his tone frantic. “Marci, do you see a panel on the console?”

  “Is it the one with the palm trees?” she asked, spotting the oddly decorated panel in front of her.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Rip it open,” he instructed.

  Marci pried the panel off, revealing a tangle of levers, switches, and controls beneath.

  “Do you see a lever? Pull it, twist it, then push it down,” Reagan continued, his voice steady.

  Marci grunted as she wrestled with the stiff lever, finally managing to yank it out, twist it, and slam it back down.

  Electricity surged through the ship as a hidden panel on the exterior unfolded, revealing a turret. The turret began beeping ominously before unleashing a torrent of gunfire, tearing through anything that moved nearby.

  “Shit! They’ve got a sentry up there!” a soldier shouted as a group of them dove for cover.

  The turret continued its relentless barrage, swinging seamlessly from target to target, cutting down anyone who dared approach the transport.

  “Alright, that should keep them busy,” Reagan said over the radio. “Marcus, you’re flying the ship. Marci, there's a manual above the console. Read it to your brother.”

  “Okay, sure…” Marci replied. “Bro, you can fly a ship, right?” Marci asked, glancing at her brother as she reached for the manual.

  “Does an imperial shuttle count?” Marcus replied, staring at the foreign console, bewildered by the layout.

  “Alright, skip the introduction and flip to page 50. Just follow those steps, and you’ll be fine,” Reagan instructed firmly.

  Marci frantically flipped through the pages, reading aloud as the chaos outside intensified. “Okay, okay. Cockpit preparation… Seat belts and harness—”

  The twins quickly strapped in, the sound of gunfire ringing out as bullets grazed against the hull.

  “Next: master switch, fuel selection, throttle mixture, ignition,” she continued, her heart racing as she held the booklet toward Marcus, showing him the pictures of each button.

  Marcus followed her lead, flipping the switches in the specified order. The ship’s engines roared to life, filling the cockpit with a powerful hum. Outside, one of the soldiers climbed onto the hangar's balcony and began firing onto the cockpit above.

  “Holy shit!” Marci screamed as bullets splintered the bulletproof glass.

  “What’s next? Hurry!” Marcus urged, his hands racing across the controls.

  “I—uh… avionics, flight instruments, magneto check, flight control!” Marci shouted, panic creeping in.

  Marcus kept up with the frantic pace, inputting commands as best he could. Just then, the hangar doors opened wide, cold air flooding in.

  “Hey, I got the door open for you two!” Reagan said, his voice cutting through the radio.

  Marcus turned to his sister for one last confirmation. “Anything else?”

  “Line up! Runway! Full throttle!” she shouted.

  Marcus did exactly that. The engines howled as the ship accelerated, bursting out of the hangar and into the icy expanse beyond, finally escaping the nightmare behind them.

  ***

  Back in the hangar bay, the officer stood amid the chaos, his brow furrowed as he surveyed the unfolding scene. Frustration was evident in his posture as he raised a hand to shield his face from the commotion around him.

  A soldier approached and offered a sharp salute.

  “Report…” the officer demanded, disappointment lacing his tone.

  “They escaped,” the soldier replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

  With a heavy sigh, the officer withdrew a cigar from his pocket and lit it, the flame flickering momentarily against his face. “Contact Headquarters immediately,” he ordered, trying to maintain composure.

  “Sir, we captured their vessel. We're initiating sweeping procedures,” another soldier announced as the group moved towards the ship’s cargo hold.

  “N-NO! Don’t go into that shi—” the officer shouted, panic rising in his voice.

  The soldiers stepped aboard the stolen vessel, their boots snagging on a hidden tripwire. With a sharp crack, a series of satchel charges detonated, igniting a catastrophic explosion that engulfed the ship and sent shockwaves rippling through the entire facility.

  The blast lit up the sky, visible for miles, as the twins piloted their transport away from the chaos.

  “Dasvidaniya, Sunshine,” Reagan chuckled through the radio.

  The ship finally broke free into the void of space, the icy planet fading into the distance behind them, dwindling to a small blue speck. A soft beep echoed through the cockpit, followed by a familiar voice crackling over the radio.

  “I’ve got a visual on you two. I’m sending coordinates to your nav system now—just follow them, and I’ll handle the rest,” Reagan instructed.

  The ship, battered and scarred from the harrowing escape, finally steadied as a sense of relief settled in the cockpit. Marcus and Marci exchanged a glance. A shared look of relief spread across their faces, and they broke into a quiet chuckle.

  “We… we actually made it,” Marcus said, his voice filled with disbelief.

  “Yeah, we did,” Marci replied, her smile faltering as her gaze drifted downward. “I just… can’t believe we’re still alive.”

  Marcus looked at her with concern. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, though her voice wavered. “It’s just… everything happened so fast. We could’ve been dead back there…”

  “Yeah… I know,” Marcus nodded, his words trailing off.

  As the ship neared the given coordinates, they slowed to a stop, drifting in the emptiness of deep space. The twins scanned the darkness outside, exchanging uncertain glances before reaching for the radio.

  “So… we’re here. Now what?” Marci asked.

  “What happens next?” Marcus added.

  “Just give us a moment,” Reagan replied, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

  Before them, a massive figure began to emerge from the blackness, slowly materializing as if out of thin air. Its immense form dwarfed their small vessel, its sleek silhouette combining industrial might with hightech design. The surface gleamed with intricate patterns of lights and panels, revealing a colossal space station.

  “Reagan… what is that?” Marci breathed, awe in her voice.

  A chuckle came through the radio. “This is the Stratura Corp Space Station,” he said, pausing as if to let the moment sink in. “Welcome home.”