Legacy: Chapter I [WIP]

Chapter I: A Walk in the Park

A masked figure prowled the pristine, high-tech corridors of a Wilson Tactical research facility on Zsionyc. Draped in a jade-green cloak embroidered with intricate patterns, the figure's face was obscured beneath a smooth, grinning visor that concealed all but two slits for vision. This was no ordinary mask—it was an advanced piece of technology, capable of scanning organic and inorganic materials across multiple spectrums. It also ensured his voice would not carry beyond its confines.

Beneath the cloak, a segmented power suit hugged his body, its adaptive camouflage and heat-sinking abilities allowing him to blend seamlessly with his surroundings. His database classification: Level One Hundred and Fourteen.

The facility was a labyrinth of corridors, illuminated in a sterile alabaster glow. Sleek walls pulsed softly with integrated circuitry, feeding endless streams of data into the corporate mainframe. Security personnel patrolled in precise rotations, clad in lightweight alloy armor bearing the insignia of Wilson Tactical—a corporation renowned for manufacturing elite weaponry. Their movements were efficient but predictable.

"Report.” He spoke through an encrypted comms channel.

Lyshaia—a being of ethereal beauty with transparent, crystalline skin that refracted the soft light around her, giving her an almost celestial glow. Platinum-white hair cascaded down her shoulders, her sharp, analytical gaze locked onto a holographic display aboard their tear-shaped shuttle, which hovered cloaked beyond the facility’s perimeter. The display presented a comprehensive layout of the base, with a five-foot radius around a small blue blip emphasizing foreign movement. If there was a system to hack, Lyshaia could crack it.

Her database classification: Level One Hundred and Fifteen.

"Two guards exiting the room on your nine, move now." Lyshaia relayed, fingers dancing over her console.

"Affirmative," Skia whispered back.

As predicted, a door to his left hissed open. Two personnel stepped out—a human male with neatly combed hair and a reptilian female with elongated limbs and deep emerald scales. They wore matching white uniforms adorned with Wilson Tactical’s emblem. Skia pressed himself to the right, his cloaking field shimmering faintly before stabilizing. He slipped past them undetected.

Up ahead, the corridor branched sharply to the right. At its end stood a door labeled "Overseer." Two guards flanked it, their grip on box-shaped rifles slack with boredom. The office beyond was unoccupied, but the door was locked via biometric security. Skia crouched low against the wall, his suit’s camouflage rippling as he prepared his strike. From hidden compartments beneath his wrists, two thirty-centimeter blades silently extended into his palms.

Skia inhaled deeply. Then, he struck.

The first guard barely registered the movement before a blade pierced his lower abdomen, severing his spine. The second guard managed a startled breath before cold steel drove up beneath his jaw, silencing him. Skia lowered their bodies to the ground without a sound.

Reaching around his suit, Skia retrieved a smooth, metallic sphere from an unseen pocket. The device’s polished surface shimmered under the facility’s sterile lighting. With a practiced twist, he activated it, tilting it just enough to let a few drops of silvery liquid drip onto the fallen guards. The substance rippled and spread with unnatural speed, consuming flesh, armor, and fabric alike. Each pulse erased more of their existence, until nothing remained—not even a shadow.

Skia tucked the sphere back into his suit and straightened.

"Door’s clear," he murmured.

"Efficient as always." Lyshaia quipped as the door hissed open remotely.

Inside, the Overseer’s office was modest—an austere desk, a sleek keyboard, and a single, full-body vertical mirror standing against the far wall.

As the door sealed shut behind him, Skia deactivated his camouflage, his form solidifying from a ghostly shimmer into tangible reality. He glanced at the mirror—its polished surface reflected his now-visible form, though the faint shimmer of his stealth field still lingered. A minor imperfection—a hairline crack near the frame—caught his eye.

Skia paused, flexing slightly as he studied his own ghostly outline, his masked visage a mere ripple in the glass.

Lyshaia’s voice carried a mix of exasperation and amusement.
"You gonna steal the data or just stare at yourself all night?"

Without looking away, Skia murmured, "Reflections reveal more than people realize."

"Noted. Now get the files.”

He smirked beneath his visor before moving to the console. A touchpad blinked beside the keyboard. Skia traced a gloved finger over it, rousing the system from standby mode. A spherical scanner rose from the desk’s surface, its mechanical eye whirring as it assessed the intruder. A moment later, the monitor flashed a prompt:

ACCESS DENIED – BIOPRINT REQUIRED.

Instead of retreating, Skia retrieved a sleek device—a Tesla Vault.

"Lyshaia, I need you to override this lock."

"Already on it. Just keep an eye on the hall."

As her fingers worked their magic, Skia stood at the ready, his gaze flicking to the mirror. His form remained concealed, but he imagined the quiet confidence in his stance. A second later, the console beeped, and the files he sought—classified data on Wilson Tactical’s 'Rhino Program,' a prototype combat exoskeleton—began transferring onto his Tesla Vault.

The moment the download completed, Skia activated his stealth field. His body shimmered like a mirage before vanishing entirely.

"You’re lucky I disabled the cameras for that office, little brother," Lyshaia remarked dryly.

"Which is why I tolerate working with you, sis."

He slipped back into the corridor. A trio of guards was now inspecting the corpses he had left behind, their rifles raised. Skia ghosted past them, his heart rate steady, each footstep carefully placed to avoid detection.

Beyond the next junction lay the reception area—a spacious, lounge-like atrium with two pairs of sofas, a crescent-shaped desk manned by a bored receptionist, and a panoramic window displaying the bustling skyline of Zsionyc.

Skia’s gaze flicked toward the window. Outside, descending from the sky like a phantom, was their getaway vessel—a Nexus-class ship. Its sleek, watery form shimmered, its cloaking technology distorting light to render it nearly invisible.

Without hesitation, Skia sprinted toward the window and leapt. The glass shattered outward, wind roaring past him as he plummeted toward the cityscape below.

Then, the thrusters in his boots flared to life, adjusting his descent in a controlled arc toward the waiting ship.

Inside the cockpit, Lyshaia rolled her eyes but smiled. "Show-off."

Skia landed atop the vessel, yanked open the hatch, and dropped inside. Strapping himself into the co-pilot’s seat, he watched as Lyshaia effortlessly guided them into the upper atmosphere.

The coordinates for their next destination blinked on the console:

Heliocorp Space – Heliocon III.

The ship’s engines roared as they entered dimensional transit. Stars stretched into elongated streaks before bending into the swirling hues of slipspace travel.

Lyshaia grinned, her fingers drumming against the console. "Excellent work, little brother."

Skia exhaled, gazing out into the cosmic expanse. His voice was calm, assured.

"Like a walk in the park."

Heliocon III was considered by many to be the heart of the Archimedes Nebula. A massive terraforming project was underway to restore the planet from an inhospitable wasteland to a livable hub. To shield its residents from the deadly environment of H37L, a planetwide energy shield blanketed the surface, allowing civilization to thrive within its confines. At its core stood the sprawling mega-city of Kerailia, divided into six sectors: Alpha, Beta, Omega, Echo, Gamma, and Delta.

Although primarily owned by Heliocorp, Heliocon III was widely accepted as a neutral hub world. It was a place where green mercenaries arrived to be inducted into the ranks of the Freegrazers, an elite mercenary guild sanctioned to operate within corporate space. Their speakeasies—hidden bars that doubled as recruitment and contract hubs—dotted the city, each housing a job machine and a quality board. The job machine, a waist-high terminal, allowed mercenaries to select contracts and transfer mission data using their Tesla Vaults. Above the bar, the quality board displayed the rankings of active Freegrazers, though ranking was more about prestige than skill.

Lyshaia gripped the helm, steering their vessel toward an open docking platform within Kerailia’s Alpha Sector. As the ship descended, a flock of featherless, spider-limbed birds with webbed wings scattered into the sky, their proboscis-like faces vanishing into the noon horizon. The sleek architecture of Heliocon III caught Lyshaia’s eye, a distant echo of her homeworld, Kho’besci. Even the way the system’s star, Huxley, reflected off the city’s energy shield reminded her of the tinted oceans she once knew.

A squad of Heliocorp soldiers awaited them outside the landing bay, their gray-and-yellow armor immaculate, their posture rigid with corporate discipline. A corporal among them held a clipboard, his gaze sweeping over the new arrivals. His eyes lingered too long on Lyshaia’s crystalline form—her transparent, reflective skin catching the light in an unnatural way. Though her species bore no defining human features, the corporal still found himself uncomfortably entranced. Realizing his own thoughts, he shook his head and quickly jotted their information.

"E-enjoy your stay on Heliocon III," he muttered.

Skia followed his sister into a four-story building with a subdued but elegant interior. To the right, a pool table sat beneath a dim chandelier, while a series of small circular tables occupied the left side. Rows of historical paintings adorned the floral-patterned walls, showcasing figures from a past mostly lost to time. The establishment buzzed with Freegrazers enjoying the sanctuary of the speakeasy. Behind the curved bar, Maular, the owner, tended to drinks with practiced ease.

A robotic sentry stood beside the saloon doors, scanning every entrant for corporate insignia. No corporate personnel were permitted inside—at least, not officially.

Lyshaia glanced at Skia. "I’m getting a drink. Have fun."

Skia nodded, letting her go as he strode along the perimeter, his attention shifting to the paintings. Though much of the previous era's history had been erased, some remnants survived. One portrait, in particular, caught his eye—a man in a dark top hat and gray coat, his expression calm yet resolute. The plaque beneath read: Winston Churchill.

"Fascinating, isn’t he?" a voice murmured beside him.

Skia didn’t react immediately. The voice was soft, sultry—calculated.

"Not much is known about him," the woman continued. "But what remains paints him as a man of unshakable resolve."

Adeline Myers stood beside him; her posture relaxed yet deliberate. Everything about her was curated—from the gentle tilt of her head to the way her bright yellow ponytail swayed with every movement. She wore a pale pink, strapless buttoned top, a white ruffled miniskirt, and dark pointed heels, her blue eyes locked onto him with measured curiosity.

Skia kept his posture neutral, his mask concealing any tells.

"I’ve often fantasized about meeting a man with such strength of character," she mused, letting the words hang between them.

He sensed the game she was playing. Still, when her fingers trailed lightly over the synthetic fabric of his power suit, he felt an intentional pressure—calculated, testing.

"And I imagine," she continued, her voice dipping into a whisper, "you’re a man of action, as well... particularly under the right circumstances."

For a moment, Skia simply observed her. Then, finally, he turned his head, meeting her gaze fully. The heat between them was manufactured, deliberate—on both ends.

Adeline smirked knowingly. "Why don’t you show me how a real man treats a sweet, innocent girl?"

Across the room, Lyshaia sipped her drink, turning just in time to see Skia being led upstairs by the enigmatic journalist. She smiled faintly, leaning back against the bar. A strapping young mercenary, sporting a thick mustache and a ten-gallon hat, ambled toward her, adjusting his belt.

"Well, howdy, pretty lady!" he drawled.

Lyshaia sighed, unimpressed. Without a word, her crystalline skin shimmered, bending light around her until she vanished from sight.

The mercenary stood dumbfounded before awkwardly tipping his hat and walking away, utterly defeated.

Upstairs – Room 191

Adeline unlocked the door at the far end of the hallway, stepping inside with a playful bounce. Skia followed, shutting the door behind him. She wasted no time, leaping onto the bed with a satisfied sigh before eyeing him with anticipation. Slowly, she began unbuttoning her top, exposing the smooth skin beneath as she leaned back on her elbows.

"What’s with the mask, baby?" she teased.

Skia chuckled, his voice unreadable. "I’m not like other men."

She smirked. "I’d be disappointed if you were."

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, with deliberate precision, he reached up and removed the jovial mask.

Adeline’s expression shifted from playful seduction to quiet awe. The glow within his crystalline features pulsed with an ethereal, almost divine radiance. Not human. Not entirely alien. Something else.

"Y-you’re an angel, aren’t you?" she whispered, transfixed.

Skia smiled faintly. "Not exactly."

Her breath hitched. "I’ve always wanted to experience something... different."

Skia studied her for a long moment. "My kind do not express intimacy the way yours does."

"No...?" Her fingers trailed along his exposed hand, feeling the glass-like surface warm beneath her touch. "Then show me."

Skia’s fingers entwined with hers. Slowly, they pressed their foreheads together, their minds drifting into the void between consciousness and sensation. A warmth bloomed in Adeline’s chest—an unexplainable pleasure surging through her body as waves of luminous energy pulsed around them. She gasped as something beyond physicality coiled through her senses, sending tremors of overwhelming sensation across her skin.

Time lost meaning.

When she awoke, she was still half-clothed, her breathing uneven. The experience had been intangible yet undeniably real.

Skia sat beside her, watching carefully. "How do you feel?"

Adeline blinked, swallowing thickly. "I feel... incredible."

A sudden thought struck her, and she stiffened. "W-wait... am I pregnant?"

Skia’s lips quirked. "My people do not reproduce with yours."

Relief flooded her features. She let out a breathless chuckle before pulling him into a languid embrace.

For a time, they simply lay there, wrapped in quiet understanding, until the bedside clock caught her attention.

"Damn," she gasped, scrambling out of bed. "I have to go!"