Iris filtered dozens of vendor tags and backdoor listings, but every result led to dead ends, outdated auctions, or private caches that had long since changed hands.
Then, buried in an encrypted feed, Iris found a name: Brion Dynamics. A mega corp defense contractor with a reputation for classified R&D and questionable ethics.
"The auction exists," she said calmly, her voice threading into Ethan's comms as he stalked through the quieter upper tiers of the Exchange Core. "Brion Dynamics is hosting it through a privatized arm of their black-tier development branch, Silica Arc Logistics. No open registry. No formal security submission. It is operating under civilian cloaking parameters, but the fleet manifest logs point to a retrofitted High-end passenger Luxury Liner, orbiting off-grid near Proteus' shadow side."
"Invite-only, I assume," Ethan muttered.
"Yes. Entry requires biometric clearance tied to an active or legacy Brion credential… and a physical security key. I have not yet located the auction's exact boarding codes."
Ethan rubbed his jaw. The Gryllex shard was real, then. But trying to brute-force his way in was off the table. This wasn't some back-alley dealer with poor oversight. This was Brion Dynamics, a corporate giant with roots in experimental weapons, memory-shift neuroware, and tech so classified entire systems in outer sectors were silenced over it.
He exhaled slowly and ducked into a narrow corridor that led to the outer dock supports. Steel groaned above his head, pulsing with the rhythmic vibration of hauler traffic.
"Can we spoof a credential?" he asked.
"I would not recommend it. Their ID trace net is active and linked to drone protocols. Any mismatch would trigger an AI-level audit."
"So we need the real thing," he said.
"Or a credible forgery." Iris paused, then added: "I may have found someone."
Ethan's steps slowed. "Talk."
"She is listed in disconnected personnel records under the name Caro Vaan. Former lead systems architect for Vorex-Lambda, a Brion subsidiary. She disappeared from corporate grids following a project failure involving autonomous combat AI. Federation review lists her as 'functionally dead', but station backlogs from Proteus' salvage zones show active transactions under the alias 'Vaan C. Forge'. Location: Lower Dock Segment 9-E."
Ethan gave a low whistle. "That's where the rust sleeps."
"Correct. Law enforcement presence is statistically nonexistent. Proceed with caution."
The lower docks of Proteus were a different world. The heat here was real, not the furnace roar of the foundries above, but a smothering, oily kind that clung to your skin and made everything smell faintly of scorched copper.
Gone were the sleek walkways and neon beacons of Sector 17. Down here, the corridors were scarred and sagging, strung with loose wiring and jury-rigged lights. Liquid pooled in low spots, and every few meters, a maintenance vent hissed like a warning. Scavvers picked through stacked hulls. Duct crawlers moved in silent packs. Someone had spray-painted watch your breath in three languages above a broken exhaust manifold.
Ethan moved carefully, keeping one hand on his sidearm. Patrols didn't come down here. Neither did syndicates, not officially. Whatever existed in this place policed itself.
He found the forge by following the sound of old machinery struggling to stay alive.
The structure looked like it had been a shuttle bay once, half-collapsed now, its roof patched with bolted scrap and tinted plating.
Ethan ducked beneath a hanging power cable and stepped into a world of blinking consoles and vertical servo-stacks.
And there she was.
Caro Vaan.
She sat hunched on a stool surrounded by overlapping holoscreens, one leg jacked directly into a data node. Her right arm was an open lattice of steel and neural fiber, twitching in time with the blinking feeds. She had short, matted hair and half her face was hidden behind a data visor that projected constant flickers of code across her left eye.
She didn't look up when Ethan entered.
"I don't trade in pretty-boy mercs," she said flatly. "Especially not ones dumb enough to walk in without an appointment."
"I've been called worse," Ethan replied, taking a step forward. "But mostly death related titles."
A pause. She studied him like a scanner parsing unknown material. Then, with a sigh, she waved a hand. "Fine. Sit. Talk."
Ethan pulled over a half-melted crate and sat down. "I need into a Brion auction. Off-grid. Hosted on a Luxury Liner. I know you used to wear one of their badges."
"Used to," she repeated. "And they tried to disappear me when their drone AI fried a colonial test site. I walked, but they scrubbed everything. You don't just stroll into one of their auctions."
"I don't plan to stroll," Ethan said. "I need credentials. Real enough to pass a live trace."
Caro whistled low. "That's asking for a bullet in the spine, friend."
"I'm offering payment. Or favors."
She scratched the back of her metal neck. "Favors, huh."
"You still have that war drone issue?" Ethan asked all of a sudden.
Caro blinked. "How do you know about that?."
"My sources flagged it in a salvage incident log. You tried to strip a prototype unit. It activated."
"Not just activated," she muttered, standing up and limping across the floor to a wall terminal. "The damn thing's hunting through my lower maintenance decks now. I sealed them off, but I'm not sleeping with that thing under me."
Ethan folded his arms. "I take care of your drone problem. You build me a Brion pass."
She turned. "No explosives. No heavy damage. I want the frame intact."
"That's a tall order."
"I don't want it dead," she said. "I want to know what went wrong. I designed parts of its AI."
Ethan looked at the cracked ceiling, then back to her.
"Fine. But I'll need a route map, the internal schematics, and a distraction plan."
"You'll get them," she said. "But you walk into that thing's path alone. I won't bail you out."
"I don't expect you to."
Caro stared at him a moment longer, then nodded and brought up a deck schematic on one of her screens. Ethan leaned in as she gestured to a rusted subsection of tunnels that ran beneath her forge.
"I'll patch your AI into my grid. She can pull the layout. You've got about six hours until the drone's next patrol loop puts it near your entry point."
Ethan stood, eyes scanning the path ahead.
"Then I'd better move fast."
He turned to leave.
"Hey," Caro said behind him. "You survive this, and I'll make you the best damn forged pass Proteus has ever seen."
Ethan gave a half-smile. "Just have it ready."