Year 3040 — Titan Colony, Saturn's Moon
Industrial Sector
The shot bounced off three different surfaces before it ever touched the target.
Xavier Vance didn't bother watching the final impact.
By the time the bullet finished its path, he was already lowering his arm. The mechanisms in his cybernetic limb folded back into place with a series of quiet metallic clicks as the rifle collapsed neatly into his forearm.
Behind him, the crowd exploded.
Cheers. Shouts. A few angry curses. Credits changing hands.
Someone hurled a bottle.
Without even glancing back, Xavier caught it with his left hand.
"Show's over," he said casually, raising the bottle to his lips.
The drink was synthetic ale—cheap, harsh, and full of chemical preservatives. It tasted like regret.
He drank it anyway.
Across the maintenance bay, the target swayed gently from its chain: an old drone shell suspended thirty meters away. A clean hole had punched straight through its optical sensor.
The challenge had sounded simple enough earlier.
Stand behind the support pillar.
No direct line of sight.
Ricochet shots only.
Xavier had predicted he could make it in two shots.
He'd done it in one.
He usually did.
"You cheated."
The voice came from his left.
Xavier turned slowly.
Goran.
The man was huge—thick neck, thick arms, thick skull. He ran the local betting rings down in the lower industrial sectors, and judging from the expression on his face, he wasn't happy about losing tonight.
His skin had the unhealthy color of someone who spent too much time breathing refinery air. His two friends stood a few steps behind him, both wearing the same expression.
Trouble was forming.
Xavier leaned his shoulder against the steel pillar and took another drink.
His cybernetic eye flickered to life, glowing faintly amber as it began running a quick analysis.
Goran: aggressive stance.
Two companions: moving to flank.
Heart rates elevated.
Probability of violence: 87 percent.
"Cheated?" Xavier said lightly. "Goran, my arm is military surplus from three generations ago. My eye is the same model they give customs officers on the outer rim."
He tilted his head slightly, studying the big man.
"If I could cheat, I'd be somewhere nicer than this. Maybe a pleasure moon. Definitely somewhere that doesn't smell like… whatever this place is."
A few people still lingering nearby snorted with laughter.
Goran's face darkened.
"You think you're funny."
"I think I'm right," Xavier replied. "There's a difference."
Goran stepped forward.
So did the other two.
Around them, the crowd quickly began disappearing. People suddenly found better places to be. The maintenance bay—normally loud and chaotic—emptied in seconds.
Now it was just the four of them.
And a drone swaying gently in the distance.
Xavier stayed where he was, relaxed, unmoving. His cybernetic eye continued quietly calculating.
Goran: roughly two hundred twenty pounds. Mostly muscle. Slow reaction time.
Left companion: knife in pocket, right-handed. Nervous.
Right companion: heavy breathing—possible asthma. Unpredictable.
Escape routes: three.
Best outcome: nobody fights.
Most likely outcome—
The bay doors slid open with a long hiss.
Xavier's attention snapped toward the entrance.
Five figures stepped inside.
Black armor. Clean lines. No insignia.
But Xavier recognized them instantly.
Watchers.
The Empire's shadow.
No one on Titan ever saw Watchers.
And if you did… it usually meant something had gone very wrong.
Goran turned toward them, irritated.
"This is private property. You're not—"
He never finished the sentence.
The lead Watcher moved.
Xavier's eye barely tracked the motion.
One moment she stood near the door. The next moment Goran was flat on the ground, unconscious before he even realized he'd been hit.
His two friends followed seconds later.
Three seconds.
Three clean strikes.
No wasted movement. No noise. Just precision.
The lead Watcher walked toward Xavier.
Her helmet folded back, revealing a woman in her forties. Short gray hair. Hard eyes. The kind of expression that suggested she'd already judged him before stepping into the room.
"Xavier Vance."
He took another slow drink from the bottle.
"Depends who's asking."
"Watcher Directorate," she said calmly.
Then she added three words that made the air feel heavier.
"You've been recruited."
Xavier lowered the bottle slightly.
Recruited.
Not arrested.
Not conscripted.
Recruited.
His cybernetic eye scanned her face automatically.
No deception indicators.
She meant it.
"For what?" he asked.
"Training. Service. Purpose."
Her tone didn't change.
"You have thirty seconds to say goodbye to… this."
She gestured vaguely around the bay—the rusted equipment, the unconscious gangsters, the drone spinning slowly in the air.
Xavier glanced around.
This place.
This colony.
The life he'd pieced together here in forgotten corners of the Empire.
His father somewhere across the sector, probably finishing another exhausting double shift.
His mother's grave—one he rarely visited because even grief had a price here.
He thought about the credits in his pocket.
The next bet.
The next hustle.
The rest of his life repeating the same cycle.
He finished the bottle in one long swallow and set it down carefully on a nearby crate.
"Alright," he said.
"Let's go."
He shrugged.
"It was getting boring here anyway."
The Watcher ship made almost no sound.
Inside, everything was smooth black metal and soft lighting. It felt more like a hospital than a military craft.
Xavier sat in one of the jump seats, quietly studying the other passengers.
There were about a dozen recruits scattered throughout the cabin.
Different ages. Different backgrounds.
But they all shared the same expression: a mix of fear and cautious hope.
Xavier observed them the way he always observed people.
Automatically.
The tall blonde woman with a scar across her eyebrow moved like a fighter—someone who had seen real combat before.
A wiry guy with a shaved head and topknot kept glancing toward exits and corners. Stealth instincts.
And the girl with natural curls and soft eyes… people seemed to relax when they sat near her.
Interesting.
Then Xavier noticed the quiet one in the corner.
An Asian boy about his age sat with his legs crossed, calmly reading.
Not a tablet.
A book.
An actual paper book—probably older than most technology on the ship.
He looked completely relaxed, as if he were sitting in a quiet park instead of flying toward an uncertain future.
Every now and then his dark eyes flicked upward, half-lidded, bored.
For the first time in a while, Xavier felt something unusual.
Curiosity.
He moved across the cabin and dropped into the seat opposite him.
"Good book?" Xavier asked.
No response.
"Must be great if it's beating out the whole 'mysterious government recruitment' thing."
Page turn.
"What's it about?"
Another page turn.
Xavier leaned forward slightly.
"Romance?"
Nothing.
"Actually, yeah. I see it now. You've got that tragic romantic hero look."
The boy finally looked up.
His eyes were calm and distant.
"It's about a man who kills himself," he said quietly, "because he can't find meaning in the world."
Xavier blinked.
Then grinned.
"Wow. Light reading."
The boy looked back down at the page.
"Don't talk to me."
"Too late," Xavier said cheerfully. "Already started. I'm Xavier Vance. My friends call me—"
"You don't have friends."
Xavier stopped.
For a moment he just stared.
Then he burst out laughing—genuinely amused.
"Okay. That's fair."
He leaned back in his seat.
"What's your name?"
A long pause.
Finally the boy said, "Ren."
"Nice to meet you, Ren," Xavier replied. "Something tells me we're going to be spending a lot of time together."
Ren turned another page.
"I have a feeling you're going to be very annoying."
"Probably," Xavier admitted. "But I grow on people."
He flashed a grin.
"Like fungus."
For the first time, something faint flickered in Ren's eyes.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
"Wonderful," Ren murmured.
Outside the window, the clouds began to part.
Below them, a planet emerged.
Not the rusted industrial gray of Titan.
This world was different—bright cities, green mountains, shining towers stretching to the horizon.
Aethelburg.
The Empire's capital.
And somewhere within those mountains stood the Watcher Citadel.
Xavier watched silently, his cybernetic eye recording every detail—the defensive systems, the patrol routes, the scale of the city.
He remembered the last thing his father had said to him hours earlier.
Come back alive. That's all I ask.
Xavier had laughed at the time.
Now he wasn't laughing.
Beside him, Ren quietly turned another page as the ship descended toward the mountains.
End of Chapter 1