Post-ONP Attack Meeting

  Secret Cartel Complex, Drifting Station in the Kuiper Belt

  In a dark chamber buried deep within the station, holographic silhouettes flickered. Five figures, shrouded in thick shadow, sat around a massive round table of light-absorbing dark alloy. No windows—just matte black walls and the faint glow of displays crawling with data. The air was cool, dry, tinged with the sterile scent of filtered oxygen.

  Their faces stayed unseen, only voices slicing through the stillness—precise, emotionless, like calculated equations. Each knew their role, but names were absent. Only titles, bestowed by the cartel itself.

  A volumetric projection of a ruined lab hovered at the table’s center. Azure flickers of digital rendering bounced off the sleek surface, casting an eerie shimmer. Red markers flagged the dead—bodies strewn amid wreckage. Blue marked two captives, now in the cartel’s grip. Between twisted metal frames, silhouettes of ONP fighters lingered, caught on the last camera feeds before comms cut out.

  Somewhere deep in the station, life-support machines thrummed faintly, but here, in this room, silence reigned—deliberate, measured. The pause stretched, as if the Council needed a moment to grasp the scale of what had happened.

  Onyx Whisper spoke first. His voice was flat, stripped of inflection, each word a verdict.

  “The ONP squad is eliminated. Most dead, two in custody. Confirmed?”

  Specter answered, his voice muted, as if drifting from some liminal space between life and death.

  “Yes. ONP didn’t get a signal out to HQ. Comms were jammed. One issue remains—the captives.”

  Curator swiped his interface, pulling up profiles of the prisoners in the projection.

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  “They’re dangerous. Major Harrison’s a veteran—breaking her won’t be easy. Vasilevich is well-trained but less resilient. With the right methods, we’ll extract everything they know.”

  Overseer cut in, irritation sharp in his tone.

  “That’s irrelevant. What matters is that the attack happened at all. The authorities hushed it up, but it drew eyes. Armotech helped us dodge a full leak, but now they’re demanding total access to our experiments.”

  A heavy pause settled. All attention shifted to Onyx Whisper.

  “Armotech’s interests align with ours. If their involvement in the lab gets out, they’ll face a war. We’ll grant access—within limits. But I have another question.”

  The projection shifted. Scattered data flashed up—internal reports, potential leaks. Something was missing.

  “How did they find us?”

  Arbiter, silent until now, spoke.

  “Obvious—there’s a rat.”

  Silence.

  Specter tilted his head slightly.

  “Confirmed?”

  “Not yet. But it’s likely. Either someone in the cartel’s feeding ONP, or one of our corporate allies has turned.”

  Curator frowned.

  “This jeopardizes the entire project. We can’t afford more leaks before the expedition.”

  Onyx Whisper nodded.

  “Specter, your unit handles the sweep. Lock down leadership, eliminate loose ends.”

  “Already underway.”

  Overseer leaned closer to the projection.

  “What about the selection program? We need fresh subjects, or Armotech pulls funding.”

  Curator tapped his interface, unveiling a new ops schematic.

  “It’s accelerated. We’ll target Mars, Luna, and the Belt—disappearances are easier to bury there.”

  Arbiter spoke again.

  “The captives?”

  Silence fell.

  Onyx Whisper answered with his usual frigid clarity.

  “Drain them dry. Then dispose of them.”

  The holograms flickered as the Council exchanged unseen glances. One by one, they blinked out.