Local 13 / LOCAL13

The air in Checkmate’s ‘Broken Cog’ bar tasted like recycled coolant and stale ozone. I watched Jazz swirl the synthetic amber fluid in her glass, her gaze lost in the flickering, grimy neon sign reflecting off the scratched metal counter. It was another slow day, meaning another day our scrip reserves were bleeding.

“Another close one near Pyro III yesterday,” I muttered, breaking the silence. “Total mesh-up. These gangers are getting bolder. It’s karked.”

Jazz nodded, her tone sharp with irritation. “They aren’t just bolder, Hauser. They’re organized. Total lock on the inner lanes. Standard runs are becoming suicide missions.”

Oleg, Jazz’s brother, piped up from the stool beside her. “Ah, but have you heard the one about the Drake Cutlass and the cargo hold of bananas?” We simultaneously rolled our eyes. He told it anyway. It was awful, something about slipping on a banana peel during a high-G turn.

The groan I let out was half amusement, half pain. I leaned back, feeling the station’s faint vibration. “Look, we can’t keep doing this grunt work. We’re bleeding cash.”

Oleg smirked, glancing around checking for eavesdroppers. “Well, perhaps it’s time we stepped up. I got a lead.”

“What kind of lead?” Jazz asked, skeptical. “Connections again, Oleg?”

Oleg leaned in. “Connections. A serious woman. Goes by ‘Battaglia.’ She’s setting up shop over at Levski, in the Nyx system. Levski…” Jazz raised an eyebrow. “Battaglia? I know that name. High-risk, sure. But very lucrative.”

I looked from Oleg to Jazz. The idea of jumping systems was a big deal. “Lucrative, you say?”

Oleg nodded. “Way better than this. Real ops, not just odd jobs. Battaglia needs crews that know how to handle themselves outside UEE space.”

I downed the rest of my drink. Nyx was a different world, far from the structure we knew, but the Pyro runs were dead. The grind here was done.

I glanced at Jazz; she just shrugged, her smirk returning.

“Nyx, huh?” I said. “Alright, let’s go. Local 13’s moving out. Let’s make some real money. And hey, if it turns out to be a flop, the Broken Cog ain’t going anywhere, right?”