A New Beginning

Infovision:

Top Story: “An incident occurred in the Lahab Eye Oasis, where a herd of hornbeats broke into residential quarters. Damages have yet to be assessed, but early estimates suggest…”

Reng, Oasis Oko Lahab

The knocking on the door—gradually turning into heavy pounding—finally pulled Reng out of his daze. At first, he hoped it was just another nightmare, but the moment he cracked open one eye, the morning light struck him with the cruel clarity of the previous night. His head shattered into a million splinters. Not just from the hangover—but from the vague memories of everything that had happened.

The pounding intensified.

“Reng, open the fucking door!” The voice was furious. Unrelenting.

For a moment, he wished the guy outside would just lose patience. But the shouting escalated. This one wasn’t giving up.

He forced himself to roll out of bed, his shaky legs protesting every step. His eyes drifted to Borin, still out cold, only moaning and mumbling nonsense. He envied him. Reng wiped his sweaty face and scanned the room, which looked like a warzone. Bottles, clothes strewn everywhere, a torn shirt thrown across a toppled stool. Shit. Like the mess in my head had crawled out and scattered itself all over.

He turned the lock. The door burst open instantly, slamming into him and knocking him down. Kirp stood in the doorway, face twisted with rage. In his grimy hands he held a wrangler’s whip—and the look in his eyes said it wasn’t for show.

“Get the fuck up before I kick your asses in!” he barked, heading straight for Borin and roughly yanking him out of bed.

“What the…!?” Borin looked even worse than Reng. Pale, with dark circles under his eyes, he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Loan’s gonna tear us to shreds, you hear me?!” Kirp yelled, pacing across the room. He lashed the whip at the overturned stool, sending it crashing again as if it hadn’t had enough.

“Bullshit,” Borin muttered. He tried to stand, but instantly doubled over—and threw up.

Reng turned away in disgust, avoiding both the sight and the stench. No way was he following suit.

“No one can prove anything,” Borin mumbled, wiping his mouth. “No one saw us. They’ve got no proof it was us.”

“No proof?” Kirp let out a bitter laugh, leaned down, and grabbed Reng’s face, pulling it close. “Then where’s your hat, genius? Where’s that stupid hat you had on your skull at Loan’s yesterday?”

Reng looked around the room in confusion. It had to be here. It had to. That hat meant everything to him. It was a reminder of Karhen Rouz, of where he came from—proof that even in all this chaos, there was still a piece of him left. But it wasn’t here.

“It’s gone,” he muttered under his breath.

“We all are,” Kirp snapped. His hands were shaking, but his eyes stayed hard.

“Where did they find it?” Reng asked, worried.

“Where do you think?”

“Shit.” Reng dropped his head into his hands in despair.

What was I thinking? How could I screw this up so badly?

“Maybe… maybe there’s still a way to fix this,” Borin offered hesitantly, his voice trembling.

“Forget it,” Kirp growled, wiping sweat from his forehead. Fear must have been twisting inside him, tangled with rage. “Believe me—we have to run. Loan’s coming for us, and once he does, there won’t be anything left of us.”

“Where do we go?” Kirp asked, already thinking, while Borin and Reng frantically shoved their things into their bags.

Every movement was rushed, jittery. Outside, the footsteps of Loan’s men might already be closing in.

Reng pressed his lower lip between his teeth, desperate. Just yesterday, everything had been clear. Prim. Ela. Now that plan was in ruins. Prim was way too close to Oko Lahab. Loan’s bounty hunters would find them there in a heartbeat. They had to go farther. Much farther.

“Maybe… maybe the smartest move is to go back to Kalen?” he suggested reluctantly.

“Are you insane?” Borin barked without even pausing his packing. “Kalen would kick us out faster than Loan. What use are men who can’t even show their faces?”

Reng didn’t answer. Borin was right. Every possible route shut down in his mind before he could even finish thinking it through.

“What about the north? Gan Roa?” he suggested after a moment. It sounded more like a question to himself than to the others. “Or even farther. Somewhere he can’t reach us.”

Kirp froze mid-motion. He frowned, thinking, tension drawing tight across his face. Then he slowly nodded. “Gan Roa… yeah, that could work. They’ve got free colonies up there, jobs, and… Loan really doesn’t have any pull that far. But it’s not close.”

“I don’t expect it to be close,” Reng muttered.

“Gan Roa,” Borin repeated, savoring the name. He fastened the last buckle on his bags, and his movements grew calmer. “Yeah. Why not. If we have to run, might as well go big. Gan Roa or nothing.”

“Good. We’ve got a plan,” Kirp said shortly, taking a deep breath like a man bracing for a long run. “Now let’s get out of here before Loan’s people catch up.”

His voice was rough, but the tension in his eyes gave him away. He was scared too.

Reng nodded. They had to move—and they had to be smart about it. This time, there was no room for mistakes.

***

Right in front of the entrance stood Borin’s single-track ride—the one he’d bought with his first earned credits. Bent pipes, chipped paint, gauges you couldn’t even read. It had always looked more like scrap than transport, but for the kind of jobs they took, it was more than enough. Next to it stood the second one—Kirp’s. Shinier, better maintained. Kirp clearly had more sense for aesthetics and cared about first impressions. With its gleaming finish, his machine looked like a king parked next to a beggar.

“We take the north gate. If anything goes wrong, we meet in Maham,” Kirp said.

Nervousness flashed in his eyes as he switched on the engine’s warm-up.

“You sure the gates aren’t watched?” Borin was fastening their bags, his restless eyes scanning the empty street. It was early morning, and every rustle felt like danger closing in.

“I’m not sure about anything,” Kirp snapped. “I pulled out of Asal as soon as Loan’s people started sniffing around for Reng.”

Reng pressed his lips into a hard line. It’s my fault. All of this is my fault.

Borin broke into his thoughts as he swung into the driver’s seat and gave him a quick nod. Reng climbed on behind him without a word.

Both engines roared to life, filling the street with a thunderous growl. The two riders exchanged a brief gesture of agreement, and Reng felt the vibration of the motor in his very bones. Borin leaned forward, adjusting something on the console as a cloud of pungent smoke billowed out from under the bike.

“She’s a piece of junk,” Borin said, “but she’s never let me down.” He turned to Reng with a nervous grin. “Let’s hope today’s not the first time.”

That crooked smile, set against everything around them, was like a punch in the face—but Borin clearly enjoyed the feeling of motion again. Even if it was in the wrong direction, it was better than the stagnant rut they’d gotten themselves stuck in.

Overhead, a flock of hravs took flight. Reng watched them beat their wings, the flapping lost beneath the echo of engines. They crept through the streets toward the northern gate, which led straight to Maham. The ride now purred contentedly beneath them, and for a fleeting moment, Reng felt a trace of peace. His body still ached from the night before, but the thought of escape filled him with an unexpected hope. They could do this. Any moment now, they’d be out of Oko Lahab and racing north with the wind at their backs.

Kirp, on the neighboring ride, gave them a wave and a gesture of encouragement.

They were almost out.

But the relief didn’t last long.

The hunters were waiting. They knew they didn’t have to scour the oasis or chase after the cocky wranglers who’d obviously try to make a run for it. All they had to do was watch the exits. They laughed loudly at something, leaning against their polished, parked machines. Reng recognized them instantly, and a wave of heat rushed through him. Their faces, scarred by blade and flame, carried stories of brutality and merciless violence. Rippers didn’t torture their prey just for fun—they usually acted on orders from someone who paid them well. The fact that Loan had hired them meant they’d really pissed him off.

“Turn around!” Reng slapped Borin’s shoulder, in case he hadn’t noticed them yet.

Borin reacted immediately, whipping the machine around so fast that Reng barely managed to stay on. For the first time, their ride growled at full throttle and shot down the street, back into the depths of the oasis. Reng glanced over his shoulder and saw two gleaming bikes move into action. Panic gripped him. The hunt had begun.

“Kirp! Shit, move!” he yelled toward the second ride, which wobbled across the pavement. But then its engine caught, and Reng saw Kirp lean forward, instinctively trying to squeeze out more speed.

Borin and Reng led the charge into the maze of narrow streets.

“We have to get behind them!” Reng tried to shout into Borin’s ear, but Borin didn’t react. He was fully focused on the road ahead, trying instead to shake the hunters by choosing a treacherous path. He took shortcuts and detours that pushed his riding skills to the limit.

Behind them, Kirp’s engine thundered. They could hear it keeping pace, and for a moment, Reng felt a flicker of relief.

Maybe they’d make it.

Then, out of nowhere, a third bike shot out from a side street and nearly slammed into them. One ride. Two Rippers. The passenger pointed a weapon at them.

“Shit, look out!” Reng yelled, pressing himself tightly against Borin’s back.

A shot.

It barely missed. No—it didn’t miss, Reng realized. It wasn’t aimed at them. It was aimed at Kirp.

He turned to look and saw Kirp’s ride wobble and slow. Kirp’s head jerked back, but he was still gripping the handlebars, fighting to keep control of the bike.

“They got me! Fuck!” he shouted.

Borin didn’t even look back.

“We have to go!” he growled, eyes locked on the road ahead.

“We can’t just leave him!” Reng’s protest was cut off by another shot. This one hit too. Kirp’s bike finally lost balance, crashed into a wall, and toppled sideways. Kirp was pinned underneath it, clearly broken from the impact.

Reng managed to glance back, eyes wide with horror.

“Kirp!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“He’s done!” Borin hissed and swerved hard, desperate to shake their pursuers.

The last thing Reng saw was Kirp, struggling to crawl out from under the bike—before one of the Rippers slammed into him. The engine roared, a sickening crunch followed, and then a scream—cut short. The silence that followed was more terrifying than anything Reng had experienced before.

What have I done? he thought, guilt stabbing through him. How did we end up in this mess? He remembered last night—that intoxicating feeling of a small victory. Was it worth it? I’m an idiot for going along with this. How did we ever think we’d get away with it?

Reng froze as they nearly collided with a stray elner in one of the alleys. The creature squealed and leapt into a pile of trash. Borin cursed loudly, and Reng clung to the bike, terrified that Borin would lose him on a turn. Now he knew exactly what would follow—if he got lucky, he’d die instantly.

If we get out of this alive, I swear I’ll never do anything this stupid again. And I’m done letting Borin drag me into his reckless schemes. His pulse was racing so fast, he thought his heart might burst out of his chest. Stay focused, he told himself again and again. Don’t get caught.

Another sharp turn. Reng clutched Borin tightly and felt the bike skid dangerously beneath them. He braced for impact, sure they were going to crash, but Borin expertly corrected and sped up again. The engine groaned like it was begging for mercy, but still, it roared toward the market district.

Reng looked back. The two were gone. For one brief moment, hope sparked inside him. Maybe they gave up?

Then a familiar bike shot out from around the corner, straight at them. These were the ones who killed Kirp. And now they were coming for them.

“They’re on us again!” Reng shouted, pressing himself to Borin’s back.

A shot rang out.

It barely missed. No—it didn’t miss, Reng realized. They weren’t aiming at them. The target was clear: their rear wheel. Just like with Kirp.

Borin jerked the bike sharply and threw it into a narrow alley so fast they nearly scraped the wall. Reng lost his breath for a second. The shot missed by inches, but shards of plaster hit him square in the face. Sharp fragments split the skin beneath his eye, but he didn’t feel the pain. Adrenaline drowned out everything except the need to escape.

Another shot, and Reng instinctively squeezed his eyes shut. Still, it felt like they were losing control. Borin clearly had no idea where he was going—but he kept them moving, no matter what.

“Shit, are they ever gonna stop?” Borin cursed, yanking the handlebars.

Another alley. Another turn. Another shot. Reng heard the metallic ping as the bullet hit the machine beneath them. That was it—they were done.

“Hold on!” Borin shouted—but it was already too late.

They lost control. Borin tried desperately to steady the ride, but the rear wheel was gone. The mass of metal pitched into the air, and Reng felt himself lift off with it.

He knew rough landings—but this was worse than anything he’d expected.

The cobblestones scraped his back and side raw as he tumbled, momentum dragging him until he finally came to a stop. He lay on his back, staring at the gray sky above, his ears ringing. Battered, scraped up—but somehow alive. For now.

He jumped to his feet and stumbled toward the downed bike, a pool of spongus spreading beneath the ruptured tank. Borin was nowhere in sight—but the Rippers who had caused the crash were impossible to miss. They looped around the market and were now arcing back toward him.

They were coming to finish the job.

No time to hesitate. His hand went to his belt—and found the bolas. It had been the last thing he’d packed before leaving the apartment. He’d slung it around his waist, just like he used to on the Hills when going out to hunt. He hadn’t realized it would be the only thing standing between him and two killers charging straight for him. He hadn’t used it in ages—but the moment he felt the weighted cords in his hands, he knew exactly what to do.

The Rippers didn’t realize what he was planning until the last second. Maybe they thought the wrangler was frozen in fear—maybe they didn’t even notice the weapon in his hands. But when he suddenly raised it and whipped it forward with all his strength, it was too late.

It wasn’t all that different from hunting kreliniaks, except those didn’t usually run at you.

The cords wrapped around the Ripper’s neck and torso. One of the weights smashed into his head with a sickening thud, jerking the handlebars out of his grip. The heavy bike, still at full speed, bounced off the wall—and both riders went flying.

Reng stared in disbelief at the result of what he’d done, as the Ripper’s body rolled toward him—limp and broken, like a shattered marionette wrapped in cord. He lay motionless on the cobblestones. The second rider was down too, his twisted form offering little hope of survival.

Reng didn’t wait. He unwound the bolas from the Ripper’s corpse and cast a quick glance around. No one else was coming yet—but he knew time was slipping.

He found Borin pinned beneath the wrecked bike, unmoving. As he crouched beside him, he heard a faint groan.

“Hey—can you hear me?” he asked, tapping his face. Borin’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and he let out a torrent of curses so intense Reng instinctively jerked back.

Under different circumstances, he might’ve laughed. As long as Borin was swearing, he was alive.

“Come on. We have to get out of here.”

Reng braced against the machine and lifted with everything he had. Borin groaned as he dragged himself free, trying to stand through a mask of pain and tears.

“Think it tore my arm clean off,” he muttered darkly. His left arm dangled uselessly, blood soaking through at the shoulder.

“Are they dead?” he asked with eerie calm as his eyes landed on the motionless Rippers.

“I don’t know—and I don’t care,” Reng snapped. “We need to move. Now.”

He pulled Borin close and slung his arm over his shoulders, supporting him from the right side to take pressure off the ruined arm. Panic surged inside him at the sight. Can we even survive this? He knew Borin was seriously hurt, no matter how much he tried to act tough. How much longer can he keep going?

They’d barely taken a few steps when the roar of more engines shattered the quiet of the marketplace. When the new group of Rippers skidded to a stop in front of them, Reng’s heart sank.

Their presence was overwhelming—but Reng couldn’t afford to show weakness. He quickly counted eight of them. The ninth rode in last, hood drawn low over his face, casting a deep shadow across his features. He killed the engine and dismounted with deliberate calm. Heavy boots scraped on the cobbles as he stepped toward the bodies. He gave the first one a kick and spat beside him without a shred of reverence.

“Kaput,” he said flatly, in a deep, slightly hoarse voice.

Reng felt goosebumps rise all over his skin.

“We were just defending ourselves,” he whispered—barely audible. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

It wouldn’t be enough.

The man pulled back his hood, revealing a face so slashed and scarred it was barely recognizable. Reng forced himself not to look away. He couldn’t show fear.

“They told us you were just a couple of yunks. Easy to grab, toy with a bit, and then toss into one of Loan’s puddles. Looks like he underestimated you.”

“What can I say?” Borin croaked with a painful grin. His voice trembled, but he wasn’t backing down. “Loan’s an idiot. Anyone who’s met him knows that.”

“You’re looking pretty pale for someone talking shit,” the Ripper snapped dryly. He bent down and picked up the weapon dropped by one of the now-dead riders.

“Even a blind man could tell you’re no fun anymore.”

“You might be surprised,” Borin muttered through clenched teeth. But his voice cracked. He was weaker than he let on.

Reng felt every muscle in his body tense. I have to do something. I have to… But he stood frozen. He knew that anything he tried now would end in disaster.

“I think the only one getting surprised here… is you and your buddy.”

The Ripper raised his arm, took aim—and pulled the trigger.

Reng flinched, bracing for the shot. But it never came. The weapon in the Ripper’s hand exploded, showering the area in glowing fragments and droplets of burning spongus. One chunk struck the wreck of their bike, and instantly, flames raced across the pool from the ruptured tank. Reng felt the surge of adrenaline hit his system like a flood. Move. Now.

He grabbed Borin firmly, ignoring the sharp cries of pain as he dragged him away. We have to go. Right now. Borin’s old piece of junk was already ablaze, and the next explosion wasn’t far behind.

It hit with brutal force, flinging them both across the cobbles.

Half-deafened, Reng tasted the bitter tang of spongus on his tongue. Thick, choking smoke engulfed the marketplace. One explosion followed another as the fire leapt to the other bikes. Somewhere behind them, Reng heard the frantic shouting of Rippers trying to salvage what they could.

Beside him, Borin let out a long stream of curses, paralyzed by the pain and unable to rise. He just lay there, swearing and groaning.

“Come on, man,” Reng hissed and summoned every ounce of strength to pull him up. If we don’t disappear now, we’re dead. He ignored Borin’s protests and dragged him through the smoke-filled market.

“You remember how I told you to always check your weapon before using it?” Borin said suddenly—and to Reng’s disbelief, he was laughing uncontrollably.

"That’s exactly why," Borin muttered, and Reng caught himself—his lips twitching toward a smile.

Another explosion made them both duck. "Screecher shit himself," Borin growled, trying to twist around. "Are they at least dead?"

Reng glanced back, but the smoke was too thick to see anything. Still, he could hear voices—and by the sound of them, the Rippers weren’t going to show mercy now. As if they had before.

They had to go—anywhere. Reng’s eyes darted across the market, searching desperately for anything that might give them an edge. Then he spotted the faded sign above a doorway. Maybe they still had a chance.

He grabbed the handle. Locked. Without hesitation, he threw his weight against the door, shoulder first. Nothing on the first hit. Still nothing on the second. On the third—crack. The lock gave way, and the door crashed open. He yanked Borin inside and squeezed in behind him. The battered door groaned shut behind them, but Reng knew it wouldn’t hold anyone out.

He looked around. A small recruiting office. One desk. Two chairs. A cabinet. Nothing to hide behind. Nothing they could use when—not if—the Rippers found them.

“Brilliant hideout,” Borin muttered. “They’re gonna piss themselves when they see this place.”

Reng ignored him. He lowered him onto one of the chairs and rushed to the desk, rummaging through its drawers. He had no idea what he was looking for. Papers? Keys? Something? He just hoped that when he found it, he’d know. His fingers scrambled through folders and loose sheets, heart pounding against his ribs. Every second, he expected the door to burst open and the Rippers to flood in.

“Hands in the air. Step away from the desk.”

Reng froze.

He looked up—and in the dim light saw a figure. The desk lamp cast a warm glow over a recruiter in long underwear, holding a weapon pointed straight at him.

Of course, Reng thought bitterly, raising his hands. Everyone wants to kill me today.

“Easy,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

The recruiter stared at him, eyes narrowed, like he was trying to see through Reng’s soul. He tilted his head, hesitated—then sighed.

“I know you. You’re that kid running his mouth at the market, right?”

“Probably?” Reng admitted, forcing a weak smile. The kind of smile that said, Please don’t shoot me.

Muted shouts and distant explosions outside only sharpened the awkward silence that fell between them.

“What in the name of the Whiptail are you doing here?” the recruiter asked.

“We want to sign it,” Reng blurted out without hesitation.

The recruiter’s surprise was genuine. The gun in his hands lowered. “What?”

“The contract,” Reng continued, trying to keep his voice steady. “Remember? We talked about it at the market.”

The recruiter was silent for a moment, eyes narrowing. Then with a click, he flipped the safety on his pistol and set it down on the desk. “I don’t know what game you’re playing,” he muttered, “but if you’re serious…”

Reng exhaled. One problem down. Now to survive the rest.

“I’m guessing the mess I’m hearing all the way out here is your doing?” the recruiter asked while pulling papers and a terminal from one of the drawers.

“Maybe,” Reng admitted, keeping his tone even. He couldn’t afford to show weakness.

The recruiter smirked.

“Didn’t think trouble would find you this fast, kid. Yesterday you looked like the type who’d never get into anything like this. Want time to read through it?” His voice had a teasing edge.

“What about that amnesty?” Reng tried to hide the urgency creeping into his words. He didn’t care what this man had to say—if it could keep them alive, he’d take it.

“You said the PDC could arrange it.”

The recruiter shrugged. “That’s right. Our authority overrides the Oko Lahab sector. Once you sign, you're untouchable under local law.”

That was all Reng needed to hear. Without a word, he placed his palm on the terminal. The metal surface was cold, and for a second it felt like slipping on shackles. When the device beeped, he quickly helped Borin do the same.

“Congratulations, gentlemen. You are now officially enlisted in the Prim Defense Corps,” the man declared with pride.

That was too easy. Reng swallowed. The words didn’t bring him any relief—only a growing unease. What the hell did I just sign? He knew he’d just leapt out of the frying pan—and into something deeper. Whether he’d keep his head above water, or drown in it like one of Loan’s puddles, was still unclear.

But the muffled shouts and distant explosions from the marketplace were a clear reminder of who’d pushed them into this.

The Rippers were still out there.

And the ones who survived the blast weren’t going to show mercy.

“I hope you’re going to keep your word now,” Reng said, trying to sound resolute—though his voice wavered slightly. “We’re going to need help.”

The recruiter remained calm. He reached into a drawer and pinned a polished Prim Defense Corps badge to his chest. It looked ridiculous over his long underwear—but his resolve was unmistakable. Without hesitation, he picked up his gun from the desk and walked toward the door.

Reng stared at him. What’s he planning to do?

The recruiter planted himself in front of the door, feet firmly braced. “My job is to protect my recruits. And if those bastards out there don’t understand Prim law—then I’ll be happy to explain it to them.”

They didn’t have to wait long. The battered door creaked and slowly opened. Two Rippers stood in the doorway, their silhouettes looming menacingly in the dim light. One of them let out a triumphant growl—but it died in his throat the moment he heard the click of a safety switch and found himself staring down the barrel of a live weapon.

“I’m going to have to ask you gentlemen to turn around and leave,” the recruiter said, standing up even straighter to show he wasn’t bluffing. “Now.”

The Rippers hesitated. The sight of an armed man didn’t faze them—but it was clear they were thinking. Was this guy actually willing to shoot—or was he bluffing?

“Loan Grun wants those two,” one of them growled, stepping forward.

“Honestly?” The recruiter didn’t flinch. “I couldn’t give less of a shit what Loan Grun wants. Those two signed a contract with the PDC. Whatever they did, they no longer belong to you—or to Mr. Grun. They belong to Prim.”

The silence that followed was broken only by Borin’s ragged breathing. The Rippers trembled with fury—but they knew this wasn’t a fight they could win. This wasn’t brute force—it was politics. And politics belonged to others. Those who could command the law—or bend it as needed. Rippers were good at many things, but this was above their pay grade.

“We’ll inform Loan Grun,” the second Ripper spat, his glare a promise of future violence. “If I were you, I’d get ready. You’ve made yourself a problem.”

The recruiter didn’t blink. “And I’d recommend you stay far away from the PDC. Not worth the trouble. That’s a free tip.”

They stared at him for another second, then finally turned away. The one who’d spoken slammed the door hard behind him, making the frame rattle.

“Well, that’s that,” the recruiter murmured quietly, more to himself than anyone else—and at last, he lowered the weapon.

His hands were shaking uncontrollably.

“Honestly?” Borin rasped and let out a loud exhale, like he was shedding the whole weight of the moment. “Didn’t think you’d pull that off.”

The recruiter laughed. It was short, nervous—but it turned into a relieved chuckle.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself. “Prim law carries weight—especially where we still have the upper hand. In a place like Karhen Rouz, they’d have fed me to the clawed larvaes for this.”

“Trust me, the clawed larvaes wouldn’t bother,” Reng said. “They live off pickled vegetables.”

The recruiter stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing.

“Don’t tell me you’re from there?” he asked, surprised. “That’s a long haul to end up here.”

Reng shrugged. “Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly voluntary.”

“Happens more often than you’d think, doesn’t it? Ah, well.” The recruiter straightened and nodded toward Borin. “Let’s get your friend some medical help. No worries—we’ve got the budget. They’ll patch him up so he can live up to his part of the oath.”

Reng nodded, though he knew Borin’s condition was just one of their many problems.

“And then?” he asked, though he already had a feeling he knew the answer.

The recruiter smiled faintly. “Then you get ready. You’re shipping out tomorrow.”

Those words snapped Reng back to reality. He’d dodged death—but what had he just bought instead?

Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure if he’d won this battle… or just stepped into something worse.