Westner hunkered in the shadows, his cybernetic eye humming faintly as it sharpened the starlight scope’s gaze on a Nathal team slinking through the rubble-choked wasteland. Their heat dampeners baffled standard scans, yet his enhanced optics pierced the veil. He steadied his sniper rifle, heart heavy with Carver’s ghost—a missed shot last mission had cost a squad mate. The five-man squad moved tightly, the next-to-last soldier gesturing sharply. Team leader. He scanned, spotting the heavy weapons trooper, and exhaled, his cybernetic hand locking the grip. The armor-piercing round cracked through the night, dropping the trooper with a muffled thud.

The Nathals froze, then dove for cover. Westner’s lips twitched—a muted grin. They’re good, but I’m better. He lined up a female soldier behind a crate and fired, her form collapsing silently. The leader shouted, redirecting her squad, but Westner’s third shot found another mark, crumpling them. The fourth tripped a resistance mine, the blast hurling him over a rock. Westner focused on the leader, now behind a tree. Smart. Not invisible.

He waited, his cybernetic eye tracking her heat signature. She tossed two flash grenades, and Westner loosed a shot at her arm, slicing her forearm guard as light erupted. He squinted, spots dancing despite his eye’s filters. Dirt sprayed as she returned fire, bolts chewing the ground. Through the haze, he saw her dart for cover, her movements honed by elite training. He fired again, striking her thigh, sending her sprawling, her helmet clattering off as her head struck a rock. Westner approached, his cybernetic leg whirring softly, rifle leveled. “No sudden moves.”

The woman rasped, rolling over, her piercing blue eyes defiant, hands pressing her thigh wound, senses sharp with hypervigilance. “Nice shooting. Didn’t think you’d miss the kill shot.”

Westner lobbed a medpack her way, a tight smirk tugging at his lips. “Caught off guard by your charm, I think it was your ‘brilliant’ smile.” She snatched it, smearing sealant over her leg with a grimace. “Name, rank, serial number,” she barked, gaze darting for ambushes, “that’s it.”

“Fair enough, but I’ll take ‘sassy prisoner’ for now. Bannon can get the rest,” he replied. Something’s off, he thought, noting her guarded tone.

The Woman’s eyes flickered with recognition, “Good to know Bannon’s still in the fight…” She peeled off her forearm guard, hands steady despite the pain, her voice softening but cautious. “I’ll talk to him, nobody else. Got that?”

Westner’s jaw tightened. Sloppy. “Yeah. Don’t tell me you’re his secret admirer.”

She nodded, a faint smirk breaking through. “More like someone I trust.”

Westner nodded, impressed. “Only if you promise not to kick me on the way. Who’re you?”

The woman paused, jaw clenched, weighing trust. “2nd Lieutenant Sonya Blade, Wraith,” she said, her voice firm but eyes haunted.

“Wing Commander Gregory Westner, 32nd Space Wing,” he replied, offering a hand. “Forced to serve, huh? Guess we’re both stuck with bad hand.”

She gripped his hand briefly, a wry smile flickering. “Stuck with you’s not the worst, Greg.  Lots of people would shoot me on the spot.  Let’s hope Bannon’s willing to hear what I have to say.”

“Can you walk?” He adjusted his hold, wary of her strength.

She tested her leg, a sharp intake marking the pain. “Need a crutch. Stay out of swinging range—appearances, and I’ve been known to bite.”

Westner chuckled, a lightness cutting through. “Noted. I’ll keep my distance, tough guy. Let’s move.”