CHAPTER 4 - The One Chance

The city hadn't even woken up, but the streets below already smelled like failure.

Liara tightened her jacket as she moved fast through the maze of back alleys. Her comm still vibrated with Garret's last message:

Garret: "North Sector. Old refinery. One hour. Bring your head straight, girl."

She pulled her hood lower, disappearing into the concrete skeletons of Zenithar's forgotten districts.

⸻

Garret stood at the edge of the broken catwalk, a battered holo-map flickering weakly on the rusted table before him. His heavy boots echoed faintly in the hollow steel chamber.

When Liara arrived, he didn't greet her, he simply pointed at the projection.

Garret: "Top-secret Dominion transport. High security. Three mobile vaults, unknown content. Heavily guarded."

Liara crossed her arms, studying the readouts.

Liara: "You think it's fragments?"

Garret: "I know it is."

He met her eyes, his voice flat and certain.

Garret: "And if we pull this off, kid... this is it. We don't scrape by anymore. We win."

Liara's heart kicked hard in her chest.

Liara: "How much are we talking?"

Garret: "Enough to vanish. You, me, and that brooding shadow of yours."

He smirked.

Garret: "Even enough to buy out of Barren's leash if he plays it smart."

Liara swallowed hard, her mind already racing through scenarios.

Liara: "We'll need a buyer. Someone who won't rat us out to the Dominion."

Garret: "We won't need a buyer."

Liara frowned.

Liara: "What's that supposed to mean?"

Garret leaned closer, his voice dropping low, eyes sharp.

Garret: "We sell it straight to Barren. Let him take the risk. He wants more power, more influence? Fine. He can pay through the nose for it. And we walk away."

Liara hesitated.

Liara: "And Raiga?"

Garret: (grim smile) "You think he won't follow if it means getting you out of here alive?"

Liara turned away, biting her lip.

Liara: "He's not a stray dog, Garret. And he's not some weapon to aim at problems."

Garret: "Kid, you know as well as I do—he's both."

Liara clenched her fists, struggling between hope and the sick weight in her gut.

Garret straightened up, pulling a small data shard from his jacket.

Garret: "Transport leaves the Dominion's Black Sector hub at nightfall. We hit them before they make the jump into the fortified zone."

He placed the shard in her hand.

Garret: "You're the brain. Plan it. Raiga's the muscle. Execute it. I'll handle the cleanup."

He turned to leave but paused just before disappearing down the stairs.

Garret: "...This is it, Liara. One shot. One life. You ready to take it?"

Liara stared down at the flickering data shard, her fingers trembling slightly.

Liara (whispering): "I've been ready for years..."

⸻

The Dominion Northern Outpost rose from the ruins like a jagged wound against the horizon—a monument to forgotten wars and new sins.

Raiga approached alone. His breath ghosted in the frigid air as he walked the cracked highway toward the armored gates.

High above, Dominion sentries tracked his every step. Their visors reflected nothing but the storm-grey sky. From the distance, he could hear the faint, unmistakable click of safety switches being flipped off.

Whispers drifted across the comm channels.

"Covenant's attack dog..."

"The shadow of Zenithar..."

Raiga walked through it all without breaking pace.

At the gate, the senior guard stepped aside before Raiga even looked his way. Fear was respect. And fear was easy to control.

Inside, the outpost reeked of sterile power—polished steel corridors, reinforced walls, recycled air thick with disinfectant and desperation.

Waiting at the far end of the main hall, overlooking the dead landscape through floor-length armor glass, stood Varek.

Immaculate. Calculated. Dangerous in the way weak men with power always are.

He didn't turn when Raiga entered.

Varek: "So... even Barren's running out of men with stomachs for this work."

Raiga stepped closer, dropping the small pouch of fragments onto the table. The stones rolled with a faint, sick glow across the cold metal.

Varek turned at last. His sharp eyes assessed Raiga the way a merchant sizes up damaged goods.

Varek: "You play the savage well, Raiga. A necessary monster... but monsters don't make good company, do they?"

Raiga's voice was low, his eyes flat and unreadable.

Raiga: "Company's not what I'm paid for."

Varek allowed himself a humorless chuckle, stepping toward a reinforced case. With a slow, theatrical click, he unlatched it.

Inside, stacks of encrypted credit chips glowed faintly, currency enough to buy loyalty—or try.

Varek pushed the case forward.

Varek (cold smile): "Payment. Clean. No debts left hanging."

Raiga didn't even glance inside. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the case shut and tucked it under his arm.

As he turned to leave, Varek's voice followed him—smooth and cutting like a knife slipped under the ribs.

Varek: "Men like you don't fear the leash, Raiga. You fear the silence after it snaps."

Raiga paused at the door, his back still turned.

Raiga: "Make sure you're ready when it does."

The doors hissed open. And like a shadow pulled back into the night, Raiga was gone.

Varek stood alone for a long moment. His perfect composure cracked ever so slightly as his fingers tightened into a fist against the table.

His thumb traced the golden insignia on his cuff—the mark of a world long dead, but still bleeding into this one.

He tapped the comm panel without looking.

Varek: "Establish a direct channel. I want the Inquisitor. Now."