Xavier left the club with that easy wave he always gave Reva when he wasn't in the mood for a long goodbye. His bike kicked alive under him the moment he swung his leg over, the engine giving that sharp hum he liked. Night City lights stretched across the visor, neon bleeding into the wind as he cut through the streets.

Halfway down the highway, a notification flashed across his display—

Incoming call: Requiem.

That alone told him he couldn't ignore it.

He eased the bike to the side of the road, leaned it on the stand, and answered through the helmet's hands-free link.

Requiem's voice came through clear, steady, all business.

"I finished the inspection. Full internal sweep, system checks, stress tests, wiring checks, all of it. The ship's in good shape overall, but some parts need replacing if you plan to use it long-term."

Xavier rested his forearm on the tank of the bike. "Send me the list."

"I will," Requiem said. "Some of the components might be difficult to locate. They're old models, not in production anymore. I'll separate everything by priority so you know what's essential before takeoff. Anything that isn't critical, you can hunt for on other planets when you start traveling."

Xavier smirked faintly behind the helmet. "I know someone who can get parts from anywhere. Doesn't matter how old or rare."

Requiem paused for a moment, then said, "If that's the case, I'll send an additional list of optional upgrades. Mod packs. Power boosters. Shield enhancers. Hull expansions. The ship can handle all of it with the right tuning."

Xavier glanced at the night sky, thin clouds brushing past the moon. "Before all that—tell me something. What kind of ship is it? Am I flying some average junker or something decent?"

Requiem finally gave the details, his tone carrying the kind of admiration only a ship expert had.

"The model is a Helion Forge A-92 Strider-Class Freighter. Built by Helion Forge Industries before they collapsed. It's roughly a hundred and fifty years old. The brand went under a long time ago."

Xavier raised a brow behind the visor. "That old?"

"Old doesn't mean bad," Requiem said. "Helion Forge built ships for enthusiasts. Real enthusiasts. People who wanted a frame that could take a beating, accept any modification, run on any power source, adapt to any atmospheric pressure. The Strider models were known for being almost impossible to kill. They age well because everything inside them can be replaced or reshaped. Nothing is locked behind proprietary garbage."

"Sounds like a mechanic's dream," Xavier said.

"It was," Requiem replied. "And that's why they went bankrupt. Anyone could maintain them with cheap parts. Modders didn't need official components. Competitors kept releasing sleeker, more modern ships with forced ecosystems and high-price modules. Helion Forge refused to switch. Low profits. Zero brand greed. Eventually they got crushed."

Xavier could almost hear the shrug in his voice.

"But that's exactly why this ship is perfect for you," Requiem continued. "It can take old tech, new tech, alien tech—whatever you throw at it. You can rebuild it a hundred different ways without breaking the core."

Xavier nodded slowly, taking it all in. "Good. Then send me everything. Even the little parts. I'll see how much I can get my hands on."

"I'll have the files ready in a few minutes," Requiem said. "Check your device."

The call ended with that clean click, the line dropping into silence.

Xavier stayed there on the side of the road for a moment longer, engine purring beneath him, visor reflecting the distant glow of the city. A ship older than several nations, a company that built things for passion instead of profit, a frame that could evolve with him no matter how far he went into space.

Yeah.

It was his kind of ship.

He revved the engine once, pulled back onto the lane, and drove off toward the Nexus tower.

Xavier reached Nexus Tower, took the lift to the fifty-fifth floor, and walked into his apartment like he'd been moving nonstop for days. He didn't even bother checking if anyone was home — he headed straight for the shower. Steam filled the bathroom in seconds, washing off the sweat and training fatigue from the academy. By the time he stepped out, hair dripping, towel wrapped around his waist, his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten properly since lunch.

He quickly got dressed, and went straight to Seraphina's restaurant.

Lyra and Lilia were already seated when he arrived. Lilia was halfway through a dessert she didn't even bother offering him, and Lyra was tasting something Seraphina brought out personally, pretending she wasn't curious about human spices. Dinner passed with the usual rhythm — Lilia complaining about post exams stress for results, Lyra making quiet comments that somehow hit harder than Lilia's entire monologue, Seraphina lecturing them all about eating properly.

By the time they finished, Xavier's device buzzed with a flurry of notifications. Requiem had sent everything — full diagnostics, dozens of files, prioritized lists, compatibility checks, parts numbers, structural stress readings, even minor notes about screw alignment and energy leakage from old wiring.

Xavier forwarded the entire package to Angel without reading half of it.

He said his goodbyes to Seraphina, and went back to his apartment with Lilia and Lyra, and the moment he stepped into his apartment again, the phone buzzed with an incoming call.

Angel.

He accepted it, switched it to halo-call mode, and walked toward the VR corner of his room where his rig sat half-assembled. He had ordered extra items needed to play Startfall– on express delivery and it had somehow been delivered before he reached home himself.

He still needed to calibrate the sensory feed, update the safety layer, pair the neural link, and update the tracking nodes. The whole setup flickered to life as he began tightening cables and realigning the motion sensors.

A hologram of Angel formed in front of him — hair tied up, hoodie half-off her shoulder, looking like she'd been working all evening.

"So you sent me a whole damn shipyard worth of parts," she said. "I hope you know I'll have to make a ridiculous number of calls for this."

"It's the list Requiem sent," Xavier said, tightening a connector on the rig. "Can you get everything?"

Angel rolled her eyes. "I can get anything. You know that. But you're giving me three or four days at most. Some of these items are literally sitting in space docks on other planets. Importing them isn't the problem. Getting them fast is."

"And installing them?" Xavier asked.

"That's a second headache," she said. "You want this ship ready to fly soon. A full rebuild and calibration needs a proper team, and I mean a big one."

"Then hire them," Xavier said. "A hundred experts. Two hundred if needed. I don't care about the bill. Just get as many parts as possible before I leave. Whatever we can't get, tell them to deliver to other planets. I'll pick them up later."

Angel watched him for a moment, her face softening just a little. "All right. I'll try pulling every string I have."

"Good," Xavier said.

She narrowed her eyes. "By the way… why are you in your apartment and not the club's private room? Don't tell me you left Reva alone in there."

Xavier didn't look up from the rig. "Relax. I didn't stain your bed, or your couch, or your walls. And I didn't ruin the ambience of the room either."

Angel stared. "So what did you do with her?"

"She drank my blood," Xavier said. "That's it."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"She's been awake working on the OS," Xavier said with a small shrug. "She passed out on me, and that was the end of it."

Angel clicked her tongue. "Hmph. How disappointing."

The teasing went back and forth — her throwing jabs about Reva, Xavier flipping them back with comments that made her glare at him through the holo-display, the whole conversation slipping into that comfortable rhythm they always drifted into when they weren't trying to kill someone or fix a crisis.

Eventually Angel sighed. "All right, I need to start making calls. Give me an hour. I'll see what I can secure tonight."

"Do that," Xavier said. "And I am sending you 50 billion for now. Let me know if you need more. I still got more from what I won at the casino last week."

"Don't worry about it. I will handle everything and send you the bill later."

"Good luck."

She warned him again about the ridiculous list before cutting the call.

The hologram faded.

Xavier sat down in front of the VR rig, tightening the last screws, checking the sensor sweep, syncing the calibration nodes, linking the safety dampeners, and finally opening the marketplace for Starfall Arena VR. The download bar shot across the display, and the system began its long setup process.

He had a game to test.

A ship to rebuild.

And a countdown still ticking somewhere beneath all of it.

He put on the headset.

And the room went dark as the interface lit up around him.