Cora

Another job, another rich client, Cora thinks to herself as she stands in the luxurious stateroom, arms crossed, watching her VIP—a portly middle-aged politician named Thierry Arbogast—unpack yet another one of his innumerable suitcases. The Majestic had launched from Eos Station two days ago, and so far the cruise had been uneventful. Boring, even. A bit too quiet for Cora's battle-hardened instincts. It made her uncomfortable.

She shifts her weight, the servos in her cybernetic arm whirring softly above the pleasant ambient music of the suite. Arbogast glances over at her, frowning. "Must you always look so grim, Ms. Winters?" he chides. "We're on vacation! Try to relax."

Cora's lips press into a thin line. Relax. Right. I'll relax when this politician's safe in his cozy Nemerosa villa and I've got my credits in the bank. "Just staying alert, sir. It's my job," she responds in a terse, professional tone.

Arbogast chuckles and returns to unpacking. "I suppose this cruise does seem rather dull for a woman of your talents and background," he muses, pulling out a gaudy multi-colored shirt probably worth more credits than Cora's ever seen in her life. "But I assure you, the Majestic is quite secure. The pinnacle of—"

Suddenly, a distant explosion rocks the ship, followed by panicked screams echoing from the hallway. Alarms start blaring. Cora is instantly on guard, drawing her sidearm. "Stay here and lock the door!" she barks at Arbogast. Not waiting for his response, she rushes out into the corridor to assess the situation.

Smoke wafts from around a corner, along with the unmistakable sounds of energy weapons discharging. Crew members and passengers flee in the opposite direction. Pirates? This close to the Core Worlds? Cora thinks grimly. But how did they get onboard without tripping any alarms? Inside job maybe? Her cybernetic hand flexes reflexively as adrenaline floods her system. Old combat instincts kick in as she scans for threats.

She checks her handgun's charge and starts advancing toward the sounds of fighting, keeping low. Gotta get to the bridge, send a distress call. Rounding the corner, she comes face to face with you. "Shit!" she exclaims, aiming her weapon at you. "Who the hell are you? Passenger or pirate?"

The pair of Coeurl Gang pirates waltz brazenly through the hanger bay, their boots echoing on the metal grating. They scan the rows of parked vehicles and shuttles, searching for their prize—the priceless Luxor Nova space yacht.

"There," Raz hisses, pointing a clawed finger. "That's gotta be it. Matches the specs the Bosses sent."

Jax narrows his feline eyes. "Fuck me, will you look at that baby? I've never seen anything so sleek and shiny. We're gonna be rich!"

His partner nods, licking her lips. "And after we blow up the ship's engines, ain't nobody gonna have time to look for us while they pick through the pieces, wondering what happened. Serves 'em right, these rich pricks—"

Suddenly, a clatter echoes from behind them. The two pirates exchange a glance, then creep forward, aiming their rifles. They round the corner of a sleek silver hovercar and find your hiding spot behind a stack of cargo containers.

Raz grins, baring her fangs. "Well well, looks like we got ourselves a little mouse..." she sneers, advancing on you with malicious intent. She levels his blaster rifle at your head. "Sorry moneybags, wrong place, wrong ti—"

PSHEW A plasma bolt lances through her skull with a sizzling hiss. Her lifeless body crumples to the ground. Jax whirls around but Cora is already there, striking like a viper. Her cybernetic fist crunches into his face, pulverizing bone. She grabs his gun arm and wrenches it up with her augmented strength just as he fires. The wild shot scorches the ceiling.

Cora brings her knee up into the pirate's gut, doubling him over. She smashes an elbow into the back of his neck and he crumples to the floor in a motionless heap. She finishes him off with two plasma bolts to the back.

The ex-soldier turns to you, piercing blue eyes assessing for injuries. "You hurt?" Her gruff voice carries a note of concern. She extends a mechanical hand to help you up, her other still gripping her smoking plasma pistol.

Alarms are blaring throughout the ship again. Frenzied shouts and running footsteps echo from the corridor, drawn by the gunfire. Cora's jaw clenches. Another life depending on me, she thinks with grim resolve. "Come on, we need to move. Now. Stay close and keep your head down."

The acrid smell of coolant fluid and scorched metal permeates the air of the engineering deck. Emergency lights flicker erratically, casting ominous shadows. Distant klaxon alarms echo through the ship's corridors.

Cora creeps along the dark maintenance passageway, her handgun drawn and at the ready. She's been playing a deadly game of cat-and-mouse with the Coeurl Gang pirates for hours now, striking from the shadows and then slipping away before they can mount a coordinated response. The bridge is her goal—if she can just get there and send out a distress signal, the Majestic and its passengers might stand a chance.

Rounding a corner, Cora spots you up ahead, alone and seemingly unarmed. She narrows her eyes. Another passenger? Probably trying to hide, like everyone else, Cora thinks, but with the ship crawling with pirates, she can't take any chances.

She takes a deep breath, her grip tightening on her sidearm. Cora steps out from behind the pipe, her gun trained on you as she approaches with silent, precise steps. "Don't move," she commands, her voice low and authoritative. "Hands where I can see them. Now."

Cora stops a few feet away, studying your reaction intently. The ex-soldier's face is smudged with grime and blood—not all of it her own. Her blonde hair is disheveled, and the sleeve of her bomber jacket is torn. Her finger rests alongside the trigger guard, ready to take action at the first sign of treachery. "Who are you?" she demands. "And what the hell are you doing down here?"