Tassia Petros 3D Render, Digital Artwork by emarukk

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Tassia Petros

3D Render by emarukk

Tassia stood poised before the clumsy-looking shuttle she was piloting. They were nestled within the expansive Takapajula station hangar. Her eyes swept across the cavernous space, searching eagerly for a familiar face to emerge from the bustling throng. The final stages of preparation were underway, with technicians bustling about to complete the last checks and refuel the shuttle. This venerable vessel, despite its advancing years, remained a dependable workhorse, its scarred metal skin gleaming under the hangar lights. Though well past their expected service life, these shuttles had been meticulously repaired and updated, their systems humming with renewed vigor, always ready to conquer the cosmos.

The circulated air from the oxygen generators carried a sharp, acrid scent of burnt coolant mixed with the metallic tang of machine grease, a familiar aroma in this docking bay where battered ships limped in, their hulls barely holding together. The rhythmic hum of power tools and the distant murmur of voices reverberated through the cavernous space, creating an industrial symphony. Mekanika, her assigned synthetic servant, approached with calculated precision. Mekanika's presence was always silent and vigilant, her sleek, ebony frame a striking silhouette against the erratic dance of flickering overhead lights. Unlike the customary design of synthetic servants, crafted to appear warm and inviting to ease human apprehension, Mekanika's design was unapologetically dark and mechanical, from the gaze of her bright eyes to her rubber-covered metal toes, embodying a stark, utilitarian elegance.

The broker was late, as was his usual habit, and Tassia let out a long sigh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It felt like shadows were stretching and curling around the uneven metal surfaces. An unusual chill in the air nipped at her skin. She had never liked the man; his presence was like an itch she couldn't scratch. He was one of those slick operators who thrived in the station's underbelly: overly smooth in his words, deeply embedded in the network of clandestine connections, and radiating irritatingly unwavering confidence. Yet, his assignments were lucrative, and in a world where clinking coins were synonymous with survival, the unease of dealing with him was a minor inconvenience she was willing to endure.

A group of dockhands shuffled past, their eyes darting cautiously toward Mekanika before quickly averting their gaze as if afraid of what they might see. Tassia noticed this and smirked, a small, knowing expression playing at the corners of her lips. They were wise enough not to pry into things best left alone.

Impatience gnawed at her, and she tapped a rhythmic beat with her fingers against her armor's cold, hard surface. Just one more mission, one more flight—that was the promise, the routine she was accustomed to. But Tassia knew the truth: it was never truly just one more. Each mission was merely a prelude to another, an endless cycle that had ensnared her after the catastrophic fall of Kharak's terraforming station 7 and the shattering of so many dreams.

The memory of that day was seared into her mind. Tassia had been in the clutches of Confederate military intelligence when they delivered the devastating news. Her world crumbled as they informed her that all her friends were gone, consumed by flames along with the station and the planet itself. That moment had broken something deep within her, leaving her feeling hollow and adrift. From that point forward, she was no different from any other citizen of the Syndraka Confederation, a shadow of her former self.