• The metal door behind the local club creaked open, its hinges worn from the weight of the door and the rusting from the elements. Five shady figures emerged from the faint red lights of the club and the deafening boom of the music. The door shut a moment later and the alley returned to its eerie silence.

    Chet observed from the balcony of an apartment complex across the block. His knees were locked, as if he were ready to lunge for the man's throat. His thermal sensors in his left eye displayed a hazy puff of smoke from the man in the center. It was definitely him. Buzz Taylor; the "Master of the Slums." Chet scoffed under his breath. Grey smoke fumed from his mouth in the intense cold. He switched back to normal vision and zoomed in. The other four men, henchmen, probably, were wielding medium-grade plasma rifles. Compression-based, low grade tech. It was too easy. Chet looked in front of the mobster and up. Of course, he thought. The men on the ground were just decoys. He counted one...two...three snipers with premium-grade thermofusion rifles. "Great..." Chet muttered and leaped from his perch.

    The low-income residential district was familiar terrain for him. Most of the drug lords and contraband dealers found haven in the renegade neighborhood. Of course the regular deals hadn't faltered due to Avenger's success in secrecy. He knew crime wouldn't end with the reign of the Federation. He moved across the rooftops and crouched directly over the first sniper. Chet silently dropped down and snapped the sniper's neck. The corpse lifelessly fell to the ground. Chet grabbed onto the ledge and returned to the roof. He saw that Buzz was nearing the main street. He would be untouchable then. There was no time for silence.

    Chet charged the plasma rifle and pulled the trigger. Two plasma bolts streaked across the alley. They impacted with a sharp fizz and two silhouettes fell to the concrete. The four guards turned and fired blindly, either from the inaccuracy of the rifles or the inexperienced shooters Chet wasn't sure. He dropped the rifle and fell hard onto the concrete in the center of the alley.

    The four grunts lowered their weapons. A thin layer of smoke started to spread through the night air. They turned around just as Chet rolled forward, blaster pistol in hand. Four shots echoed in the darkness, all fired in less than a second. Four bodies dropped at the opening to the street. Buzz turned and exhaled sharply, pulling out his pistol. He squinted back into the alley. It was empty. He turned back around and stared into the fierce eyes of Avenger, standing less than a foot away. Buzz gasped and fell on his back, dropping his gun. Avenger took a step forward and Buzz scrambled to gain distance. Avenger's wristblades deployed and a steel shard nailed Buzz's left leg into the pavement. He yelped in agony.

    Chet retracted his wristblade and unholstered his pistol. He held the muzzle to Buzz's chin, expressionless. "Where is the location of the Federation stronghold?" he demanded, his voice authoritative and laced with rage.

    "I-I don't know!" Buzz stammered. He trembled and staggered back. Avenger stood and activated his fireblade. The fiery light reflected in Chet's intimidating eyes. "Ok! Ok!" Buzz coughed, "it's on the third moon!" Chet swung his fireblade back. A wall of fire bellowed across the alley. "Alright! The third moon of Centauri Six!" Chet bent down and retracted the blade from Buzz's leg. It returned to its slot with a fierce click. Buzz smiled and rose to his feet, blood dripping down his leg. "Now will you let me go?" he panted.

    Chet's eyes narrowed slightly, fireblade raised. "No." He thrust the blade through the criminal and removed it. The corpse smoldered and dropped. Chet holstered the fireblade and looked up. Centauri Six, one of Proxima Centauri's neighbor planets, glowed brightly overhead. Chet's mission was clear. He disappeared into the shadows.