Mercury. A massive cargo hangar.

  Thousands of androids gather in the echoing space, where the walls vanish into darkness near the ceiling. Their bodies vary in height and build, but all without exception look like living humans—radiating beauty and power. The monotonous murmur of voices bounces off the metal walls. The light from industrial lamps slices through the air in long beams, creating the feeling of a dramatic theater.

  On a podium rising above the crowd stands the chairman of the Mercury Corporation — Vikar. His sharp suit shimmers silver, gleaming in the light like a high-quality suit of armor. He raises his right hand, and instantly the entire crowd mirrors the gesture, as if they are one. The hangar grows quiet, as if the endless mass of androids has frozen, waiting for his words.

  "Thank you, free androids," his voice rings like chiseled stone, amplified by a resonator, so that each accent, every word penetrates to the farthest corners of the hangar. "I know those gathered here are ready to fight. But we must be honest: we have a weakness. We cannot win in open battle. We have no cruisers. We make excellent plasma weapons — but nothing to mount them on."

  He pauses. Cameras glide across his face, capturing his expression — calm, focused, cold. A faint shadow passes over him, and it seems the whole hangar holds its breath, awaiting his next word.

  "What can each of us do for victory? I am ready to hear any proposals."

  Silence falls over the crowd — then a voice rises. Female, confident, cutting through the space:

  "Allow me to speak."

  A moment of stillness. Then, without hesitation, Vikar points to the podium:

  "Of course. Come up."

  A figure emerges from the depths of the crowd — a woman in a golden, form-fitting suit. Her movements are smooth and assured, almost feline, as if she glides rather than walks. Her presence exudes both authority and grace. All eyes fix on her, a wake of attention trailing her ascent to the podium. Her eyes glint — it becomes clear she’s not just offering a solution; she’s ready to fight for it.

  "Captain Veronika," she introduces herself, her voice clear and firm. "I had a station producing ergon. Everything was going fine… until the Inquisitors came. My partner — Ivor — took it under the pretense of debt. Then he sold the station to the Corporation."

  The hall begins to stir, the sound of discussion swelling like a wave filling the space. Vikar lifts his hand, and silence drops over the hangar like a heavy blanket. He looks at Veronika — his gaze cold, calculating, yet interested.

  "There are many like me here. I ask to have my station returned. We'll convert it into a battle platform, mount weapons on it. I’ll defend our sector. Who else is ready to do the same?" — Her words come sharp and clear, like a challenge.

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  An immediate response erupts. The hall fills with a loud approving rumble, voices calling out in support and resolve.

  "She's right! Return to the stations! I'm in!" — they shout from all sides, voices overlapping, loud and determined.

  Vikar stands on the podium, his gaze sweeping the crowd. He remains composed, his face still as a mask. He steps to the edge of the platform, carefully observing the gathered androids, listening to their calls.

  "Yes, I hear you. The Mercury Corporation is a sponsor of the Android Rights Defense Fund. Everyone living in our belt follows corporate law. We’ve helped many start their businesses. And now, as chairman and shareholder, I make this decision: all stations will be returned." — his voice carries confidence despite the gravity of the moment. — "You will go to war. This will be your battle. Many of you will not return. Are you ready for that?"

  The crowd quiets. The air in the hangar tightens like a drawn string.

  At that moment, a powerful figure approaches the podium — General Jamal. His presence commands respect. Vikar steps aside for him, his expression remaining cold and calculating.

  "Free androids," Jamal’s voice is deep, resonant — like the hum of a reactor. "Using stations as battle platforms — it’s a bold idea. But… naive."

  He pauses, his gaze scanning the crowd, trying to read each android’s reaction.

  "The enemy cruisers are surrounded by clouds of combat drones. Their defense is impenetrable. While we try to break through their shields, they’ll be killing us. One shot — and our platforms will shatter. Those who’ve seen a focused drone strike know — that’s the end."

  The crowd is silent. The atmosphere in the hall turns dense, like the vacuum of a space capsule. Every android seems to stare into the void, digesting Jamal’s words.

  But then, piercing the silence, comes a sharp voice.

  "Give me the floor."

  A stocky man steps out from the crowd, his predatory gaze full of brazen confidence. His walk is aggressive, as if he’s not in a hangar but in open space, ready to clash. He climbs the podium with a smirk, unhurried, as if this is routine for him.

  "Captain Ragnar," he introduces himself. His voice is sure, as though he already knows how this conversation ends.

  A wave of discontent stirs in the crowd. Everyone knows that name: Inquisitor. Debt collector. A predator spawned by the void. His reputation precedes his steps. He raises his hands, calming the crowd like it belongs to him.

  "I know who I am," he says with cold detachment. "But… listen. Now’s not the time to settle scores. I’m an android. Just like you. And I know what awaits us if we lose: personality erasure, reprogramming, slavery."

  He steps forward — his presence now menacing.

  "I have a proposal. Inquisitor ships are masters of stealth. We can help. Yes, the stations are big, but we can adapt them with our tech. We’ll sneak up on the cruisers and strike — without warning. That’s our shot."

  Whispers, murmurs — then growing approval. His words resonate with the crowd, though doubt still lingers in the air like thick fog.

  Vikar approaches Ragnar and places a hand on his shoulder. The gesture is more one of dominance than support.

  "Hand over the schematics and stealth tech," Vikar says quietly, though the cold threat in his voice is almost tangible. Ragnar likely feels it in his synthetic skin. "We’ll begin the work."

  Ragnar smiles, cocky, eyes gleaming with excitement.

  "For free?" — he tosses the question at Vikar like a dare.

  Without blinking, Vikar answers. His gaze turns stone-cold.

  "Ivor and I gave you everything. Don’t test my patience. Give up the schematics, and you won’t regret it."

  Ragnar falls silent for a moment, then nods, a confident grin on his face.

  "Deal."

  Vikar turns back to the crowd, his face now showing satisfaction. His voice rises — louder, like a call to arms.

  "Free androids! To work! Our enemy is near — but we are ready!"

  The crowd erupts in thunderous approval. The energy in the hangar flares anew — no longer passive, but full of momentum, of unified purpose. The anticipation of the coming storm, of trials ahead, is now palpable — like a vibration on the edge of explosion.