The heavily armed luxury yacht of Fiorella de Marco, also known as the distinctly modified Amalfi, a former Storta-class destroyer, anchored with precision at a docking point on Barrier Gate Station A. The side armored panels on the starboard side of the elegant Outcast vessel swung open, revealing a universal telescopic airlock that extended towards the station, nestled deep in the icy rock. The room echoed with three loud metallic clangs as the Amalfi secured and connected its fuel and energy lines to the station. Simultaneously, distant fuel pumps whirred into life, beginning to pump compressed liquid H-fuel into the 'yacht'.
Yet, something here was amiss, unsettlingly wrong. It was an indescribable sensation, elusive and intangible. His only guide in this perplexing moment were his instincts, which now, faced with the airlock, were sounding an alarm. She wouldn’t be coming this way; she was already here. Behind you. For an infinitesimally brief moment, he could have sworn he saw his own back.
"One of the most sought-after men in Liberty - and yet so conspicuous."
A feminine voice emerged from one of the side corridors, and Damien could hear the too-familiar melodious laughter belonging to none other than Fiorella Arianna de Marco. She stepped elegantly out of the side passageway and into the light. Clad in a form-fitting dark outfit with a black leather jacket and choker around her neck, she exuded an air of calculated grace.
Her steely blue gaze briefly swept over Damien's entourage before settling back on him. She appeared as relaxed as during their last meeting, her face adorned with an amused smirk. It had been three long years since she had honed her acting skills to blend in unnoticed among the Sirians, maintaining an utterly ordinary facade. How long had she been watching them? How many of her agents were scattered throughout the station?
One thing was certain - she now dramatically, almost theatrically, cast aside her civilian mask.
"Buongiorno, gentlemen. Oh Cobra - you have that look again - are you pleased to see me?"
She moved with a slow, almost languid stride towards her companion and his guards. At her waist was a pistol - too heavy and cumbersome for an ordinary person, more akin to a light anti-vehicle weapon. Though she appeared to pay only scant attention to his bodyguards, her eyes keenly followed their movements, her reflexes reminiscent of a playful yet still predatory being.
