Oaths Are for the Obedient

[Fab]

---

A FEW DAYS LATER ...

The communicator flickered to life on the table, its surface pulsing faintly as a stream of fractured, unintelligible tones spilled into the quiet room. ORATOR, however, listened with quiet focus, his expression softening into a faint, satisfied smile as the message unfolded. There was no surprise in his eyes, only confirmation. Another sequence completed. Another outcome aligned precisely as intended. The mission was a success.

The smile lingered for only a moment before fading, replaced by that familiar, composed stillness. Satisfaction was fleeting; there was always another step waiting to be taken. He reached for the communicator and adjusted the frequency with precision, dialing into the last known channel used by the Daggers. Whether it was still active was irrelevant. Men like them never truly disappeared. They always listened.

The channel opened with a soft crackle.

ORATOR:
“Excellent work, gentlemen. Lives have been spared because of what you’ve delivered. The Republic will remember your service… even if it never finds the words to say so.”

He paused briefly, the silence measured rather than uncertain, as he drew one last slow breath from his cigar.

ORATOR:
“Your man, along with his cargo, remains where we last convened. Consider the situation contained. You may retrieve what is yours at your convenience.”

The transmission ended as cleanly as it began, leaving no trace behind. ORATOR lowered the device, extinguished the cigar with deliberate care, and rose from his seat. He adjusted his suit with a habitual motion, every crease falling perfectly into place, before departing without haste. There was no urgency in his stride. Soon enough, he would be gone from Pittsburgh entirely, leaving nothing behind but consequences.

---

Inside Loading Bay 3, the aftermath told its own story.

Heiko Riegel -- now identified as a petty edgeworlds pirate -- and his men had been secured in a shadowed corner of the bay, restrained and compliant, their bodies intact but their presence diminished in a way that was difficult to define. Their faces bore the same hollow expression, eyes unfocused yet open, as though fixed on something far beyond the confines of the room. There were no visible injuries, no signs of struggle or coercion, nothing that would suggest force had been required to bring them to this state.

And yet, something was undeniably wrong.

They responded to instruction without hesitation, moving when directed, offering no resistance as they were handled and examined. But they did not speak. At most, incoherent mumbling.

Nearby, the crate remained where it had been left, its reinforced shell now cataloged and understood. The object within was classified as an energy accumulator: an artifact capable of storing immense energetic densities within a compact and deceptively stable form, comparable to tactical nuclear devices of old. Such devices were not unheard of, but their applications made them among the most dangerous objects in circulation. In the right hands, they were strategic assets. In the wrong ones, they were catastrophes waiting to be realized.

Records suggested similar signatures had been observed before, most notably in a Rheinland incident that had never been fully explained. A research facility lost in an instant, its personnel reduced to nothing, the cause buried beneath speculation and sealed reports. No definitive link had ever been established.

Until now, the possibility no longer seemed remote.

The Daggers had everything they needed to make their quest worthwhile, just like the mysterious man promised.