The days blurred together into a rhythm that felt almost normal, if Tess squinted hard enough and ignored the part where she was running unauthorized dungeon operations with a noble’s daughter and a member of that same noble’s staff with nothing better to do.
Mornings meant Rivera’s Repairs. Actual work, mundane work, the thing she’d been doing since she was old enough to hold a multitool. Afternoons belonged to the workshop beneath the Tertian Estate. And evenings belonged to Floor 1.
“Hand me the bypass coupler,” Marcus said, his head halfway inside the cooling unit’s access panel.
Tess fished through the toolkit and passed it over. The freighter’s main hold was warm, ironic given they were trying to fix the climate control, and she’d stripped down to a tank top an hour ago.
“This thing is ancient,” she said, peering at the diagnostic readout on her interface. [ANALYZE] painted the unit’s guts in familiar patterns: power distribution, thermal regulation, compression cycles. All standard components, all broken. “The compressor coils are shot. And the relay board is using some proprietary connector I’ve never seen before.”
“Network manufacturing.” Marcus grunted as he worked something loose. “Designed to fail, designed not to be fixed. You either buy their replacement parts at triple markup or you buy a whole new unit.”
“Which we can afford.”
“We’re not paying premium prices for disposable parts.” He pulled his head out, wiping grease on a rag that was already more grease than cloth. “We jerry-rig it. Like we always do.”
Tess studied the schematic overlay, looking for workarounds. Her [ANALYZE] skill showed her exactly what was wrong: the corroded contacts, the cracked housing, the relay that was about to fail entirely. But knowing wasn’t the same as fixing. Not with mundane tech. Her AP, her class, her connection to Bee… none of it mattered here. This was just old-fashioned repair work.
“If I bypass the tertiary thermal sensor and route the feedback loop through the secondary controller…” She traced the path with her finger, thinking out loud. “We lose precision, but it should run.”
Marcus looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Pride, maybe.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he said.
They worked in comfortable silence for a while. The clink of tools, the hum of the freighter’s life support, the distant rumble of Sector 7 going about its business. The sounds of home.
“You’re delving again,” Marcus said. Not a question.
Tess’s hands stilled on the relay. “…Yeah.”
“You figured out a way in. With Petra. And that Knight.”
“Mikhail. Yeah.”
He nodded slowly, not looking at her. His attention stayed fixed on the bypass coupler as he fitted it into place. “Be careful this time.”
“I am.”
“No.” He finally met her eyes. “I mean it. I’ve seen what happens when parties push too hard, too fast. I’ve been in parties that pushed too hard.” His hand went unconsciously to his leg. “The dungeon doesn’t care how good your reasons are, and the Network certainly doesn’t either.”
“I know, Dad.”
“Do you?” His voice was gentle, but the question landed heavily. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve got a noble house backing you, a secret AI in your ear, and access to parts of the dungeon nobody’s seen in who knows how long. That’s a lot of variables. A lot of ways things can go wrong.”
Tess set down her multitool. “What would you have me do? Stop?”
“No.” He laughed, short and humorless. “No, I know you better than that. You’re going to do this whether or not I worry.” He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Just… come home. Every time. That’s all I ask. And try to make smart choices.”
“I will.”
“Now help me test this bypass,” Marcus said, the moment passing. “If it doesn’t hold, we’re sleeping outside tonight.”
***
The workshop on the Tertian Estate garden had transformed over the past week.
What had been clutter and boxes was now organized chaos: diagnostic stations humming with power, tool racks restocked, workbenches covered in projects at various stages of completion. Tess had claimed the corner near the window as her primary workspace, arranging her equipment in a configuration that felt natural.
“The emitter’s drawing more power than it should,” Mikhail said, setting his personal shield on her workbench. “It held fine during the run yesterday, but the charge depleted faster than usual.”
Tess picked it up, turning it over in her hands. The weight was familiar now. She’d examined this piece a dozen times, marveling at its complexity each time. Pre-Network craftsmanship. Technology from an era when dungeon tech lasted.
[ANALYZE] painted its systems across her vision.
·········································PERSONAL SHIELD MK-VIIDesignation: Personal Defense · Impact AbsorptionLoot Seed: 0x7E3FStatus: OfflineHardware: Legacy ConfigurationCharge: 2/10User Tech Skill: 7·········································Shield Envelope ........... Available [Tech 4]Kinetic Absorption ........ Available [Tech 5]Threat Prioritization ..... Locked [Tech 10]Field Reinforcement ....... Locked [Tech 13]Overcharge Protocol ....... Locked [Tech 15]·········································
“Power cycling issue,” she said. “The Aether battery isn’t holding charge the way it should. The cells are fine, but the intake rate is degraded.” She looked up. “When’s the last time this got a full recharge cycle?”
Mikhail’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. My father had it serviced regularly, but after he died…” He shrugged. “I just used it until it ran dry, then waited for it to recover naturally.”
“Natural recovery’s slow. The kinetic absorption helps, but for a full charge, you’d need…” Tess trailed off, a thought forming. “Hang on.”
She crossed to the storage area where the capacitor banks sat, the four high-capacity units that had been in her freighter recently. Charged, they held enough Aether to power a small building. Uncharged, they were just expensive furniture.
“These take days to fill from surface Aether,” she said, thinking out loud. “But if I wire one as a burst regulator…”
BEE: You are considering using the capacitor bank as an intermediary charging system?
“Yeah.” Tess pulled up a mental schematic, working through the connections. “The shield’s intake can’t handle raw Aether flow. Too fast, it’d fry the cells. But if I regulate it through a capacitor, I can store up a charge and then pulse it through at the right rate.”
BEE: The capacitor bank would need to be recharged after each use.
“That’s the problem. These things take forever to fill up here.” Tess drummed her fingers on the nearest unit. “We’d get one, maybe two burst charges before we’re waiting days for recovery.”
BEE: I have a suggestion.
Tess waited.
BEE: The staging area on Floor 1. The entrance is hidden and locked, only accessible through the elevator from the Guild Hall. If you positioned the expended capacitors there, they would recharge significantly faster. Hours instead of days.
Tess went still. “What?”
BEE: The staging area is within the dungeon. Aether flows freely there. Like your AP, any dungeon-compatible technology left in that space would benefit from the ambient concentration. And it would be secure. You could return between encounters to recharge equipment, then move the capacitors into the elevator when you are ready to descend further.
“We have a private recharging station,” Tess said slowly. “In the dungeon. That nobody else can access.”
BEE: Yes. I am uncertain why this was not suggested earlier. Perhaps the thought simply did not occur to me. My cognitive functions have been limited for some time.
Mikhail had been watching this exchange with the slight furrow in his brow that meant he was only getting half the conversation. “What’s she saying?”
“She’s saying we have a massive advantage we weren’t using.” Tess turned to face him. “If we move the capacitors down to the staging area on Floor 1, they’ll recharge in hours. We can burst-charge your shield, Petra’s vibroblades, anything that runs on Aether. Every single run. And it’s secure. Hidden entrance, locked door, nobody else can get in.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “That’s…”
“Yeah.” Tess was already mentally designing the burst regulator. Standard coupling, variable flow restrictor, safety cutoffs in case the pulse exceeded tolerance. Not complicated, just careful engineering.
She could do this.
***
The first capacitor went down that evening.
“I can get the mag-lev board,” Tess said, reaching for the hover platform. “These things are rated for four hundred kilos, the capacitor’s only…”
Mikhail had already lifted the unit off the workbench. Seventy kilos of dungeon-grade hardware, and he held it against his chest like it was mildly inconvenient furniture.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
Tess watched him carry it toward the hidden elevator. The capacitor wasn’t that heavy. The mag-lev board would have handled it fine. But Mikhail’s arms weren’t even shaking, and she supposed there were worse things than letting him show off a little.
They descended to the Guild Hall, Mikhail holding the heavy capacitor the whole way, then continued through to the floor elevator. He never let it touch the ground, which was honestly kind of impressive.
The staging area on Floor 1 felt different at night. Quieter. The Techno-Arbor symbols on the walls seemed more present in the low light, watching them like patient ghosts. And the Aether. Tess could feel it pressing against her skin, thick and alive in a way the surface never managed.
Tess positioned the capacitor near the corner where the Aether concentration felt densest. Even without [ANALYZE], the pressure in the air was palpable, a hum just below hearing.
“How long?” Mikhail asked.
BEE: Estimating based on current Aether flow… approximately four hours to full charge.
“Four hours,” Tess relayed. “We can charge it overnight and have it ready by morning. And when we’re done with the floor, or if we take care of the Alpha, we just load it into the elevator and take it down to the next staging area.”
Mikhail looked around the secure space, then back to Tess. “This changes things.”
“It does.”
“We’ve been running light. Conserving power, avoiding extended fights.” He touched the shield unit on his belt. “If I can go in at full charge every time…”
“You can actually use the thing without worrying about running dry.” Tess grinned. “Petra’s going to lose her mind when she finds out.”
BEE: Should I inform Petra of this development?
“Let’s save it for tomorrow. I want to see her face.”
BEE: Understood. Saving for maximum emotional impact.
***
The runs became routine.
That was the wrong word, maybe. Nothing about delving Floor 1 was routine, not really. But they developed rhythms, systems, ways of moving that fit together like well-maintained machinery.
Mikhail took point, always. His personal shield hummed with fresh charge now, the envelope snapping into existence the moment anything threatened. He moved through corridors with professional caution, checking corners, assessing sight lines, never rushing.
Petra flanked wide, vibroblades ready. Her fighting style was fluid, improvisational—she adapted to each spawn encounter in real-time, finding angles and opportunities Mikhail’s rigid positioning created.
And Tess… Tess made the dungeon work.
BEE: Sensor node SN-7-23 is offline. Connector fault, similar to previous repairs. Turn left at the next junction.
Tess banked the mag-lev through the maintenance tunnel, her toolkit rattling against her hip. The node came into view twenty meters ahead, another small sensor array, dark and lifeless.
“Got it.” She brought the board to a stop, already reaching for her tools.
The repair took three minutes. New connector, quick diagnostic, verification ping back to Bee’s systems. The node lit up with soft blue luminescence, another piece of Floor 1 returning to Bee’s oversight.
BEE: Sensor coverage now at 91% for Floor 1. Thank you, Tess.
“Ninety-one. Nice.” Tess kicked back into motion. “What’s left?”
BEE: Eight sensor nodes, four camera arrays, and three relay junctions. At the current repair rate, full coverage should be achieved within three additional sessions.
Three more runs. Then Bee would have eyes everywhere on Floor 1, and they could start planning the real operation.
“Where are the others?”
BEE: Mikhail and Petra have engaged a Level 6 construct in sector D-4. Petra has suggested—and I quote—“letting it chase us toward that spawn cluster we tagged earlier so we can grind two groups at once.”
Tess smiled despite herself. “Is Mikhail on board?”
BEE: Mikhail has expressed reservations about the tactical soundness of this approach. Petra responded with a gesture I do not believe was polite.
“Sounds about right.”
She pushed deeper into the tunnels, following Bee’s guidance toward the next dead sensor. The work was methodical, almost meditative. Find the problem, fix the problem, move on. With everything she restored was another piece of Floor 1 came back to life, another fragment of Bee’s awareness expanding.
The work felt good. Useful in a way she could measure.
BEE: The spawn cluster engagement is proceeding. Mikhail has eliminated three constructs. Petra is currently fighting two simultaneously while making comments about Mikhail’s cautious approach.
“What comments?”
BEE: She called him a “mobile fortification with the tactical creativity of a stubborn door.”
Tess laughed out loud, the sound echoing strangely in the narrow tunnel. “And what did he say?”
BEE: He did not respond. However, his next strike eliminated a Level 5 construct in a single blow. I believe this was intended as a rebuttal.
The dungeon stretched out around her, vast and complex and slowly coming back to life. The Aether pulsed through the walls, systems humming with renewed purpose, the floor itself responding to attention it hadn’t received in decades.
BEE: Tess. I should inform you of a development.
“Yeah?”
BEE: The other delvers have noticed that Floor 1’s configuration has remained stable. There are currently discussions on public channels. Speculation about what it means.
Tess’s hands slowed on the sensor she was repairing. “What kind of speculation?”
BEE: Multiple theories. Some believe it shows a dungeon malfunction. Others think it means Floor 1 is preparing for something significant: a rare spawn, perhaps, or a special event. There is increasing interest in pushing past the Alpha before the configuration changes.
“So we’ve got competition.”
BEE: In a sense. The Alpha has deterred most attempts, but several stronger parties are organizing larger expeditions. If we intend to reach the Alpha spawner first, we may need to accelerate our timeline.
Tess finished the connector swap and watched the sensor flicker to life. Ninety-two percent coverage now.
“We’re close anyway,” she said. “A few more runs and we’ll have everything mapped. Then we make our move.”
BEE: Understood. I will continue monitoring the public channels for relevant developments.
She kicked the mag-lev back into motion, heading for the rendezvous point where Mikhail and Petra would wait after their grinding session. They were almost ready.
***
The companion dog sat in the workshop corner, half-assembled and stubbornly uncooperative.
Tess had brought it from the freighter three days ago, determined to make progress now that she had access to proper equipment. The workshop’s diagnostic stations were leagues beyond anything in Sector 7: precision instruments, calibrated scanners, the kind of tools that could read Aether signatures down to the micro-flow level.
None of it helped.
“Come on,” she muttered, elbow-deep in the dog’s chassis. “What are you hiding?”
[ANALYZE] painted its systems across her vision, the same display she’d seen a dozen times now, each examination more frustrating than the last.
·········································COMPANION UNIT TC-847Designation: Therapy Class CompanionLoot Seed: 0xA84Status: Offline (1,251 days)Hardware: Critical FailureLast Error: Neural Processor (Fatal)User Tech Skill: 7·········································Companion Protocols ...... Offline [Tech 4]Environmental Awareness .. Offline [Tech 3]Autonomous Navigation .... Offline [Tech 4]Behavioral Adaptation .... Offline [Tech 7]Loyalty Binding .......... Offline [Tech 3]Structural Configuration . Locked [Tech 11]·········································
She could access most of it now. That was progress. But the neural processor error blocked everything else, a wall she couldn’t get past no matter how many angles she tried.
“Show me the processor directly.”
The view shifted, diving deeper into the dog’s systems. And there it was: the component she’d been unable to identify since she first found this thing in a pile of salvage.
·········································NEURAL PROCESSOR-PDesignation: UnknownStatus: OfflineLast Error: Initialization FaultUser Tech Skill: 7·········································[All functions locked - Processor offline]·········································
Neural Processor-P. The “P” designation meant nothing to her. It wasn’t in any schematic she’d ever seen, wasn’t referenced in the diagnostic databases she’d pulled from the workshop’s archives. The patterns inside it were dense, layered, impossibly complex—like looking at a language she didn’t have the vocabulary to parse.
“Bee?” She spoke aloud, knowing the AI would hear through her communicator. “What can you tell me about Neural Processor-P designations?”
BEE: Searching… ERROR: No records found. I cannot access information about this designation. It appears to be another gap in my memory.
“Of course it is.”
BEE: I am sorry. My archives are fragmented. There are many things I should know that I cannot recall.
“Not your fault.” Tess pulled back from the chassis, wiping her hands on a rag. The dog’s glass eyes stared at nothing, patient and dead. “I just… I feel like I’m close. Like if I could figure out what this processor does, everything else would fall into place.”
BEE: Perhaps the information exists elsewhere. Perhaps Sara Tertian may have access to historical records.
“Maybe.” Tess looked at the dog for a long moment. The housing was repaired now, the structural damage fixed, the motor systems functional. She’d replaced dozens of components, traced Aether pathways, restored everything that could be restored.
But without understanding that processor, she couldn’t make it work.
“I need more levels,” she said finally. “Or schematics that explain what I’m looking at. One or the other.”
BEE: We will gain both, eventually. This is not a problem that requires an immediate solution.
Tess knew that. But the dog had been sitting in that salvage pile for over three years, abandoned and broken, and she’d promised herself she’d fix it.
“Yeah,” she said. “Eventually.”
She covered the chassis with a protective sheet and turned back to her other projects. The burst regulator needed final calibration before tomorrow’s run.
The dog would wait. It had waited this long.
***
Back on the freighter that evening, Marcus sat in the cargo hold with a cup of something warm cradled in his hands.
The space had transformed into something between a living room and a workshop. Salvaged furniture, mismatched cushions, tool racks that doubled as shelves. Home, in all the ways that mattered.
“She’s cleared sector C-8,” Bee’s voice said through the freighter’s speakers. Marcus had gotten used to the AI’s presence over the past days, enough that her updates felt almost normal now. “Mikhail and Petra eliminated six constructs. No injuries.”
“Level?”
“Mixed. Four Level 4s, two Level 5s. Petra gained 7% progress toward Level 7.”
Marcus nodded, taking a sip. It was like listening to sports commentary, he realized. The play-by-play of his daughter’s dungeon runs, delivered in Bee’s precise, slightly awkward cadence.
He should be down there with them.
The thought came unbidden, as it had a dozen times in the past week. His leg ached in response, the phantom pain of old injuries reminding him why he couldn’t.
“She’s getting good,” he said.
“Yes. Her repair efficiency has improved by 23% since the first reconnaissance run. Her coordination with Mikhail and Petra shows marked development.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
A pause. Bee’s pauses were always deliberate, Marcus had learned. She was processing, or deciding what to say, or simply allowing space for the conversation to breathe.
“What did you mean?” she asked.
“She’s becoming someone.” He stared at the cargo bay doors, imagining the path from here to the workshop to the Guild Hall to Floor 1. “More than a technician. More than my daughter. Someone important.”
“Tess has always been important.”
“Yeah.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But she’s going to be something else now. Something bigger. And I’m just…” He gestured vaguely at his leg, at the freighter, at everything. “I’m sitting here, listening to updates.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“You wish to help,” Bee said. It wasn’t a question.
“I know I can help. Twenty years of delving experience doesn’t just vanish because an old injury hurts.” He set down his cup, frustration bleeding into his voice. “There has to be something. Something I can do while they’re down there besides worry.”
“What are you proposing?”
Marcus had been thinking about this for days. Turning it over in his mind during the long hours when Tess was at the workshop or in the dungeon or anywhere but here.
“You need information,” he said. “About the Network, about what they know, about who’s watching. And I’ve got contacts. Old delver buddies, salvage runners, people who hear things.” He leaned forward. “What if I started asking questions? Nothing that traces back to Tess or House Tertian. Just gathering intelligence.”
Bee was quiet for a long moment.
“This would carry risk,” she said finally. “If the wrong person learned why you were asking…”
“I know how to be careful. I’ve been surviving in Sector 7 for twenty years.” He met the empty air where he imagined Bee’s presence was. “Let me do this. Let me help my daughter. Help you I can be the eyes out here.”
Another pause. Then:
“I will discuss this with Tess. The decision is not mine to make alone. But… I believe your proposal has merit.”
Marcus exhaled. “That’s all I’m asking. A chance to be useful again.”
“You have always been useful, Marcus.” Bee’s voice was softer now, almost gentle. “Tess would not be who she is without you.”
He didn’t have a response to that. Just sat in the freighter’s quiet, listening to the hum of systems he’d maintained for two decades, and waited for his daughter to come home.
***
Game night happened almost by accident.
Petra showed up at the freighter with a bottle of something expensive and a declaration that they were “celebrating surviving a week without dying horribly.” Mikhail arrived twenty minutes later, looking mildly uncomfortable but present. Kade wandered in because he was in the docking bay and smelled food.
“Cards,” Tess said, pulling a battered deck from a drawer. “Best I can do.”
“Cards are perfect.” Petra flopped onto the cargo hold’s mismatched cushions with the casual grace of someone who’d never had to worry about where she sat. “What are we playing?”
“Dungeon Draw. You know the rules?”
“Do I look like I know the rules?”
“You draw cards and try to build the best party.” Mikhail settled into a seat with military precision. “Matching suits multiply your score. Face cards are classes: Knights, Rangers, Operators. Numbered cards are stats.”
Petra squinted at him. “You know how to play?”
“Most of us in the service play a lot of cards. My Dad taught me,” Something flickered across his face, there and gone. “It was popular among the old guard.”
Tess dealt the cards while Marcus set out bowls of cheap noodles, the good kind, with actual spices and those dehydrated vegetables that almost tasted like something. The alcohol got distributed without ceremony, mismatched cups and mugs passing from hand to hand.
“This is nice,” Kade said, leaning back with his cards fanned out in front of him. “Feels like old times. Before Tess got all fancy with her noble connections.”
“I’m not fancy.”
“You literally have a secret workshop in the Duke’s estate.” He gestured with his cup. “That’s fancy.”
BEE: Should I point out that the cards Kade is currently holding constitute the weakest possible opening hand in Dungeon Draw?
Tess choked on her drink.
“What?” Kade looked at Tess.
“Nothing.” Tess wiped her mouth, fighting to keep a straight face. “Bee’s just… observing.”
BEE: His chance of winning this round is approximately 3%. I could provide guidance, but I suspect that would be considered cheating.
“Definitely cheating,” Tess muttered.
The game progressed with the comfortable chaos of people who weren’t really playing to win. Mikhail proved surprisingly good. His face gave nothing away, and his card counting was methodical enough that he won three hands in a row before anyone noticed.
“You’re hustling us,” Petra accused, throwing a card at his head. “This whole ‘stoic Knight’ thing is a front.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He collected the thrown card and added it to his pile with a ghost of a smile.
BEE: Mikhail’s strategy is sound. However, Petra’s aggressive bidding creates opportunities for exploitation. I have a hypothesis about optimal bluffing frequency in social card games. Should I share it?
“Is it going to be weird?” Tess asked under her breath.
BEE: I am uncertain. It involves calculating the psychological breaking point of opponents based on their alcohol consumption rate and correlating that with risk tolerance thresholds.
“That’s a little weird.”
BEE: Noted. Saving for future reference.
“What’s she saying now?” Petra demanded.
“She’s analyzing everyone’s play style.”
“Tell her to mind her own business.”
BEE: I have another hypothesis. I am detecting elevated heart rates, dilated pupils, and increased skin conductance when two particular participants make contact. The correlation with competitive behavior suggests…
“Definitely not sharing that one.”
BEE: Noted.
Marcus had been quiet through most of the game, watching from the edge of the group with an expression that defied easy reading.
She caught his eye across the cargo hold. He raised his cup slightly, a private toast, and she felt something warm settle in her chest.
This was her team. Her people. The family she hadn’t known she was building until they were already there.
Petra leaned over to examine Tess’s cards, her shoulder pressing against Tess’s arm with casual intimacy. “You’re bluffing. I can tell.”
“You can not.”
“Your nose twitches when you’re lying.” Petra was close enough that Tess could smell her shampoo, something floral and expensive that had no business being in a Sector 7 cargo hold. “Right… there.”
Tess’s nose did not twitch. Probably.
“You’re trying to distract me.”
“Is it working?”
From across the circle, Mikhail made a sound that might have been a groan. “Can we just play the game?”
“We are playing.” Petra didn’t move away. “This is part of the game.”
“The psychological warfare part?” Kade asked.
“The fun part.”
Tess laid down her cards. A full party, matching suits, three face cards. “Beat that.”
Petra stared at the spread for a long moment. Then she threw her entire hand at Tess’s face with a shriek of outrage that devolved into laughter, and the game dissolved into chaos.
Later, when the alcohol had run dry and the noodle bowls were empty, they sprawled across the cargo hold in various states of comfortable exhaustion. Mikhail had claimed a corner with his back to the wall. Old habits, Tess suspected. Kade was already snoring softly on a pile of cushions. Marcus had retreated to his bunk with a wave and a muttered “you kids.”
Petra lay on her back next to Tess, staring at the cargo hold ceiling.
“Tomorrow,” Petra said.
“Tomorrow.”
“We found the path. Bee’s got the route mapped. We know where the Alpha spawns.”
“Yeah.”
Petra turned her head, and their eyes met. This close, in the dim light, her expression was unguarded. Nervous in a way she never let herself show during runs.
“You really think we can do this?”
Tess thought about everything they’d built over the past week. The burst chargers and the mapped routes and the restored sensors giving Bee eyes across the entire floor. The coordination they’d developed, the trust they’d earned.
“Yeah,” she said. “I really do.”
Petra smiled, not her usual sharp grin, but something softer. Then she punched Tess in the shoulder, breaking the moment with characteristic grace.
“Good. Because I’m not dying to an Alpha spawn for anything less than total confidence.”
“Noted.”
They lay there in comfortable silence, listening to Kade snore and the freighter hum and the distant sounds of Sector 7 going about its endless business.
Tomorrow, they’d face the Alpha. Tonight, they had this.