Page 12 of Marked By the Bounty Hunter

We waited in tense silence, counting minutes. I could hear the subtle differences in their footsteps - three sets of boots, one limping slightly.

Odd.

At fifteen, the overhead lights dimmed briefly - the signal for shift change. Time to move.

“This way.” I led him through a maze of access tunnels, timing our movements between patrol patterns. The station’s constant hum covered our footsteps.

We reached one of Dasari’s marked access points - an old hydroponic bay converted to storage. The lock yielded to my override codes.

My fingers brushed against my skin where the cut still stung, but my mind was racing with everything we’d discovered. Those hexagonal insignias we’d seen on the agents kept appearing in more places - on collars in the corridors, glimpsed during patrols. The Consortium wasn’t even trying to hide anymore, which meant whatever they were planning must be close to completion.

Inside, the air felt wrong.

Too damp. Vegetation rotted in abandoned growing trays. But someone had been living here - a makeshift bed tucked behind broken equipment, food wrappers scattered nearby.

“Look.” Tyrix held up a handful of shed scales. Poraki. Near the bed, a water container had been modified to accommodate gills.

A data pad lay half-hidden under the bedding. Most files were corrupted, but fragments remained readable:

“...accelerated evolution protocols showing promise in Research Bay 23-A... test subjects developing unexpected improvements... enhanced adaptation rate exceeds projections... transfer approved subjects to Blue Section facility for full implementation...”

The tablet’s corrupted memory yielded more fragments: “Neural plasticity screening protocols updated. Recommend immediate transfer of subjects showing 70% or higher adaptability scores.”

Tyrix’s sharp intake of breath drew my attention. He was studying the last few entries intently, his markings darkening with tension.

“Look at this notation style,” he said, voice low. “These margin notes - the precise formatting, the specific terminology. This is Dr. Gondon’s work. I’ve seen enough of her research papers to recognize it.” He pointed to a partially corrupted entry. “See how she questions the use of the learning center? ‘Original protocols specified voluntary adult subjects only.’”

The next entry was barely readable, but Tyrix managed to make out “Blue Section facility” and “enhanced monitoring systems” before the text degraded completely.

The final entry cut off mid-sentence.

“Well. That’s not encouraging.”

The hydroponic bay stretched deeper into the station’s skeleton, abandoned growing racks casting strange shadows.Tyrix moved ahead of me, his bare shoulders tense under the borrowed vest. Even in the dim light, I could trace the patterns of his markings disappearing beneath the fabric.

Focus. This wasn’t the time to get distracted.

“There’s another growing section through here,” I whispered, pointing to a partially sealed doorway. “If someone’s been living in the area...”

He nodded, helping me squeeze through the gap. His hands lingered at my waist a moment too long. The touch sent electricity down my spine.

The air grew thicker as we pressed deeper into the abandoned section. Moisture dripped from corroded pipes, collecting in pools that reflected our movements. Something about the quality of the darkness felt wrong. Watched.

“Look.” Tyrix’s voice was barely a breath. He pointed to a series of scratches on the wall - deliberate marks, not random damage. They formed a pattern that looked almost mathematical in their precision and regularity.

“Some kind of code?”

“Or a warning.” He traced one of the marks with a claw. “No way of knowing.”

A distant clang echoed through the bay. We both froze.

Tyrix pulled me into a recessed doorway, his body curving around mine. The space was tight enough that I could feel his heartbeat, slower than human-normal but picking up speed. His breath stirred my hair.

Footsteps approached - the measured tread of a patrol? No... something else. The rhythm was wrong, uneven. Like Grot’s unnatural movements.

I pressed back against Tyrix’s chest, holding my breath. His arms tightened around me, protective. Possessive.

The steps grew closer. A shadow passed our hiding spot, illuminated briefly by patches of bioluminescence that pulsed with a sickly rhythm.

---