The flying cars filed out of the junkyard and quickly dispersed, circling wide before converging on the main flight corridor leading to High Claw Corporation's headquarters.
For a moment, they looked like ordinary traffic.
Then, as one, they turned sharply and hurtled toward the building.
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*Warning. Warning.*
*Multiple aircraft have deviated from their designated flight paths. Target: High Claw corporate offices.*
The alarm blared inside the Star Destroyer hovering high above the city.
On the destroyer's launch racks, Hornet drones, already warmed up and waiting, dropped from their magnetic clamps and plunged straight down.
Drones didn't need to worry about G-forces. They only needed to respect the limits of metal and momentum.
The squadron fell like swords dropped from heaven, gravity and engines working together.
They screamed toward the lower levels, but the flying cars had a head start and the distance was short.
The cars reached the upper floors of the High Claw building before the Hornets could intercept.
They changed course, noses turning toward the tempered glass facade.
Weapon systems ejected from concealed compartments: missile pods, laser cannons, rapid-fire railguns.
Then they opened fire.
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A pale blue light membrane flickered into existence around the building.
The barrage struck the shield like hailstones hitting a frozen lake—ripples spread outward, concentric and violent, but the membrane held.
Missiles detonated against its surface. Laser beams splashed and scattered.
Inside one of the lead cars, a gunner stared at the readings. "Sir, the enemy is shielded."
The commander's voice was cold. "The shield won't withstand a sustained energy attack. Ram it."
"Sir?"
"You heard me. Full speed."
"Yes, sir."
The flying cars accelerated, engines whining, and charged straight at the light membrane.
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At the moment of impact, something unexpected happened.
The cars passed through the membrane without resistance.
It was a selective barrier, designed to stop energy weapons but allow physical matter to pass.
A deliberate choice, the attackers realized too late. High Claw wanted intruders *inside*, where they could be contained.
Multiple crashes echoed through the building's upper floors.
The outer glass shattered, sending cascades of shards raining down onto the airspace below.
Spectator vehicles that had stopped to watch the fireworks scrambled to retreat, horns blaring and engines screaming.
The moment the attack began, security robots around the building activated.
They sent alerts to headquarters, powered up their weapon systems, and engaged the attacking cars.
Both sides had protective shields.
For several minutes, they exchanged fire in a brutal stalemate, laser against laser, missile against missile. Neither gained a decisive advantage.
Then the attackers switched tactics.
They fired missiles not at the robots, but at the ground beneath them. The simultaneous explosions created an overload of shrapnel and shockwaves that the robots' shields couldn't fully absorb.
One by one, the security drones went dark.
The path was clear.
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The flying cars crashed through the broken windows and skidded to a halt inside the building. Doors blew outward.
A team of heavily armed personnel in black armor poured out, moving with practiced precision.
"Entry confirmed."
"Target is three floors below our current position."
"Proceed with Plan A."
"Understood."
The Fifth Division, elite private military contractors, moved like a single organism.
They advanced through corridors, cleared corners, and neutralized internal security drones with ruthless efficiency.
Their professionalism was absolute.
They reached the first security door of the server room without losing a single member.
The door was ship-grade, the same alloy used on military vessel bulkheads. Without the correct passcode, no conventional weapon could breach it.
Even high explosives would struggle.
The team leader studied the door for half a second, then nodded.
One of the militants stepped forward and unclipped a cylindrical hilt from the back of his backpack. He pressed the activator.
*Hiss-crackle-hum.*
A blade of green energy shot forth, casting emerald light across their armored visors.
A lightsaber.
The militant gripped it with both hands and drove the blade into the security door.
The superheated plasma pierced the supposedly impenetrable alloy like a knife through soft butter.
He traced a slow, careful circle, the metal glowing white-hot around the cut.
With a heavy *thud*, the door, estimated weight at least ten tons, fell inward.
The severed edge glowed deep red, then slowly darkened to cherry as the lightsaber withdrew.
"Breach achieved. Prepare to enter."
"Yes, Captain."
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Since this was a hostile intrusion, there was no need for disinfection protocols.
They simply advanced by force, clearing each section as they went, until they reached the laser corridor.
The team stopped.
Fifty meters of hell stretched before them.
High-energy laser nozzles lined the walls, floor, and ceiling… hundreds of them, each capable of bisecting a humanoid in less than a second.
The captain knew that if they couldn't break through here, the mission was over.
They exchanged glances.
Then, in unison, they reached into their backpacks and pulled out rectangular modules, each about the size of a washbasin.
They assembled them together, locking the modules into a single black cuboid.
The cuboid hummed and lifted into the air, hovering at chest height.
It generated a blue energy shield that expanded outward, enveloping the entire team.
"Shield active," the operator announced. "Fifty percent coverage. We'll have to stay tight."
"Form up," the captain ordered. "Behind the shield, maximum speed. Remember: beyond this corridor are over a hundred new-model combat robots."
"Unknown capabilities. Do not underestimate them."
"Roger."
"Understood."
"Copy."
They stepped forward.
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The moment the first boot touched the corridor floor, pressure sensors triggered. The identity verification system ran a check, no match.
Unauthorized personnel. Threat level: maximum.
Crimson laser beams filled the passage instantly.
The armed men stared at the dense web of death before them. A chill ran down every spine.
Frankly, none of them wanted to be on this mission. The mortality rate was astronomical.
And even if they succeeded, there was no guarantee their employers would let them walk away afterward.
"Maintain formation," the captain barked. "No matter what happens, do not break from the shield's coverage."
"Do not stop. Do not look back."
They advanced.
High-energy lasers struck the blue shield, leaving dents and ripples in the energy field. The cuboid hummed louder, straining under the assault.
For a terrifying moment, the team felt certain the small shield wouldn't hold.
Then a weak point emerged.
Two beams converged on the same spot, then a third. The shield flickered.
A gap opened~just for an instant. A single militant took a beam directly through the chest. He collapsed without a sound.
"Keep moving!" the captain roared.
No one looked back. No one stopped to help.
The fallen man's body was already being consumed by the remaining lasers, turned to ash before he hit the ground.
They pressed on.
By the time they reached the far end of the corridor, they had lost approximately one-fifth of their number. Five good soldiers, reduced to nothing.
But they were through.
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At the end of the corridor stood another security door, identical to the first.
The team stopped, disassembled the cuboid shield, and stowed the modules back in their packs.
"Check shield power reserves," the captain ordered.
"Down to thirty percent. That laser corridor was stronger than intel suggested."
A murmur of complaints ran through the comm channel.
Other team members voiced their dissatisfaction, the mission parameters had been off, the danger understated, the equipment barely adequate.
"Enough," the captain cut in. "I hear you. But we complete the mission. Remember who we serve."
Silence.
They knew who they served. A private militia, well-funded and well-equipped, but ultimately disposable.
Their purpose was to spend their lives for their benefactor's profit.
"Check weapons. Prepare EMP grenades."
The team moved in perfect synchronization. Magazines checked. Grenades primed.
"Status."
"Ready."
"Ready."
"Ready."
Thirty seconds. Professional.
The captain drew his lightsaber again. The green blade illuminated the team's faces.
"I'll breach the door. On my mark, throw EMP grenades. We disable the robots before they can activate."
He positioned himself in front of the security door, lightsaber raised.
"Three."
He pressed the blade to the alloy.
"Two."
He began to cut.
"One."