One

The transport descended amidst a chorus of thruster engines and otherworldly hums, revealing the approaching cityscape through the observation windows. A barrage of holographic advertisements dominated the skyline, their relentless assault of vivid imagery and flashing slogans carving through the craft's windows. This surge of artificial light, sharp as daggers, pulsed relentlessly into Mo's retinas, compelling him to raise a hand in defense. The inhabitants of the city below had no such relief.

Neon lights, powered by Axiom Drills Incorporated’s energy converters, bathed the city in a glow that starkly contrasted with the planet's perpetual darkness. Their massive auto-mining machines dotted the city's perimeter, eternally grinding and gnawing into the planet’s crust.

Mo, eyes still narrowed from the barrage of light, navigated his OptiViz. A virtual map sprang to life in his field of vision, and he navigated through it with practiced ease. His fingers traced invisible routes through the air in front of him, drawing curious glances from onlookers. As the craft touched down, the rear hatch groaned open, and its sound echoed through the docking bay. Mo joined the flow of passengers and stepped out into the spaceport.

It was a vast open space, echoing with the sounds of thrusters and the metallic clamor of machinery. Neon signs flickered erratically in worn gangways. Old shipping drones, squared and rusted, floated overhead clumsily, uncaring in their paths. He flinched as one roared by uncomfortably close. No one else reacted. Notably absent from the port was a Universal Enforcement Agency envoy office, a reminder that he was on his own here. This place was far from the core sectors.

Receiving only a curt 'Call a car' from the ground staff, Mo exhaled a breath of quiet acceptance. Dismissing the notion of seeking external aid—be it from the ESED, Eclipsis's local administration, or the impersonal efficiency of a summoned car—he instead chose the insight that came from solitary navigation on a new world. As he made his way to the port’s exit, his attention was abruptly drawn to a commotion a few meters away.

A group of ESED Enforcers had cornered a young local. Their interrogation was loud and accusatory, though the details of the conversation couldn’t be heard. A small crowd had begun to gather. The Enforcers' postures were aggressive, but the young local stood defiant, attempting to mask his fear by a veneer of bravado. Just a stupid kid.

The situation seemed on the brink of escalating, with one of the Enforcers holding up their electric baton, when a robed figure emerged from the crowd. Commanding yet calm, they spoke to the Enforcers, who, after a tense moment, released their grip on the young local, who quickly disappeared into the crowd. The crowd had nearly silenced by now, everyone trying to listen in.

An Enforcer barked at the robed man, "Enough meddling, Zalist." He glanced briefly at his partner, then fixed his gaze back on the man with a sneer. "Know your fuckin' place," he growled, shoving him aside before moving on.

The crowd began to disperse, and Mo watched the robed figure for a moment longer, before they too melted away into the sea of people.

Mo stepped out of the port. The city unfolded before him under a sky locked in perpetual twilight — a stark canvas of shadows, bright neon, and dense fog. The fog only thickened beyond the central urban sprawl, rendering most of the planet's terrain a challenge to traverse. The air carried a distinct aroma: a heady mix of ionized particles and the sharp tang of pollution, all laced with an elusive yet musty overtone. En route to his impending appointment, Mo planned to seize the opportunity to acquaint himself with the city and the situation at hand.

The dilapidated slums outside the port stirred with the distant and pervasive drumming of the Axiom auto-mining machines. The streets were neither bustling nor deserted. The occasional passersby and old-model, combustion-type vehicles trundled along the road.

A vendor with a stall set up near the exit corridor spotted Mo’s badge."You're a long way from central command, aren't you?" the vendor called out, beckoning him over with a wave. "Got some gear here that even Nexus tech-heads haven't seen yet."

Approaching the stall, Mo scanned the cluttered displays. "I need information, not tech," he stated curtly, offering a restrained smile.

The vendor's demeanor shifted from playful to solemn in an instant. Leaning forward, he murmured confidentially, "Ears to the ground?" Motioning for Mo to lean in closer, he hissed, "Eclipsis will chew you up and spit you out, agency-man. Fuck off."

Mo, unphased, leaned back and carried on without a retort. He quickly began to catch fleeting glances cast in his direction, eyes narrowing with suspicion on his UEA badge before averting. Passing by an alley, he casually glanced down it and noticed a cluster of locals huddled together. Their hands discreetly exchanged a small object, the swift movements betraying the intended covert nature of their transactions. Mo kept moving. Approaching the next alley, he peeked again. Two figures were sprawled on the ground. Their bodies twitched sporadically, and unintelligible sounds spilled from their mouths. So far, Eclipsis was as he’d been briefed— shadow-dwellers and all.

It was then Mo began to notice a low humming resonance, something separate from the industrial backdrop. Pausing, he touched a building's outer surface and felt vibrations distinctly matching the tones meeting his ears. The structures themselves seemed to be the source.

"What's this noise?" he asked a passing local, who replied with a mix of surprise and disdain,

"It's not noise, offworlder," the man replied, barely breaking his stride, “Helps with the fog,” he shouted behind him before leaving earshot.

As he continued to feel the wall's thrum, he watched the man disappear into the distance unphased. To Mo, the soundscape was quite alien. Certainly unlike anything he had experienced. His assignments had taken him to numerous worlds, most of them obscure and unknown to the general populace. Ironically, it was these obscure realms that often became the epicenters of his pursuits. Unfortunately, his fascination with this new sensory experience was abruptly interrupted by the commands of nearby ESED Enforcers. Harsh voices sliced through the air, and boots stamped in unison as the patrol proceeded through the street.

The few locals present on the street cautiously gave the patrol a wide berth. The wear on the buildings under the erratic dance of busted neon lights seemed to accentuate a tension that hung in the air. This place was run down. A detail that his briefings didn’t quite capture. The energy here felt oppressive. Negative. He watched as the patrol lined up outside of a building, a facility for a local cab company, with guns ready. He continued on quickly, not wanting to draw undue attention to himself.

He took a corner quickly and inadvertently entered into the courtyard of what seemed to be a large apartment complex. Its walls were covered with glowing neon graffiti. He took it in, looking over the individual pieces as he walked. Some proclaimed messages of change and rebellion. "Change is upon us," one mural pulsed, another proclaiming, "The old era will crumble." Then, repeated at least a dozen times about the walls was a distinctive crescent emblem, its outer side jagged like sun rays. It was a symbol he recognized from his briefings. The cult's mark. Its prevalence amidst calls for upheaval signified more than mere graffiti; it was a call to arms.

He paused with a sudden awareness of the danger he might have put himself in via his insistence on solitary navigation. He pressed on, pace quickened now. The hushed tones of a huddled group in the courtyard reached his ears as he made it to the exit on the other side. "It's just the beginning," one man murmured. "Fuckin’ UEA power-man," the man yelled louder now, his words laced with disdain and hostility.

A soft chime and visual alert came from Mo’s OptiViz. His appointment. Mo glanced at the display hovering in his peripheral. The map pulsed gently, orienting him. With a subtle flick of his eyes, he zoomed in on his current location. He was just a few blocks away from the Central Business District, where his appointment was to take place. With deliberate strides, he headed towards the headquarters of the ESED.

The oppressive energy of the city’s dense fog pressed heavily upon him, more than he had anticipated when being briefed on the planet a few cycles ago. Now surveying the ESED headquarters, he pondered whether these Enforcers, molded by corporate necessity rather than noble intent, could ever embody the ideals that had inspired him when he enlisted in the UEA. Originally established by three mining corporations deeply invested in Eclipsis, the ESED's motivations had long stirred controversy among the locals. Nevertheless, they were the only agency attempting to maintain order on this world.

The building loomed before him: a monolith of towering walls, stark and squared, in steely gray tones. As Mo approached, the city's harmonious vibrational hum faded, replaced by a monotone, systematic drone emanating from the headquarters.

The ground rumbled ever so slightly beneath Mo's feet as he neared. It was a deliberate assertion of power — the ESED marking their territory, he thought. He stiffened his spine, ready to face Commissioner Harlon. He would need to tread carefully, regardless of personal opinion, to avoid any semblance of confrontation.

Crossing into the building, all sounds from Eclipsis faded with the closing door. The temperature dropped noticeably. His OptiViz alerted him, sophisticated biometric analyzers were scanning all of his implants, even pulling his credentials and ID.

Inside, fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow on metal and polished floors. The only sound accompanying Mo's echoing footsteps was the occasional murmur of conversation and the distant hum of electric and piping infrastructure in the walls. The personnel briefly eyed him, their gaze quickly shifting away from the UEA Tracer — a symbol of intergalactic oversight, an anomaly in their routine.

Walking past in the hallway was a woman of slight stature, moving with haste and precision. Her uniform was impeccably neat, the sharp lines and seriousness of her face suggesting an officer not to be trifled with. Stopping in his tracks, Mo met her gaze as she tried to pass by unbothered. "Enforcer, I'm Tracer Darin, I’m with the UEA. I have a meeting with Commissioner Harlon."

She came to a stop, irritation flickering briefly in her eyes. "Yes sir,” she said, her tone laced with both disdain and a hint of mockery. “This way," she added, turning sharply and leading the way with quick, efficient strides.

Reaching their destination, she gestured towards a door. "Commissioner Harlon," she informed him tersely before departing promptly. Mo noted her displeasure, a reaction he doubted she would have dared to show in an agency within the Core Sectors. But this was clearly far from that. He entered the office. Amid the frenetic activity of numerous holosphere displays and the clutter of case carbons scattered around sat Commissioner Harlon. His face, a map of deep lines and creases, bore silent testimony to countless battles waged against time and adversity. His hair, tinged with gray, and a day's worth of stubble gave him a rugged, weathered look. His gaze was piercing and alert, cutting through the disorder of his surroundings. The lines etched deeply around his mouth suggested that his current frown was not just a fleeting expression, but rather a permanent fixture.

Harlon remained seated behind his desk. As Mo extended his hand in greeting, Harlon's voice cut through the room, gruff and tired. "Tracer uhh..” he began before momentarily glancing through carbons in front of him, “Darin, is it? Should have signaled your arrival, had us pick you up from the port."

Mo's hand lingered in the air briefly before he withdrew it, a quick smirk betraying his adjustment to Harlon's straightforward demeanor. "Commissioner, immersing myself in Eclipsis first hand seemed crucial for understanding this case," he replied, balancing respect with assertiveness in his tone. "Though I must admit, the situation here has proven to be quite complex," he added, carefully measuring his words.

Harlon's eyes, heavy with the weight of command, met Mo's. "You've just seen the surface on your little walk, Tracer. We're stretched beyond our limits here." His voice was low, resigned. He listed the names slowly, as if each carried a burden, “Caldwell, Renard, Thorne, and now Ms. Vox...” There was a momentary pause, the weight of each name seeming to deepen his exhaustion, a silent testament to the recent turmoil that Eclipsis has faced. "The disappearances," he continued, "they're a symptom, you get me?"

Mo nodded, acknowledging the undercurrent of desperation in Harlon's words. "The cult," he assumed.

Harlon leaned back, his fingers drumming on the desk, the rhythm a hollow echo in the room. His gaze was distant now. "It's not just them. There's been a sense of... hopelessness, among the city. For a while now.” He paused, looking in Mo’s direction but his gaze seemed to be fixed somewhere further. “The cult, they're only exploiting it. And they’re twisting it. Into something dark, something that's eating away at the soul."

"Ms. Vox's disappearance," Mo ventured, "I’m here, so I’m assuming it’s pushed things over the edge?"

Harlon's nod was almost imperceptible. "Celestium Ore Enterprises - y’know, company she ran,” he clarified, “They’re one of the pillars holding this place together,” his arms motioning as if to indicate the building around him. “Her vanishing.. it's like.. no one's safe now."

Celestium Ore Enterprises, in conjunction with Axiom Drills Incorporated and a smaller local entity, Helianthar Minerals, had co-founded and currently co-managed the ESED. 

Harlon activated a Holo recording, showing the scene where Elara’s car was found, the obvious struggle within the vehicle casting a grim picture. Blood spatter on the seats and floor, small tears in the upholstery, rear window cracked with hair strands and coagulated blood on the interior side.

“The blood inside is Elara’s, we confirmed that. Body of the driver was found in the trunk.” Harlon explained. His expression darkened, his voice tinged with a blend of fatigue and urgency. "The 'Ascendents,' that's what they call themselves. Been stirring up more trouble lately, not just the kidnappings. Couple cycles ago a Zalist temple was attacked. Nobody's come forward, but the fingers are pointing at them. And their followers, they're getting bolder, showing up all over the streets." He paused, rubbing his temple as if to ward off a headache. A hint of introspection crossed his features. "You know, I'm not one to dabble in mysticism, but those Zalist folks, they've been part of Eclipsis since the beginning. Never hurt anyone..” He trailed off, seemingly catching himself. There was a brief flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. Regaining his composure, he cleared his throat.

Mo felt a surprising twinge of empathy for the man before him. He weighed the possibilities: either Harlon was playing him, or his so-called 'Enforcers' had strayed alarmingly far from their leader's ideals based on the situation Mo saw at the port. Nevertheless, the very fact that Harlon had resorted to calling in the UEA spoke volumes of his desperation.

Mo absorbed the scene, letting the weight of the case settle comfortably on his shoulders. "The UEA stands with you, Commissioner," he offered firmly.

A faint, almost scornful smile flickered on Harlon's lips. "Promises, Darin. Eclipsis has heard too many of them. We need action before this hell hole eats itself alive."

Mo's resolve didn't falter. "I've closed tougher cases than this. This one won’t be an exception."

Harlon passed over a secure datavault drive, heavy with information. "This is what we know about the cult and the vanishings. Four victims. Elara Vox, of course, is the latest, and the reason you’re here."

Taking the drive, Mo nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Commissioner. If I have any questions, I’ll be in touch."

Harlon's response, gruff yet sincere, followed Mo out the door, "Good luck, Tracer. For all our sakes.”