Now or never.

Life as a wanted criminal within the territory of Nova Zudra wasn't an easy deal. Anastasia had been walking the streets of Corona Eternus, albeit silently.

She saw police marching through the streets wherever she went, wearing armors that lacked stockiness, clinging to their bodies instead. Yellow visors cut on their helmets’ tops, showing whenever the cops felt a need to spare a stare at random alleyways.

Fortunately, Anastasia's exosuit was pitch black, clinging to her skin enough for mobility, composed of nanobots, melted on and off, and capable of camouflaging with environments. This suit was one of the more sophisticated kinds, only used by the metaphysically enhanced assassins of Zudrian space proper. It came from the capital of the Zudrian Empire, the mother country of Nova Zudra located some millions of light years away from here.

People in the Cruvelian Galaxy shouldn't have access to these weapons.

"Then again, the black market makes anything possible." Anastasia said to herself.

For once the city lights were dim here, having blinded the skies with their million-joule light pollution. Searchlights, strobe lights, fireworks, neon lights, filled the skies in multicolored vomit.

Quiet, the thing that rendered alleys a pleasant hangout for the poor, characterized Anastasia’s journey. She reluctantly admitted that the Zudrian empire had extravagant taste, albeit a tacky one.

Perhaps spires and arches hadn’t struck Anastasia’s tastes, or maybe all the neon lights and searchlights of all things to be in a city, annoyed her. Only the Almighty knew who of the blue-skinned, white eyed, short-eared Zudrian race decided upon the grand idea of constructing an ecumenopolis as blinding as hot gas giants.

Only the Almighty fathomed that, and the Queen of Zudra stood in second place. Yes, just because a bunch of obese, wealthy, fat Zudrians gave a small princess a title, some girl millions of light years away from Cruvelia claimed sovereignty over Cruvelia.

Very fine colonialism, a system in which white haired, grey-skinned Nashiyega people like Anastasia earned “kill” and “slave” for their social stratum.

Very fine.

In this fine system, criminals, people like Anastasia, caused all the shakeup and anarchy. Being feared meant being valuable, since value and glory arrived from fear. Anastasia knew that her reputation extended far beyond this measly planet; having been part of crusades for her tribe and wars against local lords, Anastasia clung to something; terror and acknowledgement strayed close to her heart, which stored coldness, anger, and a bitterness rivaled only by-

“Unit Assassin Queen!”

Gloved hands pressed a button on her right wrist. Whipping her hair, Anastasia cleared her throat and chapped her dry lips (she really needed hydration) and whirled to a leftward pathway.

“Aerospace Watcher #5173,” she answered, “what is your status?”

The alleys were shrinking now, making way for magnetic streets. They were dark, ideal for an assassin but unideal for any upper-class, pompous rock who wanted to look pretty. Why she had so many thoughts about the Zudrian aristocracy needed further contemplation at another time.

Watcher #5173 crisply spoke. “We’re up in space, caught in the interstellar clouds of Eterna A-” So the fleet was a little under a light year away, and parked there? They needed to be kidding her, because Anastasia didn’t join the war just to be left for dead. “-I know Chieftain, you’re pissed-” She had no time for placations, but she’d give the fleet radioman a chance, no reasons to fire him existed. “-but, we have a jump scheduled soon, we are on the way.”

“Good, these slaves aren’t going to free themselves.”

“Have any way to reach the stadium?”

A police vehicle conveniently strode down the street, which forced Anastasia to jump atop a trash barrel and hide behind.

“The police are everywhere,” she said, “secret or military, no place for me to openly walk-” Searchlights shone upon the alleyway. “-and I’m a wanted criminal.”

“Insurgent.”

“Zudra still claims this place as theirs, so we’re considered so-called states in rebellion.”

The Zudrian government loved their euphemisms, for bluntness was nonexistent in their propaganda posters. Some would say that their posters, featuring scantily clad political figures surrounded by wealth and resources, was propaganda. Perhaps this tactic served as marketing, Nova Zudra was empty, and by empty, the territory had a Zudrian minority.

Cruvelian natives, like Anastasia, did not classify as persons, let alone citizens.

“I have an idea,” she blurted out, “I can take a less… scenic route.”

“Where to?”

“The sewer.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t want to go down there, to go down to the mucky sewage of Zudrian feces and urine. Thanks to the dense population of Corona Eternus, Anastasia’s head felt certainty in there being a lot of waste.

Sacrifices had to be made.

She tiptoed out from her hiding spot by the trash barrel, eyes focused on the street. Black legs slinked forward, landing silently on pavement. Not a bit of sweat dripped from Anastasia’s head, for she only cared about the means to the end.

Her calf was on fire, muscles were twisting and contorting, bending and crafting, and energy was exploding. Walking across the street, Anastasia clenched her fists. She stood next to the sewer, raising her supercharged leg over the sewer lid…

Soles crashed against metal, causing implosion upon contact. Anastasia nodded at her handiwork, looking down at the gaping hole left behind by her foot.

“Wasn’t rule one of assassin fighting to not use spirit energy?”

"Yes, 5173."

"Why are you-"

"Shut up, 5173."

She took a deep breath and dived into the sewage. Anastasia's lips trembled, for diving into seas of poop and piss was not part of the plan. Then again, nothing went to plan during a war- especially not during an operation.

After splashing in a sea of dirtiest water, Anastasia shook herself dry, and swam through the sewage. She hated every second of this journey, this shitty journey she was on. Good thing her suit blocked her from taking in unfiltered water.

Too bad the sulfuric smell of the few solids in the water took over her nose.

Arms furiously slapped the water, making one think that spirit energy was powering their owner. If one were to truly think this, then they'd be in for a surprise, not a bit of spirit energy traversed Anastasia’s limbs during the frantic swim. Fueled by revulsion, Assassin Queen ploughed forward.

"I see you are enjoying yourself, Ana," a deep voice chuckled. Startled, Anastasia raised her daggers and scanned the environment. "loving the sewage?"

Daggers lowered back into their holsters, followed by a groan from their owner. "Matthias, you absolute buffoon!"

His obnoxious snickering took her ears by storm. "It's Solares here, Ana, I am Solares.'

"Don't make me whip out the nickname." Anastasia growled, swimming down a mucky pathway. "Believe me, Solares, I will use it."

"Use what?"

A terrible smile took over her face, and a throat cleared. "What do you mean, Matty?"

"You…" he fumed at her, trying to appear threatening, but failing spectacularly. "You…"

A ledge, leading to a staircase, appeared up ahead. Swimming with gusto, Anastasia shot forth toward the ledge, slammed her palms against the surface, and hoisted her body atop the newfound floor. Relieved, Anastasia jogged up the stairs, cherishing the opportunity of escaping from Zudrian feces and waste.

"So, we have the place occupied."

Voices.

They didn't come from her radio.

"Yeah, there are terrorists gathered around here."

"Why the hell is the government holding this party again?"

Radios talked above, whispering incoherent sentences that Anastasia barely deciphered. Yet only one thing stood out to her: the enemy had radios.

So, the police are here.

"Officer Stretis," one of the two cops whispered, "calm yourself down, have a smoke."

Stretis scoffed, "Why should I have a smoke Deustar?"

Her heartbeat lacked calmness, though Anastasia wished she'd calm down. People like her couldn't hope for peace and calm, especially in a time of war, nonetheless.

"Because you need to relax a little?"

Relax, even when trying to slink under the guardrails of the stairs. Grey goo covered backs faced Anastasia's periphery, smelling of melted metal. The smell reminded her of iron at a forgery, pouring in orange magma yearning to regain solid form.

"Grey goo," she whispered to herself, "they have nanoarmor…"

Nanoarmor was only used by Nova Zudrian defense forces for defensive purposes. Composed entirely of nanobots, the armor self-perpetuated through water molecules that clung to a nanomachine's graspers which, small enough to hold a protein, connected all the nanobots together. In case of injury or penetration, the nanobots would immediately undergo mitosis, creating yet another one of themselves.

Forget repairs, the nanoarmor could regrow itself.

"So," Anastasia said, snapping out her twin daggers, "the police have been fully militarized." The edges of her blades gleamed orange, a reaction to the spirit energy pouring into them from gloved fingers. "Let's see how that serves them."

"I don't get why Zudra had to send reinforcements," Deustar spoke, "it's kind of ridiculous for a slave market."

She was already nearing the one named "Deustar", blades drawn to her sides.

"Because the fucking Solares and his buddies are making this galaxy lose its shit!"

A knife kissed a gooey substance, followed by a silent hiss.

"That fucker is still alive?"

Anastasia smirked.

"Yes, and he has friends!"

The second dagger crawled to Stretis's calf.

"And people thought it was smart to bring Fabio Incardriss here, very nice!"

Muscles tensed.

"The government has this place swarming with security, calm down, it's not like he's going to die-"

One blade pushed.

A target yelled, whipping around with drawn guns. Nostrils filled with burnt metal, but an elbow smacked the target's helmet.

Another arm yanked back the limb. Black soles met nanite boots, breaking the material much like ice. Arms snaked around the next target's neck with a knife caressing upwards.

Gunshots fired.

They didn't hit the invisible one.

They hit her other target instead.

Deustar screamed, cursing the assassin, and shouting obscenities. Dropping the bleeding corpse, the killer marched toward the officer, kinetic reverser armor deflecting every bullet that struck her suit.

With a kick to the groin, Deustar collapsed to his knees. The assassin loomed over him, looking down like a goddess of death.

A bloody shank descended upon Deustar’s neck…

“No, please-”

Eyes went limp, chunky blue skin and red mush, compiled with spilling blood, poured forth from the now dead Zudrian officer. Anastasia looked at the two bodies, that of Deustar and of Stretis. With a nod, she fell to her knees, lifting a body upon one shoulder each, and stalked away.

She’d clean up the blood later.

Moving the bodies didn’t impede her as much as finding a place to hide them did; Corona Eternus was large, a planet-sized city, and the Zudrians vented their resources on policing the area as much as a river to a mouth. After some time of contemplation and careful walking, Anastasia stumbled upon an incinerator, an old machine located nearby a dumpster.

A radioactive hazard symbol, indicating that the incinerator was powered by nuclear reactions, gave her confirmation that the machine indeed could have been useful. Surely, she would have just stolen a flamethrower and burned the corpses, but the goal was to not make a scene, no matter how capable she was of massacring Zudrian policemen one by one.

The time hadn’t come for destruction yet.

Laying the bodies on a conveyor belt, Anastasia jogged up a control tower, which had been fortunately unoccupied during the night. Maybe the nobility didn’t like the smell of nuclear fusion waste that poured from the incinerator’s chimneys.

She pumped her fists, running to the control panels and sitting at the desk. Without using a bit of spirit energy, Anastasia toyed with the buttons on the user interface, commanded the machine to her will, and in due time the conveyor belt was moving.

“Good work,” she told the incinerator, watching as the corpses of Deustar and Stretis moved toward a flaming hell, “one less obstacle in my way.”

She left the landfill in less than a second, having slinked through the smelly, blackened trash and muck that comprised the affront to nature the Zudrians constructed. Some time was spent traversing the roads, dusting her suit, and avoiding officers at every turn.