[LTC - P17 - Farstine - FZ] L&O - Oxygen Theft Bust

On the surface of Farstine…

On Farstine, breathable oxygen was worth more than gold, even more than fuel and raw ore. More than the mountains of credits the megacorporations stripped from the planet every cycle.

Out in the poisoned wastelands, air wasn't a luxury, it was life.

As mining conglomerates and production empires clawed at one another for control of Farstine's resources, theft had evolved far beyond cargo raids and industrial sabotage. Corporate security forces had begun stealing oxygen reserves directly from rival operations, quietly suffocating competitors beneath paperwork and plausible deniability.

Officially, FESP had no authority in Corporate Territories.

Those sprawling extraction zones and refinery fields belonged to contracts and legal agreements so tangled and contradictory that no one could remember where borders truly began or ended. Corporations argued over them in boardrooms while security teams settled disputes with rifles.

But lawlessness was still lawlessness, and Captain Bren Vohl had spent too many years watching corporations write their own rules.

Tonight, he intended to remind them someone still wore a badge on Farstine.

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The extraction pump groaned against the dead silence.

Secured deep in the cracked terrain, the machine slowly drew breathable oxygen from a Mordrake Industrial Holdings canister. Thick pipelines stretched into the haze like veins disappearing into the wasteland.

Managing Sergeant Jax Merro scanned the horizon uneasily.

Cold methane winds scraped against his pressure mask while ash and chemical dust flecked against his scarred, calloused skin. Around him, Raxon security officers worked quickly around portable siphoning units, securing the stolen supply.

Jax tightened his grip around his blaster. He had a bad feeling about this.

Corporate work taught you to trust bad feelings- they usually kept you alive.

This operation was supposed to be simple: get in, take their competitor's oxygen, and leave.

There'd be no witnesses, and no messy problems.

Weeks earlier, Raxon's ongoing war with Mordrake Industrial Holdings had spilled beyond boardrooms and labor negotiations. What began as labor unrest, nudged along by a carefully placed flow of Raxon credits into Mordrake worker circles, had turned ugly.

Strikes became riots, and riots became crackdowns.

Now Jax had been ordered to escalate matters: Steal the one resource workers couldn't survive without.

The wind shifted.

Then... CRACK

A blaster bolt tore across the haze overhead. Red light flashed through the poisoned sky.

"Drop your weapons and step away from the oxygen pump!"

Jax spun. Captain Bren Vohl emerged from the haze, coat whipping violently behind him. FESP deputies moved alongside him in staggered formation, weapons raised and steady.

And another figure moved with them, Masked, a dark mechanical arm glinting in the sickly light.

Jax didn't recognize him, but something about him bothered him immediately.

"Captain Vohl..." Jax said flatly, leveling his blaster. "You know better than anyone this is Corporate Territory." He gestured around them. "Your band of bantha wranglers doesn't have jurisdiction out here."

Vohl kept walking, slow and measured. The kind of walk lawmen made when they'd spent years staring down desperate men.

"I've run into enough corporate security boys to know stolen property when I see it," he said. His blaster never wavered.

"Mordrake's gonna be mighty interested in hearing somebody's siphoning off their oxygen."

The line tightened, and safety switches clicked. Rifles between both groups shifted, and not a single person breathed.

Above them, Carm caught movement.

One of the Raxon guards had climbed an access tower and settled behind their rifle, overlooking the entire standoff.

Carm moved immediately. His boots hit ladder rungs with sharp metallic clangs as he climbed as fast as he could.

The guard looked up just in time.

"Easy," Carm said calmly, mechanical fingers flexing near his holster. "No one wants this turning into a shootout."

The guard raised his weapon anyway.

Down below, Vohl watched his deputies slowly spread outward.

Jax saw it too.

"Call them off, Captain," he warned. "You know exactly what happens if you arrest us." He laughed bitterly. "We'll be released before you even land back at your station."

Vohl tilted his head. Maybe on another world he would've smiled. "That sounds like tomorrow's problem."

The wind howled through exposed piping nearby. Then Vohl took another step forward. "But tonight you've got two choices."

Silence was his response. He continued. "You come with us," a beat, "Or you stay here."

Jax frowned. "And?"

Vohl slowly pulled a commlink from his coat. "And Mordrake delivers some frontier justice of their own."

For the first time all night, Jax's confidence cracked.

Vohl saw it instantly, and so did everyone else.

"You're bluffing..." Jax said, but his voice wasn't quite as steady now. "We swept the area. Mordrake security is leagues away."

Vohl looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "That might be true. Or that's just what they want you to think." He lifted the commlink.

"I called them on the way over."

Nothing moved. Nothing but the wind. Nothing but the machinery groaning around them.

Jax looked around at his men, then looked at the siphoning equipment.

He glanced back at Vohl, then slowly lowered his blaster. "Alright, lawman."

His weapon hit the ground with a dull metallic clatter. "You win this one."

Behind his mask, Vohl finally smiled.

Above them, Carm watched the entire exchange from the catwalk. Bren was cool under pressure, never rushed. Always thinking two moves ahead, and Carm found himself impressed. If law enforcement ever stopped working out for Bren Vohl, the Flame of Zhar could always use another captain.

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Dimensions: W 18x L 18 x H ~16