Ryan-s Rescue Squad «90% FULL»

, the squad’s whisper—their intel specialist—tilted his head, listening to the silent frequency only he could hear. His eyes went distant, then sharp. “The survivor is a kid. Trapped in a sinkhole three klicks north. Ground is collapsing at a meter per hour.”

Behind them, the hovercraft roared to life, Mira’s voice crackling over the comm: “Thrusters green. Where do you need the pickup?”

When they found the boy—no older than seven, trembling on a crumbling pillar of dirt—Ryan dropped to his belly and reached down. Ryan-s Rescue Squad

Ryan grinned—a small, fierce thing.

Ryan’s Rescue Squad wasn’t a team because of orders or ranks. Trapped in a sinkhole three klicks north

They ran into the glowing dark. Behind them, Mira’s tools sang. Ahead, the ground groaned like a dying beast.

Ryan finally stood. He was the youngest commander in the sector, and the most doubted. His crew wasn’t military; they were misfits, burnouts, and the forgotten. But when a distress signal went unanswered, when the official rescue corps logged it as “low priority,” Ryan’s Squad was the one that showed up. Ryan grinned—a small, fierce thing

The hovercraft’s engine coughed black smoke into the amber twilight. Ryan wiped a smear of synthetic oil from his cheek, his fourth pair of goggles already cracked.

Ryan pulled out a battered flare gun and loaded a green cartridge—the signal for children found. “There is no angle. We’re getting that kid out before the planet eats him.”

“Port thruster’s shot,” he said, not looking up.

The boy’s eyes were wide, but he reached up.