Ryan-s Rescue Squad Info

But as the hovercraft’s belly hatch opened and the boy laughed—actually laughed—at the rush of wind, Ryan knew the truth.

, the muscle, kept his massive arms folded, scanning the treeline where the bioluminescent ferns were beginning to glow. “We don’t have five. The fauna here gets chatty after dark. And hungry.”

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.

, 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.” Ryan-s Rescue Squad

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

, the mechanic, was already knee-deep in the access panel, her multi-tool whining. “Ten minutes. Maybe five if I reroute coolant through the waste exchange.”

“What’s the angle?” Jax asked. There was always an angle with Ryan. But as the hovercraft’s belly hatch opened and

“Hey,” Ryan said, calm as sunrise. “I’m Ryan. This is Jax and Kael. We’re the rescue squad. You’re going to be fine.”

Halfway there, a sinkhole opened at Kael’s feet. Jax caught his arm without a word, hauling him up while Ryan fired a grappling line across the chasm. They didn’t stop. They didn’t argue.

The boy’s eyes were wide, but he reached up. The fauna here gets chatty after dark

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

“Directly below us. And Mira? Make it fast.”

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.”