promptfic: uldren/jolyon, game

“Jolyon,” the Master of Crows purrs in a tone that Jolyon knows from experience means danger, “bet you I can catch the cartridge.”

The Supremacy booms. Across the frigid slush fields of Ceres, a lone Vandal scout stumbles and falls, lost to an environment not even the Great Machine was able to fully tame. The cartridge sails through the pitifully thin air, and the dark leather of Uldren’s glove blurs as he moves. He doesn’t open his hand.

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