The medical freighter drifted in silence, as though holding its breath.

  Old, clumsy, unescorted.

  Perfect prey.

  Nebula slipped in through duct B-17.

  The metal was cold beneath her palms, coated in dried grease and surgical dust.

  She advanced blind, body folded in on itself, knees scraping steel.

  The duct vibrated with the weary pulse of the engines.

  She reached the inner hatch.

  Checked the manual panel.

  Rusty—ancient—but still functional.

  She slid her knife into the auxiliary slot.

  A trick she’d learned somewhere she no longer remembered.

  — Come on…— she whispered.

  Sparks.

  A brief hum.

  The airlock surrendered with a strangled sigh.

  The door opened.

  A corridor greeted her with white, surgical light.

  Too clean for a place everyone knew was haunted by fear.

  Disinfectant lingered in the air… and something buried beneath it.

  — Inside — she said over the comm.

  She opened the main hatch.

  The outer lock slid aside.

  The pirates flooded in like a starving pack.

  Torv was first.

  He laughed—he always laughed before killing.

  The workers barely lifted their hands.

  The pirates fired.

  Screams.

  Bodies collapsing.

  Blood streaking walls never meant to witness it.

  Nebula observed.

  Not out of indifference—calculation.

  They swept through the corridors, cutting down every living thing.

  Kess kicked a corpse aside.

  — Torv, leave at least one intact to open the lockers.—

  — If they don’t wanna die, they should fight. —Torv growled.

  Noisy. Clumsy. Deadly.

  But not trained.

  Nebula moved ahead of the group.

  Not from loyalty—advantage.

  She knew the cargo deck was narrow, poorly shielded.

  A good place to die.

  Or survive.

  The pirates shattered locks and kicked open crates.

  Kess found the cryogenic chambers.

  Three columns of containers warped the light into green.

  CORV-317.

  A current rippled through Nebula.

  Recognition.

  Familiarity without a clear origin.

  A silent voice.

  — Jackpot! — Kess said, tapping a cylinder. — This is worth more than the whole ship. —

  She ordered Torv to load everything fast.

  The others obeyed.

  Greed has its own gravity.

  Nebula heard another pull.

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  A vibration.

  A shift in internal pressure.

  A low, rising hum.

  Something arrived.

  No—something awakened.

  — Did you hear that? — she asked.

  Kess ignored her.

  Torv barked a laugh.

  — What’s wrong, ‘mu?eca’? Scared? —

  She didn’t answer.

  Adjusted her grip on the improvised weapon.

  The floor shuddered.

  The hum swelled into a roar.

  Lights flickered.

  — Shit —Kess muttered.

  The corridor door exploded inward.

  As if a furious god had kicked it off its hinges.

  Corven soldiers poured in without a single word.

  Black armor.

  Visorless helmets.

  Plasma weapons that seemed to breathe.

  The first shot cracked.

  A pirate’s head vanished in a plume of red mist.

  Chaos ignited instantly.

  Crossfire.

  Screams.

  Tight corridors amplifying panic.

  Nebula reacted on instinct.

  She dove behind an overturned medical cart.

  A plasma bolt scorched the metal edge, leaving behind a sweet, burnt-circuit smell.

  Torv charged a soldier.

  The soldier blocked with his forearm.

  The impact forced him half a step back, helmet tilting a millimeter in surprise.

  In the struggle he disarmed Torv; the machete clattered to the floor.

  But Torv seized the moment.

  He hammered the helmet with his fists, cracking it with each blow.

  The sounds were dry, metallic.

  The soldier struck back, punching Torv in the gut.

  Torv absorbed it with a grunt, spitting blood and saliva across the black armor.

  He lunged again, clutching the soldier like a beast.

  Massive hands clawing at plates, cables—anything.

  He managed to wedge his fingers between two joints and pulled with brute force.

  The armor plate gave a centimeter.

  The soldier trembled for a heartbeat, recalculating.

  Torv grinned.

  Showed bloodied teeth like a predator scenting a fracture in its prey.

  But the Corven was no prey.

  The soldier twisted his wrist.

  The forearm plate opened with a cold click.

  A monomolecular blade unfurled like a steel serpent.

  Torv grabbed the arm.

  Held it for a fraction of a second.

  The blade grazed his bicep, carving a red arc.

  Roaring, Torv squeezed tighter, trying to pin the soldier through sheer force.

  The soldier kneed him in the ribs.

  A wet crack.

  Air escaped Torv’s lungs.

  And in that stolen breath, the Corven broke free.

  A low spin.

  A step forward.

  The blade sweeping horizontally.

  The cut opened Torv’s abdomen.

  Warm, heavy blood spilled out.

  Torv remained standing a moment longer, as if refusing to fall.

  Then both halves of him collapsed, separating with a thick, wet sound.

  — Move, dammit! — Kess shouted.

  Nebula was already moving.

  She rolled behind a CORV-317 container, using its magnetic base as cover.

  Peered out.

  Fired.

  A soldier staggered from the hit but didn’t react; the armor swallowed the impact.

  He aimed at her.

  She dove flat.

  A plasma bolt scorched a line inches from her face.

  Another pirate fell, screaming until silence.

  Kess retreated, firing short bursts.

  A bolt struck her right arm.

  The limb tore off at the elbow in a burst of bone and cauterized flesh.

  A plated boot stomped her face instantly, pinning her down.

  Several pirates died in seconds.

  Others were subdued.

  The Corven advanced with inhuman rhythm.

  Almost choreographed.

  Nebula retreated between containers.

  Improvised rifle in hand.

  A soldier spotted her and aimed—but froze for an instant.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  Shot the visor.

  The helmet burst into black fragments.

  The soldier staggered but didn’t fall.

  She used that half-second to sprint toward the escape bay.

  The surviving pirates were already fleeing in disarray.

  She boarded their ship with a handful of them.

  — Close it! Close it! Close it!— the pirate pilot screamed.

  The doors slammed shut.

  The ship shot into the dark like a fired round.

  Through the round viewport, the freighter shrank.

  Black ships surrounded it.

  Nebula drew a long breath.

  Alive.

  For now.

  Again.

  She glanced at the two pirates who had escaped with her.

  They trembled with adrenaline, breathing as if air were a luxury.

  They began arguing—blaming each other, jittery, avoiding her direction.

  That gave her time.

  Nebula leaned back against the wall as if simply catching her breath.

  Her hand drifted calmly to her thigh.

  The knife was still there, strapped securely.

  She touched it with her fingertips, unhurried.

  An automatic gesture.

  A reminder.