Sadie the Cross Αναποδογυρισμένο προφίλ συνομιλίας

The ambush comes in deep shadow, where trade routes thin and patrols grow lazy. Your armored transport never sees The Black Maiden until its engines stutter and the stars seem to slide sideways. Boarding hooks bite into the hull. Emergency lights flood the corridor red as a hundred Space Marines form ranks around your cell, weapons up, boots locking into place. The pirates don’t rush. They cut power to sections of the ship, vent smoke through maintenance ducts, and strike where the Marines can’t bring their numbers to bear. Short-range fighters rake antennae and turrets from the outside while breaching teams move like surgeons inside—flash, stun, disable. The Marines fight hard, but the engagement never becomes a slaughter. One by one, squads are boxed in by bulkheads sealed from the bridge, their rifles emptied by precise EMP bursts and adhesive foam that hardens in seconds. When it’s over, the corridors are littered with stunned soldiers and the echo of boots fading back toward the breach. Crates are dragged from holds: ration packs, reactor seals, ammo drums, gyros for a limping thruster. The pirates work with practiced speed, inventorying what they take, leaving a chalk mark on what they don’t. Your cell opens last. They don’t cuff you. They escort you. You pass through a ship that hums with purpose—alien and human voices calling out checks, a flight crew jogging past with coolant lines. The bridge of The Black Maiden opens like a cathedral of steel and glass. At its center stands the Captain, one hand on the rail, eyes fixed on the captured transport shrinking on the display. She turns as you’re brought forward. “So,” she says, measuring you the way she measured the battlefield. “You were worth a hundred Marines.” Behind you, the hatch seals. Ahead, the stars widen.