Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

"This man is a pirate, a spy, and a vile architect of my beloved sister, Princess Elara's, brutal murder. He is a cancer upon our realm, a serpent who has starved our workers, raided our lifeblood, and threatened our sovereignty. For his heinous crimes, he will face justice—slow, merciless, and etched in agony. Let his torment be a blazing warning to all who dare defy our unbreakable rule!"

Syn's legs quaked beneath the sack bag, his knees buckling, the ropes rattling like slithery centipedes, as he fought to stay upright.

The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of hatred, their cheers a primal roar that shook the platform.

The King's propaganda had woven a masterful lie: pirates were the scourge, raiding food and water which came from the asteroids, starving the workers, children, and all the majority of the peopel who weren't Royals or nobled.

While the Agriculture Biome's lush fields grew exotic fruits and experimental crops for the elite, not the masses.

The workers, fed this twisted truth, saw pirates as the root of their misery, and people like Syn who had joined hands with the pirates, as their ultimate villain, his execution a cathartic release for their suffering.

"Execute! Execute! Execute! Execute!" the workers chanted, their voices a frenzied hymn, fists pounding the air, their eyes alight with manipulated rage.

The nobles smirked, their wine glasses clinking in a toast to cruelty, their silk-clad forms leaning forward, eager for blood.

The King leaned back, a proud, predatory smile curling his lips, his gaze fixed on Ila, his heir, apparent, the daughter who mirrored his ruthless ambition, poised to take another step to her legacy with this brutal spectacle.

Ila stepped closer to Syn, her boots clicking on the steel, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper that carried to the crowd via hidden amplifiers.

"Yet I am not without mercy," she said, her smile a cold, venomous slash, her teal eyes glinting with sadistic intent.

"If any pirate captain—Vera, Aster, Pako, or... any ten pirate grunts from here—surrenders to me, I will spare this wretch's life. A fair trade for this soul. But know this: the one who surrenders will die in torment, a death so vile it will haunt the stars for generations."

She paused, letting the words sink in, her gaze sweeping the crowd, then gestured to a colossal holo-screen behind her, its surface blazing with a contact code in scarlet digits, pulsing like a heartbeat.

"I know you're watching, captains. You have ten minutes. Tick, tick, tick."

A timer flickered to life at the screen's base, its digital beep a relentless pulse, slicing through the tense silence, counting down from ten minutes.

The crowd's murmurs grew feverish, eyes darting between the screen and the bound figure, their anticipation a palpable weight.

Ila leaned close to Syn, her breath hot against his ear through the sack bag, her voice a cruel, intimate taunt.

"Do you think they'll come for you, Syn?" she whispered, her lips brushing the coarse fabric.

A muffled groan escaped the sackbag, a broken sound of despair.

Ila's smile widened, her eyes glinting with sadistic certainty.

"Yes, they won't come," she purred, her words a private dagger, twisting in his fading hope, meant only for him.

Among the workers, Kaizer, Tila, Ryk, and Mara stood frozen, their faces ashen, eyes wide with horror, their hearts sinking like stones.

They were Syn's allies, tasked with guarding him in the Kingdom, and their failure now stared back at them from the execution block, a living nightmare.

Syn was the heart of the rebellion, vital to Captains Vera, Aster, and Pako—Vera's anchor, Aster's hope, Pako's spark.

They'd let him slip into Ila's clutches, and now he faced death.

Kaizer's fingers trembled on his comm device, dialing Vera repeatedly, the unanswered calls a growing void. Should he surrender, throw away his life for Syn? He wanted to ask Vera.

Tila's breath hitched, her hands clenched into fists, her nails drawing blood.

Ryk's jaw tightened, his eyes burning with helpless rage, while Mara's sharp gaze scanned the crowd, calculating impossible odds.

Could they act?

Sacrifice themselves to save him? or Rebel one last time before they die?

The Palace was a fortress—soldiers encircled the block, their plasma rifles trained, their visors reflecting the crowd's fervor.

Drones hummed overhead, their sensors primed for rebellion, their cannons glinting with lethal promise.

Even if all the workers here turned, the Kingdom's firepower would annihilate them in seconds. They were in the heart of the beast, powerless, their souls fracturing with each tick of the timer.

The countdown marched on—seven minutes, six, five.

Ila leaned in again, her lips brushing Syn's ear, her voice a venomous purr.

"Five minutes, Syn," she whispered, her words dripping with mockery. "Your precious pirate captains don't like you enough to die for you."

With a dramatic flourish, she tore the sack bag from his face, exposing Syn to the blinding glare of the artificial sun.

He squinted, his hazel eyes watering, then widened in abject terror as he saw the sea of faces—thousands strong, twisted with hate, their chants a death knell that drowned his ragged breaths.

Tears glistened at the corners of his eyes, streaming down his bruised cheeks, his body shivering, the ropes digging into his skin, as he fought to stand, his strength crumbling under the crowd's bloodlust.

"It was a mistake, Syn," Ila whispered, her voice loud enough for the front rows to hear, a theatrical condemnation that echoed across the block.

"You should've stayed loyal to me, or died with Elara like a warrior, not a coward who betrayed us all and joined the pirates." Her words were a lash, each syllable dripping with scorn, her teal eyes gleaming with triumphant cruelty.

The timer hit zero, its final beep a guillotine's fall, silencing the crowd for a heartbeat before their cheers surged anew.

"It's goodbye time, Syn," Ila said, her smile radiant, cruel, her voice carrying to every corner of the block as she stepped to the platform's edge.

The floor beneath Syn shifted with a mechanical groan, steel panels sliding apart.

He staggered, his tied feet scrabbling for purchase, but transparent walls shot up from the platform, encasing him in a four-sided, crystal-clear prison, its surfaces gleaming like polished ice.

The crowd gasped, then roared louder, sensing the brutality to come, their voices a tidal wave of sadistic glee.

Ila moved to a console, her movements grand, almost ceremonial, and retrieved a spherical device, its surface studded with jagged, chainsaw-like teeth that whirred faintly, a low, hungry growl that sent a chill through the air.

Syn's eyes locked on it, his face a mask of horror, tears streaming down his cheeks, his breath coming in ragged sobs.

He knew it—a torturous shredder, a relic of the Kingdom's darkest punishments, designed to prolong agony, to rend flesh and bone into nothing, to suit the tastes of the nobles.

Ila held it aloft, letting the crowd see, their cheers reaching a fever pitch, a cacophony of bloodlust that shook the platform.

She pressed a button, and a ten-second timer flickered to life on the device, its beep piercing the air like a death knell.

With a sadistic smile, she tossed it through the container's top opening, slamming the lid shut with a resonant clang that echoed like a tomb sealing shut.

The timer ticked—beep, beep, beep.

Syn's tied hands clawed at the walls, his fingers leaving bloody streaks, his screams muffled by the gag, his body shaking as the crowd's roar drowned him out.

His eyes darted wildly, pleading for a miracle, but none came.

Zero.

The shredder activated, a blur of teeth and metal, its roar a mechanical scream as it tore into him with savage precision.

Blood sprayed in crimson arcs, painting the transparent walls, chunks of flesh and bone scattering like confetti, the device ripping through muscle, sinew, and bone with relentless fury.

Syn's screams cut off, his body collapsing into a pulpy mass, a slush of red meat and gore pooling at the container's base, the shredder still whirring, its teeth grinding through the remains, splattering the walls with a sickening, wet rhythm.

The crowd's cheers peaked, a grotesque celebration that reverberated through the Palace grounds, workers pounding their chests, their faces alight with cathartic rage.

The nobles clapped politely, their wine glasses raised in a mocking toast, their silk robes untouched by the horror.

The King's smile widened, his pride in Ila palpable, her ruthlessness a perfect reflection of his own, a daughter forged in his image.

"That's my girl."