Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

In the Solar System.

A little above Saturn, the ''Kingdom' gleamed—a colossal space station orbiting the Sun, locked in step with the ringed planet's slow, 29.5-year per revolution.

This wasn't a small outpost. The Kingdom sprawled vast enough to cradle two million souls, its frame a tapestry of eight biomes—each a sealed realm radiating from the central hub.

The hull shimmered like new, its worn patches repaired with relentless precision. No rust dared linger long; crews in sleek suits patched every dent, keeping the station's face flawless. This is a testament to the King's unwavering demand for perfection.

At its heart stood the Main Biome, a marvel of crystal and steel. Its dome rose high, a lattice of shimmering panes crowned with golden spires that stabbed into an artificial sky. Beacons pulsed atop each tower, their glow a constant pulse visible across the station—a reminder of who ruled here.

Inside, the Main Biome dazzled. Polished obsidian floors stretched beneath glass walls, reflecting holographic feeds that danced day and night—proclamations, surveillance, the King's decrees.

Lush gardens bloomed under ultraviolet lamps, vines heavy with rare fruit curling around trellises, their scent sweet and forbidden. Fountains carved from asteroid quartz sprayed water so pure it sparkled, a luxury few would ever taste.

Beyond the central dome, white alloy towers ringed the Main Biome, home to the elite—something around one hundred thousand souls, a mere five percent of the Kingdom's people. These were the wealthy, the favored, their homes powered by both public or private reactors, their tables groaning with imported meats and wines and other exotics from the solar system. They lived within the Main Biome's glow, close to power, yet never touching its core.

Adjoining this splendor was the Scenery Biome, a playground for the rich. Open grasslands stretched under a simulated sun, dotted with zoos where exotic beasts prowled—cloned from lost Earth genes. Parks unfurled with manicured paths, and dense forests rustled with synthetic leaves, their canopies hiding picnic groves. The elite strolled here, laughing, hunting, their children chasing drones shaped like birds, oblivious to the station's darker edges.

Beyond the dazzling brilliance of the Main Biome, the Agricultural Biome existed in a world of its own—a place where life thrived in a quiet, industrious hum. The expansive floors of the biome were lined with towering hydroponic vats, their gleaming surfaces reflecting the faint glow of the neon-blue wheat that swayed gently in the mist of nutrient-enriched vapors, carefully calibrated to ensure optimal growth.

Rows of crops, meticulously cultivated through advanced nanotechnology and genetic engineering, reached toward the weak artificial sun overhead. Their delicate leaves shimmered with the soft light of survival, their cells optimized to absorb every fragment of the simulated sunlight that filtered through the bio-dome.

Beneath the surface, swollen tubers pulsed rhythmically in the subterranean dark, growing at an accelerated pace thanks to the perfect balance of temperature, humidity, and engineered nutrients flowing through the system.

In the farthest corners of the biome, automated systems maintained a carefully monitored network of livestock. These animals—bred with precision for meat, poultry, and other products—were raised in clean, self-contained environments that mirrored the ideal conditions for growth.

The low murmur of hydraulic systems and automated feeders filled the air as machines tended to the animals' needs, ensuring that every stage of life was optimized for efficiency. Every part of the operation, from the precision breeding programs to the clean and efficient harvesting techniques, was managed by AI systems designed to eliminate waste and maximize output.

Amidst this synthetic garden, the gray-clad laborers moved like shadows, their figures bent in quiet labor. Their work was no longer defined by the burdens of manual toil, but by the precision of their touch—adjusting settings, performing maintenance, and ensuring that the complex systems continued to run smoothly.

Their hands, worn from the delicate tasks required in this sterile environment, bore the marks of a life spent in service of the biome's advanced technologies. The sound of their work was minimal—a soft hum of machinery, the occasional low beep from control panels—but the weight of the silence hung heavily in the air, broken only by the soft hiss of pneumatic pumps and the rhythmic pulse of data streams flowing through the network.

Next door, the Workers Biome was a chaotic world of noise and heat, a stark contrast to the sterile tranquility of the other biomes. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning metal, and the incessant clanging of hammers on anvils reverberated through the vast, steel-walled barracks. The forges, towering and relentless, roared day and night, spitting sparks into the air and casting the entire space in a grim orange glow.

The floors were slick with a mixture of oil and sweat. Overhead, flickering lights cast long, distorted shadows as the welders—masked and grim-faced—bent over the molten metal, their movements methodical and precise. The air was thick with fumes from the recycler vents, the recycled atmosphere too harsh for comfort, yet it was a necessary evil for survival.

In stark contrast, the Cyber Biome or sometimes also called as the IT Biome stood apart—a pristine sanctuary of cool, filtered air and the quiet hum of technology working silently in the background. The atmosphere was antiseptic, almost clinical, with the constant drone of server towers rising like metal sentinels against the walls.

Their screens flickered constantly, streams of data flowing faster than the eye could follow—each transmission, every camera feed, each whisper in the vast network tracked, monitored, and stored here.

The techs, draped in sleek suits that shimmered under the sterile lights, moved with an eerie grace, their faces hidden behind reflective visors, expressionless and unseen. They were the unseen custodians of the King's all-seeing eyes, ever-watchful and precise, guarding the flow of information that dictated the pulse of the station.

The hum of their machines was like a constant whisper, a secret language shared only by the techs and the screens, while the rest of the station carried on unaware of the quiet power that operated just beneath the surface.

Three other Biomes kept the Kingdom alive, each a gritty necessity. The Manufacturing Biome roared with steel production, its smelters fed by radioactive elements mined from Saturn's ring asteroids. Solar panels drank the Sun's rays, but nuclear reactors thrummed deep within, their heat a steady pulse powering the station's veins.

The Water Vaults Biome was the smallest of all and it echoed with an eerie chill. Icy tanks towered over filtration grids, their drips a hollow song as water was purified—some melted from icy comets hauled from space, some recycled from the station's waste. It was frigid, cavernous, the lifeblood of every breath taken here.

Then came the Weaponry Biome, a fortress of danger. High security gates clanged shut behind workers who forged fighter ships and plasma cannons, their machinery spitting sparks and heat. Weapons gleamed in locked racks, ready for the King's wars, the air heavy with the scent of oil and gunmetal.

On the station's shadowed edge lay the Backdrop Biome—a place of eternal night. No screens on the windows and hull to mimic day or night, leaving a sky of darkness illuminated by stars, above a ground of sterile dirt. Gray concrete simple building rose in uniform rows, their cheap tech flickering and failing, walls crumbling under neglect. The air hung stale, cold, and still.

Here lived 350,000 to 400,000 souls—outcasts, forgotten, their numbers a decent fraction of the station's total. No vegetation grew, no warmth reached them. They huddled in darkness, their lives a bleak footnote to the Kingdom's grandeur, their existence barely tolerated.

Space metros stitched the biomes together, their rusted tracks rattling with age. Cars jolted along, packed with workers and soldiers shuttling to their tasks, but in the Backdrop, they sat empty, gathering dust.

At the center of this world stood the King—a dictator, a god in flesh. He towered at six and a half feet, blonde-flawless hair, his frame broad and unyielding, deep red robes cascading over his shoulders. His face was young, unlined despite over decades of years, biotech serums keeping age at bay.

Dark eyes burned with a cruel, timeless fire, intimidating all who dared meet them.

He ruled with terror, his voice a low thunder that silenced rooms. Absolute power was his birthright, and he wielded it without mercy, a tyrant who saw his people as ants beneath his boot. The Main Biome's spires were his crown, the station his throne, and he brooked no defiance.

A few days ago,

In the Agricultural Biome, a worker once dared to hoard a sack of grain—a desperate act to feed his starving kin left behind in the backdrop. The King's response was swift. Guards dragged the man to the Main Biome's plaza, strung him up beneath the crystal dome, and left him to rot. Some nobles dined nearby, sipping wine as flies buzzed over the corpse, their laughter echoing off the glass.

There was an another incident which happened recently—one that sent a cold shiver through every worker on the station. A low-level technician, made a deliberate mistake.

A single slip, an unauthorized transmission, and private logs from the space metros were sent into the hands of pirates. She had known the risks, but had decided to collaborate with them anyway—just enough to help, yet still retain her sense of control. She believed it was worth it, that she could make a difference, even if a little, even if it cost her everything.

Word reached the King before anyone could silence it. The punishment, swift and merciless, was inevitable. She was dragged before him in the Main Biome, her small, defiant figure dwarfed by the towering enforcers at his side.

There would be no trial, no chance for her to explain herself. The plasma torch ignited, its blinding light illuminating her resolute face as she stood tall, her eyes never wavering from the King's cold gaze. And even as the fiery glow began to scorch her flesh, she cried out with a fury that shook the silence of the crowd.

"DIE! YOU SON OF AAAAAAAAAA!" she screamed, her voice a bitter roar that pierced the air, a final act of defiance.

Her screams echoed throughout the station, carried by the speakers to every corner, a chilling reminder of the cost of betrayal. When it was over, her still-twitching body was discarded into the Waste Pits, the cruel finality of her end serving as a gruesome warning to all who dared to even speak against the King.