Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

dhum dhum dhum dhum dhum dhum

The sound of heavy and fast footsteps shattered the stillness of Vera's bedroom, the door bursting open with a metallic screech as a crew member stumbled in, his voice raw with panic.

"Captain Syn! Captain Vera is injured!" The man's uniform was rumpled, his face familiar—someone Syn had glimpsed in passing but never spoken to.

Syn jolted awake, his hazel eyes blinking through the daze of sleep, the red bed's sheets tangled around his legs.

Aster was off on some mission since the previous night. So he'd been alone this morning and was enjoying the quiet peace. But now...

The words hit like a punch, snapping him upright as his heart thudded against his ribs. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice rough, still thick with sleep as he swung his legs over the bed's edge, his bare feet hitting the cool floor.

The man—David, his name tag read—shifted nervously, his breath uneven. "She got dizzy and fell from the bridge—hit her head hard."

His words tumbled out, clipped and urgent, and Syn's stomach dropped, a cold dread washing over him as he scrambled to his feet, yanking on his navy pants and shirt without a second thought.

He rushed through the ship's corridors, David trailing behind, the hum of machinery a dull roar in his ears as he reached the medic room.

The door hissed open, revealing Vera on a sterile table, her fair skin pale against the white sheets, her purple hair matted with sweat and a streak of blood. A doctor hovered over her, his gloved hands steady, a robotic arm whirring beside him, its thin appendages poised with surgical precision.

"Wait outside," the doctor barked, his voice firm as he glanced at Syn. "She's got a concussion—needs minor surgery, she will be fine. Give us time."

Syn nodded, stepping back as the door slid shut, his breath shallow as he pressed his forehead to the glass panel.

Through the foggy pane, he watched the doctor wipe blood from Vera's temple, the robot stitching a gash on her arm with mechanical efficiency, crimson smears stark against her fair skin.

His heart sank, a tight ache coiling in his chest.

She'd been fine that morning—her lips warm against his, her arms clinging to him in their usual cuddle, her laughter soft as they'd lingered in bed.

Dizziness?

It didn't add up. Was she hiding exhaustion, shielding him from her strain? Or was this a ruse, a desperate play to keep him from the Kingdom?

Doubt gnawed at him, but the blood—real, vivid—silenced his suspicions.

He whispered a prayer under his breath, sinking into a chair nearby, his hands clenched as he willed her to pull through.

"Captain Syn, we need your help." David's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and insistent, pulling him back to the present.

"Yes, David?" Syn asked, standing, his voice steadying as he shook off the fog of worry. Months aboard the ship, and it was always Aster, Pako, or Vera hogging his focus— he never got the opportunity to talk with other crewmates and now, David was the first crewmate to break that bubble so far.

"The Kingdom might have found us," David said, his tone grim as he stepped closer, his boots scuffing the floor. "Recon spotted six ships heading our way—ETA four hours." His words landed like a hammer, and Syn's mind raced, adrenaline surging as he processed the threat.

"Just relocate—move the ship," Syn said, his tone clipped, a simple solution cutting through the panic as he rubbed his jaw, his stubble rough against his fingers.

David shook his head, his expression darkening. "We could, but it'd put Captain Aster at risk." He paused, letting the weight settle, and Syn's brow furrowed, a question forming as he leaned in.

"How?" Syn asked, his voice low, urgent, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"She's investigating the asteroids around Thebe—looking for shapeshifter survivor bases or camps, clues about what happened there," David explained, his voice dropping as if the walls might hear.

"If we shift position, she could fly right into the Kingdom's net when she returns. Her comms are off—no signals, no way to warn her. Any hacked transmission could ping both her ship and ours to the Kingdom's scanners."

Syn's brain churned, a vise tightening around his thoughts. A pinch—damned if they stayed, damned if they moved.

"Tell Pako to get out here," he snapped, his voice sharp as he grasped for options, his eyes flashing with frustration.

David winced, shifting uncomfortably. "Miss Pako's still refusing to leave her room—locked herself in tight." Syn cursed under his breath, a low growl of "damn it, Pako" escaping as he pictured her sulking, useless when he needed her.

"What about Mia?" he pressed, his tone edging into desperation.

David leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush.

"No one trusts Mia—she's weird, cooped up in her room all day. Crew thinks she doesn't even like us." His words carried a quiet unease, a ripple of distrust that Syn hadn't felt before, and he filed it away, his mind already racing ahead.

"So it's just me," Syn said, more to himself than David, his jaw tightening as the man continued, his voice earnest now.

"You're it, Captain. I saw you that day—convinced the Commander, fought the shapeshifters. We trust you. Vera's told us plenty—said you're why she turned pirate. Now we need you to take the reins 'til she or Aster's back." David's eyes held a flicker of hope, a plea wrapped in confidence, and Syn bit his lip, the weight of it sinking in.

He exhaled, decision snapping into place.

"Stay by my side—help me get the word out," he said, his voice firm, a captain's resolve hardening as he clapped David's shoulder.

David nodded, a quick jerk of his head, and they strode to the cockpit, the ship's hum a steady pulse beneath their boots.

The cockpit buzzed with tension as they entered, every eye swiveling to Syn—some wary, some expectant, all waiting.

His gaze, though, snagged on a mark below the bridge: a smear of Vera's blood, dark and drying, stark against the steel.

His stomach twisted, and he pointed to a crewmate nearby, his voice cutting through the silence.

"Clean that up—now." The man scrambled to obey, and Syn stepped onto the bridge, his boots ringing against the platform as he faced the holo-map, its glowing lines pulsing with data from the recon ship.

Six Kingdom vessels loomed on the display, their trajectories arcing toward them with relentless precision.

A medium-large destroyer led the pack—its angular hull bristling with turrets, a shield for the five fighter ships flanking it, sleek and lethal, designed to swarm and strike.