Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

Torren's blood ran cold.

The smirk that had curled on his lips only moments before vanished like a star swallowed by a black hole.

He slammed a fist into the steel railing before him, the impact echoing across the command deck like a cannon shot.

"Turn us back—now!" he roared, his voice sharp and cracking with fury, his face flushing red. The last screams of his pilots still rang in his skull—ambush… they're everywhere… save us…—five lives snuffed out in five seconds.

The crew jumped to obey, fear fueling their every motion.

The ensign's fingers flew across the console, inputting course corrections as the Iron Fang's engines groaned in protest.

The titanic destroyer shuddered, her thrusters flaring a brilliant orange as the ship pivoted, reversing its trajectory with a bone-rattling jolt.

The stars outside spun wildly across the viewport, the ship's momentum fighting its own bulk, and then—

"Missiles incoming! Multiple vectors—seven, no, eleven o'clock!" one of the technicians screamed, nearly falling from his seat as the radar lit up like a hellish constellation. Dozens of red dots spiraled in from all angles, tightening like a net.

"Turrets—on! Shoot them down!" Torren barked, spinning toward the weapons officer.

The deck rumbled as the ship's automated turrets sprang to life with mechanical precision.

Sleek barrels rotated and locked on, glowing plasma coils winding up with a rising whine.

Then—flash.

The night outside bloomed with fury. Blasts of brilliant blue streaked into space, cutting through the void as the turrets opened fire, tracing streaks of light toward the enemy payloads.

A few found their mark. A distant flash. A missile broke apart in a blossom of light. Another veered off course, spiraling harmlessly into the black. But then came the rest.

"More incoming! These are bigger!" shouted a sensor officer. "And they've got fighters riding their tail!"

From the far side of the ship, sleek, needle-like forms emerged—pirate fighters, dark and fast, weaving through debris with terrifying precision.

They dove in twos and threes, zigzagging through turret fire, lobbing their own missiles, spraying the hull with disruptor rounds that burst on impact, slicing through armor like butter.

"Shields—full power!" Torren bellowed, charging down the command ramp, gripping the rail like it might hold the ship together. "Divert from engines, from life support if you have to—I want those shields glowing!"

With a thunderous hum, the Iron Fang's shields surged, a shimmering dome of blue wrapping around the massive vessel.

But the missiles had closed in.

They slammed against the barrier with bone-jarring force—

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Torren nearly stumbled as the impacts rattled the command deck, each blast a detonation in his ribs. The crew cried out, some thrown from chairs, others clinging to consoles sparking with energy discharge.

"Engage missile bays! Fire!" Torren screamed again.

The ship's belly opened, racks sliding out like rows of gleaming fangs.

With a roar, the Iron Fang spat her own vengeance—dozens of missiles streaking out to meet the incoming wave.

The stars lit up with the chaos of war, flame and metal spinning across the void.

But it wasn't enough.

The pirates were smarter. Their fighters were too nimble, too well-coordinated.

They dropped flares, cut behind debris, used the Iron Fang's own size against her—hitting blind spots, overwhelming turrets with timing and precision.

More missiles tore into the edges of the shields, striking just outside turret coverage.

And then, the moment Torren had feared came crashing down.

A piercing crack tore through the deck as the primary shields collapsed.

The blue barrier fractured like ice under a hammer, shards of light fizzling into sparks before vanishing.

"Shields down!" someone shrieked over the rising whine of alarms.

Torren's breath hitched. "Backup shields—get them online now!"

"Secondary capacitors not holding—bleed-off from the overload—!"

The lights flickered. Consoles dimmed. The entire bridge seemed to stutter, choking on its own systems.

Then the next wave hit.

Missiles tore into the hull, flaring against armor, shearing metal like paper.

One slammed into a turret mount, sending it cartwheeling into the void in a burst of flame. Another blew open a corridor midship, decompressing a section of engineering.

A streak of red warning lights shot down the ceiling.

"Direct hit to reactor housing!" another voice shouted. "Engine fire—losing propulsion!"

"Divert everything to damage control—lock down the breach!" Torren's voice was nearly drowned now, his orders raw and ragged.

But it was too late. The fighters had broken through. Now they swarmed like wolves in a crippled pen, cutting tight loops around the Iron Fang's mass, their guns singing as they fired at exposed seams.

A missile slammed into the starboard hull just below the bridge.

The viewport spiderwebbed instantly, a high-pitched shriek echoing as the transparent alloy bowed under pressure. A thin hiss began—air escaping.

"Seal it!" Torren shouted. "Emergency bulkheads—seal it now!"

Panels dropped. Systems whirred.

But the ship was screaming now—not in sound, but in sensation. The shudder in the floor. The strobe of red lights. The flicker of death in the consoles.

Then—the core.

The final missile struck true—ripping through the weakened defenses, spiraling deep into the underbelly of the ship. The reactor core flashed on every monitor—warning symbols flaring in angry crimson as radiation spikes flooded the system. A silence bloomed, horrible and vast.

"Core breach." The ship's AI voice was calm, almost apologetic.

Torren turned, face pale, mouth open to shout something, anything.

But the reactor went critical.

A blast of white engulfed the Iron Fang.

For one blinding second, the ship became a star.

--BOOM--

The shockwave tore through space, scattering debris in every direction, the massive destroyer vaporized from the inside out. Hull plates became spinning daggers. Lifeboats ruptured before they could deploy.

On the pirate ship's scanners, the Iron Fang disappeared in a pulse of light and static.

Silence returned. The ambush had ended.

The enemy fighters, intact and unscathed, banked as one and turned, thrusters glowing, engines humming like wolves exhaling in the dark.

They returned to their fleet in perfect formation—silent, precise, and victorious.

The message was clear.

You touch me, I poke you.

Pako smirked from inside the fighter ship leading the others, "Gotcha, bitch."