Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

"You annoying twerp, get lost!" A man's voice was a gravelly snarl as he shooed a girl from the doorway of Room 222. His name was Gorr, a hulking figure with a scar splitting his left eyebrow, and he was one of the many who treated Pako like a stray dog.

Pako stumbled back, her bare feet scuffing the dirt floor.

Her old, one-piece gown—faded to a muddy gray—swayed around her skinny frame.

Short black hair framed her jaw, clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, and her heart-shaped face twisted into a scowl.

"Stupid oaf," she muttered under her breath, spitting curses she'd learned from others.

Gorr didn't hear, or didn't care, slamming the flimsy door behind her.

She wasn't welcome in Room 222, not really.

None of the residents were her family, just strangers thrown together by necessity, sharing a cramped space that smelled of mildew and unwashed bodies.

Pako had been in the Backdrop for three years, ever since her mother brought her here, promising a better life.

That promise had frayed like the edges of Pako's gown.

A year ago, her mother vanished without a word. Some said she'd fled to the Main Biome, chasing work.

Others whispered darker tales—pirates, terrorists, or worse, that she'd joined them. Pako didn't know what to believe. Thinking about it was like pressing on a bruise, so she didn't.

She survived instead.

Her spot in Room 222 was a narrow strip of floor in the corner, marked by a threadbare blanket and a dented tin box.

Inside the box were her treasures: a chipped glass bead that caught the light like a tiny star, a bent spoon she'd won in a trade, and a massive bullet she'd found half-buried in the mud outside the biome's perimeter.

It was heavy, cold, and unlike the sleek plasma rounds the kingdom's soldiers used.

In the Backdrop, where "mine" was a word you fought for, these scraps were Pako's everything.

She plopped onto her blanket now, crossing her legs and glaring at the cracked wall.

Around her, the room's other residents went about their evening rituals.

A woman named Lira sat braiding a girl's hair for scraps of dried fruit, her fingers deft and steady. Two men murmured over a game of dice, their voices low to avoid trouble. Pako's chest tightened as she watched Lira.

She wanted to say something—maybe offer to help or ask about Lira's day—but the words caught in her throat. She could already imagine Lira's frown, the others' eye-rolls, the inevitable "Shut up, Pako."

It was always the same.

Pako wasn't stupid. She knew why people pushed her away.

Her voice was too sharp, her questions too many. She poked her nose into things that weren't her business, like the time she'd asked Gorr why his hands shook when he drank, or when she'd pestered Lira about the Main Biome's shimmering towers.

She'd tried to change, to be quiet and soft like the kids who blended into the Backdrop's shadows.

But it felt wrong, like wearing someone else's skin. The harder she tried, the louder she got, the more she hated herself, and the cycle spun on.

Her stomach growled, a sharp reminder she hadn't eaten since yesterday's half-rotten tuber.

She hugged her knees, scanning the room for anything she could barter. Her eyes landed on a group of kids outside, squatting in a tight circle near the alley.

They were staring at something, their whispers tinged with excitement. Curiosity tugged at her like a hook.

"Hey! What're you doin'?" Pako called, scrambling to her feet and jogging over.

Her gown flapped against her legs as she neared the group.

A boy with a mop of greasy hair—Rik, she thought—glanced back and waved her off. "Beat it, Pako."

But Pako was too curious to back down.

She edged closer, craning her neck to see. Were they playing with a bug? Playing a game? She caught a glimpse of something metallic glinting in the dirt—bullet, smaller than hers, but still rare.

Before she could get a better look, Rik shoved her hard. "Stay away!" he barked.

Pako hit the ground, her palms stinging as they scraped the dirt. She glared up at him, defiance bubbling over.

"I've got a bullet bigger than those!" she blurted, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "Way bigger. You'd be jealous."

The kids froze, their eyes snapping to her. Rik's lips curled into a smirk. "Oh yeah? Where?"

Pako's heart sank. She shouldn't have said anything. But it was too late now.

"I know where she sleeps!" a voice piped up—a girl from Room 222, Mona, with a braid Lira had done yesterday. "She hides her stuff in a tin can!"

That was all it took. The group surged toward Room 222, a pack of scavengers scenting weakness. Pako scrambled to her feet, panic clawing at her chest. She had to get to her bullet first.

She sprinted after them, but Mona charged into her, knocking her back to the ground.

"Get off!" Pako yelled, swinging wildly.

Her fist connected with Mona's shoulder, but then more kids piled on, pinning her arms and legs.

She thrashed, cursing words that would've made her mother wince, but it was no use.

Through the chaos, she saw Rik and the others reach her corner.

They tore open her tin box, tossing the bead and spoon aside like trash. Rik held up the bullet, its dull surface catching the dim light.

"Well, damn," he said, grinning. "It's mine now."

The kids holding Pako let go, and she staggered to her feet, lungs burning. She lunged for Rik, but he shoved her back easily. "Don't come closer," he warned, his voice low. "Next time, it's broken bones."

"Where'd you even find this?" he asked, turning the bullet over in his hand. "This thing's ancient. Soldiers don't use these anymore."

Pako's throat tightened.

She wanted to scream that it was hers, that she'd found it after hours of digging in the mud, that it was all she had left to call her own.

But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, she glared at him, helpless, and muttered another curse.

"Your foul mouth won't help," Rik said, tossing the bullet up and catching it. "If I were you, I'd shut up and mind my own business."

The group laughed as they sauntered off, leaving Pako alone in the alley.

She sank against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest. Anger and shame churned inside her, hot and heavy.

She wanted to cry, to let the tears spill until there was nothing left. But she'd promised her mother she'd never cry, that she'd stay strong no matter what. S

o she bit her lip, forcing the tears back, even as her chest heaved with silent sobs.

"Why are you crying?" a voice asked.

Pako's head snapped up. A boy stood in front of her, maybe a year or two older than her, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair that fell into his face.

She hadn't seen him before, but the Backdrop was big, and new faces came and went like the ashfall.

"I'm not crying," she snapped, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Leave me alone."

He didn't move. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out half a slice of bread, its crust slightly blackened but still soft. "You want it? You look hungry."

Pako's stomach growled traitorously. She snatched the bread and tore into it, crumbs scattering down her gown. It was gone in seconds, the faint sweetness lingering on her tongue.

"So you were hungry," the boy said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "What're you doing out here alone? Which room are you?"

"222," Pako mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

"No way! I'm in 219. We're practically neighbors." He sat down beside her, uninvited but not unkindly. "I'm Syn, by the way. What's your name?"

"Pako," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She braced for the usual—disapproval, annoyance, anything—but Syn just nodded.

"Hey, you wanna play with me and my friend? We're one player short, and it's no fun with just two." His tone was casual, but there was a warmth to it Pako hadn't heard in a long time.

She studied him, suspicious. Nobody invited her to play. Not anymore. It was probably a trick, a way to make her look stupid. But something in Syn's eyes—steady, unguarded—made her hesitate. "What's the game?" she asked.

"It's called Unclench. Weird, I know, but it's fun. You keep your fists shut tight, and the others try to pry your fingers open. Once a finger's straight, it stays that way. Last one with a closed fist wins."

Pako frowned. It sounded like a troll game where she'd get pinned again somehow, laughed at again.

But Syn was still looking at her, waiting, and for once, she didn't want to be alone. "Fine," she said, standing. "I'll play."

Syn grinned and led her through the alleys to a small clearing where a girl with shoulder-length purple hair waited.

She wore a gown like Pako's, patched and faded, and her expression soured when she saw Pako.

"Who's this?" she asked Syn.

"This is Pako," Syn said. "Pako, Vera. Vera, Pako."

Vera gave a curt nod, her eyes flicking to Syn. "We could've played with two."

"Boring," Syn shot back. "You know I beat you too easy. Three's better."

Pako shifted uncomfortably, feeling Vera's disapproval like a physical weight.

But Syn was already explaining the rules again, demonstrating with his own fist. "Ready? Let's go."

They sat in a triangle, fists clenched tight.

Pako's knuckles whitened as she braced for Vera's first move.

The game was strange, all tugging and strategy, but as they played, Pako felt something loosen inside her.

Syn laughed when Vera got one of his fingers open, and Vera's scowl softened when she managed to unclench Pako's thumb. For the first time in ages, Pako wasn't invisible.

She wasn't a nuisance. She was just… there.

The game ended with Syn winning, his fists still half-closed while Pako and Vera groaned in defeat as the time ticked over the highest.

"Again?" Syn asked, his hazel eyes bright.

Pako nodded, a small smile creeping onto her face.

Maybe the Backdrop wasn't kind, but for now, in this dusty clearing with two kids who didn't hate her, or maybe only one kid, it felt a little less heavy.