Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

Mia's heart pounded in the dim glow of multiple flickering screens in a dark room, her fingers trembling as they flew across the keyboard.

The screens before her flickered with feeds from the Manufacturing Biome's surveillance grid, each frame a snapshot of chaos—workers, drones, and the endless churn of the metro station.

But Syn...

He was gone, vanished into thin air, his presence erased.

"What! Where is he?" she cried, her voice breaking into a shriek, a sound she'd never let escape before.

Panic clawed at her chest, her breath hitching as she scoured the feeds.

A glitch—one second of static in the metro's camera feed—and Syn had vanished from the crowd, like a ghost.

Mia's pale eyes widened, her typing a frantic blur, shifting through every angle, every platform, every shadowed corner.

Nothing.

Not in the metro, not in the station, not outside the station, not below the station, not a single frame showed his face.

He'd always been within her sight, a constant presence she could track, protect.

Now, for the first time, he was gone, and the void he left was a cold fist around her heart.

Her skin prickled, scales shimmering faintly across her arms, her shapeshifter traits surfacing in her distress.

Her eyes turned white, glowing in the safehouse's gloom, but her fingers didn't falter, hacking deeper into the Kingdom's grid, chasing any trace of him.

Please, be okay, she thought, her mind racing.

Something had happened in that glitch—a shady act, not a coincidence.

It can't be the king, he had no reason to hide such a move; his power was absolute, his actions overt. Even if he caught Syn in the broad daylight in front of an audience of thousands, not one would even lift their gaze to help Syn.

It could be someone else with influence, someone with the tech or power to blind a camera. Or—her stomach twisted—Vera?. Had she changed her mind, decided to pull Syn back to the pirate base? But why keep Mia in the dark?

Vera trusted her, didn't she?

Mia's thoughts spiraled, her scales glinting as she fought to stay focused.

She couldn't lose him—not Syn, not now, not ever. She typed faster, her white eyes locked on the screens, praying for a glimpse of his familiar figure.

____

Meanwhile,

In a dark alley cloaked in the Biome's industrial haze, muffled sounds echoed—grunts, the scuff of boots, the creak of a belt.

"mmmhmhmmm...mhmhm. mhmmh"

A tall figure moved swiftly trailing the shadows and avoiding the cameras, a man slung over their shoulder, his arms bound tightly at his waist with a black belt, and a gag stifling his protests.

The figure went deeper through the maze like alley and reached a place which was deserted.

It kicked open a rusted door, stepping into a shadowed room thick with the scent of oil and dust.

With a grunt, they slid the man off their shoulder, letting him hit the ground with a thud, his bound body landing roughly by their feet.

"Mhmhmhmm..mhm.. .hm"

The man—Syn—made more muffled noises, his hazel eyes blazing as he glared up at the figure, recognition and defiance warring in his gaze.

He knew who this was, and the knowledge only fueled his anger and nervousness.

Click.

A dim bulb flickered to life, casting a sickly yellow glow across the room.

The figure stepped into the light, and Syn's breath caught.

A woman.

She was tall, her presence commanding, her body a study in strength and allure.

Her black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, framing a face of striking beauty—high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and teal eyes that burned with intensity.

Her toned, muscular frame was accentuated by a fitted black outfit, her full breasts and curved hips drawing the eye despite the menace in her stance.

A flicker of anger twisted her lips, but there was something else there, too—a raw, magnetic pull that made her both terrifying and captivating.

She was an exact replica of Aster—or was Aster a replica of her instead?

This was Ila, the King's first daughter, first in line to the throne, a woman whose beauty was matched only by her volatility.

Ila bent low, her hand seizing Syn's jaw with a grip that was both intimate and threatening, her teal eyes boring into his.

Her glare was a storm, far fiercer than his own defiant stare. Syn's muffled protests fell silent, his loud breaths the only sound as he met her gaze, his chest heaving.

"Remember me?" she asked, her voice low, venomous, each word a blade.

Syn stopped struggling.

Only his heavy breathing filled the space, his chest heaving as he met her gaze, unflinching despite the pain in his jaw, and the unease in his stomach.

He knew that look, knew the storm it heralded.

Like Aster, Ila had her quirks.

She is psychotic, sadistic, impulsive, her emotions a wildfire that could burn or caress without warning.

But there was another side to her, one few saw—cute, sweet, clingy, a childlike vulnerability that had once experienced by Syn himself.

That side was buried now, consumed by her fury.

Ila's hands moved to his pockets, searching roughly, finding nothing—no ID, no weapons, no clues.

Her fingers slid into his hair, yanking his head back with a sharp tug, exposing his throat.

"mhmhmmm. mhmm mhmhm"

Her other hand trailed a single finger along his neck, slow and haunting, tracing the pulse that raced beneath his skin, down his jaw and up to the gag at his mouth.

With a flick, she removed it, and Syn gasped, sucking in air, his chest heaving.

She reached for the gag, yanking it free, and Syn gasped, air flooding his lungs. He coughed, his voice hoarse but defiant. "What do you want, Ila?"

Her eyes narrowed, her grip on his jaw tightening for a moment before she released him, standing tall. "Where were you?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the room like a whip.

Syn stuck to the story Mia had crafted, his voice steady despite the ache in his body.

"I broke my ankles in a brawl. Elara left me behind to heal. I've been laying low in the Manufacturing Biome, out of sight."

Ila's lips curled into a sneer. "Liar." The word was a hiss, her teal eyes glinting with certainty.

"Why do you say that?" Syn asked, keeping his tone even, though his pulse raced.

Ila leaned closer, her presence suffocating.

"I went to your wife, Syn. Threatened her, pushed her to the edge, even then she swore you were with Elara. But I saw a video call with Elara after the hostage exchange—her right-hand man, her shadow who always stood beside her like a pet, wasn't there. You weren't there. Then, for a month, nothing. I thought you'd died in the explosion that took her fleet. I cried. I couldn't sleep. But I had a flicker of doubt, a gut feeling you were alive. And now, here you are, crawling out of the shadows like a rat, as good as new. So I'll ask again—where were you?"

Syn swallowed hard, and Ila's eyes caught the movement, her gaze dropping to his throat.

Her hand traced his Adam's apple, her touch light but laced with menace, her lips quirking as if amused by his fear.

He forced his voice to stay calm. "I didn't want my wife and son worrying. I hid in a room here, made it look like I'd gone with Elara. That's the truth."

Ila's laugh was sharp, bitter. "You could've told me, Syn. Even after our spat, you could've trusted me. It was just a lover's quarrel, not the end. We weren't done."

She leaned closer, her breath warm against his face, her fingers tugging his hair to pull him near. "Am I right?"

Syn's jaw clenched, his resolve hardening. "It wasn't a small spat, Ila. I'm done."

Her eyes flashed, anger flaring, but she didn't strike. Instead, she straightened, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Why do you care so much about the people from the Backdrop?"

Syn's mind raced, memories of Ila flooding back, each one a reminder of the tightrope he'd walked.

Two years ago, he'd seen her potential—first in line, the King's favored daughter, a woman who could rule or ruin the Kingdom.

He'd befriended her, charmed her, seduced her, weaving himself into her orbit with a plan: when she took the throne, or when the King fell (by natural causes or Ila's hand), Syn would be her shadow, her puppet master, and used her for the benefit of the kingdom and it's people.

For over a year, they'd been lovers, their relationship a volatile dance of passion and power, a taboo since Syn had a wife and a son.

Ila's psychotic edge—her sadistic streak, her sudden shifts to clingy sweetness—had kept him on edge, but he'd played the game, feeding her affection while guarding his heart.

Two months ago, before the pirates abducted him, it had unraveled.

A heated argument—over his loyalty, his ties to the Backdrop Biome's outcasts—had shattered their fragile bond. Ila's rage had been a storm, her accusations cutting deep: he cared more for the "filth" of the Biome than for her, the future queen.

Syn had walked away, vowing to cut ties, and so did Ila who lashed out on him to never show his face to her. But...

Now, here she was.