A shadow shifts behind Dowron’s cruiser.
Massive.
Angular.
Predatory.
My blood turns cold.
“That’s a command-class war cruiser,” I growl.
“Alliance?”
“Supposedly decommissioned two years ago.”
Her face goes pale.
We don’t have time to argue.
The war cruiser flares its lights—full spectrum blast across our hull.
Then the tractor beam hits.
We’re yanked like fish on a line.
“Valtron—”
“I know!”
I try to break the lock. Dump heat. Rewire the flux dampeners.
It doesn’t matter.
We’re already caught.
The last thing I see before everything goes dark is Rhea reaching for me.
And the look in her eyes breaks something inside me.
I wake up in hell.
Not fire-and-brimstone hell.Corporatehell.
White walls. Too white. Sterile like they’ve been scrubbed of memory and mercy. The restraints around my wrists and ankles pulse with a hum I can feel in myteeth. Power-nullifier harness—military-grade, with a suppression field that targets regenerative tissue and cuts off adrenal surges.
In short: I’m a goddamn brick right now.
A brick they can punch.
And oh, they’ve been punching.
My face throbs. My jaw’s tight. One of my ribs feels cracked. My right eye’s half-swollen, and blood’s crusted where my scales split.
“Still alive?” a voice drawls.
I look up.
The man standing at the door wears a Coalition pin and a Combine insignia on the same lapel. That’s like wearing the snake and the rat on the same flag and still pretending you're the good guy.
