Cabrino was a mid-level officer within the Black Order.
To this day, he still wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up there.
A few years ago, he'd been nothing more than the leader of a small raiding squad. At his peak, he commanded a dozen lightly ard pirate vessels and spent his days pillaging isolated systems for profit.
Raiding wasn't rely tolerated within the Black Order.
It was tradition.
Even inside the Centauri Sector, piracy served a purpose.
If a civilization beca disobedient, raiders would be sent first as a warning. If that failed to bring the target into line, larger military forces would follow.
Cabrino had originally led a minor pirate gang before being absorbed into the Black Order's official raiding corps.
For him, becoming a licensed interstellar pirate had always been a dream.
Being recruited by the Black Order?
That was the ultimate achievent.
With Thanos standing behind him, life had been good.
Very good.
For the first ten years after being incorporated into the organization, Cabrino had lived comfortably.
Who cared if he was openly robbing people?
Who would dare challenge the Black Order?
Who would dare challenge Thanos?
His rank hadn't increased during those years, but he hadn't cared.
The money flowed.
The power flowed.
Life was easy.
Then everything changed four years ago.
Without warning, Cabrino received a promotion.
He was placed in command of a small fleet.
At first, he thought it was the greatest mont of his career.
A fleet wasn't the sa as a handful of pirate ships.
A proper fleet had structure.
Specialized vessels.
Coordinated tactics.
Support elents.
Against a real military formation, a collection of raiders stood no chance.
The promotion ant he'd finally beco part of the establishnt.
No longer a glorified thug.
No longer a freelance pirate.
A genuine military commander.
Naturally, he was ecstatic.
He gathered his old comrades and proudly assud command.
At the ti, he rembered an old saying from the Centauri Sector:
Quality always shines through.
Surely it was talking about him.
Then reality arrived.
And hit him in the face.
Hard.
Three months after taking command, a massive rebellion erupted within his assigned territory.
Five planets rose up simultaneously.
Hundreds of warships flooded the sector.
Cabrino's fleet fought desperately to contain the uprising.
They lost.
Again.
And again.
And again.
No matter how hard they fought, they couldn't regain control.
Eventually, he did sothing he'd desperately wanted to avoid.
He requested reinforcents.
The decision nearly made him sick.
Asking for help ant admitting incompetence.
His new position might disappear before he'd even had a chance to enjoy it.
Still, losing his command was preferable to losing the entire sector.
Because losing the sector ant explaining the disaster to Thanos.
And that usually ended with soone dying.
So Cabrino sent the request.
What ca back nearly gave him a stroke.
A single ssage.
Resolve it yourself.
Cabrino stared at the screen in disbelief.
Resolve it yourself?
If I could solve it myself, why would I be asking for help?!
This sector was rich in Hyperion Ore.
The stuff was incredibly valuable.
Was the Black Order really willing to lose it?
Had Thanos stopped caring?
Without reinforcents, Cabrino fought on.
For two more months.
Then he lost the sector.
His fleet suffered devastating casualties.
Nearly twenty percent of his personnel were gone.
At that point, he was convinced he was finished.
He seriously considered running.
Desertion suddenly seed preferable to execution.
Then another ssage arrived.
Transfer command to Sector A03 for refit and recovery.
Cabrino nearly short-circuited.
What?
No punishnt?
No execution?
No demotion?
No public disembowelnt?
Nothing?
Not only was he allowed to keep his command, but he was being reassigned for recovery operations.
It made no sense.
The Black Order wasn't known for rcy.
Mistakes were supposed to be fatal.
Yet sohow he'd survived.
Only later did he realize why.
The Black Order wasn't being lenient.
It was overwheld.
The entire Centauri Sector was on fire.
Years of crushing taxation had pushed countless civilizations to their limits.
When opportunities appeared, they seized them.
One rebellion beca ten.
Ten beca a hundred.
Soon, resistance movents were erupting everywhere.
Entire star systems revolted.
Various civilizations ford a coalition numbering hundreds of factions.
Their goal was simple.
Overthrow Thanos.
Destroy the Black Order.
And now Cabrino found himself standing on the bridge of his flagship, watching the slow collapse unfold.
He looked terrible.
His hair was a ss.
His spacesuit was stained with grease, dust, and old repairs.
The once-blue fabric had beco so dirty it looked darker than his own skin.
Frayed sleeves and worn cuffs testified to months of neglect.
"Increase the temperature."
His voice sounded exhausted.
"It's freezing in here."
The bridge felt closer to fifteen degrees below zero than anything resembling comfort.
Even exposing bare skin to the air was unpleasant.
His executive officer, Leoda, looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.
"Captain..."
Leoda rubbed his forehead.
"The life-support system is damaged."
"The fact that we're only at minus fifteen is already a miracle."
Cabrino frowned.
"Why hasn't it been repaired?"
The question earned him a look that suggested physical violence.
"Have you forgotten how long it's been since our last resupply?"
Leoda's voice rose.
Unlike most officers, he also managed fleet logistics.
Which ant he knew exactly how bad things had beco.
"Six months."
The words ca out through clenched teeth.
"Six entire months."
"If we hadn't salvaged parts from destroyed enemy ships, half our fleet would've fallen apart already."
He pointed toward the engineering decks.
"Even if we repaired life support completely, we don't have the energy reserves to waste on heating."
"We haven't received a proper fuel replenishnt in three months."
"We've been fighting continuously."
"Our reserves are below fifty percent."
The bridge grew quiet.
Nobody contradicted him.
Because he was right.
Cabrino sighed.
"Just hold on a little longer."
His voice lacked conviction.
"We're heading to a recovery station."
"Things should improve once we get there."
Should.
Not would.
Should.
The distinction wasn't lost on anyone.
He glanced around the bridge.
The crew looked exhausted.
Demoralized.
Broken.
It wasn't hard to understand why.
They'd spent years fighting nonstop.
Their fleet had entered the conflict with fifty ships.
Now they had thirteen.
No reinforcents.
No replacent crews.
No fresh recruits.
No aningful support.
The fact that the fleet still existed at all was impressive.
Then lunch arrived.
A logistics worker pushed a battered food cart onto the bridge.
Everyone looked over.
Nobody looked excited.
The al consisted of dark protein blocks.
One per person.
No seconds.
No extras.
Food rationing had begun over a month ago.
Without strict controls, even these miserable rations would have run out by now.
The protein blocks were made from processed insects.
Cabrino stared at the chunk in his hand.
For a long mont, nobody spoke.
The silence said everything.
This was the mighty Black Order.
This was the terror of the galaxy.
And they were eating bug bricks to survive.
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