If there were wayward children who at least showed up or expressed a hint of survival, then there were those who were great at disappearing acts.
And no amount of loving and even threatening ssages would work.
So, what do you do when ssages can no longer get you anywhere?
You pay a visit.
There were no ssages, reports, or respectful updates—just silence—the kind of silence that made bureaucrats twitch and elder siblings fu.
And that was how one overworked Chief of Staff was on his way to Planet Nova on a luxury commuter craft after several days of radio fucking silence.
Yes, a commuter craft.
It should’ve been a smooth and short trip.
Should’ve.
But ever since that Daycare facility opened and overhauled the schedules of many nobles, private spacecraft travel has beco a logistical nightmare.
Especially if you were travelling with a battleship or were prepared to camp out in the docking queue for at least 14 hours, you were better off booking a luxury commuter craft.
Which was exactly what Killian did—discreet, efficient, and first-class.
That was...until things got weird.
They were minutes from the jump point bound for Planet Nova’s orbit when the navigation system gave a bizarre ripple.
Then another.
The navigator went pale. Inside the control room, people started to get alard.
"Captain, there’s a spatial anomaly forming...it’s not listed—"
Before the statent could even finish, a wormhole tore open like the universe had suddenly rembered it could do such a thing.
"...That’s impossible," soone whispered.
Well, it should be. Or at the least, it should be almost impossible and could only be considered as a freak accident—Unless it was man-made.
Jump routes were heavily monitored, calibrated, and constantly filtered for anomalies. Sothing like this shouldn’t even exist within range, let alone right at a designated jump point.
The Captain was already snapping orders. "Send out an ergency beacon. Divert course. Lock down the navigation—"
But before the crew could do much more, tallic tendrils—sleek, biochanical, and far too long—shot out from inside the supposed wormhole.
They latched onto the commuter craft with terrifying precision.
Then began pulling them in.
The ship’s ergency alarms blared to life with enough power to wake the dead—and the deeply asleep.
Which included Ollie, snoring peacefully in a recliner seat in the First-Class Lounge.
He wasn’t supposed to be there, really.
The First-Class lounge wasn’t ant for full naps, but the son of House Mylor had long since mastered the art of sleeping wherever he landed.
And without a looming demon that threatened to haunt him, it was possible for him to enjoy the ride.
Up until the Alarms of Doom blasted through his skull.
"AAAHH—HUH?!" Ollie bolted upright, disoriented, hair sticking up in eight different directions.
His eyes darted around. The mood lighting had been replaced by pulsing red indicators, the kind that only ever ant three things: explosion, invasion, or obliteration.
Ollie imdiately chose panic.
He scrambled to sit up, pulling out his communicator. I—I should send a ssage—Brother will know what to—
But he never got to finish his thought.
Because in that exact mont, a large hand clamped over his mouth, and his body was yanked backward against a very firm chest.
"Mmfph!" Ollie squeaked.
His eyes widened in alarm—he was going to get kidnapped again! This was just like that dream he had with the demonic beasts and the—!
"Shhh," ca a low, sharp voice by his ear.
Ollie froze.
That was not a kidnapper’s voice. For this kidnappered sounded too tired for soone who was just about to earn money.
Well, not really, if the kidnapper had targeted Ollie Mylor, of all people.
The mop’s eyes darted upward.
A giant stood behind him—well, not a literal giant, but tall enough to feel like one. Maybe even taller than his eldest brother?
He was sharply dressed in formal wear, wearing a sharp white dress shirt under a dark waistcoat and tie.
The prospective kidnapper had long, midnight-blue hair that cascaded down in thick waves and almost threatened to drown Ollie’s head.
And while he couldn’t see clearly, those amber eyes really looked like he was being told to shut it.
Yeah, the kidnapper looked more expensive than him. Maybe Ollie should think about kidnapping the guy instead.
And he was capable of doing that. Actually, it was his next step—well, not kidnapping, but escaping—after sending a distress ssage, if not for the fact that he didn’t have the sa reflexes to avoid being abducted like this.
On the other hand, the suspected criminal, Killian Nox, who had just monts ago scanned the lounge and concluded there were only two passengers onboard, was caught entirely off guard by the sudden blonde mass of hair that popped up from behind a recliner.
He blinked.
A teenager? Wait. No—a cadet?
His gaze swept over the uniform with sharp recognition. Royal Military Academy.
Seriously?
But before Killian finished piecing together the reason why a cadet would be outside during a weekday, the footsteps ca.
Not the kind you hear on a clean ship. No—these were wrong. Thudding, clanking, dragging their weight across the corridor.
The lounge door hissed—about to open.
Killian didn’t have ti to think.
So he did what instinct demanded: he grabbed the nearest warm body—Ollie—and ducked them both behind a utility console just to the side of the lounge’s nutrient solution station.
He clamped a hand over the boy’s mouth again and whispered, "Shhhh. Stay still."
Ollie nodded. Violently.
He could feel his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.
Outside the door, the lights flickered.
And a few voices could be heard grumbling as they checked what was apparently an empty room.
"He said the target was supposed to be in here? Then why the fuck is this place as empty as your head?"
Ollie could only make out a gruff voice that sounded ominous the mont the man ntioned the word "target."
"They even saw him leaving his mansion, and he even had that cage with him."
A cage? Well, he clearly didn’t bring a cage, so maybe it wasn’t him.
Ollie felt relieved, but the relief was short-lived after the automatic doors opened.
He wasn’t sure, but this third passenger may have been cursed sowhere out there as the man, of all tis, ended up going out right when the hijackers were staring at the lounge.
Clearly, soone was shit out of luck.
"Heh!" Scoffed one of the crooks.
"Go find the database for the passenger list. If we can’t find that beast, then we might as well make the most out of this. After all, we already got this ship."
Ollie and the giant, who was obviously not the kidnapper, looked at each other.
And for so reason, both tried to assess who was going to be the highjacker’s replacent target.
User Comments
0 comments from readers