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Tau Border Systems, Location Unknown

Stracker woke up in a cold sweat. His ship being overrun by an enemy that appeared out of nowhere, the hull segments of Vulpus falling apart as it was being lynched by antimatter. His XO lay dead in front of him, his body split in half by a piece of armature. A glimpse of panic flashed through Stracker's mind, his composure taking a firm hold of itself, instantaneously switching to the mindset of a trained Rheinwehr Soldat.

To go down with the ship would be a waste of himself and the last will of his men. His Aquilon was falling apart, yet as it was about to reach its critical state, the pummeling has stopped. As he was running through the halls of his ship towards the escape pods, Stracker stopped, noticing the obvious lack of impacts. He looked up, with only one thought on his mind. Whoever ambushed his ship needed him and his crew alive.

For him, there was no greater insult than being captured by an enemy, as well as dying without a fight. Even if he was to fail, killing himself was not an option - whatever his enemy would to do him would serve as his ultimate punishment.

He changed his route. Instead of running towards the escape pods, he hastened his steps towards the docking bay. Aquilon's docking bays were open, their security was minimal. It was the most logical place for his enemy to board.

As he was running down the emergency catwalk, he bumped into one of docking bay's mechanics. The laborer's feet betrayed him as his body impacted at Stracker's armor suit, his face covered in fear as he saw the green glare from Stracker's helmet. It took him a fair second to recognize his commanding officer. "Captain! Where are you going?" He asked panicking as he reached out to Stracker to get a hold of his hand and get back on his feet. "To buy you some time." Stracker's voice was monotone, focused. His helmet's optics were almost staring into mechanic's soul. He knew better than to defy his captain at this moment. He knew Stracker was determinated. "Live in glory, sir." He says as he briefly salutes and runs away towards the escape pods.

Stracker's last memory was him reaching the docking bay of Vulpus. He was now in a holding cell, in a place, same as his crew's fate, unknown to him. His exosuit, a shell that protected him almost every day of the year, now stripped from him.

It was the worst case scenario for him. He wasn't aware if he bought enough time for his crew. And, given his current position, he assumed that he was captured by the enemy.

His entire body was in pain, wailing for mercy. Sitting down and putting his back against the wall was the limit of his physical strength at this current moment. He knew that he had to accumulate his power for potential escape. First time in years, Stracker forced himself to relax.

He was waiting.

- Is he alive? - a female voice was heard from somewhere outside, in which a clear Gallic accent could be traced.

- Jawol, Frau de Lorraine. - a certain man answered in a slightly shriveled bass, judging by the dialect - the Rheinlander obviously comes from the outskirts of the Empire.

- I hope you have prepared containment measures? I heard that he is a capable fighter. It was not enough for him to make trouble with us or, much worse, to run away.

- It's not possible, Lady de Lorraine. No one has escaped from the Huxter yet. - said another man with bretonian capital accent.

- We shall see. Open it and get ready for its possible frills. I authorize the use of special measures.

The doors of the containment chamber finally opened and two men dressed in combat exosuits without any identification entered the room to the Stacker. Unless their model could prompt the idea that they were made in Gaul. Blasters were visible as weapons on their belts and they held stunner clubs in their hands. Following them, a woman entered the prisoner, whose voice, probably, was heard by Stacker.
She was dressed differently. She had no protection and no weapons with her. The uniform on her was also without any identification marks, but in its style it was somewhat reminiscent of an officer's uniform.

Stracker noticed a gathering in front of his holding cell. He listened closely.

"Huxter".

For a man who heard of many places across Sirius and Gallia, it was a surprise. He never heard of that name.

The floor was slippery enough for him to allow a slide. Push his hands against the wall, launching himself towards the guard on his right. Sidestep behind his back, snap his neck, use his body as a shield and neutralize a second guard. The plan was clear in his mind, but his body was far away from allowing him to perform any other move than breathing. Almost like his entire being was being suppressed.

He straightened himself. His eyes, giving away his overall exhausted state, had a note of disdain in them. Either towards himself or the ones who had the tenacity to ambush his ship. Yet he pushed himself to keep his body firm, to keep his breath steady and his words clear. "Will you give me the honor of knowing who has beaten me?" He asked.

- If I tell you this, you won't believe me. Really. But now you are here. Tell me, did your parents not teach you that going to places where you were not invited is somewhat uncultured? And here is the expected result. Tell me, dear, what did you hope to find in this system?

Her voice drifted through the stacker's mind, enveloping it like thick syrup. So sweet and mesmerizing. Something was wrong. He was in captivity, but with her every word he calmed down, and somewhere in the depths of his consciousness a feeling of shame arose. As if his own mother is now scolding him for coming home up to his ears in mud.
The facial expressions and faces as such of the men accompanying her were not visible because of the visors, but for some reason he had the feeling that they were mockingly grinning looking at him.

- Have you heard the saying: curiosity killed the cat? I don't want it to make sense here and now. So I do not advise to try to be insolent to me here. But out of good manners, I'll still introduce myself to you, Monsieur Stacker. You are at home of Juliet Pascal de Lorraine. Countess of the system Lorraine. Sadly, ex-countess.

He looked down. "Curiosity." He says. "Zere was no intent for curiosity." For a moment, he let his rheinlander accent slip through. He stared into nothingness, recollecting more of his last memories. "I have ordered my ship to jump from Omicron Delta to Tau Twenty Nine, to establish contact with the zoners of Freeport Six. We have heard rumors of growing alien presence in a nearby system." His eyebrows lowered as he was remembering more and more. "My XO's last words were him noting how the constellations and nebulae look nothing like Tau Twenty Nine. Moments later, we were ambushed."

He kept thinking. He knew that his crew was well disciplined and trained. In countless hyperspace jumps that Vulpus has performed, there were no miss-input coordinates. The only possible outcome in his mind was sabotage.

- Poor fellow... It's so stupid to get lost... You must have really "stand in the throat" of someone, since sabotage happened. Or, perhaps, on the contrary - you are needed by someone. Like right here? Or is it fate that brought us together? In any case, you have a chance to learn more about the so-called aliens that the Freeport zoners told you about.

She waved her hand in a relaxed manner, gesturing to leave the two of them alone. The men nodded almost in unison and left. They remained alone. A fragile and defenseless-looking girl without a weapon, and he is a harsh space wolf hardened by the life of a military man. Perhaps he would have wanted to implement his escape plan again, for example by taking her hostage, but something still pulled him back from such actions. As if someone with a steel grip dug into his brain or soul. There was something wrong with this woman... His subconscious screamed at him about the threat that he was too tough. Instincts made him tense.

Juliette sat down opposite him and stared into his eyes as if with her gaze she was trying to pierce his soul, revealing all the most secret and hidden a long time ago.

- Aliens worry me too. And I have already succeeded in learning this new threat. But more about that later? Oh, your face says you're full of questions. Feel free to ask me. - she added with a slight smirk.

Stracker grew more and more uncomfortable. He knew how it was to be able to pierce everyone with his stare, to dig right into the fabric of their soul by just having an eye contact. Yet now he was on the receiving end of it. Somehow, there was a great irony to be found in this situation. "A bone in someone's throat. You are right. Me and my crew were trained to be a bone in someone's throat. In throat of the Nomads."

He looked back at her. Evident fatigue was giving in its way, his mind still fighting to regain his composure, yet everything below his neck refused to obey. He was ready to spring at his capturer and snap her neck in less than a second. His mind no longer focused on escaping. In his last grace, he only thought about ending the life of the one who had the audacity to ambush him and his ship.

"Why am I still alive?" It was the only question that concerned him. He had no doubt that the rest of Vulpus' crew shared his fate, or, perhaps, worse. His mind was prepared to endure the worst of tortures. After all, he was a man of war.

- Straight to the point, huh? You Velvets don't beat around the bush, do you? It is a pity that the Order abandoned you in favor of the so-called Phoenixes. Or, perhaps, your organization itself fell apart, without their influence? But it doesn't matter... You ask why are you alive? The answer is simple. Someone who wanted to talk to someone like you. Don't worry about the crew. They are partially alive. But they are staying somewhere else. You will meet them soon. And this is not a threat... But before meeting someone who wants to see you happens - I will make you a small gift. As a sign of my favor. I guess you know what I mean?

His body weakened more. Now everything fell into place, after an unintelligible whisper arose somewhere in the depths of consciousness. Extremely familiar to someone who had wandered into the depths of the Omicrons, and yet this one was somewhat different. As if in another language, if the concept of "language" is generally applicable to thoughts.

- Sabotage or not, you broke into our home. You have attracted attention. Now you are facing the consequences. I don’t know if this thought will make you feel better or not - the one who staged the sabotage is not ours. We did not find anyone like us among the crew. You've been framed. And if you're a good boy, then you'll have a chance to get even with whoever did this.

At this point, Stracker had all the idea of what was to come. Facing the alien threat was a part of his daily routine. He knew who was in front of him. Not the woman herself, but the demon inside her.

He admitted it, lowering his gaze to the floor once again. "The failure is ultimately mine. I should have never trusted my crew to do everything precisely, even if they were trained to be professionals." Slowly, he once again made the eye contact with De Lorraine. Just as he was, his eyes were full of determination, despite the absolute hurricane of doubt, fright and guilt enveloping his mind, his glare lacked any glimpse of fear. "You are my punishment." His words were full of self-condemnation. He was trained to feel no hate for his enemy, for it was a useless emotion. In the end, he respected De Lorraine. The way her forces managed to disable his ship in mere seconds and capture him alive, leaving him completely inept.

He was prepared.

- I am not your punishment. I am your salvation. Don't blame yourself for what happened. It's not your stupidity but the meanness of those around you that brought you here. I know what you're thinking... You were a worthy opponent. Many of us in the past have experience beyond yours. I planned this operation myself.

She touched his shoulder with her hand. A wave of mixed sensations swept through his body. Appeasement and at the same time pressure, as if they are trying to break the remnants of resistance in it. Already not so much in the body, but in a solid mind, but at the same time not to break what makes him himself. For some reason they need him the way he is. Questions arise again.

- In any other situation, I would just let you go, as I did with Storgen. Perhaps you know him. Admiral at your friends from the Order...

Can an alien think like that? Why is she slow? Why doesn't it work right through? Lots of swarming questions mixed with frustration. She was different. Their kind act differently.

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