Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

Syn hoisted Vera into his arms, her bound legs dangling awkwardly as he adjusted his grip, the plasma torch clutched tightly in the hand supporting her back. Its emitter hovered inches from her face, a faint hum underscoring the threat as its blue-white glow cast flickering shadows across her features. Her purple hair spilled over his arm, a stark contrast to the olive uniform now rumpled from their earlier tussle. Sweat beaded on his brow, the strain of carrying her already seeping through his resolve, but he held firm, his dark eyes narrowed with determination.

"If you'd just said you wanted to carry me like this," Vera teased, her voice lilting with amusement, "I'd have happily agreed—no need for all this unnecessary drama." Her bound hands twitched slightly, testing the ribbon's knot, but her tone remained playful, unfazed by the torch's proximity.

"Keep quiet," Syn snapped, his voice low and edged with irritation as he strode toward the bedroom door. The plasma torch's light danced across the walls, a silent warning in his grip. The door hissed open, its sensor registering Vera's presence with a soft beep, revealing a three-way junction bathed in the ship's cold, artificial glow. Syn paused, scanning the paths—a sterile corridor stretching in each direction, each holding a different promise.

Vera tilted her head against his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck as she spoke. "Left is the staircase and elevator to the prison. Straight's the control room, and right leads to the hangar bay—or the kitchen, if you're hungry." She smirked, her lips brushing his ear. "We could have something special today, you know—maybe a little dessert to sweeten this hostage situation."

"Just keep quiet," he growled, tightening his hold as he flicked the plasma torch on. Its flare ignited in front of her face, the heat shimmering in the air, a deliberate scare tactic. But Vera's eyes sparkled with amusement, her expression unshaken, as if the danger were a game she'd already won.

"If something happens to my face," she said, her voice rising with mock eagerness, "you'll have to take responsibility, okay?" Her gaze locked onto his, wide and teasing, daring him to flinch. Syn ignored her, his jaw clenching as he turned left, heading toward the prison with a determined stride, the torch still humming in his hand.

"Didn't you just complain I was heavy?" Vera pressed, her tone light and taunting as they moved down the corridor. "How are you carrying me now, then? Got a sudden burst of strength, or is it all that Kingdom training paying off?"

Syn's arms trembled faintly, sweat trickling down his temple as her weight bore down on him. Her casual chatter grated against his focus, each question a needle prick against his fraying patience. He pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to engage, his boots echoing against the metal floor as he pushed forward. The junction faded behind them, replaced by the stark, utilitarian stretch of the prison corridor, its walls lined with flickering lights and reinforced panels.

A little distance later, two pirates rounded a corner, their arms laden with gear—tools clattering to the floor as they froze, eyes widening at the sight of Syn with their compromised captain. Their hands flew to their holsters, drawing guns in unison, barrels trained on him with shaky precision. "He's got the captain!" one barked, his voice tight with alarm, his wiry frame tensing as he gripped his weapon.

"Release her!" the other commanded, a burly figure with a scarred jaw, his tone sharp but laced with hesitation. His eyes darted between Syn and Vera, searching for a cue.

Syn kept his composure, his face a mask of calm despite the adrenaline surging through him. He let his actions speak—flicking the plasma torch on with a *snap-hiss*, then off again, a brief flare of light to underscore his threat. He twisted his wrist, angling the emitter toward Vera's face, its glow reflecting in her amused eyes. "Drop your weapons," he ordered, his voice steady and cold, "or your precious captain's next."

The soldiers faltered, their grips loosening as they exchanged uncertain glances. The corridor buzzed with tension, and soon more pirates emerged—drawn by the commotion—forming a loose circle around him, their weapons raised but unsteady. Syn stood at the center, Vera cradled in his arms like a bizarre trophy, the torch a silent menace. He didn't let his nerves show, his posture rigid, his expression unflinching, as if he could burn her face off without a second thought.

"Hey, guys," Vera called out, her voice cutting through the standoff with a mocking lilt, "listen to him. This scary man might really kill your captain. Do as he says." Her tone was playful, almost singsong, but her words carried an odd weight—an undercurrent that left the pirates blinking in confusion, as if she'd slipped them a coded message they couldn't decipher.

The wiry soldier hesitated, then dropped his gun with a clatter, the sound echoing in the tense silence. The scarred one followed, his weapon hitting the floor with a reluctant thud, and the others slowly complied, stepping back to clear a path. Their wide, blinking eyes tracked Syn as he moved forward, Vera's bound form swaying slightly in his grip. "Don't just stare at us," she snapped, her captain's authority slicing through their daze. "Go do your jobs!" The pirates scattered, retreating to their posts, confused and with hurried steps, leaving the corridor eerily quiet.

"What are you playing at?" Syn muttered, his voice low and wary as he reached the next junction, the elevator and staircase looming ahead. Vera's calm, her amusement—it gnawed at him, a nagging suspicion that he was marching into a trap she'd already set. But staying locked in her room, drowning in guilt while his people faced death, wasn't an option. This was better—risk over resignation.

Vera pouted, her lips pursing in an exaggerated sulk as she shifted in his arms. "Don't talk to me," she huffed, her voice dripping with mock offense. "You didn't take the stairs." Her eyes flicked to the elevator, then back to him, playful and untroubled, as if the plasma torch inches from her face were a toy rather than a threat.

Syn's jaw tightened, frustration simmering beneath his cool exterior. Scaring her was impossible when she acted like this—fearless, almost giddy, her confidence unshaken by the cuffs or the torch. He stepped into the elevator, its doors sliding open with a soft chime, and adjusted his grip, the strain of her weight now a dull ache in his arms. The panel beeped as he punched the basement button, the prison floor his target, and the lift descended with a smooth hum, Vera's head resting lightly against his chest.

The ride was brief, the elevator jolting to a stop as the doors parted, revealing the prison's grim expanse—dimly lit, lined with reinforced cells, a faint hum of machinery underscoring the silence. "Here you are," Vera said, her voice brightening with a hint of triumph. "See? That's why you should trust me."

Syn stepped out, his boots clanging against the metal floor, and froze as the prison guards snapped to attention. Their eyes widened, panic flashing across their faces as they registered their bound captain in his arms. Despite the chaos, they moved fast, fanning out to surround him, guns drawn and leveled with trembling hands. "Free the Kingdom's soldiers, or your captain's dead," Syn declared, his voice ringing with intimidating force. He ignited the plasma torch again, its flare casting stark shadows, a real threat to prove his intent.

The guards wavered, their gazes darting between Syn and Vera, confusion etching their features. "What are you waiting for?" Syn pressed, his tone sharpening as he angled the torch closer to her face, its heat radiating against her skin. Vera blinked, her eyes drying from the warmth, but her expression remained serene, almost bored. "Do you want your captain dead?"

"Wait! Don't!" The head guard—a stocky man with a grizzled beard—stepped forward, his hands raised in a halting gesture, his gun still clutched but lowered. "Stay back!" Syn barked, his voice a whip-crack of warning, and the guard froze, his face paling.

"Ah, sorry," the guard stammered, his voice tight with unease, "but we have no one from the Kingdom in our custody."

"What?!" Syn exclaimed, his head snapping toward the cells, his arms tightening around Vera as he peered into the shadowed recesses. The rows of barred enclosures stretched before him, stark and silent—empty. The cells that had brimmed with his people earlier, their faces etched with defiance and despair, now gaped hollow, mocking his mission.

Vera burst into laughter all of a sudden, a sharp, unrestrained peal that echoed through the prison, her amusement a dagger in the quiet.