Dragan leapt to his feet, all the theories and hypotheses in his head being replaced with panic in an instant. Had he been right? Was Blaine after him?!

The steel chair toppled to the floor with a dull thunk.

No, no. He mustn't panic. Dragan clutched his chest with a hand, his breathing heavy. Even if Blaine were after him, there was no way she could get him. She was strapped down with the best prison equipment the Supremacy can buy.

Liar. This ship is cheap and fragile. You know that.

Why, oh why must his inner monologue be so traitorous? Dragan looked around his cabin. What was his best course of action? Hide here? Prepare to fight?

She's a seasoned criminal. You're a glorified clerk. Fighting isn't an option, idiot.

Hiding, then? There was room under the bed for him to squeeze. In the chaos of an escape, she wasn't going to be able to check every nook and cranny. Likely she wouldn't even check this cabin.

Are you sure about that?

Yes, of course he was sure.

Don't be. If she's escaping with such ease, it's likely she has help on the inside. If that's the case, it's more than possible she already knows which cabin you've been assigned to. You should get as far away as possible as quickly as possible.

With the fear slowing his deliberate thinking, Dragan's subconscious reasoning was outpacing his conscious mind by a wide margin. It wasn't great to be looked down on by yourself.

He charged for the door, pulling himself into the corridor the moment the sliding doors opened.

The hallway beyond was bathed in red light, the ship on high alert. Whooping sirens echoed, and steel shutters had slammed down to cover all the viewports and windows. It was like being packed into a can.

If Blaine was coming for him, assuming she knew his location, he needed to hide in a cabin two doors away from his own.

If he hid in his own cabin, he'd be found without question. But if he didn't, there was a possibility Blaine would think she'd gotten the wrong cabin and search the ones immediately next to it too.

If she didn't find him there, she'd assume he'd hidden somewhere far away, and not search the next set. She wouldn't have the time to, anyway - she'd be fighting guards and the security systems with every step she took.

Dragan almost leapt out of his skin as he heard the slam of something striking a wall in the distance.

Less thinking, more doing.

Moving as quickly as he could, Dragan made his way to the cabin two doors to the left of his own. All the doors were automatic on the ship from what he'd observed, so all one had to do to open them was stand there for a few seconds.

Dragan stood there for a few seconds. Nothing happened.

You only have access to your own cabin. Basic security system, shouldn't come as a surprise. The other doors won't work either, so don't bother.

Then he needed to run for it.

That wouldn't do you any good. The noise you heard a few seconds ago wasn't that far away, so it's a good bet she's almost here. Plus, she can outrun you without a doubt. Didn't you see her muscles? Well-trained.

Then -

Plan A: Hide under the bed. Both parts of his mind, at least on that point, were in sync.

Dragan whirled around, ready to run back to his room, but stopped the moment he got a good look down the corridor.

Ruth Blaine stood there, breathing heavy, the sparking head of a security drone crushed between her fingers. Red Aether crackled around her, illuminating the dark spot of the corridor she'd stepped out into.

Their eyes locked, bright blue and bright yellow. Blaine wiped a trickle of blood from her lip and dropped the drone head to the ground with a thunk.

"Dragan Hadrien?" she said, voice hoarse, in a tone that suggested she already knew full well it was him.

Get ready to fight.

He had no way of winning.

No, but you can delay her until someone who can shows up. She won't kill you.

Was he sure about that?

Seventy-two percent.

Dragan stepped back, took in a deep breath - and as he did, he reached for his Aether. The blue sparks surrounded his body like static electricity, diffused as much as possible so as to shield his body.

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" she grinned. "Nobody told me you knew how to dance, little guy."

The red Aether coating her body erupted into a flash, and when it cleared Dragan was no longer looking at a human face anymore. The thing now covering the front of Ruth Blaine's face was like a welding mask forced into the shape of a skull, the square grille over the jaw like a mockery of teeth. The two black circles covering Blaine's eyes regarded Dragan intently, watching for what he would do next.

There were other new additions to Blaine's wardrobe - steel bars in the shape of a ribcage covering her chest and iron claws strapped to the back of her fingers, their points gleaming ominously.

She'd made the armour with Aether, that much was clear. Sweat ran down the back of Dragan's neck; she was clearly far beyond his abilities. The most he could manage right now was standing still without his Aether instantly diffusing into nothingness.

"Not gonna say anything?" taunted Blaine, her voice muffled by the skull-mask. "It's no fun without the banter, you know."

Trying to look crazier than she is. Intimidation technique.

Dragan opened his mouth to say something, to show he wouldn't be so easily frightened - and the moment he did, Ruth Blaine was upon him.

She'd leapt down the entire hallway with a single kick, the movement animalistic, her shining red hair like a flowing mane behind her. Her clawed hands were open, lunging - she intended to grab Dragan, not slash him, but it would be painful all the same time.

Clumsily, but with all the speed his body could muster, Dragan threw himself to the ground. As he collapsed into a heap, his Aether dissipated into nothingness around him. He felt wind rush against his hair: Blaine had passed right over his head.

The only hope he had in a fight was avoiding her. He'd gone through combat training, same as any member of the Supremacy's military, but Blaine clearly had vastly more experience.

He got up to his feet - almost slipping on the smooth floor as he did - only to be met by Blaine's leg, coming towards him in a vicious kick.

No time to dodge. Use your Aether to block.

Blue sparks began manifesting around his body, but it was too late. The speed at which Blaine moved was simply unfair.

The leg slammed into his midsection - angled so that the metal exoskeleton clutching it didn't hit him - and sent him collapsing back to the ground. He clutched his stomach, groaning, suppressing the urge to vomit. He wouldn't give her that satisfaction.

The pain was excruciating, but not as much as it should have been. A kick like that should have smashed some ribs. Had he managed to protect himself with his Aether?

He heard Blaine suck in air between her teeth. "Oof. Uh, I'm real sorry! The way you were standing, I - I thought you'd be stronger, so I might have gone a little overboard! You okay?" She sounded surprisingly genuine, but that didn't make the situation any less humiliating.

Don't let her look down on you.

There was an application of Aether he hadn't tried yet.

Twitching on the ground, Dragan tensed his body, preparing himself to move when the moment came. Blaine's apology got no reply, and he could hear her approaching to check on him. Making sure she hadn't killed her quarry.

That was fine. That was good. He had to make sure this was point blank.

He felt her hand grab at a strap on the back of his cadet suit, trying to pull him up - and at the same moment, he rolled over to face her. His teeth were bared in an expression of utmost effort, his eyes bulging, and his left hand facing towards Blaine, palm flat. Crackling Aether was concentrated around it.

Blaine's eyes widened. The Aether came together even more, forming a miniscule sphere glowing with an intense light, it's shape flickering and warping with instability.

Thrusting his palm as close to her face as he could, Dragan fired.

The ball struck her in the face, scattered into disparate sparks, and faded. Ruth Blaine barely even flinched. Dragan gaped at her.

She raised an eyebrow, a pitying smirk on her lips. "You do know Aether's a shitty projectile by itself, right?"

No, he hadn't known that. That hadn't been mentioned anywhere in the files he'd managed to scrounge together. He'd be sure to remember it.

Blaine's fist came down, and everything went black.

-

When Dragan came to, he was greeted by the sensation of being thrown into a corner like a sack of potatoes. He fell into a heap, the pain so intense he held no delusions of moving around. A high-pitched ringing drilled through his ear.

He coughed.

Through his eye that wasn't facing the floor, Dragan could see Blaine fighting against a squad of three soldiers who'd managed to corner them in one of the hangars. Evidently, she'd decided it'd be easier to fight without Dragan weighing her down.

The soldiers aimed at her, firing bolts of plasma from their rifles - but with that strange skeletal armour of hers, Blaine was far too fast, dodging the projectiles with ease and landing on all fours like some wild animal next to the nearest guard.

Grabbing him by the ankle, she swung, picking the man up with one hand and smacking his comrades around with his body. One strike, two, and the man was dropped to the ground. His unconscious friends lay next to him.

Blaine started walking back towards Dragan, whistling.

Dragan had to try to escape. He had to at least make some token effort. His body rebelling with electrifying pain, he tried to pick himself up. If he just gave up, how could he respect himself? More importantly, how could he have other people respect him?

Her feet stopped in front of him.

“If you try and run,” she said. “I’m gonna have to kick you again.”

He instantly gave up, flopping back to the ground like a fish. His pride wasn’t worth another one of those kicks.

Clearly, he was still somewhat out of it - he only noticed after the fact that Blaine had thrown him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his legs swinging freely. There was a beep - Blaine had taken out a script - and then his captor spoke: “You’re taking your time, Skipper. Kinda need a way out now. That Special Officer’s figured out the distraction.”

Another muffled voice from the script, male, older from the sound of it, but with the kind of drawl that came with an attempt to hold onto youth: “Gimme a second. This isn’t exactly easy for me, either.”

A pause. Blaine tapped her foot, the noise echoing throughout the cleared hangar.

“Okay,” she said. “It’s been a second.”

A sigh came from the script, with another sound in the background - turret fire? “Don’t try to be clever, Ruth. It doesn’t suit you.”

“You wait much longer, breathing won’t suit me either.”

“Don’t joke about that. Bruno’s got the controls - we’re coming in now.”

As if on cue, the sound of scraping metal rang out through the hangar as the blast doors taking up one entire wall opened, sparks flying from the forced action. Beyond it was the black gulf of space. For a moment, Dragan thought he’d be sucked out, but there was a tell-tale rippling in the air where the blast doors had been. The pressure shield was still active.

A small ship came down from above, maneuvering itself into the gap made available. It was a clumsy, patchwork little thing - from the looks of it, it had started off a Supremacy shuttle, but over time had had so many bits and pieces from other ships bolted onto it that it was probably one of a kind.

The blazing light on the front of the craft illuminated the hangar, and the second after it spotted Blaine the ship turned around and reversed itself halfway through the pressure shield. They intended to blast off right after Blaine boarded.

She took a step towards the shuttle, Dragan limp over her shoulder.

“If you let the hostage go,” a voice said quietly from behind them. “I’ll let you live.”

Blaine whirled around. Even Dragan forced his head up to look at who had spoken.

Atoy Muzazi stood in the entrance to the hangar, sword unsheathed and pointed directly at Blaine. His grey eyes were cold, dull. White Aether crackled in the air around him, his sword reflecting the light to such a degree that it seemed that it itself was glowing.

If he’d had the strength, Dragan could have shouted at him. Why had he bothered calling after Blaine? Why get her attention? A Special Officer should be more than capable of assassinating someone from behind.

Dragan scanned the man. The sword. The stance. The gaze.

Ah. The kind of idiot that believed in honour. Well, that was all well and good, but it didn’t do him much good, did it?

He felt Blaine adjust her stance, just slightly - enough to put herself into a position to run or attack depending on how things progressed. She took a deep breath, clearly steeling herself. She wasn’t fully confident in her ability to fight this man.

“Ha. What guarantee do I have that you won’t kill me anyway?” she said, laughing with false confidence.

Neither Muzazi’s stance nor his gaze changed in the slightest. “I just gave you it. You can choose to believe me or not. You have five seconds.”

Blaine gulped, quietly, suppressing it as much as she could.

One.

She shifted the angle of her foot, just slightly.

Two.

Muzazi’s eyes snapped down for a moment, observing the change.

Three.

This is your chance.

Four -

- Dragan moved. There was no other way to describe it: it wasn’t movement with any purpose or direction, just a general spasm to throw Blaine off her balance. His body punished him for it instantly, like fire had been injected into his veins, but the maneuver worked.

Blaine stumbled backwards - and at the same moment, as four seconds became five, Muzazi charged.

Dragan had thought he’d seen absurd speed when Blaine had first come for him in the hallway, but that was like swimming in molasses compared to this. One second, Muzazi was standing in the entrance - then, a blaze of light erupted from his back and he was right in Blaine’s face. His eyes were wide, pupils pinprick promises of murder.

With all her strength, Ruth Blaine threw Dragan to the side, abandoning her load. In what was becoming a depressingly common experience, he landed in a painful heap in a place he didn’t recognize, dull brown rather than the sleek white of the ship.

You’re in their shuttle. They’ve opened the back port for Blaine.

Adjusting himself into the least painful position, Dragan witnessed the sequence of events that consumed the next few seconds.

When he’d charged, Muzazi’s sword had been pointed upwards towards the ceiling - and now, he brought it down in a devastating downward slash. At the same moment, Blaine’s red Aether burst into a flash of light just as her opponents had before he charged. When it cleared, the skeletal armour she’d been wearing for her escape had been replaced with a new ensemble.

Rather than the scrapyard aesthetic that she’d had previously, this new set of armour was marble white, covering her own body, artful contours and delicate engravings making it seem like something ceremonial rather than being meant for battle. A tuft of her red hair escaped through an opening in the back of the helmet, still glowing.

The descending sword struck the helmet, and two things happened at once: the helmet shattered like glass, and Atoy Muzazi went flying backwards.

Blaine went flying backwards too of course, with a high-pitched yelp of pain, but it wasn’t nearly as violent. Her going flying was a result of the force of the blow, whereas Muzazi was sent towards the entrance with such speed that it was like he’d been repelled by a magnet.

Even with the obviously painful blow - a trail of blood was trickling down into her left eye - Blaine didn’t waste her opportunity. She turned and ran for the shuttle, the rest of her burdensome white armour disintegrating into red Aether. There was another flare as she switched to her skeletal set and, with the enhanced speed that seemed to grant, she leapt into the shuttle like an animal pouncing on its prey.

Run for it. This is your last chance.

Dragan tried to get up, he really did, but his legs didn’t obey him. Neither did his hands, for that matter. All his limbs were shivering in shock, and any attempts to get them to do anything but that were doomed for failure.

The back port slid shut with a cold thunk - and a moment later, the craft rumbled with the sensation of thrusters and speed.

Blaine heaved a sigh of relief, Dragan a groan of despair.

He had officially been kidnapped.