The lower deck of the Bloodhawk always felt colder than the rest of the ship. The air was heavier, humming with engine vibrations and the faint metallic scent of coolant lines running beneath the floor. As Zev, Rue, and Surgien made their way down the grated staircase, the lights dimmed automatically—motion sensors reacting too slowly, flickering like dying candles.
Zev shuddered.
"Why does this place feel like a haunted basement?"
"Because it is a haunted basement," Surgien muttered, checking his holo-display. "Auxiliary generator's out again. If this thing shuts down completely, we lose climate control… and then we suffocate, freeze, or both."
"Lovely," Rue grumbled.
They reached the generator room door. A rusty sign rattled above it:
AUXILIARY POWER CONTROL — AUTHORIZED CREW ONLY
Surgien punched the override.
The door slid open with a groaning hiss.
Inside… silence.
Darkness.
Cold.
The three exchanged uneasy glances.
Rue whispered, "Why is it so quiet?"
Zev stepped in first, sword half-drawn. The room smelled faintly of oil… and something else. Something foul.
Something scratching.
Surgien walked toward the generator panel. "Let's just flip the reboot switch and—"
A tiny shape scurried across his boot.
Surgien froze. "Was… was that a—"
Another one.
Then two more.
Zev's ears twitched. "Uh. Guys. They're behind us."
Rue slowly turned around.
A dozen rats stared at them.
Then two dozen.
Then the walls began to move.
"…nope," Rue whispered. "NOPE."
A wave of rats surged forward like a living carpet.
"RUN!" Zev shouted.
The three bolted up the stairs, practically trampling each other. Rue slammed the door shut, and Zev threw his whole weight against it as the rats clawed from the other side.
Surgien already had his comm out.
"BOSS! NETOSHKA! WE HAVE A SITUATION!"
Netoshka's voice answered instantly.
"What the hell happened?"
"RATS!" Rue shrieked in the background.
"THERE ARE RATS, MA'AM—LIKE, A LOT—LIKE—A HORDE—"
Zev added, "THEY'RE ALL ORGANIZED!"
Netoshka sighed so deeply it sounded like a vacuum chamber collapsing.
"Hold up…I'm coming down."
Five minutes later
Netoshka arrived with a clipboard and duct tape.
The three stood at attention like guilty children.
She listened. Stared at the door. Looked at the rats clawing underneath the crack.
Then she slapped a piece of tape on the metal door.
Wrote in permanent marker:
DO NOT ENTER
RAT INFESTATION
She stepped back. "There. Problem solved."
Rue blinked. "Seriously?"
Zev whispered, "We're… not going to fix the generator?"
Surgien folded his arms. "Great. We're gonna die to climate failure because our top-ranking specialist duct-taped a rodent apocalypse."
Netoshka threw the marker at him.
"Shut up. We're not done.... yet"
Later that night
They returned to their dorms.
The lights flickered.
A rat sprinted across the hallway.
Followed by another.
Then one crawled into the vent.
Rue shrieked. "OH COME ON!"
Zev kicked the wall. "I KNEW IT!"
Surgien threw his hands up.
"THEY'RE MIGRATING! THEY'RE ADVANCING!"
Netoshka appeared again, jaw clenched.
"Tsk…Fine."
She cracked her knuckles.
"We're clearing that room tonight."
Surgien groaned. Rue cursed. Zev almost cried in desperation.
But they followed her back down into the dark.
Back in the generator room
Netoshka kicked the door open.
The rat horde waited like a small furry militia.
"Guys, form up," Netoshka growled, "kill every last one."
Surgien muttered, "This is not what I signed up for…"
Zev shifted to his blades, readily in a combat stance.
Rue pulled out an electrified gadget with malicious glee.
Netoshka drew a combat knife.
Chaos exploded.
Rats scattered.
Rats shrieked.
Zev leaped across the room with unnatural speed, claws swiping through clusters.
Rue zapped the floor, sending rats flying.
Surgien hit them with a mop like his life depended on it.
Netoshka moved like a machine—precision strikes, stabbing every shadow that moved.
When it was finally done, the room looked like a war crime.
Surgien gagged. "It smells like… death and hot garbage."
Netoshka grabbed hazard tape and sealed the entire door.
"Generator room is closed," she declared. "Indefinitely."
Everyone nodded.
No one argued.
Meanwhile — Upper Deck
Genrihk stood on the main hatch balcony, staff resting loosely in his hand as he gazed across the clouds.
Renzo's scanner beeped softly beside him.
"Something incoming," Renzo muttered.
"Hey, Thermal signatures… multiple. Approaching fast."
Ron leaned out from the cockpit platform.
"Relax, kid. Probably just a Federation patrol. Sky traffic's thick out here."
Battery's optical sensors turned toward the horizon.
"Ron," the robot said calmly,
"those are not civilian engines."
Genrihk narrowed his eyes as massive shapes emerged through the fog—slow, bulbous silhouettes drifting with predatory intent.
Blimps.
Heavy ones.
Armed ones.
Then—
FLASH.
The first cannon blast tore through the sky.
Ron screamed, "BATTLE STATIONS, NOW!"
Battery's voice boomed through the ship:
"INCOMING FIRE. ALL HANDS — BRACE FOR IMPACT."
And the Bloodhawk lurched as the first volley hit.