The grizzled watchman stood like a rusty nail in Ezekiel's path, blocking the entrance to the hangar. Ezekiel's shadow, dark and vast, engulfed him, as though the sun were setting behind a colossal peak. The man's eyes darted upward, but couldn't hold Ezekiel's gaze for even a second, dropping instead to the broad expanse of his chest. The man took the stale metallic air of the station in shallow breaths. His voice wavered. "Only authorized personnel are allowed at this hour." Ezekiel looked down at him with a flicker of contempt. The man was an old nail. Ezekiel was The Hammer.

His large hand closed around the man's neck, and Ezekiel lifted him effortlessly, leveling the watchman's eyes with his. "I'm authorizing myself," he boomed, and the man trembled in his grasp, nodding frantically with eyes closed. His hands fumbled as he punched in a code on his wristpad, and the door whooshed open. As Ezekiel crossed the threshold into the cavernous hangar, he tossed the man aside like a bag of trash, not even sparing him a glance as he crumpled to the ground with a gasp. No time to waste on the weak.

The clank of his boots on the steel plating echoed throughout the large, dimly lit chamber while the smell of propellant hung in the air. An assorted array of vessels, scattered across the hangar, lay like sleeping beasts of metal, dormant, yet poised to unleash their raw force upon the void. One in particular caught Ezekiel's eye. Black as shadow, its wings spread wide like a raptor in flight, it was the embodiment of precision and lethal grace. A predator, much like the one approaching it. The hint of a smile tugged in the corner of his lips. This bird held a prey in its belly. His prey.

Noose chuckled by his side. "We've found her, Hammer. Too easy. How about we have some fun with the bitch first? See how much pain she can take before we deliver her to the boss!"

Ezekiel stopped, nostrils flaring as he turned to face him slowly. He looked down at Noose with a gaze that could freeze the stars. Noose blinked, the muscles in his neck tightening as he shifted in his black leather jacket before dropping his gaze. "Uh... better let the boss have all the fun, then," he muttered, shaking his greasy black hair off his gaunt face, his mouth twitching to the side, the bravado fading. But something dark flickered in his eyes. Ezekiel kept looking at him for a few seconds, his face hard. He needed Noose's hacking expertise, and he was quick with a gun. But the man was too fond of inflicting pain for his own amusement, a trait he despised. Pain was a weapon, a tool. Not a pastime for the weak-minded who found joy in cruelty.

Ezekiel exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching as though aching to crush Noose's throat, but he stilled them. He turned to the ship, his focus shifting back to the task. "Open it," he commanded.

Noose approached the ship's hatch, connecting his wristpad to the interface. His fingers moved swiftly over the screen, its light casting an eerie glow on his face. Ezekiel stood by his side, his hulking arms crossed over his chest. Suddenly a low, metallic groan reverberated from the ship's interior, as if the black beast had stirred in its slumber. His brow furrowed, the tattoos on his arms shifting as his muscles tensed. He and Noose exchanged a look. Then the hatch opened with a hiss. Noose flashed him his crooked teeth in a wide grin. "As I said, too easy!"

Easy? This woman had been eluding the boss for more than a year now-slipping away like smoke, leaving no trace. Two of Vlamurik's best enforcers went missing looking for her. Maybe killed. Ezekiel was not going to underestimate her. He pulled the heavy rifle from his back in a swift motion, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the hatch. "Don't fuck around," he growled. "Move!"

Noose's smile faded, but his eyes still held that unnerving boastfulness as he unholstered his blaster, tilting his head as if daring the ship to pose a challenge. He moved through the hatch, Ezekiel following close behind.

The scent of hot electronics hit his senses immediately as he entered the narrow corridor of the ship. The low hum of machinery vibrated through the walls, while dim red lights, some of them flickering erratically, illuminated the floor, painting the ship's interior in dark shades of crimson. The corridor led to a junction: a hatch to the right sealed off the cockpit, while another corridor to the left vanished into darkness, deep inside the bowels of the monster. He jerked his chin toward the hatch to the cockpit, and Noose moved to open it, a touch of weariness replacing his usual swagger. Ezekiel stood with his back to the cockpit, his gaze fixed on the darkness ahead, ears attuned to any sound while his rifle was held at the ready.

Soon the hatch slid with a whirr and Noose entered to investigate, his boots tapping softly on the metal floor, blaster held high. Ezekiel waited, staring at the dim corridor in front of him, the red lights flanking the floor like the pathway to the Abyss. Noose soon returned. "It's empty, Hammer. The bitch must be inside," he said, gesturing towards the corridor.

CLANG.

They spun around as the hatch to the cockpit shut violently behind them, the metallic echo reverberating through the ship. The sound faded, leaving a silence that pressed in on them, heavy, unsettling. Ezekiel clenched his teeth. He didn't like this. He turned back toward the corridor and the red lights seemed brighter now, like the throat of a waiting predator, beckoning, daring them to proceed. The crimson glow reflected off his rifle. His grip tightened, and every fiber of his body screamed caution. But Ezekiel wasn't the kind to turn back—he'd been through hell and darkness before, and prevailed. He nodded to Noose, and they moved inside, guns aiming forward, each step deliberate.

The temperature increased as they moved deeper, the hot air clinging to their skin like a warning. Noose's fingers twitched slightly as he adjusted his grip on the blaster, his eyes darting to the corners of the corridor. Soon it opened into a galley chamber. There was a metallic table at the center, round, encircled by a few mismatched chairs. A mug and a plate filled with crumbs sat on top, alongside a deck of casually tossed cards. There were cabinets built into the walls, probably for food and utensils. A poster of some pier on a beach was hung, the waters acquiring scarlet tones in the gloomy red lighting. A closed hatch ahead led forward, probably to the cargo hold, and another to the left sealed them from another room.

But there was an open hatch to the right, its interior swallowed in bleak darkness. Ezekiel gestured for Noose to keep watch as he walked toward it, turning on the flashlight on his rifle. A faint creak echoed through the room, as though the ship was shifting beneath his feet. Ezekiel clenched his jaw as he advanced, scanning the shadows. He'd learned to trust his instincts on these missions. Something felt off. He could feel it in his bones.

He flicked the light switch as he crossed the hatch, revealing a small living quarters. There was a bed against the wall, its sheets still crumpled, a sleeveless bodysuit, white, tossed over them. A pair of worn sneakers sat in a corner, and a teal bomber jacket rested on a hanger, a touch of color in the spartan chamber.

Ezekiel approached the bed, his eyes lingering on a sheet of paper stuck on the wall. It was a children's drawing depicting a brown haired woman holding hands with a blue eyed girl, the name Lucia scribbled at the bottom. A flicker of something stirred inside him—a feeling he almost didn't recognize, something akin to a memory of warmth long buried beneath layers of cold resolve.

He pushed it aside; he couldn't afford to linger here. He rifled through the storage compartments but found nothing except clothes, trinkets, and even a weathered photo of a family-a couple, a girl and a baby. He turned to the bathroom, sliding the door open in a swift motion. His eyes swept the space, but there was no one inside.

Then a creak from behind made Ezekiel spin, his blaster pointed forward. It was Noose. He was near the bed, holding the bodysuit up to his nose, inhaling deeply. "Ah! I bet she's ready for some attention," he said, eyes closed in a disgusting grin. "It'll be such a waste not to play with her. Who knows? Maybe she'll even like it," he bit his lower lip with a face that made Ezekiel's stomach turn. His hand balled into a fist as he resisted the urge to wipe that revolting smirk off his face. Now wasn't the time.

"I told you to stand guard!" Ezekiel's voice snapped with barely contained rage.

Noose frowned, his grin collapsing into a scowl. "She's not here, Hammer! I checked the other room. We might as well get comfortable and wait till she gets back."

Ezekiel was not convinced. He was not taking any chances. He stepped in front of Noose, towering him, his gaze pinning the man in place with a quiet threat. "Check the cargo hold," he growled through gritted teeth.

Noose averted his eyes. "You think you're better than me, huh?" He muttered with a sneer. "Life's ugly, you take advantage when you can, or you're the sucker getting fucked." He took another lingering sniff at the bodysuit before leaving the room. "Maybe I'll keep this," he said, still holding on to the piece of clothing as he crossed the threshold. Ezekiel bit his inner cheek, holding back from strangling the prick. The harshness of life was no excuse for sick depravity.

He took a deep breath, his focus returning to the room. His gaze was drawn back to the children's drawing on the wall, long lost memories slowly resurfacing. He clenched his jaw, trying to push them away, but they lingered like shadows he couldn't shake. Look at my drawing, Zeke! This is me, this is you and this is Scruffs! He's bouncing his tail at you! Do you like it?

CLANG!

The hatch to the room closed shut. Ezekiel arched an eyebrow, pressing the open button as he approached it. Nothing.

"Noose! Open it!" he demanded, but there was no response. He pressed the button frantically, violently, his anger rising. Nothing. And then the lights were out, leaving the entire room in utter blackness.

SHUUUHHHH...

The sound startled him, coming from above, a hollow sucking noise. He turned on the flashlight on his rifle once again, illuminating the air vent where the sound grew louder. Suddenly the air became thin. Panic rose as his lungs ached, each breath hollow, futile—like drowning in open air. He gasped, but no relief came, just more of the same unbreathable air. His vision blurred, a sharp pain shot through his temples. Desperation gripped him as he realized the air recycling system was draining the oxygen, leaving him gasping at nothing!

Ezekiel's eyes darted to the hatch, illuminating the frame with his rifle, looking for the emergency lever. He found the mechanism, but to his dismay, the lever had been detached! His chest burned. The walls seemed to close in around him. Dark spots hovered at the edges of his sight as terror shook him to the core. He inserted the barrel of his rifle into the mechanism, pulling it with all his might, muscles twitching. The weapon started to bend, the metal groaning as he poured the last of his strength into the desperate effort. His mind screamed at him to hold on, to fight, but dread crept through his bones, pain filled his chest and darkness slowly engulfed him.

And then the hatch opened with a wail. Ezekiel gasped sharply, his lungs expanding greedily as oxygen, sharp and cold, filled them, each ragged breath a desperate gulp. His hands trembled as he leaned at the wall, coughing as his body adjusted to the sudden influx of fresh air. He put his hands on his knees, steadying himself. Slowly the panic faded, replaced by something colder, sharper. Rage. It rose like a tide, consuming the last vestiges of fear. She would pay for this. Painfully.

He was Ezekiel no more. Now, he was only The Hammer.

He looked around. The galley room was still dimly lit by the red lights on the floor, the only sound the unnerving hum of the ventilation system. Noose was nowhere to be found, but the large hatch to the cargo hold was open, like a huge maw waiting to devour him. His gaze hardened; jaw tightened. His fingers moved across his wristpad, which emitted a faint beep as it sent his command. He tossed his bent rifle aside, gripping the blaster holstered at his hip. There was no turning back now. It was either hunt or be hunted. Mustering his resolve, he pointed the blaster forward, crossing the hatch into the entrails of the ship.

The broad cargo hold was gloomy, filled with containers and crates that cast long shadows across the floor. A screechy, rhythmic sound echoed in the room and the cool air carried the tang of metal and oil. He crouched behind the crates, advancing slowly, his senses on high alert. There was a single light source in the center of the hold, and he noticed a dangling movement ahead, in the same rhythm of the noise. He couldn't quite see what it was, his vision was blocked by a container. A smuggling lid, now propped open vertically, offered him cover while giving him a clear view of whatever lay ahead. He tightened the grip on his blaster and, crouching low, took cover behind the lid.

A chill crept up his spine as he saw what it was.

Dangling from a crane in the ceiling, like a broken, twisted marionette, was Noose. His arms and legs were bound behind his back, the bindings attached to the crane. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, trickling around his swollen eye and down his face. His body swayed slightly, the crane groaning, its strained metal joints producing a low, almost mournful creak, and a faint muffled moan could barely be heard. Shoved into Noose's mouth, gagging him, was a white bodysuit-the same one he took as a prize from her room.

BANG.

A loud noise made Ezekiel turn to the side. Another deafening BANG erupted in front of him as the lid slammed shut, leaving him exposed. Before he could react, the crane screeched, hurtling toward him. Noose's limp body smashed into his ribs with a hard thud. Pain shot through his back as he was knocked to the ground, gasping for air. His blaster clattered across the metal floor.

He rolled, lying on his chest, every muscle tensing as he reached for the gun. His fingers brushed the grip, when a bare foot slid into view, pulling it away. His gaze travelled up from the foot, meeting the barrel of a blaster pointed at his face. But it was the cold hazel eyes behind it that froze him on the spot.

Kira Vance.

Her frame was outlined by the gloom of the cargo hold. She stood barefoot, wearing a simple white tank top that clung to her skin and a pair of athletic shorts. Her chin-length brown hair was slightly tousled, like she'd been woken up too early, but her eyes showed no hint of sleep. They were alert, sharp, deadly.

"Next time, you should really try knocking first. I hate uninvited guests... and I get cranky when I'm dragged out of bed," she said, her face hard, the blaster unflinching in her hand as she looked down at him.

Ezekiel held her gaze, trying to steady his breath, hardly moving. His muscles clenched as a wave of anger rippled through his body. Yet there was something else beneath it. Respect. She'd gotten him. She had him right where she wanted.

"Not very talkative, huh? Still out of breath?" she quipped, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Ezekiel's nostrils flared at the memory of his near-death experience. "Enjoy this while you can!" he growled. "You'll soon regret it!"

"I'll never regret seeing the mighty Hammer getting nailed down," she said with a spark of mischief. But her smile quickly faded. "Now talk. How did you find me? Are there more of you on this station?"

Ezekiel remained silent, his defiant gaze locking into hers. Cornered and disarmed, he was not defeated. Not yet.

"I still have Mr. Disgusting over there," she said, nodding to Noose, still swaying in the crane above him, moaning through his gag as if having a bad dream. "I could just blow your brains out and talk to him instead," she said, her blaster never leaving Ezekiel's face.

His lips curled into a thin line. It was humiliating lying there, on his chest, at her mercy. "Try it," he growled in a low menacing tone. "I'll be on you before you can blink."

Kira was unfazed. "Bold," she said, her tone cool. "But I can shoot pretty fast. Wanna try me?"

Ezekiel remained silent, frustration simmering. Rage wouldn't help him now.

"You should've known better," Kira continued. "You should've brought a whole army if you thought you could ambush me inside my ship."

Ezekiel's jaw clenched. Then, a faint beep from his wristpad caught his attention. A slow, malicious smile crept across his face. Satisfaction. He didn't need to look to know what the message said.

Kira's frown deepened, her body tensing. "What the hell are you smiling at?"

"Maybe I do know better," he drawled.

Suddenly, a loud noise echoed through the chamber. The large doors of the cargo hold slid open with a metallic moan. A dozen silhouettes emerged from the opening, bursting inside, their footsteps clanking on the metal floor. Their blasters were held high, pointed at her. In a matter of seconds, they surrounded her, creating an iron ring of firepower.

Ezekiel rose to his feet, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her. He loomed above her, his eyes hard and unforgiving. He reached for her blaster. The muscles in her jaw flinched as she reluctantly let him take it from her grip. Yet the fire in her eyes refused to die. It blazed even harder, unyielding.

"Cuff her," he ordered, his voice cold. One of the men stepped forward, yanking her arms behind her back, binding her wrists. She offered no resistance. Yet her whole body was stiff, as though defiance still pulsed through her veins.

And although she tried to mask it, even now as she stood inside the circle of guns, Ezekiel could see through her. Coiled shoulders. Dilated pupils. Uneven breathing. He could almost smell the fear creeping inside her.

She was fierce. Cunning. Ruthless.

But in the end... just another nail he'd hammered down.

Author's Note:

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