{Drakar Station}
"Sir! We can't hold on any longer!"
The frantic voice of the station's lead engineer echoed through the command room. His face was pale, drenched in sweat as he gripped a console for support.
"The shields are down! We've run out of parts and energy to bring them back online!Where are the reinforcements?!"
Near the reinforced observation window, the trading station administrator stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the void of space. Beyond the glass, pirate ships circled like vultures, their dark silhouettes illuminated only by distant stars and the faint glows of their thrusters. His shoulders sagged under the weight of age and responsibility.
"There won't be reinforcements," he said at last, his voice low and heavy.
Without turning, he reached for a datapad resting on the desk beside him and tossed it to the engineer.
The young man caught it clumsily, his hands trembling. He stared at the screen in disbelief.
"Those are all the calls I sent to all the nobles nearby for help," the administrator continued. "Every single one of them said that they would arrive in three days."
Finally, he turned to face the engineer, his tired eyes meeting the younger man's wide, panicked gaze.
"We've been left to die, those greed bastards have wanted this space station for a long time."
"No…"
The engineer's voice cracked as he scanned the messages. His breath quickened, his mind scrambling for explanations.
"That can't be true. Maybe... maybe an enemy of the empire is attacking. Yes, that has to be it!"
His voice rose, thick with desperation.
"That's why the reinforcement are taking so long!"
The administrator let out a weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his weathered face.
"Give it up, kiddo," he said softly. "Face the truth. They've sold us out. They probably sent the pirates to attack us—which explains why they are not trying to cause any irreversible damage to the space station."
The engineer shook his head violently, his breathing growing shallow.
"No, no, that can't be! They wouldn't…"
The administrator stepped forward, placing a firm hand on the young man's shoulder.
"Listen to me. We can't waste time clinging to false hope. The shields are down. We had to switch to kinectic weapons. The pirates are coming. We have no backup. It's time to fight."
Tears welled in the engineer's eyes. His lips quivered, struggling to form words. But the administrator didn't wait for a reply. He let out a long, tired breath and strode toward a large storage locker in the corner of the room.
"Send the order to the guards," he called over his shoulder. "Tell all of them to prepare for a siege. The pirates will board soon. That's how they operate. They disable the shields, then move in for the kill."
He opened the locker, revealing an old, battle-worn Mandalorian armor, its plating scratched and scorched from years of service. Despite the damage, the insignia of Crimson Empire's special force remained intact.
Piece by piece, he donned the armor, the weight of it both familiar and sobering. Finally, he reached for a laser rifle mounted on the wall. The weapon's barrel was worn, but it had been meticulously maintained over the years. He cradled it in his hands, lost in a moment of quiet nostalgia.
Once fully suited, he turned back to the engineer, who stood frozen in place. Stepping forward, the administrator ruffled the young man's hair.
"I'm sorry, kiddo," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I promised your parents I'd keep you safe. But... looks like I failed."
Tears spilled down the engineer's cheeks.
"Gramps…" he choked out, barely above a whisper.
The administrator turned toward the automatic doors, his armored boots clanking against the metal floor. As the doors slid open with a hiss, he prepared to join the other guards on the station's lower levels.
"Wait!"
The engineer's voice broke as he wiped his tears with a sleeve.
"Gramps, wait!"
The administrator paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"If… if this is the day we see my parents again," the engineer said, his voice shaking, "then it's better if we go together."
He straightened his back, taking a deep, unsteady breath before grabbing a laser rifle from the nearby weapons rack.
The administrator's weary expression softened into a rare smile.
"Hah. That's more like it," he said, clapping the young man on the back. "I expected no less from my grandson."
Together, they strode through the door, the faint sounds of alarms and distant gunfire growing louder.
*******
On the lower levels, the station's guards scrambled to reinforce their defenses. Makeshift barricades lined the docking corridor. The tension in the air was suffocating—everyone knew they were outgunned, outnumbered, and likely out of time.
The administrator and his grandson entered the room. At once, the guards turned toward them, their fear and uncertainty evident.
"Listen up!" the administrator barked, his voice cutting through the noise.
All eyes were on him.
"I won't lie to you," he continued. "Reinforcements aren't coming. This fight is ours and ours alone. But if those pirate bastards think they can take this station without a fight, they've got another thing coming."
He raised his rifle, its barrel glowing faintly in the dim light.
"We hold the line. For the station. For our people. For everything they've taken from us!"
A shaky but resolute cheer rose from the guards.
The engineer tightened his grip on his rifle, standing beside his grandfather with steely determination.
"We're with you, Gramps."
The administrator allowed himself a small smile, then turned to face the docking bay doors.
The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed through the station.
"They're breaching," he muttered.
A deafening explosion rocked the station as the airlock doors were blown apart. A shockwave tore through the corridors, sending debris flying.
Pirates poured in, their guttural war cries filling the air. Laser fire erupted in a blinding storm of red and blue.
*******
{Pirate side of the battle}
"Hia hia hia! The top five beauties on the station are mine tonight!"
A grotesque pirate leader, clad in mismatched armor adorned with crude trophies, cackled as he crouched behind his men's siege shields. His jagged yellow teeth gleamed as he licked his cracked lips.
One of his underlings, a wiry man with nervous eyes, turned toward him hesitantly.
"But, boss, uh… the big boss said the most beautiful ones are his to play with first. You know… before…"
The underling shuddered, remembering the torture sessions their leader was infamous for.
The pirate leader laughed, leaning close with a disturbingly flirtatious smirk.
"Mmm… you're not so bad yourself. How about it, pretty boy?"
The underling's face went ghostly pale. Without another word, he bolted toward the front lines, grabbing the nearest weapon he could find.
Better to die in battle than endure that.
The leader cackled.
"Hia hia hia! What a shame!"
His amusement was short-lived. A gun shot from the defenders took off his underling's head in a spray of blood and charred flesh.
"Pfft! Guess he didn't have much of a head for battle!" the pirate leader jeered, throwing his head back in cruel laughter.
*******
Behind a stack of cargo crates, the administrator fired relentlessly, his rifle's barrel glowing hot.
"Don't stop firing!" he bellowed.
The engineer crouched nearby, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
"Gramps! There's too many of them!"
"Then we push harder!"
But before they could regroup, a chilling sight sent ice through their veins.
A new group of pirates entered, their shoulders weighed down by tube-like weapons.
The engineer's breath hitched.
"Are those… rocket launchers?!"
His voice cracked in terror.
"EVERYONE, TAKE COVER!"
The administrator's eyes widened.
"Missiles! MOVE!"
A second later, the air filled with the unmistakable whoosh of incoming death.