He stepped down from the shuttle, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun. Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.
She kept him still and held his beating heart with one gaze, feeding off of him. She was a succubus, beauti...
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The halls of a Venator were known to Talia. Every bay, every corridor, every barrack and dining hall and war room; she knew them all. Every twist and turn, every hidden alcove and maintenance hatch, she had memorized before even having stepped foot on one.
As she ran through the halls, hurdling over scattered debris and sliding beneath downed walls, she silently thanked her former master for his meticulous pedagogical methods and unwavering dedication to detail even prior to the war effort.
Sturdy boots shook the ground behind her, the heavy footfalls reverberating through the corridors like distant thunder. Despite his size, Wrecker moved with surprising speed, driven by an urgency that matched Talia's own. But she was agile, nimble-footed, and she knew the layout of the cruiser like the back of her hand.
Making turns seemingly at random, she rounded a rusted corner. The corridor ahead was a scene of devastation, debris strewn haphazardly across the floor and stretching to the caved-in ceiling like the aftermath of a battle, forming a makeshift barrier. Without breaking stride, she spotted a small gap amidst the wreckage.
Her hand found purchase on a rusted slab of metal paneling before she launched herself sideways, vaulting feet first through the mess of durasteel wreckage. She slid out the other side, her momentum carrying her forward without skipping a beat.
Just a few steps behind, Wrecker followed in reckless abandon, determination evident in the menacing scowl that twisted his features. Shoulder lowered, he crashed through the barrier of debris, using his brute strength to clear the path without a second thought. There was no obstacle too great, no hindrance too large to deter him from his directive.
Emerging from the debris, Wrecker shook his head with a grunt, chest heaving. Yet, there was no hesitation in his movements as he pressed on, pumping his arms as he tore down the corridor. And then he came to a sudden stop, feet planting firmly just shy of a pair of opened blast doors...
His head turned slowly then looked down. There, in the midst of the rust and gathered dust lay the pristine imprint of a dainty boot.
He looked up slowly, eyeing the room beyond. Caution for such a perfectly placed lure was not something he bothered to concern himself with in his current state as he strode through the raised blast doors, his large frame filling the opened doorway as he passed.
His eyes were narrowed, the dim light casting dark shadows across his face as he surveyed the decrepit compartment with a sinister gleam, the room eerily silent. The former war room's lights flickered intermittently, the space now lying in ruin.
The chamber was spacious, yet suffocatingly claustrophobic, the central holotable looming like a specter in the dim light; uprooted and almost sinking into the floor through the metal cracks below, its once vibrant display now shattered and dim. Rows of overturned seats lined the perimeter, their rusted frames wrecked and ruined as if haunted by the ghosts of their former occupants. The walls themselves seemed to groan under the weight of neglect, their paneling hanging off in jagged shards, adorned with peeling data terminals that whispered echoes of a bygone era, forever darkened without a power supply.
