Back on Warlord Judge's main mothership, Moore was still sealed inside her prison like a collectible—displayed behind glass by someone with no life, no hobbies, and a suspiciously strong bond with their mother's basement.
Her cell was a clean, cruel rectangle: steel walls, a floor that hummed with suppressed power, and a plasma shield at the front that shimmered like liquid light. It didn't look solid.
It was.
To Moore's left, Dixie's cell mirrored hers. He wasn't scowling like Moore. He wasn't pacing like Moore. He was sitting cross-legged, calm as a monk, etching tally marks into the wall with his metal finger like he was counting down the days until he could punch the universe in the jaw.
To Moore's right, CAT stood inside his own cell, perfectly still—menacingly so. Not "standing because there's nowhere to sit" still. More like "statue of a war god that might start moving if you blink" still.
Moore stomped once, hard enough to make her cell's floor ring.
"Okay—how the hell did this happen?!" she snapped, voice bouncing off the walls and coming back angrier. "We were at the super mech-walker thing, Amaru and Nyxa went to fight the… witch horror whatever, pirates showed up like ants the moment you drop ice cream on concrete in summertime, Tyson did the greatest vanishing trick in recorded history, and boom—we're captured by the most dangerous warlord in this sector!"
"Oi—check this out." Tap tap
The shield rippled in response—waves of energy rolling outward like water.
"Plasma. Fancy. Still reckon I could break it if you give me a minute and a bad attitude."
Dixie flicked his metal finger against his plasma shield.
"I tell ya, Agent Moore," Dixie said, squinting at his tally marks like they owed him money, "we merely got Jack about it. The croc caught us dinn, and now we're currently digestin' here."
Moore stared at him.
"…Did you just compare our current situation to being eaten?"
Dixie shrugged. "Feels accurate."
CAT spoke without moving anything except his mouth.
"I am not currently in prison," he said, voice flat and cold. "I am reserving my time to be used once more."
Moore's eye twitched. "That is the most prison-sounding thing you could possibly say."
CAT's red optics brightened by exactly one ominous degree.
Moore threw her hands up. "So what—he keeps us in display cases until he gets bored? Trades us for fuel? Uses us as intimidation décor?"
Dixie leaned forward and stage-whispered, "Maybe he's gonna put little name tags under us. Moore: Rare. Dixie: Limited Edition. CAT: Do Not Feed. Bloke's collectin' people like fridge magnets. It's a bit tragic, honestly."
Moore's face flattened. "Shut up."
Across the cells, down the hallways and around the turns, the mothership swallowed sound and light—steel corridors, red strobes, and the lazy shimmer of plasma that made prisoners look like museum pieces.
Then the view kept pulling back.
Past sealed blast doors and gunmetal ribs. Past hangar mouths and docking clamps. Out through the armored skin of Warlord Judge's main ship and into the cold, crowded dark—his entire fleet spread like a net across the stars.
And hanging over it all, like a bruise painted onto space—
The Wraith.
A high-contrast violet glow, sharp enough to hurt your eyes, blooming across wreckage and drifting debris. The kind of light that didn't illuminate carnage so much as announce it.
Cutting warlord judge's grunts and ship
Until we are pulled back to Dixie's ship.
Not the roar of battle now, just the constant hush of engines and the faint, dusty buzz of old tech. A CRT screen flickered in the dim, its soft green glow washing over Limes' face and curving the world into warped lines.
On the screen: Moore—grumpy, pacing, jaw clenched like she wanted to bite through the wall. Dixie—making tally marks like it was a pub game. And CAT—
CAT stood perfectly still, tall and severe, doing his best impression of a department store mannequin that could snap your spine if you asked for a different size.
Limes' gills fluttered.
He leaned closer, claws hovering like he could reach through the glass and pull them free.
"Zell…" he breathed.
The image rolled—white bars crawling down the screen.
Moore stomped. Dixie shrugged. CAT didn't move.
Limes swallowed hard, eyes glued to the feed.
"Zhit."