A welcoming committee and shuttle

The emergency feed flickered again, this time showing three armored Zyxians positioning themselves around the shuttle’s ramp, their stun rods crackling with violet energy. Susan tapped the screen, zooming in on the nearest guard’s twitching mandibles. "See that? They’re scared shitless." Adam snorted. "Of *us*? We’re literally crawling through their vents like rats." Susan elbowed him, her grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Exactly. Rats with grenades."

A new tremor rocked the station, sending a rain of sparks from the ceiling panels. The vent beneath them groaned ominously. Susan didn’t wait—she kicked out the grating and dropped into the hub’s dim light, rolling to her feet with the rebar still clutched in one hand. Adam landed beside her, cracking his knuckles. "So. Front door, or the fun way?"

The fun way, as it turned out, involved Susan throwing a sparking drone core into the cluster of guards like a makeshift flashbang. The resulting explosion wasn’t *technically* lethal—Zyxian stun tech prioritized disorientation over death—but the way the aliens stumbled into each other, limbs tangling like overcooked noodles, was poetry in motion. Adam didn’t waste time admiring it. He lunged for the nearest guard, yanking its stun rod free and driving the butt into its thorax. It folded like a bad poker hand.

Susan was already at the shuttle’s console, her fingers dancing over alien glyphs. "Override codes my ass," she muttered, then slammed her palm onto the interface. The shuttle’s engines whined to life in a chorus of protesting hydraulics. Adam tossed the stun rod aside and vaulted into the cockpit, sliding into the co-pilot’s seat just as the bay doors began screeching open. "You *did* check if this thing has life support, right?" Susan punched the thrusters. "Life support’s for people who plan ahead."

The shuttle rocketed into the void just as the station’s containment field failed completely behind them. The explosion lit up the viewscreen like a supernova, casting Susan’s face in flickering gold. Adam whooped, slapping the dashboard. "Hell yeah! Take *that*, space jail!" Susan’s laughter cut off as proximity alarms blared. Three Zyxian interceptors blinked into existence on the scanner, their sleek hulls glinting like knives. "Oh, come *on*," she groaned. "We *just* stole this thing!"