Ash tightened the fibre rope strapped around his torso. At merely five millimetres in diameter, it could withstand tens of tons of force. With no solid footing available, Ash pressed lightly against the walls with his toes, zigzagging upward in a precise "Z" formation. Each step was eerily silent, reminiscent of a nocturnal feline's stealth.

At the end of the passage, the security door stood ajar, saving Ash the effort of breaking through. Beyond it lay a steep ladder. Ash’s knowledge of spacefaring vessels was nonexistent; he had no idea where he was or which direction to go. With increasing caution, he began descending the rungs.

Suddenly, the faint metallic sound of something tapping reached his ears. His muscles tensed as he instinctively switched off his wrist-mounted laser light. Ash had long cultivated the habit of staying inconspicuous—drawing attention was often a shortcut to a swift death.

Narrowing his eyes to adjust to the pitch-black surroundings, he pressed his ear against the cold metallic surface, straining to catch any further sound. The unmistakable rhythm of footsteps met his ears. Someone—or something—was there. Determining the general direction, he crouched and silently drifted downward.

Navigating the impenetrable darkness was a harrowing test of his will. The alien layout of the vessel disoriented him further. Without the use of his laser light, Ash was left relying purely on intuition, only to find himself increasingly lost. The terrain was far more complex than he had expected.

Thankfully, the fibre rope tethered to his waist offered some reassurance—his lifeline back to familiar ground.

Then, the sound grew louder, gradually approaching. Ash froze, holding his breath. He pressed his ear closer to the floor, only for the noise to vanish as abruptly as it had begun, as though it had never existed. A cold shiver crawled down his spine, his body responding instinctively to the ominous stillness.

He calmed his nerves by reminding himself to remain steady. No sudden moves. Time was not on his side; the oxygen in his survival kit was running low. Every passing second was precious—finding the ship’s emergency supplies was a race against his own impending suffocation.

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Determined, Ash decided to abandon his evasive manoeuvres. Whether he encountered a friend or foe, survival took precedence over stealth. Resolving to press on, he reached for the laser light on his wrist.

Without warning, a powerful force yanked him downward. Ash reacted instantly, drawing his knife in a flash. The blade glinted sharply even in the dim environment, a streak of cold steel slicing through the air. His strike, swift and precise, cut through nothing but empty space.

Caught off guard by his miss, he hesitated for a split second. That was all it took for the unseen force to drag him down. His body slammed against the ground with a resounding thud. Despite his honed physical resilience, Ash felt the impact rattle his bones.

Blinding white light flooded the room, forcing Ash to roll instinctively beneath a large metallic cabinet nearby. The sudden illumination rendered him temporarily sightless, his eyes struggling to adjust after so much time in the dark.

Unfortunately, his reflexive movement proved disastrous. The cabinet, weighing over three hundred pounds, toppled over, slamming directly onto him. The sheer force felt comparable to a mech's strike. Blood welled in his throat, and he coughed violently, the metallic taste filling his mouth. Darkness swallowed him as he lost consciousness.

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When Ash finally came to, he was greeted by the sound of voices and the sensation of crushing weight pinning him down.

“Look, Zwei! There’s someone here!” exclaimed a youthful voice.

Ash squinted through the pain and faintly made out the blurry outline of two figures. One appeared to be a slender boy, his face illuminated by curiosity. Beside him stood a figure clad in heavy armour, their presence exuding authority and power.

"Let’s check, but he’s probably dead," the armoured figure, referred to as Zwei, responded flatly.

The boy winced at the sight of Ash. "He’s been flattened like a pancake! Is he even human anymore?"

Zwei stepped forward and effortlessly hoisted the three-hundred-pound cabinet with one hand, moving it aside as if it were weightless. The sheer ease of the action made Ash’s ordeal seem almost comical.

To Zwei’s surprise, Ash was still alive. "Incredible... he’s not dead," he murmured, inspecting Ash's battered body.

The boy's eyes widened. "What? No way! Is this guy even human?"

Zwei nodded in disbelief. "His build doesn’t match his endurance. He looks frail but clearly isn’t."

The armoured man’s sharp gaze landed on Ash’s hand, where his combat knife glimmered faintly in the artificial light. The blade was undeniably designed for killing, a weapon of precision and lethality.

Zwei’s hand shot out towards the knife. To him, an armed and unknown individual aboard the ship posed an undeniable threat, regardless of their injuries. His role was to safeguard the boy at all costs.

At that moment, Ash’s eyes snapped open. His adrenaline surged as his vision locked onto the approaching metal hand. Every nerve screamed danger.