The lantern in Hook’s quarters cast a dim glow, flickering shadows against the worn wood of the ship’s walls. Captain Hook stood alone, staring down at the tattered map of Neverland that lay spread out across his desk, its once-bright colors faded and dulled by time. His fingers, cold and mechanical, traced the line of the coast where Peter Pan and the Lost Boys made their home. A scowl twisted his lips.

It always came back to Peter. That infernal boy, the one who had tormented him for years. The one who had refused to grow up, to suffer the indignities of age, the way Hook himself had. No matter how many times Hook had tried to corner him, no matter how many schemes he had set in motion, Peter always managed to escape. Always managed to fly free, like a specter of youth and chaos, while Hook was left to rot in this cursed land.

Hook clenched his mechanical fist, the familiar whirr of gears grinding together as the steel fingers tightened around the map. His eyes flicked to the scarred stump at the end of his arm—the place where Peter’s devilish crocodile had taken his hand so many years ago. The place where Peter had laughed as Hook had screamed in agony.

There was a time when Hook had prided himself on his cunning, his wit, his ability to outsmart any opponent. But Peter had taken that from him. Peter had made him a fool—time and time again. And Hook had grown to hate him for it. Not just as an enemy, but as a symbol. A reminder of what Hook could never be.

“Eternal youth,” Hook muttered, the words dripping with venom. “He plays at life like it’s a game, while the rest of us... the rest of us are forced to grow old, to suffer.”

The lantern flickered again, and Hook’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at the map. He had spent years studying these cursed islands, memorizing every detail, every hidden cove and treacherous path. He knew them better than anyone, better than Peter himself, perhaps. But knowing Neverland had done him no good. Magic—wild, unpredictable magic—ruled this place. And it answered only to those who refused to grow up, who embraced the chaos of childhood.

But Hook had no use for chaos. He had no use for magic.

He had technology.

His mechanical arm hummed softly as he flexed his fingers, the joints moving smoothly with a sound that was almost comforting. This arm—this creation of steel and steam—was his way of fighting back. His way of controlling what Peter and his magic could not.

Hook’s lips curled into a cruel smile. The boy might have magic, but Hook had progress. Hook had order, structure. Machines, cold and relentless. And with them, he would finally bring Peter to his knees.

He reached for a nearby spyglass, lifting it to his eye as he stared out the cabin window toward the distant shores of Neverland. The island’s lush, sprawling beauty held no charm for him—only a reminder of the trap he could never escape. But Peter... Peter reveled in it. He thrived on it, as if the island itself were his plaything.

“He thinks he’s untouchable,” Hook whispered to himself. “But he’s wrong.”

The thought fueled him, a simmering rage building in his chest. This time, things would be different. This time, Hook had a plan. And this time, Peter would fall.

Capturing the Airship

Hook stepped out onto the deck of the Jolly Roger, his boots clicking sharply against the worn wood. The familiar stench of the sea and the salted wind greeted him, but today, there was a sense of urgency in the air. His crew, ragtag and ruthless, stood huddled in small groups, their voices low as they whispered rumors of the Captain’s latest plan. They knew something was coming, something big. And Hook had made sure they were right.

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With a sharp whistle, Hook snapped them to attention. The crew gathered quickly, falling into a loose formation, their eyes fixed on their leader. Hook’s piercing gaze swept over them, taking in their eager faces. They were good for little more than chaos and plundering, but they were loyal enough—fear kept them in line, and fear of Hook was enough for now.

“My men,” Hook began, his voice smooth, but filled with authority. “You have served me well. We have terrorized the shores of Neverland, we have taken what we wanted, and yet... there is one prize that has eluded us.”

The pirates murmured among themselves, their eyes glinting with curiosity. They knew what Hook meant. Peter Pan—the one enemy Hook had never been able to conquer. The one who had humiliated him time and again. The one whose laugh still haunted Hook’s dreams.

Hook’s mechanical arm flexed, the fingers curling into a tight fist before releasing. “But now, my friends, we have the means to bring that wretched boy to his knees.”

He stepped forward, pacing in front of his crew like a predator stalking its prey. “You’ve heard of the airship, haven’t you? The flying machine that brought those children—Wendy, John, and Michael—to these cursed islands?”

The crew nodded, their murmurs growing louder. The airship had been the talk of the pirate camp for days. None of them had ever seen such a marvel of technology, something capable of soaring through the skies without the help of pixie dust or magic.

“That airship,” Hook continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl, “will be our key. It will not only allow us to capture Peter, but it will give us the means to leave this infernal place once and for all.”

The crew’s excitement buzzed through the air. They had longed to leave Neverland, to sail the seas of the real world once more. Hook had promised them many things, but the thought of escaping Neverland’s grasp had always seemed like a distant dream. Now, with the airship in play, that dream felt closer than ever.

Hook raised his mechanical hand, pointing toward the skies. “That machine will be ours. And with it, we will take Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. They’ll have no place to hide from us—not in the trees, not in the skies.”

A low cheer rose from the crew, but Hook silenced them with a sharp gesture. “But Peter won’t be our only target. The girl—Wendy—she is important to him. And that makes her important to us. We will use her to draw him out, to force his hand. Peter may be reckless, but he is predictable. His loyalty to his friends will be his undoing.”

The pirates nodded, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They knew the game now, and they were ready to play it. Hook’s plan was ruthless, and they had no doubt that it would work.

Hook turned toward Mr. Smee, who had been standing quietly by his side, nervously fidgeting with his hat. “Smee,” Hook barked, causing the man to jump, “prepare the men. I want scouts sent out immediately. We need eyes on the airship at all times. I want to know exactly where it is and how vulnerable it is.”

“Aye, Captain!” Smee replied with a quick salute, hurrying off to follow orders.

Hook’s eyes returned to the crew. “And as for the rest of you,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “you will prepare for battle. We are not just hunting boys this time. We are taking everything from them—their home, their freedom, their very souls if we must. This is the final game, and I intend to win.”

The pirates cheered, louder this time, their excitement palpable. Hook’s plan had ignited a fire in them—a hunger for victory, for freedom, for the power that the airship represented. They wanted to believe that this time, things would be different. That this time, Hook would triumph over Peter Pan.

Hook allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. His mind raced with the possibilities. The airship was the perfect weapon—one that Peter could not outrun, one that could lift them all above the confines of Neverland’s shores. And if Hook had his way, it would not only give him the power to capture Peter, but to finally escape the island that had imprisoned him for so long.

He turned his back to the crew, gazing out toward the distant shores where the airship and the Lost Boys were hiding. The thought of Peter’s face—shocked, helpless—when he realized he had lost was a delicious one.

“This time, Peter,” Hook whispered under his breath, “you will fly no more.”