Jack Vane slouched in the pilot’s chair, fingers drumming nervously on the console as he watched a crimson warning scroll across the screen. "Skitter, Scratch, patch the comms. We need eyes everywhere," Skitter and Scratch, their iridescent shells catching the starlight, buzzed in unison, four arms each racing across tangled wires. "Already on it, boss. We’ll have the Vultures’ frequencies in thirty seconds,"

Don (The Vultures King) steps from the shadows, his high-collared coat rustling like wings, Ocular Array glowing menacingly as he surveys the intruders. "So, the infamous Jack Vane dares to trespass in my domain. How quaint," "Don, I’m not here for games. You’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you—something star-born," "Everything in this sector belongs to me. Or did you forget whose name the constellations whisper?"

Jack Vane faces Don across the chamber, his voice low but unwavering. "Return the star-core. Or I’ll strip every lock on this ship myself," "You always were reckless, Jack," Don sneered. "But you underestimate the Vultures. We don’t surrender treasures. We consume them." "Boss, we’re almost through. But there’s a failsafe—looks like a plasma grid," Scratch warned, pincers twitching.

"Don’t do this. There’s more at stake than your pride," "I thought you’d understand desperation, Jack. But you’re just another scavenger in the void," "Jack, we’ve got a way out—vent shaft, port side. But we’ll have to move fast," "Then we run. And we don’t look back,"

Jack Vane wipes sweat from his brow, eyes flicking to the orb. "We did it. For now," "Don won’t forget this. Vultures always circle back," "Let him come. The stars have always belonged to thieves like us,"

Jack Vane gazes out at the cosmos, determination etched on his face. "This isn’t over. The requiem’s just begun,"