"Excellent." His laugh was wet, obscene. "I want them taken alive. Anyone clever enough to breach my vault deserves a personal conversation before processing. Fresh inventory is always profitable."
I stepped forward, no longer hiding in the shadows.
"Hello, Kelloch."
The command center fell silent. Every eye in the room turned toward me—human subordinates going pale, Syndicate enforcers reaching for weapons, and Kelloch himself studying me.
"Security breach," one of his lieutenants said, hand moving toward his sidearm.
"Wait." Kelloch raised a chitinous appendage. "This is far more interesting than a simple maintenance worker. Look at herstance. She's not here by accident." His six eyes focused on me. "Tell me, little human, are you one of my thieves?"
"I'm someone you should remember." I pulled the data pad from my toolkit. "Terran cargo from the Celestial Promise. Lot 47-B. You processed them yourself eighteen years ago."
He tilted his massive head. "Terran cargo... yes, a profitable shipment. Quality breeding stock, as I recall. Excellent genetic diversity. What about it?"
"My family was in that shipment."
"Family," he spoke the word like a foreign concept. "Ah, yes. The adults are culled to improve the compliance of the younger, more valuable assets. Standard protocol."
The casual assessment of my parents' murder hit like a physical blow, but I forced my voice to remain steady. "You looked into my eyes. Seven years old, scared, calling for my mother. You told me I'd never see her again."
Kelloch studied my face with clinical detachment. "Should I remember? You humans all look the same at that age. Large eyes, vocal distress patterns, standard psychological breaking points."
Standard psychological breaking points. My trauma had been routine, my family's destruction a line item in an efficiency report.
"You don't remember me at all."
"I remember profitable transactions and problem inventory." His mandibles clicked dismissively. "Individual processing units blend together after a while. Though your survival is noteworthy—most products that age don't adapt well to independent operation."
Products. The word was a void in my chest. He thought of my parents as inventory. Me as a product that had somehow slipped quality control.
"But this is fascinating," he continued. "A processed unit returning to confront its handlers. Tell me, did you come here seeking revenge? Closure?"
"I came here to destroy you." My first move wasn't the data pad. It was the shock rod in my hand, aimed not at him, but at the primary command console. I jammed it into the main power conduit. Fifty thousand volts surged through the station's nerve center. Consoles exploded in showers of sparks, screens went dark, and the entire command center plunged into the hellish red glow of emergency lighting.
In the chaos, I held up the data pad, its screen the only steady light in the room. "Your complete operational database. Client lists, shipping routes, security protocols, financial records. Eighteen years of evidence documenting every crime, every victim, every credit earned from misery."
For the first time, genuine fear flickered in his compound eyes. "That's impossible. My systems use military-grade encryption?—"
"I'm a navigator," I said, finding strength in the simple truth. "I understand systems. And I've had eighteen years to study yours specifically."
"You're bluffing. Even if you could access my files?—"
"Transmission complete," I announced as the data pad's screen flashed green. "Broadcasting to every rival criminal organization in the sector. Your client list is now public record. Your security protocols are compromised. Your financial networks are exposed."
The command center erupted in chaos. But Kelloch's attention remained fixed on me, his six eyes blazing with fury.
"You stupid, short-sighted creature," he hissed. "Do you have any comprehension of what you've unleashed? My clients will hunt you across star systems to protect their secrets. My competitors will tear you apart for the intelligence advantage."
"Let them try." I smiled, feeling something cold and satisfied settle in my chest. "I've been hunted before. But you? You'll be dead long before they find me. Your own clients will kill you for the security breach. Your enemies will use the intelligence to destroy your operations piece by piece."
The tactical displays that still worked were already showing the effects. Communication networks lighting up as the transmitted data spread through criminal channels. Financial systems registering massive transaction spikes as clients moved to protect their assets.
"By morning," I continued, watching his empire burn in real-time on his own screens, "your organization will be history."
"You've destroyed everything!" he roared, lurching upright from his throne.
"Good." The word came out flat, final. "Now you know how it feels."
