The hangar was alive with motion, mechanics shouting over the roar of engines, sparks falling from plasma welders, and the sharp scent of oil and ionized air filling the space. Rows of starships lined the vast chamber, each one a different masterpiece of engineering—sleek fighters, armored transports, STF cruisers—each built for precision and war. But in the center of it all stood something entirely different.
It was enormous, ancient, and gleaming, a cybernetic pirate ship, forged from a strange fusion of alien steel and imperial tech. Its hull bore the scars of past battles, patched with mechanical plating and energy conduits that pulsed like veins. A colossal figurehead in the shape of a roaring lion jutted from the bow, eyes glowing faint blue from its core.
Ice King stood proudly before it, his frost-colored armor reflecting the soft blue lights of the hangar floor. His presence carried authority—the kind earned not through command, but through survival and legend. Behind him came his team, Captain One Arm, towering and broad-shouldered with his cybernetic arm glinting beneath his coat; Red Riot, fiery-eyed and restless, his sleeveless armor showing the faint scars of a thousand missions; Azryl, calm and precise, his every movement measured; and White Flash, leaning against a railing with a skeptical smirk.
White Flash broke the silence first. "You've got to be kidding me."
Ice King turned, his expression unreadable. "Ian approved this. We'll be rolling into battle with it."
White Flash raised an eyebrow, glancing at the ship again. "Rolling into battle? With a pirate ship?"
"Cybernetic," Ice King corrected, his tone flat. "And heavily armed. Dual plasma cannons, four magnetic railguns, an internal hyperdrive core, and a reinforced deck shield. It's not a joke. It's a weapon of war."
Azryl crossed his arms. "Could be worse," he said with quiet amusement.
Captain One Arm let out a low whistle, running his metal hand along the ship's hull. "I guess it's true what they say. Ian's losing his mind—approving something like this."
Red Riot grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing. This thing's beautiful."
The team followed Ice King up the retractable gangway as the ship's engines purred to life. Inside, the corridors glowed with a faint amber light. The architecture was unlike anything they'd seen, a blend of ancient design and futuristic wiring. Worn iron doors stood beside energy conduits, and hand-carved wood railings framed holographic control panels.
"This ship was recovered from the edges of the Rim," Ice King said as they walked. "An old pirate vessel refitted by the STF engineering corps. It still carries its original name, The Frozen Fang."
They entered the bridge. Massive glass windows curved around the front, revealing the hangar below. The controls were spread out like an organ of war—old brass levers beside sleek digital monitors.
"Crew quarters are below deck," Ice King continued, motioning toward the stairwell. "Weapon control and navigation are forward. I'll be piloting from here. Azryl, you'll handle target control. One Arm, you're in charge of the boarding unit. Red Riot, you're my secondary in command.
White Flash folded his arms. "Yeah, yeah. I'll make sure we don't explode."
"Good," Ice King said simply. "We launch at dawn."
The ship hummed softly beneath their feet. For a moment, even the ever-cynical White Flash seemed to quiet, watching the glow of the energy cores beneath the glass floor. It wasn't just a ship; it was a relic of rebellion reborn for a new war.