The trap was set, and Adam’s pulse quickened as he gave a silent nod to Harris. With a subtle tug of a rope, the mechanism was triggered.
In an instant, the cargo net dropped from above with a heavy thud, entangling Ahmed and Yusuf before they even had a chance to react. Their rifles clattered uselessly to the steel floor as they were hoisted halfway off the ground, thrashing and cursing in panic.
“Got them,” Harris muttered, relief flooding his face.
Adam wasted no time. He stepped out from the shadows, his voice steady and commanding.
“Stay quiet if you want to live.”
The pirates froze, the fight draining out of them. Their fear was palpable, their earlier bravado completely shattered. These weren’t hardened killers—they were desperate amateurs, dragged into piracy by promises of quick riches.
Adam confiscated their weapons and secured them with zip ties, leaving them helpless in the suspended net. The crew around him breathed a collective sigh of relief. Two down—three to go.
But there was no time to celebrate.
From the intercom, a muffled voice suddenly echoed. It was one of the remaining pirates, shouting in broken English:
“Captain! We know you are here. If you no come out… we find your crew. We take them!”
Adam’s jaw clenched. Arale. The pirate leader had made his move. Unlike Ahmed and Yusuf, this one sounded confident, calculating.
Turning to Harris and the others, Adam’s eyes narrowed.
“They’re bluffing. They don’t know where the crew is. But if they start tearing through the ship, they might get lucky. We need to stop Arale before that happens.”
The room fell silent. Everyone knew what this meant: a direct confrontation was inevitable.
Adam grabbed one of the confiscated rifles, checked the magazine, and slung it over his shoulder.
“This ship is ours. Not theirs. Let’s finish this.”
Would you like me to build the next scene into a tense standoff between Adam and Arale, or should I stretch it into a longer cat-and-mouse pursuit through the ship’s corridors before they finally face each other?