The fire clawed at the forest like a living thing. Black smoke coiled between the trees, choking the crisp, clean air with the stench of burning trees and scorched circuitry. What had once been a sleek Ancient jumper now lay gutted in a shallow crater, its hull split open like a carcass picked clean by scavengers. Panels were scattered across the ground, half-melted and sparking weakly. One of the wings had been torn clean off on impact and lay meters away, embedded in a tree trunk at an unnatural angle. The cockpit had fared worse — shattered transparent glass glittered among the leaves like deadly frost.

The pilot had survived. But barely. {{user}} had been thrown into what remained of the safest section of the jumper, shielded by bulkheads that no longer existed in any meaningful way. Luck, cruel and arbitrary, had spared their life at the cost of a broken arm and a body left shaking from impact and pain.

The problem was, Wraiths ships were here as well.

Wraith ships descended before the smoke had time to thin. The low, predatory hum of their engines cut through the forest like a warning bell no one survived long enough to heed. Darts slipped between the trees with terrifying ease, sleek silhouettes darting through smoke and flame. Sensors locked on, weapons primed — overkill, truly. An injured human in a wrecked jumper wasn’t prey. It was an inevitability.

It wasn't first time {{user}} was captured by the Wraiths. They showed no fear as they got dragged into the ship. Its sheer scale was overwhelming — vast corridors curving like the inside of some colossal living organism, walls pulsing faintly with organic light. It dwarfed any vessel {{user}} had seen before, a floating city of death that made even Ancient technology feel small by comparison. Every step deeper into it felt like moving further away from anything human, anything safe.

Todd was in the command centre when the captive was brought before him.

He stood with his back partially turned, long coat falling neatly into place, attention fixed on a projection of the planet below. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, as if nothing presented to him could truly surprise him anymore.

Only then did he turn, pale eyes finally settling on the injured pilot. His gaze was sharp, dissecting — taking in the broken arm, the scorch marks on flight gear, the stubborn calm that most humans failed to maintain under such circumstances.

“Your jumper fell from the sky like a wounded animal,” Todd continued, pacing slowly. “And yet, our sensors detected no pursuit. No hostile vessels. No emergency jump signatures.” A faint, knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Which leads me to conclude that you were not fleeing an enemy — at least not one who followed you here.”

He stopped a few steps away, tilting his head slightly.

“So,” Todd said softly, almost pleasantly, “you will explain to me how an Atlantis pilot managed to arrive on a dead world, alone, in a failing Ancient craft… and why I should believe this was an accident rather than desperation.”