CHAPTER 19: [19] YOU’RE TRAPPED IN HERE WITH ME

Pierre shifted his stance, weight settling on the balls of his feet like a coiled spring. His hands hung loose at his sides, fingers relaxed but ready. The three sailors spread out instinctively, their confidence wavering as they registered the subtle change in his posture.

"Third option?" Gray Hair scoffed, though his voice carried less certainty than before. "What third option?"

"The one where I walk out of here and you three take a nice long nap."

Broken Nose laughed, but the sound came out forced. "You’re outnumbered three to one, genius. Just surrender and make this easy on everyone."

Pierre’s lips curved into a lazy smile. "Outnumbered? Nah. You’ve got it backwards. I’m not trapped in here with you three." His eyes gleamed with predatory amusement. "You’re trapped in here with me."

The woman drew her baton first. The telescoping weapon extended with a metallic snap that echoed off the corridor walls. "Last warning, red. Come quietly or we drag you."

"Really?" Pierre rolled his shoulders, joints popping audibly. "Love the confidence. Really sells the whole tough Navy act. But here’s the thing about acts—they fall apart the moment someone calls your bluff."

Gray Hair and Broken Nose flanked him, batons extending in practiced unison. Three weapons, three trained sailors, one narrow corridor. On paper, the math looked terrible for Pierre.

He’d never been good at math anyway.

Gray Hair moved first, swinging his baton in a horizontal arc aimed at Pierre’s ribs. The attack came fast—faster than the pirates had managed—but Pierre’s enhanced reflexes made it feel sluggish. He swayed backward, the weapon whistling past his chest by inches, then pivoted on his left foot and drove his right elbow into Gray Hair’s solar plexus.

The sailor’s eyes bulged. Air exploded from his lungs in a harsh wheeze as he doubled over, baton clattering to the floor. Pierre grabbed the back of Gray Hair’s head and drove his knee upward, connecting with the man’s temple. Gray Hair’s eyes rolled back and he crumpled, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"One down," Pierre said, straightening his borrowed uniform jacket. "Who’s next?"

Broken Nose charged with a roar, baton raised overhead like a club. No finesse, just brute force and rage. Pierre sidestepped the downward swing and caught the sailor’s wrist, using his momentum against him. A sharp twist, a sickening pop, and Broken Nose screamed as his wrist snapped. The baton tumbled from nerveless fingers.

"You broke my fucking wrist!"

"Yeah, that’s what the popping sound was." Pierre drove his fist into Broken Nose’s stomach, doubling him over, then brought his knee up to meet the sailor’s descending face. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed across the white corridor walls. Broken Nose hit the floor hard, unconscious and sporting a nose that now lived up to his nickname twice over.

The lady backed against the wall, baton trembling in her grip. Her brown eyes darted between Pierre and the two unconscious sailors, calculation replacing bravado.

"Still feeling confident about that reward money?" Pierre asked, advancing slowly.

"Stay back!" She swung her baton wildly, the weapon cutting empty air. "I’m warning you!"

Pierre caught her wrist mid-swing and squeezed just hard enough to make her fingers open, and the baton clattered to the floor beside its companions.

"Warning me about what? That you’ll yell for help?" Pierre’s grip tightened slightly. "Go ahead."

Diana’s face flushed red. "You bastard! When Captain Hardy finds out—"

"Captain Hardy’s going to find out his people can’t handle one guy? Yeah, that’ll really boost morale." Pierre pressed his palm against her forehead, activating his Essence Drain ability. "Now let’s see what you’re really made of."

The effect was immediate and unexpected. Instead of the gradual energy drain he’d experienced with the pirates, Diana’s essence flowed into him like liquid fire. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as the ability took hold. A soft gasp escaped her lips, followed by a muffled whimper that sounded nothing like pain.

"Mmmmph..." Diana’s legs trembled, knees threatening to buckle as the drain continued. Her face flushed deeper, breath coming in short pants despite Pierre’s hand covering her mouth. "Ahhh... mmm..."

The system notifications flashed in Pierre’s vision:

Essence Drain Active - Target: Diana (Female, Enhanced Physique)

+46 Strength

+38 Dexterity

+27 Agility

+16 Endurance

+27 Spirit

The numbers were significantly higher than what he’d gained from the pirates. Whatever Diana’s training regimen involved, it had built up substantial reserves of essence. But the way the ability affected her...

What the hell was that about? Pierre stared at the woman in his arms. The pirates had simply passed out from exhaustion, but Diana’s reaction had been... different.

Is that how the ability affects women specifically, or was it something else?

No time to analyze it now. Three unconscious Navy personnel in a corridor meant he had maybe five minutes before someone came looking. Pierre dragged Gray Hair and Broken Nose into a nearby supply closet, stacking them behind boxes of cleaning supplies where they wouldn’t be immediately visible.

Diana proved more challenging. Her unconscious form was dead weight, and the supply closet was already crowded with the two men. Pierre hefted her over his shoulder, scanning the corridor for alternative hiding spots.

A storage room marked "Maintenance Supplies - Authorized Personnel Only" caught his attention. Perfect. He’d dump her there, find some rope to make sure she stayed put when she woke up, then continue his search for the library.

Pierre was halfway to the storage room when footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. He froze, Diana’s unconscious form draped over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the familiar sound of regulation Navy boots on polished floors.

Shit.

A young ensign rounded the corner, clipboard in hand and eyes focused on whatever paperwork demanded his attention. The man looked up, saw Pierre’s red hair and distinctive features, then noticed the unconscious woman over his shoulder.

The ensign’s mouth fell open. His clipboard hit the floor with a sharp clatter.

"You... you’re..." The ensign’s voice cracked as recognition dawned. "You’re the red-haired menace!"

Pierre sighed. "Menace? Really?"

The ensign turned and ran, his voice echoing through the corridors. "ALARM! ALARM! THE RED-HAIRED MENACE IS IN SECTION C! SOUND THE ALARM!"

So much for the subtle approach.