A compliant intervention in a prison ship mutiny, an excuse for internal affairs inspection takes shape

In the T-03 Defense Zone, a light Prison Ship, numbered "Judgment-7," hovers in the shadow of an asteroid belt.

This is the frontier of the Management Committee; deathly silence is the only dominant theme.

Natasha sat upright in the Containment Room.

On the table in front of her lay a blank sheet of official paper, of high quality, specifically designed for high-ranking officials to write self-criticism reports.

30,000 words.

She hasn't uttered a single word.

Two guards, separated by an energy barrier, stood outside the door, their expressions tense. They were from a grassroots unit of the Stability Maintenance Office, ordered to guard this once powerful acting Director of the Internal Affairs Inspection Office.

This job made them extremely uneasy.

Natasha's gaze seemed to be fixed on the white paper in front of her, but her peripheral vision was always locked on the extremely dark screen of a miniature tactical terminal under the cuff of her left sleeve.

On the screen, the dozens of red dots representing the "Bloodfang" raider Fleet are undergoing a subtle change in their IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) beacons.

They neither disappeared nor disintegrated.

Instead, it was uniformly overwritten and connected to a rarely used backup communication frequency band of the Management Committee.

That was a temporary channel specifically for incorporated external armed forces to use when carrying out "dirty work".

Natasha's fingertips curled up almost imperceptibly under the table.

Gwen Stacy.

Not only did she survive, she also turned the entire Bloodfang Fleet into her pawns.

The "living trap" that Lynn sent out has successfully caught its prey.

As for myself, confined to this ship, I was completely reduced to a bystander.

Natasha slowly raised her head, her gaze calmly fixed on the two guards outside the door.

"This self-criticism wasn't written smoothly."

She spoke, her voice flat, as if stating something unrelated to herself.

One of the younger guards instinctively straightened his back and didn't reply.

Natasha's gaze shifted to the holographic Surveillance Camera in the corner of the Containment Room, which was pointing directly at her.

"I need to review the monitoring logs and analyze my actions at the entrance to the T-03 Defense Zone in order to deeply reflect on them."

The older guard frowned and refused curtly.

"I'm sorry, sir. According to the confinement regulations, you are not authorized to access any external data."

"Yeah?"

Natasha's lips curved into a very faint smile.

"So, are your shift handover records also considered external data?"

The two guards' expressions changed slightly.

"According to Article 37 of the Supplementary Provisions to the ' Management Committee Internal Affairs Inspection Regulations,' during high-risk custody missions, the monitoring logs must be synchronized with the shift handover records of the on-duty personnel at the millisecond level to prevent collusion between internal and external parties and tampering with the images. I just glanced at it, and there is a 0.3-second delay between your handover time and the system log."

Her words, like a precise Scalpel, cut through the tense nerves of the two of them.

0.3 seconds.

An error that can be ignored at any time.

However, in the Internal Affairs Inspection Office's files, this was enough to constitute a "major procedural loophole," causing those two lowly guards to suffer greatly.

Cold sweat beaded on the young guard's forehead.

The older one, trying to remain calm, stepped forward and approached the control panel.

"The system may experience occasional delays; we will calibrate it immediately."

As he spoke, he reached out to manipulate the light screen, trying to compensate for that tiny error.

His movements appeared somewhat hurried due to his panic.

"Don't move."

Natasha's voice suddenly turned cold.

"Any modification to the monitoring logs must be accompanied by a written application signed by both of us. Touching it now is tantamount to destroying evidence."

This sentence became the last straw that broke the camel's back.

The older guard froze in mid-air.

The young man beside him completely broke down and slammed his fist on the control Defense Line.

"Enough! You're just someone who's been suspended..."

"Bang!"

A dull thud.

The monitoring console he hit flickered a few times before going completely dark. A plume of acrid black smoke billowed from the gap in the panel.

The red light from the Surveillance Camera in the corner of the Containment Room went out.

Dead silence.

The older guard stared, his face ashen, at the equipment destroyed by his comrades.

Natasha slowly stood up.

There was no trace of a smile on her face anymore, only the cold indifference of a law enforcer.

"The guards destroyed crucial evidence, obstructed the investigation, and verbally threatened me."

She walked step by step toward the energy barrier.

"Based on the ' Management Committee Wartime Emergency Act,' I have determined that a grassroots rebellion targeting senior officials is taking place here."

Before she could finish speaking, Natasha moved.

She transformed into a black lightning bolt, her right hand sweeping across her waist, revealing a high-energy stun gun that had slid out of her sleeve. She precisely pressed it onto the power supply node of the energy grid.

"Sizzle--"

With a crisp crack, the power supply to the fence was instantly cut off.

The two guards outside the door didn't even have time to raise their weapons.

Natasha had already passed through the broken fence. With a clean and decisive left elbow strike, she knocked the young guard unconscious instantly. Then, she spun around, snatched the older guard's gun with her right hand, reversed the grip, and slammed it down on the back of his head.

The entire process takes no more than three seconds.

Two bodies collapsed limply to the ground.

Natasha tucked the pistol into her waistband and straightened her perfectly wrinkle-free collar, as if she were doing something trivial.

She walked straight to the Bridge of the Prison Ship.

The crew members along the way looked at this "prisoner" who should have been imprisoned in fear, and no one dared to stop him.

On the Bridge, the captain saw Natasha and stood up, his face ashen.

"Natasha... Commander, you..."

Natasha ignored him and walked straight to the Control Console.

She accessed the Internal Communications, and her voice carried throughout the entire Prison Ship.

"I, Natasha, acting Director of the Internal Affairs Inspection Office Management Committee, have just witnessed a mutiny by the rank-and-file guards, which has now been quelled. In accordance with the emergency Contingency Plan, I hereby formally assume command of ' Judgment-7 '."

She paused, her gaze sweeping across the core coordinates of the T-03 Defense Zone on the Star Map.

"All crew members, return to your posts. Warm up the engines and prepare for full-power start."

The captain asked in a trembling voice, "Target... where is the target?"

A ruthless and resolute glint flashed in Natasha's eyes.

Lynn wanted her to be a quiet observer?

She insisted on getting involved herself, making the situation even more chaotic.

"Coordinates, T-03 Defense Zone, hinterland."

Just as she gave the order, preparing to personally push the engine power lever...

A cold, emotionless female voice, without warning, cut directly into the highest-level encrypted channel in her ears.

Theoretically, only she and Lynn possessed the key to that channel.

Natasha Romanoff.

An unfamiliar voice called out her full name.

"Your self-criticism isn't finished yet."