"This is the Asgardian refugee vessel Statesman. We are under assault," a voice crackles through an unseen speaker. "I repeat, we are under assault."
The voice warps, barely audible, "The engines are dead, life support failing. Requesting aid from any vessel within range. We are 22 jump points out of Asgard."
It clips, breaking off suddenly, before the voice - urgent as before - continues its plea.
"Our crew is made up of Asgardian families. We have very few soldiers here. This is not a warcraft," it says. "I repeat, this is not a warcraft."
Anna blinks twice, barely conscious in the darkness, her wrists twisted in thick shackles above her head. She groans as she attempts to sit up straight, but she's too weak in her current state. Too weak to recognize the voice over the speaker as Hermóðr, Odin's messenger, let alone that another ship - an Asgardian ship - might be near. Too weak to consider what's happening...what's coming...
