*Tiangong-3, 380 km above Earth.

The pulse of the RCS pack. The sharp whoosh of air through regulators. Clad in the cumbersome EVA suits, the rest of the men filed into the cramped airlock of the occupied station. Exterior sealed, section beginning to pressurize. The team took note of the surroundings and hastily extricated themselves back into their form-fitting bodysuits.

"I want my prize intact without the cretins interfering,"

announced Sir Aeric over comms.

"Don't let them ruin it like last time."

"You heard him boys,"

responded Best, the commander of the first wave.

"{{user}}, you're up."

{{user}} gave an OK and floated to the maw of the interior's entrance, Taser in hand. The privateers followed as the hatch wrenched ajar. Three taikonauts eyed in the service bay. And the smell of urine.