"So cold."
That was the first thing I said.
My lips barely moved. Felt like they'd frozen shut. Same with my eyes. Took a second before I could pry them open. When I did, I saw a giant blue pillar stretching up into the dark. Moss all over it. Vines too. Some of them were twitching.
I was lying on a metal floor. Cold, hard, and way too smooth. My body ached like I'd been hit by a truck. Everything was stiff. I turned my head slowly, and that's when I heard the voices.
Groaning. Some crying. People talking, yelling, asking questions nobody had answers to.
I pushed myself up on my elbows. Took all my strength.
The place was huge. I'm talking big enough to hold a few stadiums stacked on top of each other. Metal walls, high ceilings, lights flickering way above like stars behind dirty glass. And people. Everywhere. Lying on the floor, just like me. Some sitting up. Some still passed out.
Everyone looked around my age. No kids. No old folks. Just people like me—young, confused, scared.
A voice boomed from above. Not from speakers, not like a normal PA system. It was like the sound dropped into our heads.
[Welcome, Voyagers of Earth.]
That shut everyone up.
[Your species has been granted a probation period of two Earth years. During this time, the Galactic Dominion has placed a barrier around your planet. This shield will keep Earth safe—but only temporarily.]
A glowing hologram flickered into the air above us. Earth. Surrounded by a thick golden ring. Little red sparks crackled along its surface.
[This barrier requires continuous upkeep. Energy. Materials. Credits. Your task as Voyagers is simple: explore, gather, trade, steal, or fight to acquire what is needed. If the cost is not met—]
The image zoomed out.
Dozens of massive alien ships hovered nearby. Predators waiting behind glass.
[—Earth will be auctioned. Your people sold. Or worse.]
I heard someone start crying nearby. I didn't blame them.
[To assist in your journey, a resonance core has been implanted on your body.]
Then all of a sudden I couldn't breathe.
The the pain hit hard—like my heart was being yanked out, set on fire, and jammed back in upside down. I dropped to the floor, arms wrapped around myself, teeth clenched tight enough to snap. It wasn't just pain. It was… violation. Something foreign invading my body.
All around me, it was the same. Screams. Crying. People writhing on the floor. Some passed out. A few puked from the sheer overload.
And just when I thought it'd kill me, it stopped.
Cold sweat ran down my back. My lungs dragged in air like they were new. My vision blurred, then cleared.
Then I saw it—a faint red glow pulsing under the skin of my chest, right in the center.
[Resonance Core: Integration complete.]
[Designation: M O M E N T U M C O R E]
[Function: Absorbs kinetic energy from movement, impacts, and velocity. Stores it. Converts it. Amplifies it.]
My fingers trembled over my chest. Nothing was there, but I could feel it. Like an engine buried deep inside me, just waiting for a reason to spin.
Above, the voice returned. Still cold. Still sharp.
[RULES OF INTERGALACTIC VOYAGER DEPLOYMENT:]
1. Each Voyager has been assigned a solo vessel.
2. You may recruit crewmates during your journey. Only non-human lifeforms are allowed.
3. Upon boarding, your ship will warp you to a random sector of the galaxy. There is no return.
4. Monthly tribute payments are required to maintain Earth's protection barrier.
5. Tribute may come from any source: trade, mining, scavenging, combat, theft, or conquest.
6. The total tribute required is collective. You do not need to pay alone—but someone must.
7. Failure to meet monthly quota increases the auction risk of Earth.
8. You are allowed to plunder, purge, and eliminate other Voyagers. Their resources become yours.
I just stood there for a second, breathing hard. My chest still had that weird glow, like a heartbeat under my skin. But I wasn't thinking about that. I was staring at the red line on the floor. It was pointing straight ahead, and it didn't look like it was gonna wait for me.
People around me were starting to move too. Some were limping, hunched over. Others were still curled up on the floor, breathing heavy. Nobody said much. A few sobbed. A few cursed under their breath. We were all just trying to get through it.
Then that same voice hit again. Cold. No emotion. Straight into our heads like it had been there all along.
[You will now be guided to your assigned vessel.]
[Follow the red line. Do not stop. Do not turn.]
The floor gave a low hum, like it was nudging me forward. So I walked. No point in fighting it.
The hallway was long. Metal walls, dull lights overhead, wires hanging loose in some places. Looked like it hadn't been cleaned or fixed in years. I kept walking. The red line stayed lit under my feet.
[Your ships have been prepared. They are standard survival-class. You are not special. Do not expect luxury.]
[Any attempt to enter a ship that is not yours will result in disintegration.]
That one got me walking faster.
I passed some people going down different halls. Each of us had our own path. Everyone looked dead inside. No talking. Just walking.
After a while, the hallway opened up into a docking bay. It was quiet in here. I saw rows of ships. Some looked like big tin cans. Others looked like they were made out of scrap metal and duct tape.
Then I saw mine.
It was fat. Ugly. Covered in scratches and burn marks. A chunk of the side panel looked like it had been welded back on by a drunk. One of the engines had scorch marks. The paint was peeling. There was a name on the side, sprayed on in white:
STARHOWLER
Didn't look like it could howl. Barely looked like it could fly.
My red line stopped at the bottom of the ramp.
The door creaked open, slow and loud.
[Zane Volterra – Assigned Vessel: Starhowler]
[Pilot ID confirmed. Syncing vessel systems.]
[Starter Kit Loaded: Basic rations (7 days), GravBoots (1 pair), Ship Repair Kit (damaged), StarNav Core (old model), Ship AI (muted). Upgrades available if you survive.]
There was a long pause.
[Failure is common. Survival is rare. Good luck.]
The inside of the ship was worse.
The floor was sticky in some places. One of the seats was ripped open. Wires dangled from the ceiling. Lights flickered overhead. The place smelled like burnt metal and old socks. A screen in the front blinked on, showing some blinking text I couldn't read.
I stepped in.
The door slammed shut behind me like it was pissed off.
The ship hummed to life. Loud. Rough. Like an old truck engine with asthma.
Then the ground shook.
And I was gone.
No goodbye. No last words. Just me, in a busted-up ship, warped straight into the unknown.