Your name is DOCTOR SYLVIA ALCORN, and you are, without a doubt, the worst scientist on the station. You also happen to be the only scientist on board STATION ANNABELLE-3, a basic communications and refueling center orbiting the planet AURORA, one of three in its isolated solar system. Making matters even worse, there’s a bunch of really obnoxious alarms going off, and you have no idea why or how to fix the problem. You definitely did not sign up for this kind of thing. You really should have listened to the anonymous job satisfaction surveys before taking work from the Google Intergalactic Republic.



You are sitting in YOUR OFFICE, a fairly small, cramped room that you’re almost certain was once a storage closet that was hastily repurposed upon your arrival. There’s a worn metal desk and a heavily outdated terminal bearing the many scars of constant wear. To be completely honest, you spent a lot of your work time messing around with your cosmetic Mods on that thing. There were only about 20 other humans on the ship beyond travelers making a quick stop, and your job was, essentially: Don’t let them starve to death. Also, try not to starve to death yourself, leaving you with a lot of free time.



At this point, you’re really thinking it’s a good idea to get up and figure out what’s making the alarms go off. You open a small drawer in your desk and grab your personal defense weapon, a HANDHELD RAILGUN. You have no idea how it works or how to use it. Some weird guy gave it to you as a gift after you helped him out with supplying food to his moon-sized survival bunker he was creating to survive the complete destruction of all electromagnetic technology. It’s lightweight and somewhat reminiscent of a crossbow, with a smooth, black finish and a fairly minimalistic design. There’s a trigger and… a thing. It looks like you pull the thing back. Yeah. Well, if something tries to attack you, there’s a slight chance that you’ll actually manage to fire the weapon and hit it, which is, in some ways, better than having a good chance of punching something in the face.



Here we go. You brace yourself and attempt to kick down the door. Due to the limited space and your own lack of physical prowess, this fails horrifically. Like, really, really badly. You’re pretty sure that you’d be dying right now if it weren’t for your medical Mods.



You try to block all of that from your memory and you proceed to open the door sheepishly. Outside, the sirens are even more obnoxious, a feat you would have previously believed impossible. There’s still no indication of what the exact problem is, which is generally a Bad Thing, especially considering you have almost no technical knowledge and you’re pretty sure a mildly sick plant in the hydroponics bay didn’t cause this hellish cacophony of sirens. Seriously though, why don’t they just have an-



A tinny, automated voice begins to speak over the station’s internal communications systems. “ERROR – DESTABALIZATION IN REACTORS: A1, A2, B2, C4. IMMEDIATELY EVACUATE THE VESSEL.” Okay. Cool. Now you know what’s going on. I mean, there’s the issue of you not actually having a ship and the fact that the planet beneath you is almost entirely uncharted, making an escape incredibly dangerous, but hey, at least you have the benefit of a warning. It’d really suck to die instantly while chilling in your office.



You make your way towards the HANGAR, where ships are docked and several escape pods are located. It’s an incredibly large room and makes up a large portion of the station. Chrome walls and extensive lighting are little more than a façade; virtually all of the systems making up this station are heavily outdated. Keeping some tiny station in the middle of nowhere updated and stocked up isn’t exactly a priority of the GIR. Shockingly, the room is almost entirely devoid of ships. There’s only a single, battered freighter left, likely a traveler’s, given that you’ve never seen it before. This entire situation is reminding you of that one time back in Academy when you slept in and missed several full-scale invasions and the subsequent recapturing of the campus.



Deciding that you’d rather not die alone on this space station with only the uncaring void to remember you, you head towards the freighter and hope the pilot isn’t a colossal jerk. Upon getting a closer look at it, you can tell it’s very outdated, though extremely heavily modified. It’s as asymmetrical as can be, with exposed metal containing technology absolutely everywhere, and all sorts of armored doodads along its surface. There’s a heavily fading pink stripe painted along the sides of it, with the rest of the ship remaining a neutral beige color. Along the pink paint, you notice decals of incredibly over-the-top characters with a rather… distinctive art style. Wait. Oh boy. You know exactly what sort of pilot you’re going to be dealing with.



Moments later, you see her rush out of the ship, and almost immediately, your suspicions are confirmed. Long, curly pastel-pink hair. A worn, coffee-brown trenchcoat more for “Style” than any sort of practicality. Of course, the most damning piece of evidence is right on her back. A katana. An actual katana. You desperately struggle to remember the details of the animes you binge-watched back in the Academy in hopes of gaining the trust of this… being.



You cry out in a fairly awkward manner, your voice shrill with both crippling social anxiety and the whole fear of dying in space cold and alone where your remains will likely never be found. Whatever you were trying to say, it didn’t work, and sounded more like the screech of a dying animal. Regardless, the strange individual notices you and waves. In a slightly annoying, almost singsong voice, she responds to your desperate cries. “Hello there~! Do you need any help?”



“I, uh, yeah.” You reply, dumbfounded. You really expected her introduction to be significantly more physically painful to listen to, but hey, you’re most certainly not complaining.



“Well, come on then. I assume you want off of this ship, given that it’s about to explode, yes? I could use an extra set of hands to help with ship maintenance once we get off of this piece of junk. In my significantly less volatile piece of junk, of course.” She casually leans against a pole connected to a ramp providing access to the ship, cleaning her fingernails absentmindedly. It was then that you noticed her fingerless gloves, the epitome of edginess. You’re incredibly surprised at her sheer lack of aforementioned edginess, really. She hasn’t even advocated for exterminating the Klaxxina or claimed the destruction of Absantha-B was simply about ethics in holoscape journalism. Yet.



She extends her hand towards you, as if making you an offer. Saying no words in a feeble attempt to avoid embarrassing yourself further, you reach out and shake, giving a gentle smile. She laughs to herself and gives you a salute. She, with a significant degree of grace, you must say, manages to casually make her way back into the ship, jumping onto the ramp behind her while still looking at you.



Shrugging to yourself, you slowly head up the ramp. As you near the ship, that distinct scent so common of old technology grows stronger. Burnt wires, rusted metal, and the subtle undertone of dust, which would likely be able to tell hundreds of stores. The interior of the ship is… Well. Very, uhm. Functional. Buttons, exposed wiring, and control panels galore. This thing was definitely very personal to its owner, or, as is more likely, owners. Torn, pastel-colored stickers and posters cover most of the few empty spots on the walls, most of which are worn and battered far beyond any hope of legibility.



Up ahead of you, the pilot pops her head out of a doorway. “Oh. Yeah. Introductions. Right. My name is Rose. Yours?”



“Sylvia.” You reply, nodding. “Nice to meet you.”



“Same to you. Anyway, unless you are knowledgeable when it comes to rerouting COMPLETELY LEGAL tertiary fuel systems to allow for a rapid escape from space station artificial gravity, I don’t think there’s much you can do right now. Go ahead and have a seat on the couch over there. Please don’t touch anything. Or go through any doorways. Or. You know. Get too curious in general. I don’t want the ship to blow up and kill both of us.”



Deciding to follow her sage advice, you give her a quick nod and saunter on over towards the couch. It looked as if, at one time, it was red, but at this point, it had faded to a worn pink. It had evidently taken a beating over the years, and, paired with the rest of the ship’s… scenery, you feel slightly unnerved. Regardless, hoping the escape pod shoots you to the only known colony on the planet isn’t exactly an ideal option.



You lay down in as comfortable a position as you can muster on the old thing, and find yourself overcome with a strange tiredness. You drift off into a restless sleep in what feels like seconds.


----



Nobody had expected first contact to go as it did. We’d sent out so many transmissions. So many probes. We screamed into the dark, uncaring abyss, and expected allies to reveal themselves. I suppose they did, all things considered. We still don’t know who sent it. Had to be a higher-up somewhere. Translation isn’t easy.



“STOP TRANSMISSIONS.

THERE ARE HORRORS OUT THERE LIKE YOU COULD NEVER IMAGINE.

NO ONE IS COMING TO HELP.

FROM A FRIEND.”



Wasn’t long before the entire world was in a state of sheer terror. There was a massive surge in scientific research and technological advancement. It’s more widely known as the Acharné Renaissance now. There was little time for any of us to celebrate our incredible discoveries or the end to the Sol Civil War. It wasn’t long before they arrived.



The Progenitors. The first sapient race in the Universe, for all anyone knows. Horrific beings. Everything about them is just… wrong. Wrong on so many levels. They’re more machine than anything. The few bits of biomatter on them were disgusting masses of flesh. Above all, they prized efficiency. Beauty, individuality, and similar concepts did not exist in their culture.



There was a time when it did, but that was long ago.



…I suppose the most tragic part was that they never wanted this. Before they… changed, they were better than this.



They wanted to end suffering. To help all other sapient beings with their incredible technology.

…

…

…

...Don’t know what scares me more. That a race went so far that the programming of their modifications overruled their basic empathy, or that the most efficient system the universe has ever known deemed that the best way to help another being was to destroy it.



The more I think about the things I’ve been through, the more I’m starting to understand the latter.

----



A loud crash awakens you suddenly, paired with an incredibly creative series of expletives from the cockpit. Shortly thereafter, a panicked voice calls out for you.



“Uh, S-Sylvia, right? Really, really bad things are happening right now and I need you to, uhm, do me a favor. There’s a bunch of boxes in my cargo hold and I need you to dispose of every single one of them. Throw them into the incinerator. Please don’t look in them or ask q-questions. That’s, uhh, not gonna work well for either of us.”



Yeah, this is kind of uncomfortable and, being completely honest, you have a really bad feeling about this entire situation. Regardless, you head over to the doorway labelled “CARGO HOLD” with a worn, generic sign. Inside it, you find a bunch of cardboard boxes. A lot of boxes. Oh god there are so many boxes.



SO.

MANY.

BOXES.



Hm. This is really weird and you don’t know how you’re going to get this many boxes into the incinerator, even if it is just a few feet away from the entrance to the cargo hold.



Seriously, there are so many boxes in here that you find it absolutely incredible that the ship managed to fly relatively smoothly. Sighing to yourself, you pick up one of the many cardboard boxes. The top of it Is still somewhat open. You can’t hold back. You take a peek inside.



It’s a bunch of figurines. Of anime characters. What.



You’re starting to remember that viral news story a few Sol-Months ago about a massive robbery of these things. They were incredibly difficult to find even before this many were stolen…



You put two and two together and realize you are helping a weaboo smuggler dispose of her anime figurine contraband in order to hide the evidence.



This is going to be a long day.



As you exit the room hastily to dump the box into a small opening marked “INCINERATOR” with an incredibly tacky glittery pink sticker that seems as if it was covering something else earlier, you hear Rose talking over the ship’s comms.



“…I KNOW! I’m not carrying anything of interest! I just need to cool down my thermoradiactive xenoconduction units in order to prevent the gamma-centauri particles from overloading the exochamber! I can’t allow you to enter the ship or the deadly particles will infest your body and destroy you! Either way, it’s not like I can do anything while you’re watching me through this camera. What? N-no, I did-“



You are almost certain everything she just said was an outright fabrication. You don’t know a lot about spaceships or physics but you’re quite sure at least 76.48% of that stuff doesn’t exist.



You decide it’d be a good idea to pick up the pace and begin violently throwing boxes into the incinerator from just outside of the Cargo Hold. Some of them were actually really impressive throws. You wish somebody was recording. That’d make for an incredible montage video.



Rose is still arguing with… whoever, and you’ve only got a single box left. This might actually work out. You head over towards it and attempt to pick it up gingerly, only to fail hilariously. For some reason, this one is incredibly heavy…



You really, really don’t want to know why, to be honest, but you open it anyway.



Wonderful.



Absolutely wonderful.



It contains a massive missile. Looks like some kind of old Sol technology. Almost definitely highly illegal.



You have a sneaking suspicion that throwing it into the incinerator is a really bad idea.



Alright, this really isn’t good. You begin to search around the craft desperately for somewhere to hide it. Next to the Cargo Hold is a room labelled “V A P O R C A V E.” You have no idea what that is or what it’s supposed to do, but you head inside anyway.



You’re greeted with pristine, shiny white walls, pastel pink backlights, and roman statues everywhere. A really weird, incredibly slow song that sounds like it’s playing underwater emanates through the room. This only increases your confusion. Placed in the center of the room is an incredibly old looking computer surrounded by columns. Like, when you say old, you mean old. Thing is straight out of a history book. Curiosity overwhelms you and you head towards it and shake the mouse gently in order to see if it’s online. After a few seconds, the screen illuminates itself.



Windows 95.



You repeat it to yourself.



Windows 95.



She has a computer with Windows 95 on it.



You are so done right now, but you don’t want to go gently into that good night, and, thus, you continue searching the ship frantically, albeit with some added confusion. Moving on, you see a room labelled “MAINTENANCE SUPPLIES.” You open the door in an incredible boring fashion, the horrors that you endured trying to be dramatic while performing such an act still fresh on your mind. Inside are… Things. You, uh, don’t really know what half of this stuff does. There’s two buckets of paint, though. Cream and Jet Black. Okay. Oh. And some yellow felt. Wowie-wow.



That was rather useless. You press on, however, and come to the next room, which is labelled “THE COLLECTION.” Inside of it you find a massive trove of figurines, over-the-top anime posters, and… really brightly colored things in general.



…You have an idea.



You rush towards the room containing the missile, and lug it out pathetically, almost collapsing several times trying to drag it to the maintenance room. You open the can of cream colored paint and just… dump it on the missile. Afterwards, you pick up a paintbrush alongside the buckets and coat it in some of the jet black paint. You manage to make a face. You use some sort of fancy-space-travel adhesive to attach the felt to the top of the missile.



You’ve created an incredibly crude depiction of… someone. It still looks a lot like a missile. But painted. Sort of like those generic “Shark” design things, except terrible on a scale no human can reasonably comprehend. It looks like something died a horrific death and its body was used for some kind of sick art.



This isn’t gonna work.



A massive din erupts over from the entrance to the ship, and you quickly understand that your time is up. There’s nothing else you can do now. You’re gonna die. Or live your life in a prison on some kind of highly irradiated/horrific eldritch tentacle monster infested/extremely toxic/just really bland planet.



Okay, okay. Maybe you can play it safe. Act like you were kidnapped or something.



Then again, maybe it’s a bad idea to make enemies with a smuggler who stole the kind of junk she did. Oh well.



Here we go. The ramp to the ship opens, and a huge amount of light shines through. Are you… planetside? Oh. Okay, then. As you continue to ponder this, a man begins to walk up the ramp. You sort of expected some kind of heavily armored space-SWAT team of death.



But it’s just some guy in a plaid shirt. Like, that’s it. Seriously. He calls out to you in an incredibly uncomfortable, saccharine voice. Like, seriously, you can already tell something about this guy is off. The way he walks like some kind of cartoon character makes it even worse.



“Hey there, friend! My name is Daniel! I am the Mayor of this fine settlement, New Springfield.”



That name is so utterly “Sol-Suburban” it hurts. Seriously, what.



“I saw your friend’s ship here and, well, I have to do some routine inspection. Can’t allow contraband into our wonderful little town!” He laughs. You smile very uncomfortably, and step aside as he walks up the stairs, trailing behind him as he starts his trek into the ship.



“It’s, ah… Quite, uhm... It’s got quite a bit of character!” he says.



Yeah, sure. Character.



He continues down the ship. Rose looks in from the cockpit, her face obviously sweating. Like, bad. You’re really hoping this Daniel guy doesn’t notice.



Seriously though, who names a town New Springfield?



“So far, so good!” he says. “I apologize for any delays.” This is getting really nerve-wracking. Soon enough there’s only one room left – The Collection. He stares at a particularly… flamboyant poster briefly, and continues walking through the room. Reaching the missile, they can’t help but stare. “Uhm… Is that…”



NONONONONONONONO YOU DIDN’T WANT THIS NONONONO. YOU CAME HERE TO HAVE A GOOD TIME AND HONESTLY, YOU ARE FEELING SO ATTACKED RIGHT NOW.



“Nikasa from Assault on Dwarf? She’s totally my favorite character! I LOVE IT!”



WHY IS EVERYONE YOU MEET SO FOND OF ANIME WHAT IS THIS.



I guess you can’t complain. You’re not dead or in jail, which, all things considered, you really shouldn’t be anyway. You had nothing to do with this at all, and in a legitimate court of law, you really couldn’t be prosecuted. Except for that whole “destruction-of-evidence” thing, I guess, but it’s not like you’d have to get in a legal battle with famed prosecutor Wyles Ledgeworth.



“-O-oh. Yeah, totally.” Rose responds. “I personally preferred Karen Jagger, b-but hey, that’s just me.”



“Yes. Of course.” He continues, his voice changing back to that creepy monstrosity-speak. There was just something… wrong. Hiding behind that saccharine veil. Like a raven in the darkness. Driving an M1 Abrams Battle-Tank. Painted hot pink. With a death metal band playing on top of it. Yeah, subtlety really isn’t this guy’s forte. Something is definitely up with him.



Regardless, you accept his strange courtesy and follow him as he beckons for both of you to leave the ship.



“So, visitors! I apologize for being so rude earlier, but, you must understand, we have to be careful with these things. So, what are your names?” Both of you quickly respond, and he continues. “Ah, yes, good! Please, follow me and I’ll show you our wonderful little township. If I might ask, what business do you have here?”



“Oh, well, I’m a sci- “ you start. “SiiiiIIGN LANGUAGE INSTRUCTOR.” Rose cuts you off with. “She, uhh, teaches sign languages of various races. It’s a rather obscure job but it pays. As for me, uhm. I do IT with freelance shipping on the side. Pays well enough to do both at once.” You think you see where she’s going with this. It’s probably best not to give these people your fully accurate life story. Best case scenario; they just make some kind of weird murder-cult centered around you, sacrificing innocent lives to massive effigies of yourself; worst case scenario; they. Uh. Hmm. Do bad things. Yeah.



“Ah, I see.” He replies. Rose continues.



“Yeah. Anyway, my ship just started having some issues as I reached this system. Was planning on going to the station just above, but, uh, it kinda exploded in a firey inferno.”



“Ah. Hmm.” He replies. You swear there was some level of joy in his face after she mentioned the station’s destruction. “Well, let’s get going then. I can have some of our best mechanics take a look at your ship while you stay here, assuming you’re aright with that.”



“How much.” She asks, rather flatly, as if she was stating something rather than asking a question.



“Oh. Uhm, 15 Units for a diagnosis, no more than 1000 fo-“



“Do you sell tools.” She continues. This voice was incredibly out of character for her. It was honestly extremely odd to hear.



“Yes, of course! Only the finest! Head on down to the tavern. Ask for Mikhail. He runs the local hardware store. He’ll get you set. Anyway, I apologize, but I have business to attend to. Be seeing you, travelers. May the First watch over you.”



…The what?

…You feel a strong migraine suddenly coming on, as if something had latched itself onto your very skull. You stumble forward for a few moments, but you ultimately collapse helplessly onto the ground.


----



I joined the fight. Don’t much know why I did, truth be told. I guess I felt I had to. I spent so much time on this work. It seemed wrong to give these people shiny new machines and send them to their deaths while I sat back in my chair, hoping for the best while those out their fought for the survival of our race.



It was only one cruiser. Might not sound particularly threatening. But the technology on that damned thing was far superior than anything we’d ever known. Looked absolutely terrifying too. Thing was just like the Progenitors themselves – a twisted fusing of life and machine. Necrotic flesh mingled with cold, alloys carved into spikes to create… that monstrosity.



We fought nightmares.



It was as simple as that.



Unbeknownst to us, the rest of the galaxy listened in intently. Silently infiltrated our transmissions and radio systems. Even hacked into the visuals of some of our fighters.



What we were trying to do – what we did – it was incomprehensible to them. Countless humans charging into what was certainly death in the vain hope it might save others. It was madness.



We’re… different. Not really in some incredible way. We don’t have magical toxic blood that kills everything else. Our diseases don’t destroy a foreign species’ immune systems, generally. We can’t run the fastest, strike the hardest, or plan the best.



We don’t even have a half-decent fight or flight instinct. Virtually every other sapient race has an incredibly strong instinct to survive. The concept of a sacrifice or a suicide is completely alien to most of them. That basic, primal self-preservation ruled them, ultimately. It’s what allowed them to get that far.



As for us? Well.



When you’ve come from a planet with one of the strongest known gravity wells of all sapience-bearing celestial bodies, you tend to be fairly resilient. For all intents and purposes, we should not be. We should not have been.



So, what do you get when you pair that tenacity with a low-priority self-preservation instinct?



The Battle-Hymn of Humanity.



That’s what some of them called it. Started off as a joke between those among them fond of gallows humor. Dying screams of thousands of humans paired with the sick sounds of twisting metal and crunching bone. The Progenitors didn’t offer us the luxury of a clean death by energy weaponry.



Then the humming started. Don’t know who did it first. But it caught on. Just about everyone connected to the radio started. Eventually we started to sing. Don’t really remember much about it, if I’m honest. The whole thing feels surreal to me now. All I know is by the time it was all over, there couldn’t have been more than a few dozen of us left.



It became a pretty big thing in most of the galaxy beyond us. We were… strange. We were completely foreign, as were our actions. But it inspired a strange feeling amongst many of them. They wanted us to survive somehow, even if, logically, they couldn’t see a way for it to happen.



But it did. Young pilot managed to finish that damned cruiser off. Ran out of ammunition. Still had more than enough fuel to make it back home. Nope. He charged into it. Destabilized his engines, and, paired with the dying breaths of a thousand martyrs for humanity, destroyed the thing. Critically damaged the hull in just the right spot after the shields were brought down. Hit the reactors. Entire thing went up in an explosion the likes of which were completely unimaginable to us. It was as if fire had consumed the sky.



And then? We headed back. Didn’t say a damned thing.



I didn’t come home feeling like a hero.



…



…



…



…What can you do for a girl who’s been through too much, too quickly? One who’s seen friends die and strangers give their life to save her.



A medal and a speech, apparently.



Then they just put me back to work again. Making technology to stop the Progenitors.



I made it happen. And I was damned good at what I did. Ended up devising a plan to “shut-down” their entire race remotely.



Eventually, it worked.



For a while, it helped. Took my mind off of it.



But that didn’t work forever.



I had to take matters into my own hands after that. Couldn’t count on anyone for help anymore. They didn’t want to deal with me. Couldn’t ruin their petty victory celebrations, I suppose.




----




“Whoah. Whoah. Hey. Are you okay?” Rose asks.



You nod shakily, overwhelmed by whatever the hell just happened.



“Is it a medical thing? Do you need anything?”



“…No. It’s just… I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. Let’s keep going.”



Something about these… incidents is making you very, very uncomfortable. You hope that it’s just some sort of bug in a Mod. Hopefully you can get it worked out once you get back to somewhere a bit more… civilized. The town you’re in, apart from the landing pad, looks like it was from pre-interstellar Earth.



Rose seems concerned, but continues on anyway, heading over to the tavern the mayor mentioned. You notice a distinct lack of… anyone. There’s nobody outside, as far as you can tell. No background chatter or kids playing or anything.



Yeah, this place is really, really unsettling.



You head inside of the tavern to be greeted by a massive swarm of humans. Not a single other species to be seen. I mean, at least there’s living people here. You half-expected there to be a bunch of dead bodies or something. I guess you’re not living in a more horrific variant of the Truman Show. Oh well. That’d be kind of interesting, to be honest.



Looking around, you try and get an idea of who you can ask about this Mikhail guy. Nobody seems particularly… uhm. Friendly. I mean, when you glance at these people they give you this creepy-ass smile, but you really don’t want to talk to that sort of people. As you scan over the room, a somewhat chubby, young guy seems to beckon for you, a nervous look on his face. You nudge Rose in his direction and she nods, and begins to head towards him.



He whispers to you. His voice is almost indescribable, but for some reason it reminds you of a plastic spork. You really don’t know why. “Hey. Hey. You guysh. You’re new, raight? You’ve probably noticed the peepuhl here. They’re… off. I can help you. I know the troof. But… I need help too. Follow me if you want to… uhm. Learn the troof. And all of that.”



Okay, so he’s less creepy than the others, maybe. But he’s still kind of odd. Regardless, he doesn’t seem like a truly violent sort, and you’re pretty sure you both could take him, even if you have no idea how to operate your railgun-thing. There’s always biting. And screeching in a most violent manner.



After a short trek, he brings you to his house. A building fairly indistinguishable from every other in the town. It was about as generic and suburban as you could get. He unlocks about 8 different locks of varying types and sizes, and beckons for you to follow.



Yes, this individual is certainly mentally sound and nothing bad is going to come of this.



Both of you walk in, closing the door behind you. He locks them all once more, an excruciatingly long process.



He briefly introduces himself as Matthew.



“Okay. So. Guishe. I know why they are all… different. It’s the water” He starts. You cock your head and raise your brow curiously. “I know, I know. But…. That’sh it. There’s something in it.”



“Something in it? What sort of something?” you ask.



“Well…” he continues. “Sho. The Illoomienatie.”



It was at that moment that you realized you had made a huge mistake.



“They’re here. That’s why that shtation up there blew up. They want the reshources from thish planet. The Gamma-Sierra Monoxenomium particles. They’re a vital but rare fuel source used to power virtually ALL of their shecret shpace bashes. So, thi-“ Rose tosses an awkward glance your way. You’ve seen faces like hers before, and you know exactly what it means: HELP. ME.



“-sh planet is rich in them! That’s why they sent the chameleon-people here. They can’t be sheen normally, but if you consume enough alcohol, the xenium particles contained within destabilize the radian fields, and it allows you to SEE! The people here… They don’t try to shee. They lie to themselves when they do.”



He pauses, a solemn look on his face. You desperately hold in your laughter.



“I am a lone guardian. I am the only one in this town who knows the troof. The water… The chameleon people did shomething to it. It makes you… different. Anyway, there’s also the isshue of the beta-marglonnas, who are here to de-“



You really, really want to leave. You do not like this.



“Uhm…” you speak up. “That’s truly terrifying, but I have a question…”



“O-oh! Of courshe, milady” he replies.



“So… one of these people mentioned ‘The First’? What is that?”



“Oh.” He shrugs. “It’s just some kind of rashe they worship as a gods. They do human sacrifices 2 times every year to honor them over at thish temple. Shometimes they scrap ships and shteal their parts for part of the ritual.” Rose almost bolts up as he says that.



“HOW OFTEN?!” she cries out.



“Oh, quite a lot, really… Mosht outsiders have theirs stolen if they don’t watch closhely. They usually end up getting shacrificed too… You know, maybe I should have warned you about that first…”



Rose is about ready to kick down the door and burn down the entire town, but you continue listening, much to her dismay.



“…Sho yeah. Anyway, theshe ‘First’ guys. I guessh they were supposed to be the first sapient race or something? I don’t really…”



That damned migraine starts again. You collapse in pain and a feverish dream overtakes your senses.




----




I eventually figured it all out. Made a specialized series of weapons based off of EMPs. With some modifications, of course. Everything from light, anti-personnel weapons to entire anti-air cannons. Managed to disable the technology they’d melded themselves with and make them go dormant. Not really dead, but it was as close to it as you could get them on a large scale. We managed to fight all of them off, eventually. I hope so, at least. Don’t see there being many stragglers. Either way, we got to study their technology after we disabled them. It was worth it for humanity, I suppose. Didn’t do much for myself.



I kept going for a while, but eventually it was just too much. I couldn’t forget the things I went through. As races emerged from their silence after the Fall of the Progenitors, I was supposed to be a hero. I almost single-handedly invented all of this.



Certainly didn’t feel like one. Nobody did a damned thing to help, either. It was… inconvenient. Their glorious hero wasn’t allowed to deal with the mental turmoil brought on by surviving what should have killed their sorry, worthless hide. Didn’t let me speak about it.



So, after a few years, I vanished. Nobody knew what happened to me. Some thought I died. Some thought I was captured by a living Progenitor. Some believed I just wanted to go back to normal life. They were almost right, I guess.



I travelled as far as I could from any civilized area in the galaxy. Went to the most remote system I could find that still had what I needed.



I paid them, and they changed my face. Changed my memories.



Didn’t have to deal with it anymore. Could just go on as normal.




----



“Hey – H-hey! S-Sylvia, right? Are y-you okay?” he asks, shaking you awake.


"Y-yeah. It's just... nothing."


Rose is desperately trying to get him to open the door, it seems.


"Yeah, yeah, okay. I just need you. To open. The door. I need. My ship."


He nods and heads towards the door, beginning to unlock each lock painfully slowly. "Guishe... I'm sorry. Y-your ship ish probably gone by now. B-but I know where the temple is. I can take you."


"Fine. Fine. Sure. I swear to god, if they did anything to my ship..." she punctuates with a sigh.


Finally, he manages to get the door open. All three of you sprint outside. Matthew holds up a hand as if to ask you to stop, and pulls out a small PDA of some sort and begins to punch in a few numbers. Shortly thereafter, a small hovercraft comes flying through the town, burning the roofs of several buildings. There is a relatively small rocket engine mounted on the back of it.


Okay, that's kind of impressive. He jumps on it and beckons for both of you to do so after putting on a pair of aviator glasses he pulled out of a small compartment in the vehicle.


"Let'sh ride!"


Almost immediately, the vehicle jerks and starts flying down the street, soon ascending above the rooftops. You really do question how legal all of this is, but hey, I guess it doesn't matter. Sure enough, Rose's ship isn't on the landing pad. Matt quickly swerves the vehicle and heads over towards the massive forest just beyond the town.


You're really hoping this isn't just another poorly-thought out conspiracy theory, but something tells you there was truth to his words.


After a rather uneventful trip involving only 17 severe hover vehicle accidents and 14 cases of willful destruction of property, he manages to land the thing right outside of an old temple almost entirely composed of a dark gray stone with ornate designs carved into it. They don't seem to represent anything in particular, at least, not as far as you can tell. Sure enough, Rose's ship is just outside of the place, surrounded by several hooded individuals.


She actually JUMPS OFF of the hovercraft, unholsters a revolver, and fires several rounds into the crowd, all before hitting the ground and performing an absolutely majestic dive-roll. You are beginning to consider that none of this is real and you're all just characters in a story where basic laws of physics do not need to be obeyed. Actually, no, probably not. That's a bit ridiculous.


Meanwhile, Matt desperately tries to land the thing, with it jerking all over the place. He's really not the best pilot you've ever known. After one particularly rough spot, the vehicle jerks upwards and sends you flying out of it. Luckily, you were fairly close to what you hit. Unluckily, you just barely managed to latch onto the very top of the temple. The rest of your body is dangling above a small opening leading into some kind of horrific abyss. This is not an ideal situation.


Matt cries out, but you can't tell what he says as you loose your grip and fall into the darkness and lose consciousness.


----


And, well, there it is. All of it. There's still something I need you to understand, though. Right now especially. Certain things can never truly be hidden. The truth is always out there. Always. I want you to remember that. Not just here, either. Remember Prometheus. Remember the transmissions. Good. Good.

...I suppose it's a bit rude that I never introduced myself. My name is Doctor Beatrix Holloway. That's what it was, at least.

I'm known as Doctor Sylvia Alcorn now.

That's right.

I am you. And you are me.

You could never truly forget, you know.

...

That's all I have to say.

Good luck.


----


You awaken to a dimly lit corridor. Dark metal makes up the walls, and various control panels dot the room. Small lights line the bottoms of the walls, but apart from that, nothing else illuminates the place. You sense another presence here, but you can't quite put your finger on why.

Suddenly, the pain begins to shoot through you as you try to move your leg. Ow. Okay, you're pretty sure you broke it. Takes a while for that to heal, even with medical Mods. Painkillers are helping, though. You barely have time to think about it before the presence makes itself known. It emerges from one of the many dark hallways connected to the corridors, and you know immediately what it is.


These dreams... flashbacks... whatever they were. You remember.


You are face to face with a Progenitor, the most feared race in the galaxy.


And the facility you're in?


You understand completely what they're trying to do.


They want to reawaken their race.


For a brief moment, everything seems to stop. You become profusely aware of... everything. Your busted lip. The power in your medical Mods quickly draining. The realization that this is not a joke. This is not going to end well unless you do something now, and even then... What do you have? What can you possibly do?


You think back to the weaponry you created to fight these horrors, and then it clicks.


Why, exactly, would someone preparing for a complete collapse of electromagnetic technology give you an electromagnetic weapon?


They didn't. You gave it to yourself.



Sweat and blood cover your body, and all you can seem to feel anymore is your heart beating like it never has before. The pain has faded away. You can barely taste the blood filling your mouth and trickling down your face. With the last reserves of your strength, you draw your HANDHELD RAILGUN. The Progenitor looks down at you in the most peculiar manner. You feel as if, somewhere, deep inside of it, it felt pity for you.



You raise your still-shaking arm, aim for the control panel behind the Progenitor, and, before it realizes what you’re trying to do, you fire. It lets out a sound like deafening thunder and destroys the control panel, overloading the system entirely. You give the creature a last, gentle smile before your body drops to the floor, unconscious.



Your friends find you hours later. Your medical Mods have been utterly depleted and yet, your body still clings to life against all odds. Perhaps it was luck. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps something or someone out there was watching out for you.



Somehow, you made it.



Your name is DOCTOR BEATRIX HOLLOWAY, and you are the best goddamned scientist in the galaxy.