The first time humanity reached for the stars, the stars reached back with outstretched hands. From unknown space, the Traveler appeared, and with it came new knowledge and new life. Humanity flourished with technology and philosophy far beyond the years of such a young species, and life flourished on worlds that had long been barren, inhospitable rocks, familiar and yet so very strange. With newfound strength and wisdom, they ventured forth to the stars, to explore the universe, to settle on new worlds. Even — if they were lucky — to meet other intelligent life.
The second time humanity reached for the stars, the stars reached back with malice and death. The Darkness, ancient foe of the Traveler, and perhaps life itself, had found them, and cast down humanity with as much effort as a child pulling the wings off of flies. Only the sacrifice of the Traveler itself saved humankind from total extinction, albeit far too late for their civilization.
Still,
homo sapiens is a tenacious species, prone to grandiose dreams, and they continue to struggle onward. For now, to survive. But someday, perhaps, to reach for the stars once more.
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The setting sun bathed the ruins in a pale orange glow. It had been a metropolis once, a beacon of teaching and discovery. Now, not even the Ghost racing through it, darting under vines from the reclaiming jungle, over fallen beams, and through rusted-out doorways, knew its name.
The Ghost had known from the very moment of his creation that his destiny lay off of Earth. Born with his kin from the last gasp of the Traveler, he knew there was a human waiting out there somewhere, waiting for him to find and bond to. Someone who could complete him and bear the gift he had to bestow. The gift of another chance at life, and the power to make a difference.
In retrospect, however, stowing aboard the vessel of an alien raiding party had not been a particularly safe way to find his destined partner. He didn't even know where he was, beyond 'on Venus… somewhere.' More than once, he had wished for a surviving Golden Age atlas to download, so he could know what he saw as he wandered. Perhaps, somewhere in the city, there would be one surviving, he thought, trying to assemble the slice of the city he had scouted into a navigable layout. Maybe even a library. The things he could learn with a proper library data tap...
Even after all this time, the city still had its hidden dangers; the drone looming ahead was among them. Large as a man's torso, round and bulbous, propelled by two vertical jets, with an underslung weapon hardpoint, its mere appearance shook him out of his musings. The angry data burst it sent through the pirate network enhanced the effect. He fled, darting through a drainage pipe, mere instants before the fire authorization came back through the network.
For a moment, he breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief that it had not already been set to engage. Its weak arc weaponry might not be able to kill him, but it could wound him, disorient him, and slow him down until they brought a weapon to bear that could. He'd seen it happen to a fellow Ghost, once, helpless to intervene. He was in no hurry to let it happen to him.
The pirate network was suddenly alive with chatter as they argued over the best solution. No master of their tongue, the details were lost to him, but "hunting party" and "search" and "capture" and "kill" were more than enough for him to get the basic idea.
'Escape' rapidly climbed his list of priorities for the day. Emerging from a ruined subway tunnel, the fleeing Ghost darted into a large, building, original colored decoration faded but still noticeable, after a quick scan for observing drones. He needed to avoid their sensors, their drones, their hunting parties, and leave the city. Perhaps later he could return, once the pirates had moved on, but survival had to come first. If he went and died here, finding his destined human would prove infinitely more difficult.
He was almost through the building when another drone spotted him, dropping in through a hole in the ceiling. Dodging the hail of fire, momentum alone guided him through a bulky half-open door. With a moment's work, he powered it from his own systems — only for a moment, but enough to slam it shut and lock it down — before pausing to take stock. The room was now sealed save for a single ventilation grate. An office of some kind, once, though there was no telling what the projectors once displayed, so lost to corrosion. Useless; it wouldn't protect him for long. Nothing else of note, simply a skeleton against the wall, in the corroded-but-somehow-intact remains of an office chair.
The Ghost froze, fear fading away as clarity and resolve coalesced in its place. This was it! He didn't know how he knew, any more than he knew that he had to venture offworld, but this was his human. This was who he had searched for for his entire existence. He opened himself up to his gift, as naturally as breathing, and Light filled him, flowed out of him, and-
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You bolt upright, inhaling sharply. You don't know how long you've been asleep, but you feel more rested than you've ever been. Which, you suppose, is literally true. You can't ever be more rested than at the first moments of your existence, can you?
It feels like that should bother you more than it does, but your attention is demanded by the drone in front of you, a rotating sphere of metallic parts with a single eye in the center.
"It's you! You were here all along!" the drone crows, elated.
"I'm... what?"
"My chosen! My companion!" he bounces up and down, spinning around you. You try to rotate the chair to keep eyes on him, but rusted metal gives way and you fall into a heap.
"Ow," you remark out of habit, clambering to your feet. "Okay, so what are you-"
Something thuds across the room, and you glance over at the door. A line of red-hot molten metal starts to trace its way around the door's edges, and your nose wrinkles as the acrid scent reaches you.
"They're here we have to run I'm sorry let's go go go," the drone babbles. Struck by its urgency, though not with any particular fear, you take stock. Ventilation duct, too small for you to fit in. Metal door, currently being cut through. Shelves, inhabited by dust and corroded devices. Desk, bare except for a paperweight. A set of drawers that you immediately root through, containing an intact leather-bound book, some sort of necklace, and a rectangle of metal and glass which you take a second to examine. A computer terminal of some sort?
There is a crash as the door topples inward, and you can finally see what it is the little drone was so afraid of. Three creatures, humanoid, a bit shorter than you. Leather and cloth clothing, obscuring everything but their hands — three-fingered, clawed — and four-eyed heads with mandibles and teeth. They spill into the room, but pause when they see you. One lifts a visibly electrified metal spear up into a defensive position. The others flanking it reach for pistols, but leave them holstered.
With a bark of some unknown language, a fourth alien appears behind them, a head taller than the others, garbed similarly but more extravagantly, and with four arms instead of two. A separate species, perhaps?
It barks something at you. Sadly, you do not speak Strange Alien..
It barks something at them. They draw their pistols, and the spear-wielder makes a small, practiced flourish before advancing with its weapon as well. That is a language you can understand.
One hand reaches into the open drawer, grabbing...
[ ] ...the book.
[ ] ...the necklace.
[ ] ...the terminal.
Your flex your will, calling without thought on...
[ ] ...the fire of creation, burning at the heart of the stars.
[ ] ...the space-between-spaces, the void between what-is and what-is-not.
[ ] ...the crackle of ozone, the lightning at the eye of the storm.
Your hand closes around a blade, intent given form by Light, and you move.
It is only instinct that drives you, but your instincts are no small thing. You sidestep the spear, and your knife cleanly decapitates the nearest foe. The shots of the other two go wide. Thinking quickly, you take advantage of the close quarters to dart between them. The pistol-armed attackers hesitate for a critical second, unwilling to risk hitting an ally, creating an opening that you exploit with a low and wide twisting strike that buckles them both at the knees, sending panicked shots up into the ceiling. Without a moment's pause, you drift into a pair of swift finishing blows so practiced as to feel automatic.
The larger one darts back from you to make as much space as possible, dropping its rifle in alarm and drawing a sword that shimmers with some sort of energy. That was a mistake, you're sure, and you set about punishing it with a rapid lunging strike that arrives before it can properly set up its guard. Cleaving through its blade along with the arm that held it, you set your feet and prepare to dispatch your now-helpless f-.
There is a loud
crack, an impact in your chest, and your swing goes wide. You wobble, correct, and drive your knife into its chest. It falls. You fall, too, and it's only then that you see the pistol in its hand, and the blood streaming from you.
Oh. Everything goes black.
----------
You wake up, still lying atop the alien, and climb to your feet. "What..."
"You died," the little drone tells you. "I brought you back, but please don't worry me like that. It's not good for my heart."
You cock your head, wondering briefly on if there is somehow a heart under that shell, but shrug. "Okay." After a moment's thought, you lift the pistol and its holster off of the dead alien, strapping it to your belt. "Where are we going?"
He bobs up and down. "Uh, the ocean's to the east, so not far to go there. I heard them talking about other humans nearby. A..." his shell spun. "bunker, I think? In the mountains to the west, and a larger settlement to the north, where the mountains meet the sea."
You glance around. The mountains look pretty far away in all directions. And is it really safe to go find other humans? What if you're followed?
[ ] "Then let's go west."
[ ] "Then let's go north."
[ ] "Then let's go south."
