---
SYSTEM ALERT:
Eidolon Core Not Found
Connection to Precursor Nexus severed. Integration suspended.
Primary functions unavailable:
- Universal Status Access
- Psionic Amplification
- Precursor Artifact Synchronization
Recommendation: Locate an Eidolon Core to restore full functionality.
---
My head throbbed, a sharp pang shooting through my temples. The buzzing wouldn’t stop, the voice—or text, or whatever it was—cutting in and out like a broken speaker.
“What the hell…” My voice felt muffled, far away. Had I fallen asleep with the headset on again? Wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe I’d left the TV on, and this was some half-formed fever dream.
I tried to shake it off, but the buzzing in my head clung stubbornly, vibrating just below the surface. The words dissolved into static, then silence—like a half-remembered dream slipping away before I could grab hold of it.
My eyes snapped open to the hum of machinery. A low, steady thrum that seemed to vibrate through my bones, anchoring me in the moment.
Metal ceiling above me. Strange.
Not my bed.
No flickering streetlights bleeding in through cheap blinds. No worn apartment walls. Just cold, polished metal, and a sterile, dim glow.
I sat up, blinking into the darkness. Everything felt real. Too real. More real than my full dive VR rig could ever dream of, with chilled air, hushed silence, and… a tang in the air. Something sharp. Metallic.
Had I fallen asleep with the headset on again? Wouldn’t be the first time. Waking up to that fried-brain, half-sick feeling, like slamming a half-bottle of cheap whiskey and sitting up too fast.
But this—this was different.
My head throbbed. My temples pulsed. Like a hangover that’d gone and taken itself too seriously.
“Wait… what the hell?”
My voice echoed back at me, bouncing off the sleek, empty walls.
Reflex kicked in. “HUD on. Open menu. Status screen. Logout. Exit game.” I barked out the commands, one after the other. Silence. Nothing.
Just me, standing in the middle of a ship I knew too well. But I shouldn’t be here. I was supposed to be on the other side of this, sitting on my couch, pressing buttons—not here, not actually inside the damn thing.
All right. If the HUD was down, maybe my class abilities still worked. Might as well test them out.
I held out my hand, focusing. This wasn’t just any class I’d “picked.” I’d clawed my way through hours of grinding, completing obscure quests, unlocking something special. Limited. A class only a handful of players had.
An Eidolon.
Dark, elusive, and powerful. This class was all about the mind—telekinesis, telepathy, raw mental force. Psionics. Enough to make people bend to my will. And if they didn’t want to listen? Well, I could wrap my mind around their skulls and break them. Simple.
Even though it seems super overpowered, I couldn’t spam the abilities too much or it would begin to hurt my health points.
I focused on the metal can across the table. It wobbled. Lifted. Floated toward me like a loyal dog, until it settled into my hand.
Cool metal against my fingers. Real. No, real-real.
I’m no longer just a man. A bored, tired, overworked man.
I’m a god.
Well not really, not yet at least. I’m human, just… better.
I lifted the can to my lips, took a sip. Smoky. Bitter. Smooth. Thermic-Kola. Supposed to be like coffee, but engineered to keep you wired through an asteroid field.
The taste lingered, bitter and electric. And I smiled.
I glanced down at my hand, same freckle on my knuckle. So, at least I looked like me—not my other alien character’s avatar I’d customized with red eyes and spikes. Wonder what my face looks like though.
I stumbled over to the cabin window, catching my reflection.
My face. Blue eyes, a little wild. Brown hair, messy and flat. Skin pale as the VR headset glow back home. No dark, intimidating look. No claws or alien spikes.
Just me.
White boy summer, I thought, smirking. Or maybe white boy… space.
Five minutes in, and I’m already losing it.
Somehow, I’d gone from crashing after work to… here. Inside the game. Playing out the life of Timus.
Clever name, I know. Tim + us. Genius.
Ha-ha-ha. Sigh…
I looked out the window. Blackness, stars, and some big-ass rocks. Asteroid belt, I realized, stomach twisting. Not where I’d left my ship in the game.
I just stood there, staring into space. It was beautiful. And, yeah, not gonna lie, it made my stomachache. Anxiety? Fear?
Silence wrapped around me, deep and unsettling. Until—
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“Commander,” a low, polished voice cut through, smooth as the ship’s walls. “You’re awake.”
I whipped around, staring at the hologram on the terminal. I knew that tone anywhere. “Ares?”
I frowned, letting the thought linger as Ares spoke again. His voice—still smooth, still sharp—felt wrong. In the game, Ares had been female. Now? Male.
Maybe the personality matrix hasn’t been changed yet?
“Yes, Commander.” Ares’s voice was clipped and efficient. “It’s good to have you back. You’ve been asleep for an extended duration. Engine functionality is nominal but shows minor degradation under sustained strain. Additionally…”
“And?”
“We are currently adrift in the Halvorr Asteroid Belt,” Ares stated, with just the faintest hint of something approximating smugness. “Your last operation has attracted significant attention. Multiple pirate vessels are conducting localized scans for unregistered ships.”
A brief pause. “Cargo identified as Carnem Astrax. The contraband is classified as high-priority by sixteen governing star systems. Consequences of discovery include penalties ranging from execution to life imprisonment, forced labor, or, in some cases, punitive amputation. Suggest avoiding detection at all costs.”
Crimson Dust. I blinked. Illegal as it got. Worth a fortune. Dangerous enough to keep you up at night.
In real life, this would’ve terrified me. But here? It was a thrill. No more underpaid work or the miserable nine-to-five grind. Right now, I had enough contraband to buy a planet, a ship, maybe even a crew.
Wait. “Where’s the crew?” I asked.
“What crew?” Ares replied smoothly.
Great. Deep space, low supplies, no crew. Just me and an AI with a sarcastic streak.
I wasn’t going to panic. Not my first rodeo—even if this time it felt so real.
“All right,” I said, trying to sound confident. “Let’s plot an escape, Ares. Pull up the nearest star systems.”
The hatch hissed open, cold air spilling into my face as I stepped into the corridor. The recycled oxygen smelled faintly metallic, the hum of the ship’s systems thrumming through the walls. My boots clicked against the deck—sharp, hollow, alone. No crew, just me and the Valkyrion.
The corridor was dark, save for faint running lights lining the floor. Status panels blinked in rhythmic patterns, their glow lighting the edges of black bulkheads. A low vibration rolled through my feet, the engines idling, waiting. A maintenance drone zipped by overhead, its soft whir fading fast.
I pushed through another hatch into the command deck. Compact, efficient, deadly. A wraparound console filled the space, holograms flickering in perfect synchronization. The captain’s chair sat in the middle, gleaming like it had never been used. I slid into it, the cold surface biting through the fabric of my sleeves.
The ship hummed, low and eager, like a predator waiting for the hunt. My hands brushed the controls—smooth, responsive, ready to kill.
“Set the coordinates for the Kordis System,” I said, steady as I could.
Ares’s voice came through the speakers, smooth and smug. “Ah, the Kordis System. Back to familiar territory, Commander. Very well. Preparing for jump.”
The engine hum deepened, a growl that reverberated in my chest. Lights flickered, deck plates vibrating as power surged through the core. The air felt charged, thick with potential.
“Jumping in three, two—”
The stars stretched, bright streaks ripping across the viewport as the Valkyrion tore into the void. The drive roared like a storm, shaking everything before it fell into a soft, pulsing rhythm. The stars stopped streaking, replaced by a vast, empty expanse. Silence, save for the hum of the ship.
“Jump complete,” Ares announced. “Welcome to the Kordis System. ETA to Planet Rykka-9: twelve hours.”
I frowned, leaning forward in the captain’s chair. “Twelve hours? Why the hell are we so far out?”
There was a brief pause before Ares answered, his tone somewhere between confusion and mockery. “Commander, are you feeling alright? That’s basic stellar navigation. We’ve been doing this for years.”
“Humor me. Pretend I forgot.”
“Well,” he said, dragging the word out like he was processing whether I’d been replaced with an imposter, “long-range jumps distort space-time. Dropping too close to a planetary mass—like Rykka-9—creates a detectable gravitational spike. Every sensor grid within the system would light up like it’s Federation Day. That’s how you end up on a dozen wanted lists before you’ve even landed.”
“Right. So, outer system, come in slow, keep a low profile.”
“Precisely,” he said, her voice laced with exasperation. “A lesson you learned over a decade ago, might I add.”
“Thanks for the reminder, Ares,” I said dryly. “Guess I’ll go refresh my memory on the rest of the ship while we crawl in.”
Ares perked up, her tone turning playful. “You’re exploring? Shall I give you a guided tour? Perhaps show you all the places you’ve ignored for weeks?”
“I think I can manage,” I muttered, standing and heading for the hatch. “Start with food. I’ll see the rest later.”
“The galley is where it always was,” he quipped. “You’ll be delighted to know it hasn’t moved.”
“Appreciate it,” I said, stepping into the corridor.
The soft click of my boots echoed in the silence. Weapon lockers lined the walls, their contents gleaming under faint strip lighting.
Blasters. Plasma grenades. Reinforced armor.
Top-tier gear—the kind you didn’t find on civilian freighters.
My hand hovered over a combat suit. Its polished plates caught the light, reflecting a version of me I barely recognized.
This ship was more than I’d imagined. Specter-class. Stealth corvette.
Built for ghosts like me—silent, deadly, untraceable.
Big enough to haul cargo. Small enough to slip through a blockade.
And Ares? He ran everything. Drones for maintenance. Targeting systems for weapons. Auto-nav for when I wasn’t in the chair.
All I had to do was stay alive long enough to use it.
I let out a slow breath and pushed on to the galley.
The Nutrimatrix Mk IV sat sleek against the wall, its polished chrome interface waiting—like it hadn’t just spent the last month gathering dust.
I tapped through the menu.
Protein stew. Synth meat with carb cubes.
Everything looked equally bland. I picked something tolerable.
With a faint click, a tray slid out, steam curling off a plate of pasta-like strands and a chunk of lab-grown protein. Perfectly portioned. Perfectly symmetrical.
Perfectly soulless.
An Italian chef would’ve wept.
I didn’t care. It was fuel.
Walking back to the bridge, I popped open a can of Thermic-Kola and took a swig.
Sweet. Sharp. Just enough fizz to make you feel alive.
Somehow, I knew this stuff would fuel my new life as a space fugitive.
“Shall I prepare a dossier for your reunion with Miss Astra Voss?” Ares chimed through the speakers.
“No,” I said, leaning forward. “Give me my file.”
“You’re feeling nostalgic, Commander?”
“Just curious,” I said. The chair creaked under me. “Indulge me.”
“Pulling records,” he said, his tone shifting into faux-military formality. “Commander Timus Lucian Aurelius Corvus. Born: unknown. Date: unknown. Recovered as an orphan and raised by the Terran Republic Naval Command in Fort Hades. A classified facility.”
“Fort Hades,” I muttered, smirking. “Of course it was.”
Back in the game, it was just a choice—part of creating my character.
I picked ‘orphan’ because it sounded cool. Edgy.
Fort Hades was one of the options on the list. A lore-heavy footnote about the Republic’s shadow projects. A secret base where the Terran Navy turned parentless nobodies into Specters—their black-ops ghosts.
Mysterious. Ruthless. Untouchable.
“Indeed.” His tone was dry as dust. “You served as Commander of TRNC Specter Division T-88. Seventy-two successful missions logged. Specialties: sabotage, assassinations, intelligence recovery. Status: ghost. Designation: expendable.”
“Charming,” I said. “And the rest?”
“Classified.”
“Figures.”
He pressed on. “Your departure? Also classified. Speculation: you absconded with this vessel following an... incident. One involving high-level TRNC assets and subsequent accusations of treason. Result: significant bounty, galaxy-wide manhunt.”
“Absconded?” I asked, grinning. “Makes it sound like I stole you.”
“You did steal me.”
“I would prefer the term borrow.”
“Shall I continue?” The AI asked.
“By all means,” I said, letting my grin linger.
“You’ve since developed a reputation,” he continued. “Independent contractor. Unorthodox methods. Currently flagged as a threat by multiple sectors. Most notable: the Terran Republic and several independent cartels. Oh, and seven mercenary groups.”
“Seven,” I said, rubbing my jaw. “Guess I’m popular.”
“Hunted,” he corrected. “Big difference.”
I let out a short laugh, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah, well, let me know if any of them catch up. Wake me when we’re closer, Ares.”
“Understood, Commander.”
I drained the can and set it down with a hollow clink.
Maybe I was dreaming.
Maybe none of this was real.
But the hum of the Valkyrion said otherwise.
And for the first time in years—
I felt free.