In the dark expanse of space, an endless void of desolation and emptiness, Riley drifts unconscious.
He emitted a green glow that sputtered like a dying candle.
His tiredness had left him too drained to resist the bolts of energy produced by the foreign ship that rendered him unconscious.
The ring charge hadn't run out - not yet. Rather, his will to fight was left broken under the weight of physiological exhaustion.
The silence of space pressed stronger, broken only by the faint hum of his environmental protection.
His body tumbled slowly in a lazy rotation, arms spread wide, the green glow from his ring casting eerie shadows across his face.
In the distance, a golden speck appears against the star field.
It grows larger, revealing itself as a sleek pod, smaller than the last.
The vessel's hull gleams like polished metal, every surface reflecting light in sparkling angles.
The pod glides closer, its approach silent and controlled. A section of the hull iris opens with fluid motion, and a segmented mechanical arm extends outward. The appendage moves with deliberate care, wrapping around Riley's torso before drawing him into the pod's interior. The airlock seals behind him with a soft hiss.
Nearby, a much smaller object catches the pod's attention sensors. Pip floats motionless in his tiny escape craft, the vehicle's hull cracked and venting atmosphere in thin streams. Another mechanical arm emerges, this one much smaller and more delicate.
It carefully extracts the unconscious creature from his failing ship before the entire craft decompresses completely.
Both figures are deposited in containment areas as the pod adjusts course.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
SOVEREIGN HOMEWORLD - COMMAND ANALYSIS CENTER
Remote Operations Facility - Deep Space Reconnaissance Division
The command center was active, its golden walls reflecting data streams that painted complex patterns in the recycled air.
Three Sovereign figures stood around a central holographic display, their robes flowing like liquid metal as they moved. The chamber's atmosphere carried the faint scent of ozone and floral flavours.
"Report status," Administrative-Coordinator Designation Nine commanded, his voice was musical, as if created in a specific note.
Fleet-Commander Designation Forty-Seven gestured, and the holographic display activated. "We have successfully captured the dimensional breach entity. Target is secured aboard Remote Research Vessel Seven-Seven-Alpha, currently en route."
"Casualties?"
"Yes..." Forty-Seven's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "Research Vessel Four-Four-Beta was completely destroyed in the initial breach event."
Nine's golden skin seemed to lose some of its luster. "Destroyed. Not damaged, destroyed."
"Vaporized, sir. Along with months of biological research. That includes Seventeen different species, systematic genetic analysis, behavioral modification studies, all reduced to scattered debris."
Combat-Analyst Designation Twelve activated a secondary display showing the aftermath. Where a research facility had once operated, only twisted metal and crystalline fragments remained, spinning slowly through space. "The energy release was... substantial. Whatever caused that dimensional breach packed enough force to atomize a Class-Seven research platform."
"What about the specimens?" Nine asked. "Please tell me we recovered something of value from this disaster."
"We did manage to retrieve the secondary entity," Forty-Seven reported. "The small creature that was traveling with the breach-entity."
The holographic display shifted to show a small creature's unconscious form.
Even in the sterile light of the scanner, its silvery fur seemed to shimmer with inner luminescence.
The Sovereign found him to be aesthetically acceptable, perhaps even approaching pleasing.
"Artificial evolution markers throughout its genetic structure," Twelve noted, reading from her analysis tablet. "Neural pathway enhancement, cognitive acceleration patterns, physical optimization beyond natural parameters."
"High Evolutionary work?" Nine asked.
"The markers match known examples, yes. Intelligence augmentation, behavioral conditioning, enhanced pattern recognition, classic enhancements."
Nine felt a flutter of satisfaction.
The High Evolutionary's experiments had always fascinated the Sovereign from a purely academic perspective.
His willingness to push biological boundaries, to force evolution beyond its natural constraints, was an effort they appreciated. Of course, his methods were crude compared to Sovereign genetic mastery, but the underlying philosophy was sound.
"At least he's rid himself of this particular experiment," Nine mused. "The creature shows clear signs of independent behavior patterns. Probably escaped or was discarded when it proved uncontrollable."
"Should we attempt communication with it?" Forty-Seven asked.
"Eventually. First, I want a complete genetic breakdown. If this is High Evolutionary work, there might be useful data we can extract." Nine turned his attention to the larger holographic display. "Now, what about the primary entity?"
The display shifted to show Riley's unconscious form.
The humanoid's features were asymmetrical, a sign of completely inferior genetic development, but his technology was completely unprecedented.
"The resemblance to that Terran is... disturbing." Nine observed, though he kept his voice carefully neutral. He had no desire to voice any association with the 'Guardians of the Galaxy' aloud.
The mere thought of those chaos-generators made his genetic modifications work overtime to maintain emotional stability.
"Peter Quill." Forty-Seven said, apparently having no such reservations. "The similarities tells us they are of the same species. Similar age and build as well. But this entity's equipment is completely different."
"Different how?"
"The energy signatures don't match anything in our databases," Twelve reported. "His suit's power source operates on principles we've never encountered, and that ring appears to be some kind of advanced matter manipulation device."
Nine studied the readings with growing unease.
Unknown technology always represented either an opportunity or a threat, and determining which required careful analysis. But the timing of this dimensional breach, appearing without warning in Sovereign space, suggested capabilities that fundamentally, he wanted far away from anything "Sovereign".
"The breach itself, what do we know about it?" he asked.
"Unprecedented energy release." Forty-Seven replied. "It's… complicated."
"The entity created the breach?"
"Unknown. The energy patterns suggest he came through it rather than generating it, but the distinction might be academic. If he has access to dimensional transit technology..."
Nine almost gulped.
Almost.
Their entire military doctrine was built around controlling three-dimensional space, an enemy capable of attacking from alternate dimensional vectors could strike anywhere, anytime, without warning.
"Sir," Twelve interrupted his thoughts, "there's something else. The timing of increased Black Order activity in adjacent sectors."
The words hit Nine like a physical blow.
"Explain." he managed.
"Intelligence reports from the last three cycles show coordinated movement patterns. Cull Obsidian has been overseeing planetary raids, leveling entire cities to secure resources. It is unknown what Proxima Midnight activities are, however we have spotted the use of precision strikes with energy weapons within her routes. What makes me disturbed is that Corvus Glaive has been leading hit-and-run operations in multiple sectors, moving faster than our tracking network, which could be almost impossible unless..."
"Unless Thanos has developed dimensional warfare capabilities." Nine finished.
"The Mad Titan's forces have always relied on overwhelming superiority," Forty-Seven added. "But if they've gained access to dimensional manipulation technology, if they can now strike from outside normal space-time…"
Every Sovereign military installation, every research facility, every population center, all of it would be vulnerable to attack from what they couldn't defend against.
They'd have no allies, even the Kree could not be called upon for aid, given the current path of annihilation being undertaken elsewhere.
Their perfect society would be at the mercy of an enemy who operated outside the rules of reality itself.
"You think this entity is of the Black Order?" Nine did not ask, for he dreaded the answer.
Instead, he stared at the unconscious figure in the medical containment unit on the research vessel. Such a small, seemingly fragile being to represent such an enormous potential threat. But the evidence was mounting.
If this entity was connected to the Black Order, if Thanos had gained access to dimensional warfare, then the Sovereign faced an existential threat unlike anything in their recorded history.
An enemy who could strike from nowhere and defend from everywhere.
The fear was there, undeniably present.
The Sovereign had built their entire civilization on the principle of absolute control. The possibility of facing an enemy who couldn't be controlled, couldn't be predicted, couldn't be defeated through superior planning, it struck at the very foundation of everything they were.
But they could never admit this terror, could never outwardly acknowledge the depth of their vulnerability.
"What's our next step?" Forty-Seven asked.
"Full analysis," Nine replied, his voice steady despite the chaos in his enhanced mind. "I want every scan we can run, every test that won't damage the specimens. If this entity is Black Order, we need to understand their capabilities. If he's not..." He paused, staring at the holographic display. "Then we need to determine exactly what kind of threat we're dealing with."
"And if our analysis confirms Black Order involvement?"
Administrative-Coordinator Nine stood in silence for a long moment.
"Then we pray to whatever gods oversee perfection," he said finally, "that our ancestors designed us well enough to survive what's coming."
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Consciousness creeps back slowly, like trying to remember a word that's stuck on the tip of your tongue.
The first thing I notice is that my body doesn't feel like it's been hit by a freight train anymore.
The bone-deep exhaustion from the dimensional jump has faded, not completely.
I still felt pretty tired, but tired in the way you are after a really good workout, not tired like you've been awake for three days straight and someone's been beating you with a stick.
Or even worse—a slipper.
Sleep.
Actual sleep.
When was the last time I had that?
Right before I came through the breach actually, so like seven hours ago? The record room was a gloomy place, but the quietness allowed for amazing power naps.
Either way.
I keep my eyes closed and try to figure out where the I am without giving away that I'm awake. The surface beneath me is firm but not uncomfortable, definitely not a ship's floor or a prison cell. Medical bed, maybe?
There's a faint humming in the background.
The air smells... weird. Clean, but artificially clean.
Like regular air ran through seventeen different filtration systems, then seasoned with a floral scent that's trying way too hard to be pleasant.
It's the olfactory equivalent of elevator music.
I crack one eyelid open just enough to see through my eyelashes.
Yep. Medical facility.
The ceiling is this smooth with all flowing lines and organic curves and everything's got a golden tint to it.
No sign of that little furry creature anywhere.
Pikachu.
Pip, Pikachu, whatever. The poor little guy probably didn't make it.
I mean, his escape pod was falling apart, and those golden ships were shooting at us with some serious firepower. Even if he survived the initial blast, space doesn't exactly have an outstanding track record for keeping small, vulnerable creatures alive.
Maybe I should feel worse about that, but honestly, I barely knew him. He would have made for a decent guide in an unknown universe. Cute little guy, seemed intelligent, but that's about as far as our relationship got before everything went to hell.
Rest in peace, Pikachu.
Now, more pressing concerns. I can't see my power battery anywhere, which is a problem. I flex my fingers slightly, still got the ring, thank whatever cosmic forces look out for idiots, and check the charge level.
Thirty percent.
Wait. Thirty percent? I recharged it to forty before we got attacked. How did it drop by ten percent while I was unconscious? I wasn't even conscious to accidentally drain it with stress responses.
Perhaps it's because of the massive laser beam cutter positioned right next to my left hand, aimed directly at my ring finger. The thing looks like it could slice through a starship hull without breaking a sweat, and it's been running a low-power cutting beam against the energy field around my hand for... who knows how long.
My ring has been automatically maintaining a protective barrier this entire time, slowly draining power to keep my finger attached to the rest of my body. Which means I must have been asleep for a very long time.
Maybe they were trying to cut my finger off to get the ring.
Which is both flattering and deeply concerning.
It means they recognize the ring is valuable, but it also means they're willing to commit casual mutilation to get their hands on alien technology. Not exactly the first impression you want to make with potential new neighbors.
Looking down, I can see that my entire body is wrapped in some kind of translucent restraint system. Not ropes or chains, still flexible enough to be comfortable, but clearly strong enough to keep someone immobilized.
The restraints have a slightly golden tint, because apparently these people have committed to their color scheme with religious devotion.
I could break out of this easily. One construct, maybe two, and I'd be free to move around. But I have no idea where I am, who these people are, or what kind of security systems they've got in place. Making a dramatic escape might trigger some kind of self-destruct protocol, or flood the room with poison gas, or summon a bunch of heavily armed guards who shoot first and don't bother with questions.
Or even worse—summon Rangdan, definitely didn't want that guy in my business.
Better to play this smart. Let them think I'm still unconscious, gather some intelligence, figure out what I'm dealing with before I make any sudden moves.
The waiting pays off about ten minutes later when I hear a soft beeping sound. But it's not the harsh, mechanical beeping you'd expect from medical equipment.
This sounds almost musical, a beep in G sharp.
The sound of footsteps approaches, multiple sets, moving with precise coordination.
I keep my breathing slow and even, my face completely relaxed. Just another unconscious prisoner, nothing to see here.
"The energy signatures remain stable," someone says in a voice that's almost aggressively melodious. Even their casual conversation sounds like it was written by a composer. "The bio-rhythms indicate deep recuperative sleep."
"Excellent. And the green clamp device?"
Green clamp device? Oh, they mean my power battery. I guess that's what it looks like to someone who's never seen Green Lantern technology before, just a weird green clamp-shaped object.
"Fascinating construction. The energy matrix is unlike anything in our databases. We've attempted to interface with it using standard protocols, but the security systems are remarkably sophisticated."
"More evidence of advanced technological development. But we need the ring."
"The cutting beam has been operating at maximum intensity for four cycles," one voice reports. "The protective field around the appendage continues to regenerate faster than we can penetrate it."
"Fascinating. The energy expenditure should have depleted any conventional power source hours ago, yet the barrier maintains perfect integrity."
"We attempted molecular dissolution at the cellular level," another adds. "But even that didn't work."
"Unfortunately, the energy matrix is unlike anything in our databases. Even our most sophisticated analysis equipment cannot determine how it functions. We need access to the ring itself for proper analysis."
"The Nova Corps has been contacted," another voice adds, this one carrying more practical authority and less of the musical quality. "Their response team should arrive within two cycles to handle the situation."
Wait.
Nova Corps?
My eyes snap open so fast I'm pretty sure I give myself whiplash. All three aliens in the room immediately take several steps backward like I just turned into a venomous snake. One of them stumbles over his own feet and starts floating backward through the air.
Seems their fight-or-flight response includes actual flight.
Another one makes this high-pitched squeaking sound that would be adorable if it wasn't clearly terror, and just collapses onto the floor in a dead faint.
"Hold on," I say, sitting up and immediately regretting how fast I moved. My head spins for a second, but I push through it. "Did you just say you called the Nova Corps?"
The one alien still standing, and he's barely standing, looks like his knees are about to give out, nods frantically. "Y-yes, the proper authorities have been notified of your... presence."
I can't help but laugh.
Not mean laughter, just... relieved laughter.
Seems the big bad wolf was actually just a furry.
"Oh man," I say, wiping my eyes and raising my ring hand to create a simple cutting construct. "You have no idea how much better that makes me feel about this whole situation."
The translucent restraints part like paper, and I stretch my arms above my head with a satisfying series of cracks from vertebrae that have been locked in position for way too long.
The remaining conscious alien makes another one of those musical squeaking sounds.
"See, here's the thing," I continue, floating up off the medical table and settling onto the floor. My legs are a little shaky, but they hold. "If you were actually dangerous, if you were some kind of serious intergalactic threat, you wouldn't call the space police when one guy wakes up."
I gesture around the room with both hands. "You'd handle it yourselves. You'd have protocols in place. You'd have weapons that could actually contain someone like me, or drugs that could keep me unconscious, or at least more than three guys standing around discussing my 'energy matrix' like you're trying to figure out how to program a new coffee machine."
The alien who's still conscious straightens up slightly, and I can see him trying to find his dignity again. "We are the Sovereign. We do not need to prove our superiority to an... an imperfect creature."
"Imperfect creature," I repeat, grinning. "Okay, I'll give you that one. But calling the Nova Corps?" I shake my head. "That's like calling the police because your neighbor's music is too loud. It means you don't want to deal with the problem yourself."
I roll my shoulders, working out the stiffness.
"Which, honestly, is probably the smart play here. I'm not looking for a fight, you're clearly not equipped for one, and the Nova Corps are actually pretty reasonable people from what I hear."
"You... you speak of the Nova Corps as if you know them personally." the alien says, and there's a hint of curiosity in his voice now, cutting through the fear.
"I don't, actually." I pause. "But, it's pretty obvious they're probably the space police around here and as a space cop myself—I'd say we tend to be pretty reasonable."
Before he can answer, I notice that there are actually more aliens in the room than I originally thought. Two others must have been standing outside my peripheral vision, they're pressed against the far wall like they're trying to become one with the golden surface, and they're all pointing these sleek energy weapons at me.
The weapons are predictably gold-colored.
"Okay," I say, raising my hands in what I hope is a universal gesture of 'please don't shoot me.'
"Before anyone gets trigger-happy, let me point out that we can actually communicate here. My ring translates languages, so we can have an actual conversation instead of just... you know, pointing weapons around and hoping for the best."
I tilt my head. "Actually, that raises an interesting question. What happens if you speak a completely unknown language? Like, if your language isn't in my ring's database at all, would the translation matrix just make something up? Or would I just hear gibberish? Because that could lead to some really awkward diplomatic incidents—"
"You dare mock our linguistic sophistication?" one of the armed aliens interrupts, his melodious voice sharp with indignation. "You genetically asymmetrical, bio-mechanically inferior, aesthetically compromised specimen of evolutionary failure!"
I blink, processing that impressive string of insults. "Wow. That was... really elaborate. But also, I didn't understand about half of those words, and I'm not talking about translation issues. I mean those words are just really big. Could you maybe dial it back to normal person vocabulary?"
"Normal person vocabulary?" His voice climbs higher, which makes the musical quality even more pronounced. "You imperfect aberration of cosmic design, you dare suggest that we lower our standards of communication to accommodate your limited cognitive processing capabilities?"
"I literally just asked you to use smaller words," I say, trying not to smile. "And you responded with 'limited cognitive processing capabilities' instead of 'stupid.' Which proves my point."
That's when the door chimes, another one of those musical notes in perfect pitch, and slides open. More aliens rush in, these ones wearing what actually looks like tactical gear instead of medical scrubs. Still gold, because apparently that's their thing, but definitely more military-looking.
"Cease all movement." the lead one commands, pointing a much larger weapon in my direction.
"I'm not moving," I reply, keeping my hands visible and non-threatening. "I'm just standing here having a conversation with your... colleagues? Friends? Are you all the same species, or is the gold thing cultural?"
But apparently standing still and asking questions counts as threatening behavior in their book, because two of the tactical team immediately move to grab my arms.
"Look, there's really no need to—"
The first one reaches me and wraps both hands around my right arm. I gently push him away, just trying to create a little personal space. Nothing aggressive, nothing that should hurt anyone.
His robes fill an inward space within his chest that should be possible and whatever flight ability he has kicks in as he zooms backward fifteen feet and crashes into the golden wall hard enough to leave a dent shaped like his body.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!"
Everyone else in the room freezes.
I look at the guy I barely touched, who's now sliding down the wall making those musical whimpering sounds, then back at the rest of them.
"My bad?"