I couldn't help but sigh as I flexed my arms, working out the stiffness from those restraints that they had me in. I didn't even understand how they worked.
"Are you guys really this fragile, or did I get stronger somehow?"
Nobody answers.
I can understand. Who would raise their voice at the glowing green man who made your species mate crumble at the slightest touch.
The remainders stood frozen in place, weapons trained on me but hands shaking like they're trying to aim at a moving target.
This was rather tedious. I didn't actually intend to cause a fright.
Usually this level of an overreaction arouses under deeply entrenched fear and I hadn't provided cause for that emotion.
I walk past them, casually pushing their gun barrels aside with my fingertips.
They let me, which only serves as a reminder of what I already know about their confidence levels.
The guy who hit the wall is still breathing, but there's golden blood trickling from his temple and his eyes are rolled back.
Hopefully, he's not dead.
I gave him a slight nudge with my foot. Careful not to apply consequent force.
"You're not dead right?" No response. "Well, that's unfortunate."
When I turn back to the room, everyone's staring at me with this mix of terror and fascination. Like I'm a dangerous animal that somehow learned to talk, which is probably not far from their perspective.
One of them slowly raises his weapon. His hand is trembling so badly the barrel draws little circles in the air. The silence stretches out for what feels like forever.
He fires.
Golden energy streaks toward my chest. My ring's shields flare to life automatically, the green barrier intercepting the blast and dispersing it into harmless light particles. I didn't even feel any impact.
"Really? That's what you're going with?"
Time to establish who's running this show.
I spot what looks like a medical supervisor's chair, one of those fancy floating things that screams "I'm important", and walk over to it. The moment I sit down, the chair begins adjusting itself to my body shape, which is both convenient and vaguely creepy.
"Listen up," I say, settling back and deliberately putting my feet up on their pristine control console.
Several of them actually flinch when my boots touch the surface. "I don't know what you people are all about, or what this whole golden aesthetic thing is supposed to accomplish, but here's how this is going to work."
I lean forward, making eye contact with each of them. Most can't hold my gaze for more than a second.
"I'm going to be reasonable here, on my honor as a Green Lantern. Professional courtesy, one space cop," I point at myself. "To whatever you guys are supposed to be."
Several of them exchange glances when I mention being a Lantern, though I can't tell if they recognize the title or just the authority in my voice.
"But let me make something absolutely clear." I stand up from their chair, which immediately begins a cleaning cycle where I was sitting. "Right now, in this room, I'm in charge. We can do this the easy way, where you answer my questions and tell me where my equipment is, or we can do this the hard way, where I start breaking things until you decide to cooperate."
I gesture around the room at their delicate-looking medical equipment. "And frankly, based on what just happened to your friend over there, I don't think you want to find out what the hard way looks like."
Suddenly, golden light erupts around me.
The energy field forms so fast I barely see it coming, crystalline walls materializing out of nothing to form a perfect cage. The air inside feels exactly the same as before, no interference with my ring or anything dramatic like that.
"Okay," I mutter, looking around at the walls. "That's new."
I form a simple fist construct and test the barrier. The green energy impacts the golden field and just stops, not absorbed, not deflected, just stopped cold like hitting a brick wall. I try again with more force behind it.
Same result.
The field doesn't even flicker.
Breaking out is definitely possible, but it would take serious power. Who knows if they have the capability to just entrap me in whatever this thing is again. Plus, I still don't know where my battery is. Fighting isn't the smartest move right now.
But I wouldn't deny that the desire was stirring.
"Well," I say, looking around at my suddenly much braver captors, "never mind what I just said about being in charge."
Footsteps echo in the corridor outside, lots of them. The door slides open and troops file in, each carrying personal hover-platforms loaded with weaponry that looks significantly more dangerous than what the medical staff was packing.
The platforms position themselves at each point around the room, each targeting the three corners of my cage.
Smart positioning, overlapping fields of fire, no blind spots. These guys might actually know what they're doing.
Then their commander walks in.
He's taller than the others, wearing robes that shift between gold and deep amber as he moves. The fabric looks almost liquid, flowing around him like it's alive. His face has that same symmetrical orientation as the others, but his eyes carry intelligence and real authority that the others completely lacked. Chains hang from his wrists and belt, not restraints, but ornaments that chime softly with each gesture.
The medical team quickly removes their injured colleague, loading him onto a hovering stretcher. The commander watches them work with a detached interest, like checking off a to-do list, then turns his attention to me.
"Hi there." I offer.
"Such insolence," he says, voice carrying that musical quality but with steel underneath. He approaches my prison with measured steps. "Thanos-spawn. We Sovereign have no business with your kind."
Thanos-spawn?
And 'Sovereign'. So that's what they're called, how charming.
"Return to your master," he continues, dismissing me with a wave that makes his chains sing. "Tell him we harbor no quarrel with the Black Order. The Infinity Stones do not reside within Sovereign space."
Infinity Stones. Black Order. Thanos.
I'm getting the gist now.
"The Infinity Stones," I repeat, letting my voice drop into something more threatening. If he wants to think I'm working for some cosmic warlord, might as well play along and see what I can learn.
I pause, letting a smirk cross my face. "You do know they are infinite in power?"
"Indeed," he nods gravely. "An endless wellspring of cosmic energy. We know why you seek them."
Endless cosmic energy. Could something like that charge my battery? There are multiple as well. I'm sure this 'Thanos' wouldn't mind if I borrowed one.
"And you're certain none are here?" I ask, trying to sound casually interested rather than desperately hopeful.
"Search elsewhere," he says. "Question the Collector if you must. But your mission will find no success in Sovereign territory."
The Collector. Another name to file away.
"Well," I lean back as much as the cage allows, "that's unfortunate. Because honestly, I do not know who this Black Order is, but I'm pretty confident they're not on my level."
His expression shifts immediately. The fear gets replaced by irritation, then disappointment.
"I see. Our... precautions were unnecessary." He gestures, and my prison begins to move, lifting off the ground and floating toward the exit. "Very well. Proceed with standard protocols."
I won't lie, I am getting irritated. But it's better to see where this leads and keep my power for when I actually need it. Unfortunately.
They float me through corridors that seem to go on forever, all curves and organic architecture that looks grown rather than built. Everything has this seamless quality but when we emerge into the main chamber, I have to stop thinking sarcastic thoughts and just stare.
Wow.
The space opens up into something that makes every piece of human architecture look like a child's sand castle. We're talking about a hollow space the size of a small city, with platforms floating at impossible heights connected by bridges of what looks like crystallized light. Gardens hang in mid-air, their plants growing in perfect spirals that hurt to look at directly.
Waterfalls, red in colour, flow upward from one level to another, defying gravity. Buildings curve and twist through three-dimensional space in ways that shouldn't be structurally possible, but somehow look more stable than anything humans have ever built.
And everything, absolutely everything, gleams with that same golden radiance, but it's not just paint or plating. The metal itself seems to generate light, like they figured out how to make matter itself luminescent.
"Not bad," I mutter, genuinely impressed despite myself. "Definitely not bad at all."
My captor, who I'm assuming is a commander, king, judge or something of the sort, activates a floating display as we drift through the city center. The hologram shows words, scrolling past at a speed that suggests he's either speed-reading or just showing off.
"You stand accused," he begins in formal tones that echo off the impossible architecture around us, "of numerous violations of Sovereign jurisprudence. Allow me to enumerate the specific nature of your transgressions."
He clears his throat. "Unauthorized breach of dimensional boundaries within sacred territorial limits, a violation of the Purity Preservation Act, traditionally punishable by complete genetic restructuring to acceptable standards."
I'm starting to get a picture of their legal system.
"Destruction of classified biological research materials representing seventeen months of taxonomical analysis, a breach of the Scientific Advancement Protection Protocol, carrying penalties of cognitive realignment and intellectual dissolution."
"Intellectual dissolution," I repeat. "That sounds pleasant."
"Termination of seventeen sentient specimens during said destruction, violation of the Biological Asset Conservation Mandate. Possession of unregistered reality manipulation devices without proper Sovereign technological integration permits, breach of the Advanced Weaponry Control Statute."
He's really getting into this.
"Failure to submit to mandatory genetic purity assessment upon territorial entry, violation of the Biological Contamination Prevention Act. Contamination of sterile research environments through presence of genetically inferior biological matter—"
"Wait, hold up," I interrupt. "Did you just call me genetically inferior biological matter?"
"Class Seven contamination, yes. The formal classification for entities exhibiting asymmetrical features, suboptimal cognitive development markers, and insufficient aesthetic integration with universal mathematical principles."
I stare at him. "You guys really have this whole superiority complex worked out to a science, don't you?"
"It is not complex," he says patiently, like he's explaining basic math to a child. "It is simply recognition of measurable biological reality. Some genetic configurations are objectively superior to others."
He continues scrolling through his charges. "Assault of Sovereign personnel through exhibition of primitive physical capabilities exceeding safety parameters. Failure to provide proper identification and origin documentation. Violation of atmospheric composition standards through exhalation of impure respiratory byproducts."
This is getting ridiculous.
"Improper disposal of dimensional transit energies within consecrated territorial bounds. Resistance to lawful detention through unauthorized consciousness activation. Unauthorized exhibition of genetic asymmetry within sacred spaces."
He pauses to consult another section of his display. "Failure to demonstrate appropriate cognitive deference to genetically superior beings. Improper linguistic patterns indicating insufficient neural development. Casual disregard for established hierarchical acknowledgment protocols."
I wait for him to finish.
"And finally, unauthorized occupation of sanctified medical equipment while possessing aesthetically compromised physical features."
"You charged me for sitting in a chair while being ugly." I say flatly.
"Aesthetic contamination of sacred spaces, yes."
"Right." I look around at the floating city surrounding us. "And I'm guessing all of this is building up to some kind of show trial where you sentence me to death and then tear apart my ring to figure out how it works?"
His expression doesn't change, but surprise flickers in his eyes.
"As we are a just and methodical people," he says carefully, "you will receive proper judicial consideration. Your tribunal will convene when the chronometer achieves middle convergence."
He gestures toward the distance, a massive clock built into one of the floating platforms. The thing is easily a hundred feet across, its hands moving in patterns I don't understand.
"Which is when, exactly?"
"Two standard segments."
Based on the clock's current position and movement speed, probably about two hours.
"And those Nova Corps guys you mentioned earlier? When do they show up?"
"The Nova response team will reach our territory in two cycles."
Two cycles is two days in alien talk.
They're putting me on trial in two hours, but the actual space police won't arrive for two days. Plenty of time to execute me and try reverse-engineering my equipment before anyone shows up asking awkward questions.
"Right. Totally fair and reasonable timing."