AN: Up to 20 Advanced Chapters on my Patreon
https://www.patreon.com/cw/Crimson_Reapr
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Mark Shepherd had always looked up.
Not metaphorically, he wasn't some aspiring poet or disillusioned dreamer. He literally looked up. Every night after clocking out of his nine-to-five and eleven-to-seven prison disguised as a Manhattan office, he'd walk the long way home just in hopes of catching a glimpse of the stars.
In between the noise, the lights, and the human grind, he'd crane his neck between skyscrapers and try to feel small in a way that felt like freedom. He longed for the stars, to feel that sense of smallness that came not from insignificance, but from possibility. That kind of smallness was freedom. But freedom was a cruel stranger in New York, and living in the city that never slept meant never being able to gaze at the stars.
Light pollution, the result of neon billboards, streetlamps, and screens, amongst many other things, smothered the heavens, leaving only a black expanse that looked less like infinity and more like a soulless black void that would stare back at him every single time he looked up. He wanted the stars. Desperately. The ache in his chest wasn't romantic or profound; it was a simple yearning to be out there instead of down here.
So, he settled for the next best thing. His nights stretched long, lit by the glow of his phone screen as he devoured stories of men and women who lived out there among the stars. Pirates who would carve their names across the endless expanse, mercenaries who would drift from war to war, commanders steering fleets across alien horizons. He'd read them all. And every time, without fail, his mind would slip free of his tiny apartment, that other prison he called home, and soar into the places he would never touch.
Sometimes, he caught himself daydreaming about being reborn in those universes, like the protagonists who woke up to second chances in alien bodies or with mysterious systems. He always laughed bitterly afterward. Just idle musings. He knew better than to dream big in a city where rent alone made you question if life was worth the bill.
It's not like technology was anywhere near close to getting humanity beyond its drifting backyard anyway, and even if it was, men like Mark Shepherd wouldn't even get the chance to glance at the ticket. He wasn't a pioneer, wasn't a prodigy, wasn't a billionaire with a rocket company. He was just another overworked, underpaid cog in the great machine of New York.
But Life has a twisted sense of humor, or should it be said, Death does.
Mark never thought that one day his prayers would be answered, that his wish would be granted. Just... not in the way he ever imagined it would.
It happened on a Tuesday. Of course it did, nothing good or bad ever waits for a weekend to come knocking at your doorstep.
Mark had just picked up a lukewarm slice of pizza from Sal's, his tie loosened and earbuds drowning his thoughts in music that let his mind float free, as if his brain had finally found its own orbit somewhere above his body. It was music that allowed him to break free of the everyday grind and daydream.
He saw the light switch prompting him to cross. And cross he did. He stepped off the curb without thinking, the slice of pizza shoved halfway down his throat when all of a sudden-
SCHREECH
The sound of tires trying their hardest to slow down, yet slipping on the asphalt, resounded across St. Nicholas Avenue, loud and shrill, tearing through the music and the calm. Then the roar of the engine accompanied it, along with the whine of a supercharger as a streak of red and black paint thundered down the street.
The world slowed just enough for Mark to see the teen behind the wheel, eyes wide, phone still in hand, as if physics would negotiate just this once.
The impact wasn't cinematic. Mark's life didn't flash across his eyes like many claimed it would. There was no dramatic orchestral swell or angels coming to pick him up. No, none of that.
In the blink of an eye, Mark found himself staring at the night sky. He blinked again, and this time he was staring at the pavement. Blinked again, and there were the buildings. He blinked one last time, and there they were. The stars, they were staring back at him, somehow visible through all of the light pollution in New York City.
For the briefest instant, Mark felt his feet touch down like he had landed from some invisible jump, but momentum was a bitch. His body tumbled backward, the back of his head slamming and his skull cracking against the cold pavement.
He didn't really have the time to process what had happened, nor did pain have time to set in. One moment he was walking, and the next he was lying on the cold pavement, staring up at the stars as the sounds of the city that never slept rapidly faded along with his consciousness.
As his eyes involuntarily closed, the only thought that filled his mind was how beautiful the night was. Then the colors that had rapidly bled from his vision started to return in the same fashion, though more vivid now. Streaks of light shot past Mark's vision, as a searing scream filled his ears.
It was a faint noise that rapidly grew louder. It wasn't human by any measure, nor was it animalistic. It was the ear-piercing sound of metal shrieking and bending in ways it wasn't meant to. The wails of sirens in every frequency the senses could register suddenly assaulted Mark's consciousness, as the smell of ozone stung his nose, and something burned nearby. A cracked screen above Mark's head flickered wildly, spitting fractured data and static as sparks flew from it.
The sound of a woman's voice suddenly cut through the air and filled his ears. "Captain! WAKE UP!"
Mark gasped before coughing, smoke drowning his lungs, and his body jolted as if someone had shocked him. He blinked furiously as he felt something heavy pinning his legs, and the world outside the jagged viewport in what was left of the display screens twisted in unnatural ways, as if gravity were having a temper tantrum.
He was more than confused. Where was he? He was no longer on the street, and looking around, he thought he might be on a ship. Or rather, inside one, barely. The metal walls were bent like paper, panels exposed, circuitry sparking.
His body felt the crushing lurch of gravity intensifying, dragging him toward some planet-sized body outside. He felt the gravitational forces on his body as the ship he was in spun.
His eyes darted to the group of screens, and there he saw spaceships, actual ships, spiraling down around him, torn apart mid-orbit in a silent ballet of destruction. His eyes darted towards a platinum blonde-haired woman strapped to a seat about 4 meters from him.
"Oh, thank God, Captain, I've been locked out of the ship's systems, initiate the-"
The woman never got to finish her sentence as a screeching sound of metal being torn apart filled the atmosphere. A gaping hole appeared in the walls behind the woman, and everything started getting sucked out.
The ship's emergency systems kicked in, and metal sheets slid into place to cover the hole. But it was a little too late. The woman was yanked backward, her torso caught in the gap just as the plating sealed, splitting her body and painting the steel red in her blood.
His throat opened in a scream he never got to finish when-
WHAM.
The ship shook violently as it breached the planet's atmosphere, and something smacked into the back of Mark's head, sending him into unconsciousness.
The ship fell from the sky, slamming into the side of a giant rock formation that resembled a mountain, bouncing violently and rolling down a section of it. Mark's unconscious body was rag-dolled while strapped to his seat, and the 3-meter-long piece of metal that had pinned his body was sent flying across the bridge of the spaceship, miraculously missing his head and arms.
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When he came to, Mark was hanging upside-down, strapped to his chair. His vision was blurry, his head aching, and his body feeling like it had been run over by a steamroller. His left arm swung slowly before he attempted to move it, an action that caused pain to come shooting through his body like a bolt of electricity.
"ARGH! Huf Huf Yeah... whooo, that's definitely broken."
He moved his right arm, wincing in pain, but it was tolerable, unlike his left arm.
The groaning metal of the wreckage echoed as Mark fumbled with the strap across his chest. Each shallow breath burned, and his ribs protested his movements, but the adrenaline was hot in his veins, screaming louder than the pain.
"Okay... okay, Mark, you got this... You can figure this out... just a little twist-"
The buckle finally gave, and gravity, ever the relentless bastard, did the rest of the work and pulled him free.
THUD
He landed like a sack of wet cement on the ceiling, which was now his floor. A sharp bolt of agony lancing up his spine as he felt something in his shoulder pop.
"GAAAH- FUCK!" he roared, curling into himself, teeth gritted, breath coming in ragged bursts. "Oh yeah… love this journey for me."
For a few seconds, maybe minutes, he just lay there, half-conscious, half-swearing, and entirely miserable.
The sharp tang of burnt wiring filled the air as one of the control consoles sparked like a firecracker on the Fourth of July, and a low, pulsing hum reverberated through the hull of the ship.
As Mark lay there with his eyes forced shut while trying to cope with his pain. He heard a soft "ding", like the chime of a friendly elevator, cut through his chaotic thoughts, but it wasn't a sound that he heard in his ears, rather a sound that he heard in his mind.
He slowly opened his eyes and stared up at the floor of the bridge, only to have a translucent blue screen hover before his eyes. It floated weightless in the dust-choked air; its baby-blue glow was oddly calming, like a lullaby in a warzone.
Assimilation Complete.
Greatest Fleet Commander System Online:
Welcome, Commander Mark Shepherd
Mark blinked, thinking he was hallucinating. But the words didn't fade.
"That fall must've done a number on my head," he said to himself while slowly blinking. But it didn't change a thing. The translucent panel still hovered in front of his eyes.
"…Christ," he croaked, half-laughing, half on the edge of hysteria. "I've finally lost it. Death wasn't enough, huh? Now I'm haunted by sci-fi wet dreams."
But the screen didn't fade, instead shifting as new lines formed beneath the welcome text:
Status: Critical Condition
Ship Integrity: 6%
Command Bridge: 42% Operational
Available Fleet: 0 Ships
Active Crew: 1 (You)
System Tip: You may be dying. Immediate medical attention is recommended.
Mark coughed, blood flecking his lips, and a broken laugh escaped him. "Oh, good. Admiral Ragdoll of the Intergalactic Clusterfuck reporting for duty."
But even as the sarcasm spilled out, a chill crept up his spine. The screen wasn't going away. It was real. He waved his right hand, attempting to touch it, but his hand just went right through it.
He thought of making it go away, and the system screen disappeared. He thought about bringing it up, and it reappeared. He tested this a few more times before finally coming to terms with the fact that this was indeed not a hallucination. He knew it wasn't a dream due to the pain coursing through him.
Mark Shepherd finally realized that he wasn't dead. That he was no longer in Manhattan. Hell, had no fucking clue of where he was, but it sure as hell wasn't on Earth.
He thought about what the system had addressed him as when it first popped up.
"Commander, huh."
He lifted his head again to the twisted wreckage around him. The bridge was a graveyard, consoles shattered, a jagged crack in the hull slowly bleeding atmosphere into the outside, a place he had no idea if it contained breathable air. And yet… the ship's system consoles were still online.
And he was also somehow still alive.
Somehow, Mark Shepherd, nobody from New York, freshly roadkill, found himself being the commander of a ghost ship on a planet in the middle of what he could only guess to be a goddamn war.
"…Alright, System," he croaked, flexing his one good hand as pain throbbed through his body. "Let's see what the hell you want from me."
The screen came into Mark's vision once again, accompanied by a soft chime and new text.
Ding! Congratulations on Assimilating with the Greatest Fleet Commander System, Commander Mark Shepherd!
Would you like to open your Welcome Package?
Mark focused on swallowing slowly, the action causing a slight bit of pain to course down his throat.
"Yeah, what harm could that possibly do?" He asked out loud. "Open it."
Congratulations!
You have received...