Aetherion leaned against a holographic lamppost in the middle of a bustling galactic spaceport, watching the swirling crowds of aliens and humans go by. The air was a symphony of a thousand languages and the low thrum of hovercraft. He had just spent the last of his tournament prize money on what he considered a masterpiece: a cosmic-sized, seven-meat sandwich that was currently occupying most of his attention. It was a glorious, sauce-drenched creation, and he was completely engrossed in its subtle flavor profile when the world changed.
A sudden, jarring noise ripped through the usual spaceport chatter as a colossal holo-billboard flickered to life above the crowded thoroughfare. The advertisement for a new brand of anti-gravity boots vanished, replaced by the grim, official insignia of the Shadow Dominion.
[BREAKING NEWS]
"Attention, citizens of the galaxy! The Shadow Dominion has issued the largest bounty in recorded history—a staggering ten trillion credits—for the capture of one man: Aetherion."
The screen shifted, displaying a 3D image of Aetherion himself, rotating slowly for all to see. The image was a surprisingly high-quality rendering of him mid-bite into his last sandwich, his expression one of utter, blissful contentment. A bold, red warning text scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
"WARNING: Target is extremely dangerous, highly unpredictable… and has a suspicious fondness for bread-based meals."
Aetherion blinked at the ad, then took another massive bite of his sandwich. He looked up at the image of himself. "Hey! They got my good side," he said to the lamppost, a genuine smile on his face. He waved at the rotating hologram of himself, a friendly, casual gesture.
The hologram, powered by a sophisticated and highly confused AI, waved back.
"Oh, nice! It's interactive." Aetherion's smile widened. He waved again, and the hologram followed suit. This was, in his mind, the most exciting thing to happen all day.
He was still playing with his holographic doppelganger when the first wave hit. Within minutes of the bounty announcement, bounty hunters began to swarm the streets. These were not the common, run-of-the-mill thugs. These were the galaxy's elite, drawn by the insane ten trillion credit prize.
The first to make a move was a seven-foot cyborg with glowing red eyes and a body that looked like it was forged from the scrap heaps of a war. He stomped toward Aetherion, each footfall cracking the expensive synth-concrete of the street. His voice, a synthetic growl, was projected from a dozen different speakers on his chest.
"You're worth ten trillion credits, boy. I'm gonna—"
Aetherion's nose twitched. The cyborg's speech was interrupted by a familiar, unstoppable force. He sneezed.
The shockwave, a perfectly contained but devastating burst of pure energy, hit the cyborg head-on. The cyborg's immense, seven-foot frame was launched through the air as if it were a child's toy. It flew through three buildings, leaving behind a series of perfectly Aetherion-sized holes, before splashing unceremoniously into the nearest river. The splash was so large it caused a small tidal wave.
A new System alert, popping up in the corner of his vision, showed the result.
[Warning]
You have accidentally neutralized a bounty hunter.
[XP Gain: +10]
"Only ten?" Aetherion muttered to himself, disappointed. He was now looking for the perfect place to sit and finish his sandwich.
Just as he found a bench, a squadron of jetpack mercenaries, a team of highly trained professionals, descended from the sky. They wore sleek, black armor and carried blasters that hummed with enough power to melt a tank.
Aetherion shielded his sandwich from the wind created by their descent. "Watch the crumbs, guys—"
The mercenaries, of course, did not watch the crumbs. As their leader, a hard-nosed woman with a scar over her eye, prepared her motivational speech, one of her teammate's jetpacks malfunctioned mid-dive. The engine sputtered, sending the mercenary spinning out of control. He spiraled into his teammates like a flaming bowling ball, a beautiful but deadly chain reaction. The resulting explosion knocked them all out cold, sending them tumbling to the street in a tangled heap of smoking jetpacks and broken armor.
Aetherion sighed, shaking his head at the mess. "Amateurs."
Next came a gang of mutant lizard-men, hissing and brandishing plasma whips. They were a notoriously violent and ruthless group of bounty hunters, feared across the lower sectors. Aetherion, seeing the whips coming towards his sandwich, decided that this was a good time to move. He turned to run… straight into a street vendor's noodle cart.
The cart, a rickety contraption on two wheels, toppled with a comical clatter, sending hot noodles flying in every direction. The lizard-men, charging forward with primal ferocity, slipped on the hot, slimy noodles, getting themselves tangled up in the long strands. They slid into one another, hissing and snapping, and before they knew it, they were rolling down the street like a reptilian tumbleweed, a hilarious and embarrassing sight for anyone who was paying attention.
By nightfall, the entire city was in a glorious, unadulterated chaos. Ships crashed into each other, bounty hunters fought each other over "kill rights," and somewhere, a hover-taxi got stuck in a fountain, its lights blinking in a pathetic, rhythmic fashion. The spaceport, a beacon of galactic commerce, had been transformed into a battlefield of incompetence, all because of a single bounty.
Aetherion, having found a quiet spot near a fountain that was not yet a battleground, strolled through it all. He was humming a jaunty tune, sipping a strange-but-delicious drink, and completely oblivious to the fact that he was the reason everyone was fighting. He just thought the city was having a very spirited and slightly violent party.
_____________________________________
Meanwhile, in the Emperor's war room, the atmosphere was less of a party and more of a funeral. A holographic map of the city pulsed with dozens of red 'Failure' markers.
"Reports, now!" the Emperor barked, his voice laced with the kind of frustration that could shatter planets.
A nervous, trembling general stepped forward. "Bounty hunters: failed. Mercenaries: failed. Mutant lizard-men: failed. Also… half the city is on fire, sire."
The Emperor's eye twitched so hard it made a distinct, squeaky noise. He glared at the map, at the chaos, at the sheer, unmitigated failure of his plan. His army was useless, his assassins were defeated by a sandwich, and now the entire galaxy's deadliest hunters had been undone by a sneeze, a malfunctioning jetpack, and some noodles. There was only one option left.
"Then summon… the War Champion."