The sleek, gunmetal-grey Light Cruiser, the Resolute, hung in high orbit above the smog-choked ecumenopolis of Nexus Prime. Verza Zal stood on the bridge, her hands clasped behind her back, a picture of calm, coiled authority.
She activated the ship-wide comm. "This is Light Cruiser Resolute, Bureau of Stellar Order, registration BSO-417. We are on official directive. Requesting clearance for planetary descent."
A tinny voice crackled back from the planet's ground control. "Copy that, BSO-417. Transmit your authorization codes."
Verza nodded to her communications officer. A crew member inserted a black clearance chit into the control panel. "Transmitting clearance code Sigma-Black-Seven-Omega," the officer said. "Stand by for verification."
A tense pause hung in the air of the bridge.
"Authorization confirmed, BSO vessel Resolute," the voice from the ground finally replied. "You are cleared for approach, Vector Three-Seven-Nine. Maintain controlled descent and prepare for security escort upon landing."
"Understood, Base Control," Verza replied, her voice cold and clipped. "Initiating descent sequence. Be advised, our personnel will require immediate access to secured facilities upon arrival. Bureau operations take precedence." She let the threat hang in the air.
A hesitant, slightly flusttered voice came back from the ground. "...Acknowledged, Nexon Security Command has been notified. Escort units will be waiting. Welcome to Nexus Prime."
"Compliance noted," Verza said coolly. "Resolute out."
The cruiser began its descent. As they landed on a secured, high-level platform, a contingent of the local Nexon security forces was already waiting, their blue and grey uniforms looking dull and uninspired next to the pristine white armor of the Legion troopers who had escorted them down.
Verza walked down the ramp, her boots clicking with an unnerving precision on the metal. She was met by a nervous-looking Nexon captain.
"Lieutenant Verza Zal, BSO," she introduced herself, her handshake brief and firm. "I have brought my own troops to conduct my duty."
The Nexon captain was clearly intimidated. The reputation of the BSO was a boogeyman that spread fear throughout the Accord. And now, one of their lieutenants was here, with her own squad of Legion troopers. The twelve white-armored soldiers who marched down the ramp behind her moved with a synchronized, silent discipline that the local troops could only dream of.
"It is my honor to help you in any way I can, ma'am," the captain stammered.
A small, smug smile touched Verza's lips. "Good. Take me to the base, then." She pulled a pair of immaculate black gloves from her belt and began to put them on, her movements slow and deliberate.
"Let's see what kind of germs we have here."
…
"Dorian," Ula's deep voice rumbled, echoing slightly in the cavernous storeroom. "What the hell are you making with these?" He gestured to the list of components on his datapad, a series of restricted, high-bandwidth comms relays and untraceable quantum processors.
Dorian just chuckled and scratched the back of his head. "Hehe."
Ula let out a long, weary sigh. "There is no deadline on this, right?"
"No, no," Dorian said quickly. "I know it is hard to get those, so just tell me when you have them. It is not the type of thing that has seen much improvement from the Accord, anyway."
Ula's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp and perceptive. "Are you trying to make a private network with this?"
Dorian just shrugged, a master of non-committal answers. "We will see. It is just a theory for now. I cannot know for sure without the hardware."
"You are killing me with these requests, kid," Ula grumbled, but there was a hint of respect in his tone.
Dorian walked towards the curtain leading back to the storefront. "But I keep your store open," he said with a confident grin over his shoulder.
As Dorian left, Jakor walked in from the front. "Did Dorian make another absurd request, boss?"
Ula nodded slowly. "Yeah. It is his usual shit."
Jakor helped Ula lift a heavy crate onto a transport sled. "You think he is worth the risk?"
Ula paused, his massive hands resting on the crate. He looked out towards the front of the shop, where Dorian had disappeared into the crowded market. "He can be of help to us. Against the Accord."
Jakor's three-jointed hands froze. "Do you think he hates the Accord enough to fight?"
"We need every hand we can get," Ula said, his voice a low growl. "And it is not my job to think about it. It is not yours, either. Now, go back to the store."
Jakor hopped down from the sled and returned to the front. Ula stared at the list on his datapad for a long moment, then began to load the rest of the crates onto his ship.
…
Dorian walked from the starliner station, a light spring in his step. Today's earnings were good, enough to place the new, expensive order with Ula and still have plenty left over. He chuckled to himself. His life had genuinely turned for the better ever since he had stopped his tunnel-visioned obsession with becoming a Solar. He was not just existing anymore; he was living. He passed a neighbor and gave a friendly "hello."
He was feeling good. He was feeling safe.
And then, he saw them.
Four Legion troopers stood in front of his apartment building. Their white armor was a sterile, glaring intrusion, glimmering under the flickering neon signs in the dark, shadowed street. They held their Accord Radiant Carbines at a low, ready position.
Standing before his door, her knuckles raised as if about to knock, was a woman. She wore a crisp, grey uniform, the three gleaming insignia of a BSO lieutenant on her right breast. As Dorian approached, she turned, and their eyes locked.
She walked towards him, her movements calm and precise. "Lieutenant Verza Zal, Bureau of Stellar Order," she said, her voice as cold and grey as her uniform. "Dorian Elias Kepler, right?"
Dorian's heart hammered against his ribs. He shook her offered, black-gloved hand, his own feeling clammy and cold. "Yes... Did I do something wrong?"
Verza's lips pulled back in a smile that did not reach her eyes. "That's what we're here to determine. May we come in?"
It was not a question. Dorian looked past her, at the four white-armored troopers who were now watching him, their black-visored helmets unreadable and menacing. He had no choice.
"Sure," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He walked to his front door and opened it for them.
Dorian sat on the edge of the couch in his own living room, a prisoner in his own home. He looked to the side, but his gaze was met with the blank, white helmet of a Legion trooper standing motionlessly behind him. Another stood by the front door. He could feel their presence, a heavy, suffocating weight on his very soul.
Across from him, Verza Zal took a slow, deliberate sip of the Teebu Dorian had given her. She placed the cup down with a soft, precise click. "It is a good Teebu, Mr. Kepler."
"It is my luck," Dorian said, his voice a little too tight. "I got it from the market."
Verza's smile was a thin, sharp line. "Your father, John, has not arrived home yet." It was not a question.
"He still has six weeks on his mining rotation," Dorian replied, a cold sweat prickling his neck. They knew his father's schedule.
"Ah, yes," she continued, her gaze unwavering. "And your siblings are still at school, I presume."
"Yes."
"So you have been alone in the house most of the time, then. Since you... dropped out."
The words hung in the air, an accusation. "Yes, ma'am," Dorian said, the sweat now beading on his forehead.
Verza stood, her movements fluid and controlled. "It has come to my attention," she began, slowly walking around the small living room, her gloved fingers lightly trailing over the back of the couch, "that you have been using your free time making music. Am I correct?"
Dorian just nodded, his throat suddenly too dry to speak.
"Now," she said, stopping in front of him, her shadow falling over him. "Can you walk me through the one you just submitted to the Commons Law office a week ago?"
"Skyfall?" he managed to ask.
Verza's smile widened, but it still did not reach her eyes. "Yes. Consider your song to have the... attention of the Bureau."
Dorian's mind raced, scrambling for a story, a plausible, non-threatening narrative. "I was inspired," he began, his voice surprisingly steady. "By the Solars I saw and read about during my academy years. It is... a way for me to say goodbye to that dream. To pay homage to my own failure to become a Solar." He looked up at her, forcing a look of painful sincerity onto his face. "The 'skyfall'... it is what I felt when the Channeller announced I was incompatible. I felt like the whole sky was falling down on me."
Verza remained unreadable, her expression a perfect, neutral mask. She tilted her head slightly. "Does your father know you write and make songs?"
"No," Dorian said. "Not yet."
"He should," she said, her voice a soft, silken threat. "Sometimes, what our children create can cause... complications."
"I also realize there was a battle named Skyfall, decades ago," Dorian added quickly. "It is just a coincidence."
"Coincidences are comforting, until they are not," Verza replied coolly. "And it was just a battle that happened a long time ago. It is of no concern to us." She stood up straight, the interview apparently over. "Thank you for your time, Dorian."
Dorian scrambled to his feet, his mind reeling. "I am still confused," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "What did I do to warrant such a visit? Am I... am I under investigation?"
Verza turned at the door, her smile now a chilling, predatory thing. "Good. We like to keep it that way." Her eyes, cold and sharp, locked onto his. "And you are under observation. There is a difference." She paused, letting the weight of the word settle on him. "I hope you can wait for the approval of your song. You should hear about it by tomorrow."
And with that, she and her white-armored guards left, the door hissing shut behind them, leaving Dorian alone in a silence that was far more terrifying than their presence had been.
…
Three weeks had passed. In that time, Roric's life had become Stardew Valley. He had planted, mined, fished, and befriended the charming pixelated residents of Pelican Town. His viewers, the "Void Dwellers," had gone from mocking the "blocky garbage" to being deeply, unironically invested. They debated the best crops for each season, argued about who the best romance option was, and raged every time Roric passed out at 2 AM just outside his farmhouse door.
Today was the day. He was at the dilapidated old Community Center, the final item for the final bundle shimmering in his inventory.
"Alright, chat," Roric said, his voice a hushed, reverent whisper. "This is it. For the glory of the Supreme Chat farm. For all the parsnips we have planted. For Linus, who just wanted a friend."
He placed the final item in the bundle. The screen flashed, and a joyous, triumphant tune began to play. The little forest spirits, the Junimos, swarmed the screen, their pixelated forms a blur of happy energy as they magically restored the old, broken-down building to its former glory. The cutscene played, showing the grand reopening, the happy villagers, and the smarmy, defeated Joja Mart manager looking on in disgust.
The chat exploded.
: WE DID IT!!
: THE JUNIMOS ARE SO CUTE OMG
Roric was laughing, a pure, happy sound. "We did it, guys! Community over corporations!"
: Take that, Morris! Eat our organic, locally-sourced vegetables!
: Suck our carrots!!
"Yeah, take that, Joja!" Roric echoed with a laugh. "Who needs their soulless corporate efficiency when you have the power of friendship and... uh... foraged horseradish?"
A new comment popped up that gave Roric pause.
: that joja mart building looks like my work cubicle block
: lol mine too
: at least the game has windows
The jokes continued, but a new, more somber tone began to creep in. Roric watched as the little Junimos happily restored the community's furnace, their cheerful chirps a stark contrast to the sterile, silent efficiency of the Joja Mart. He thought of his own life, of the endless grind to please the Stellarcast algorithm, of the constant pressure to produce content.
: Joja's slogan is 'Join us. Thrive.' right?
: sounds familiar…
: Accord's is 'Obey. Prosper.' same energy.
The chat went quiet for a moment. The comparison, so simple and so obvious, hung in the air. They were all just cogs in a machine, just like the sad, pixelated figures in the game's opening cutscene. The realization was not a call to rebellion. It was a shared, quiet sadness.
The spark had been lit.
…
Another three weeks passed. Dorian was in the kitchen, a rich, savory aroma filling the apartment, when his wristband chimed. It was Juno.
'the orchestra needs more time. the maestro is a perfectionist.'
Dorian smiled, typing back his reply. 'oh no, the Juniverse is already waiting!'
'my fans are loyal,' she texted back instantly. 'they will wait for their diva.'
Dorian sent a single, green, puking sticker as a joke, then put his wristband on sleep mode and continued cooking. A rich, wonderful aroma was filling the small apartment.
"Cooking while texting is dangerous," Leo's voice came from the side.
"Driving while texting is dangerous," Dorian countered, not looking up from the dish he was preparing.
"Both are dangerous."
"Stop the yaps and ready the table," Dorian said with a grin.
"Your vocabulary requires training," Leo replied, its optical sensor blinking as it retrieved plates. "There is no such entry for 'yap' in a conversational context."
Dorian carefully slid the large pan of lasagna into the oven. "Shut up. Father will be home today." He took off his apron and washed his hands. "I am going to pick up Lyra and Marcus from school. Take that out after sixty minutes. No less, no more."
"Okay," Leo replied.
Dorian grabbed his coat and walked out into the gloomy, neon-lit corridors. As he walked, he noticed the change immediately. There were Legion patrols on every corner, their white armor a stark, menacing presence. The local Nexon security was almost completely gone, replaced by the Accord's faceless Legion troopers.
He picked up the kids and started the walk back. As they passed a small, open-air noodle shop, he saw it. A Zynar, a tall, three jointed, timid-looking man, was sitting at a table, eating. A Legion trooper stood over him.
"You have been heard speaking anti-Accord rhetoric," the trooper's voice was a cold, metallic drone.
The Zynar looked up, terrified, a noodle still hanging from his mouth. "I... I was just talking about the Viziers' recent law..."
The trooper did not respond. He simply raised his Accord Radiant Carbine. There was a sharp, glassy crackle, and the Zynar slumped forward onto his bowl, a single, cauterized black hole in his chest.
The few other patrons in the shop froze in terror. The trooper turned, his black-visored helmet surveying the silent witnesses, then continued his patrol as if nothing had happened.
Dorian grabbed Marcus and Lyra, pulling them close. "Walk faster," he whispered, his voice tight with a cold, sickening dread.
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**