The ship cut a silent path through the cosmos, its form sleek and menacing as it approached the dark orb of the Gotis' home world. Inside, a single alien walked down a corridor, his boots echoing against the metal floor. On either side, massive cells stretched in a long row, each one empty. This was a holder ship, a floating prison meant for a single purpose: to gather.
Another alien stepped up beside him. "The scanners show no hostile activity," the first said. "Just as the main fleet predicted. This will be a quick cleanup."
"Still can't believe it," the second alien said, shaking his head. "One moment, the Geti government is a formidable force, the next, it's all over. The king is dead."
"They say a new alien race, one we've never encountered, attacked them," the first alien explained. "The war was quick, and it was brutal. By the time our main forces arrived, the attackers were gone. The Geti are broken, scattered. They'll be easy to take."
"So we just go in, take all their slaves, and leave?" the second alien asked.
"That's right," the first said, a hint of a sneer in his voice. "They're a warrior race. They have no place for weakness, and now that their leadership is gone, they'll have to rely on their low-grade goti. We'll find them and put them to use."
As the aliens spoke, the ship's viewport showed the planet growing larger. The surface was a wasteland of rubble and broken buildings. They didn't know that the very roads they were about to step on would be their death.
The alien patrol, all 100 of them, halted. Their boots, which had been stumbling on the strange, uneven ground, fell silent. Before them, the ruined city was a wasteland of rubble and skeletal buildings, and yet it was completely and impossibly quiet. The pilot confirmed that most of their fleet was lined up perfectly, just as they had been told they would be.
Then, a sharp, metallic sling echoed through the air.
One of the warriors collapsed. The alien next to him turned, and his helmet was instantly splattered with thick, dark blood as a blade, glinting silver, plunged through his comrade's chest. The alien stood in shock, his mind unable to process the sight.
Before their minds could process what was happening, a horrifying realization hit them. The bumpy, snake-like forms under the ground weren't pipes at all. They were the very men they had been sent to find, now bursting from the dirt and mud. Sling, sling, slings. The ground erupted. Hundreds of the motionless Takers burst from the ground, their movements fast and silent. Blades flew up, punching through the bodies of the alien patrol. The ambush was complete before the aliens could even scream.
The surviving aliens, seeing the futility of fighting, sprinted to their ship, scrambling inside. The ship's engines screamed to life, a powerful roar that shook the surrounding wreckage. They pulled the levers for full power, but the ship didn't move. It strained and groaned, but it was being held in place. Through the cockpit viewport, the aliens looked out and saw a towering figure. A colossal Taker, even bigger than the others, was holding their ship down with one hand. With the other, he was gripping a building, as if bracing himself against the force of their engines. Before the pilot could go for full power, a breach alarm blared. The Takers had found a way in.
They burst into the cockpit. But instead of attacking, they just stood there, weapons lowered. They barked at the terrified alien crew, demanding that they stand down.
Suddenly, the Takers went silent. The sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the corridor: step, step, step. An even bigger Taker, dwarfing the others, walked into the room from behind them. His eyes glowed with an eerie, blood-red light. He didn't speak. He simply sat down on the floor, his immense size making the small room feel like a closet. All the other Takers immediately sat down too.
The massive figure pointed a single finger at the aliens. They tried to sit down as well, but the Taker gestured for them to remain standing.
"How many do you have in your ship?" a low voice rumbled, though the Taker's lips didn't move. "I know you have some in your ship. This ship is huge. How many?"
"We don't know what you're talking about," an alien stammered.
Another Taker jumped to its feet and pointed a jagged, metal sword at the aliens. "How many other aliens do you have enslaved in here? We know you have them. This huge ship didn't work on air."
"About 50. Only that," the alien conceded, his voice barely a whisper.
The big Taker's voice rumbled in the alien's mind. "Thank you. Now, send a message to your men. Tell them there are no aliens here."
"We won't do that," one of the aliens said, his voice trembling.
The massive Taker simply said, "Sit down."
The defiant alien stood his ground. In a flash, a Taker behind him moved, and a silver blade slashed through the alien's torso, cutting him down without a sound.
"Sit down," the big Taker repeated, his voice now colder.
The second alien, his eyes wide with terror, was cut down just as quickly. The final alien, his face a mask of fear, held his hands up. "Okay. OK!" he stammered, frantically sending the message.
The big Taker got to his feet. "Now, show me where they are."
The alien walked down a long corridor that opened into a massive, multi-tiered room. Takers looked around in shock. The room was a sprawling maze of cells stacked on top of each other, stretching from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. Each cell was filled with other aliens.
"This is way more than 50," one of the Takers said.
The lead alien stammered, "I… I meant 500. I must have miscounted."
The Takers moved with a silent, terrifying efficiency. With a series of powerful, synchronized slashes, they tore through the metal cells, ripping the doors off their hinges. The terrified enslaved aliens came pouring out, blinking in the sudden light. As they emerged, a new group of Takers stormed into the room, their arms full of weapons salvaged from the battle outside. They began handing the weapons—shining swords and blasters—to the newly freed aliens.
Then, just as suddenly as they came in, the Takers sat down on the floor, all of them. Only Joe remained standing, his towering form still and silent. He set the single captured alien leader aside and faced the bewildered crowd of enslaved aliens.
"We have freed you," Joe boomed, his voice echoing through the massive room. "But now, we will give you a choice." He gestured toward the alien leader. "Point your weapons at me and him. Now pick."
Joe's voice lowered, growing more intense. "Who will you follow? The men who used you, who took you from your planet and enslaved you? Or will you follow us and create a new universe? A universe where the weak don't need to hide in fear and get taken and used. Now pick. Who will you follow, and who will you destroy?"
The enslaved aliens didn't hesitate. They aimed the new weapons at their former master, and a volley of energy blasts filled the room. The gunfire's red light flashed, painting Joe's face in a brutal, flickering glow. The lights on the other guns joined in, their colors of red, blue, green, and yellow dancing across his features. As the gunfire died down and the flashing stopped, his eyes, which had been a furious red, shifted and settled into a final, cold purple.
"It's time for the Takers to go universel,"