A Day In The Life Of A Space Janitor

(Context: These logs were originally made in the Galaxy Citizen server, under it's lore, and have been modified slightly to cut out the additional lore from that server, since this community goes purely by the lore in the game. These changes are relatively minor in terms of the scope delivered by the logs themselves, and should not represent any real loss in terms of the story being told. I will paste all of the logs done so far here, and keep updates posted afterwards that tie in to the current experiences my character has in the server. Thank you for reading, and please leave any responses, criticisms, or feedback below.)

Spoiler: Introduction

(The journal is kept in the most secure way possible in the modern age of advanced technology and spaceships, and cannot be hacked. It is simply kept in a normal book with a lock; behind the cover lies a message etched in the leather: NEVER FORGET THE DIRECTIVE. On the first page is an introduction.)

If you're reading this, it means I have given this to you on the hour of my death, whoever you may be. Hello! I am the Vector man, and I haul trash, Anticlimactic, isn't it? You'd think holding an old book like this filled with endless memoirs, there'd be something more incredible here. Maybe the thoughts of someone from long ago, a general or corporeal or someone just as equally significant? Well, too bad; you're stuck with the thoughts of a space janitor.

I was created long ago with only one directive; the sorting, fixing, and subsequent elimination of trash as a solution for the trash problem in the village in which I was created. It gets a bit hazy after that; when you live as long as I do, many things seem to slip to the void of times long past. Eventually I took to the stars, at first foraging for my own survival, and then later on, addressing my directive. After all, what's the point in doing what I was created to do if I'm too dead to do it?

I've seen things, so many things. God, I can't even begin to start on what I've seen. This is what this journal is for, actually. I want to be able to re-read this and remember the places and things I've seen long ago, just to stick it to my memory. Make it be one big glorious middle finger to my brain. When I die, I want to pass this to someone, anyone really, and read through it. The final page will contain a set of special instructions for them, whoever is to own it, and hopefully they'll take the wishes of a dead man to heart and honor them after reading it.

The times in these journal entries will not be based on any solar standard, since there are far too many to keep track of. Instead, they will be based on the biological clock installed within me, which is set to keep time within 24 hour intervals.

Spoiler: Page 1

13:56

Visited the Aurora Solaris Nebula, named for the beautiful streams of blue and purple that drift within the clouds of stars that are forming within the haze of nebulae. Ship wrecks have a habit of being found within nebulae due to the gravitational density of forming stars pulling the wreckage towards them, melting the scraps away and merging it with their own forms to become bigger, better, stronger. Others dump ships there because of this. Sadly, aware of this fact, I took the remains with me to scavenge for parts for my ship as well as ship parts to sell, and left whatever I needed in there.

My ship was temporarily caught in the gravitational well of the nebula, and in a panic, I pushed my thrusters to maximum only to barely escape. That is always the risk to visiting nebulas; the smaller and weaker the ship is, the more likely it'll be sucked into the substance of a nebula. I've been in more dangerous situations, though.

My ship is very old. It's model dates back over a hundred years ago, and has purely been maintained by my stubbornness with parts found in various places over the years. I grew with this ship, and it and I are one and the same in spirit. I respect loyalty to a ship, and I'm pretty certain it'll be the death of me, but I don't care. Nothing will let me let go from this ship.

Spoiler: Page 2

3:45

Navigated through the electric storms of Calsuun, an area of undeveloped gaseous mass orbiting the Darwinian Sun known as Balsar; called as such since it is one of the biggest and oldest Suns in the system, artificially created by scientists long ago by extracting pieces of other stars and fusing them together in order to further their understanding of nuclear fusion. Needless to say, it came at a cost; the nebula it was conceived exploded, taking out the research station with no survivors. The explosion jettisoned material outwards for thousands of miles, and quickly created a small solar system in a matter of years due to the power of it's artificially created gravitational power. Whatever was far enough from it began to follow the normal flow of planetary creation, and Calsuun was just that; a windowsill to the past, of what once was, and what soon will be.

There is no life studied on the planets of Balsar, mostly because the gravitational pull from the Sun is too strong to allow anything to land in it. The juxtaposition of the planets created settled in areas of its gravitational field keep it trapped there forever, never to spin in orbit or even go around its source of light, like sand caught within the cracks of a tile. There are stories of those who have landed there, fates uncertain. Scientists claim that the gravitational density of these planets exerted by the Darwinian star would cause anything that were to land on it to crumple against its surface, flat as a pancake. It would then slowly sink into it, to merge with the core, forever trapped inside. I don't know whether this is true or not, but I'd much rather stay away than find out.

As I look outside and see the flashes of light graze against the glass window, I think about my own plans on settling on a planet. I've always wanted to station myself on a location in order to come back and organize things I don't have time to fix, and have people co e and go, much like a shop. Somewhere remote, desolate, and dangerous where the terrain favors me in order to discourage raiders from looting, and have only people serious to do business with me arrive.

It's always survival of the fittest.

(Due to the size, the journals will continue in the next post.)

 

Spoiler: Page 3

23:34

I have departed from the planet Xeon V, and have sworn never to return there again. It's been approximately 3 bio cycles since I've last written in this journal. I'm still amazed I can still apart bio cycles in the first place.

Xeon V lies in the heart of a long-distance binary star system; the planet lies equidistant between the two stars. Much like how Earth Prime had a moon that always had one side face the planet, Xeon V similarly has an orbital rotation that is synchronous with the rotation of its patron stars, which means it was able to have normal seasons like any other planet.

Xeon V's orbit was special, though. As it finished the orbit of one star, it would align itself in the middle of both stars, creating a single day where both sides of the planet are inundated with sunlight for 24 hours. The natives call it the Day of the Golden Wave, which is treated as a day of rebirth and new beginnings, and one of the few places where a dual sunrise and sunset can be seen.

Now, the issue with Xeon V is that it is primarily a tourist site; the planet is liveable, but due to the unstable nature of the seasons, it makes living there hard unless you have the money and resources to do so. There are only 3 kinds of people who reside on this planet: The uber rich, who are scattered in the most highly advanced settlements money can buy. Then there are the scientists, who live solely to understand the planet and it's orbital anomaly, along with it's effects on it's ecosystem. Finally, there are the tourists who come for the recreation centers, hotels, and in particular, the clubs.

The clubs are infamous for how hard the party is, to the point where there are not only projected estimates for actual casualties, but also ones for speculated casualties. It is rumored that there is 300 proof alcohol (which should not even exist), and that the dancers are skilled in the art of pain and pleasure. Anyone who is anyone in the party world knows about the raucous exploits of Xeon V, and how it is a place where some one can go from peasant to king and back again repeatedly through the course of a single night. From getting laid to losing a kidney, and then using that kidney as an aphrodisiac with the person who took it out of you. That, is Xeon V.

I had called upon a contact who had a new ship engine, since my ship needed a new one, again. They agreed to meet me at Xeon V, and it just happened to be the Day of the Golden Wave when I arrived. I was partially horrified at this; I had always wanted to witness the spectacle that is the Golden Wave, where there is no shadow or darkness, nor night for a whole day. However, I was well aware of the stories behind it as well, since people party as hard as they can on the Day of the Golden Wave. This is when Xeon V is at its most dangerous, as crimes happen in literal broad daylight everywhere at any time, with no proper authority to stop it. It is celecrational anarchy at its purest form; anything goes in the name of party.

I met my contact in a hotel room where we spoke over drinks. They spoke about the price of the engine, which was reasonable.

That is when I passed out.

I woke up, buck naked, in a room filled with goats. Not just any goats, mind you, they were the randomly fainting ones. I was in a dungeon with fainting goats, as a man stared at me from the distance clad in leather. Apparently, I passed out for a day, and was promptly sold by my contact to a man who had a bot fetish with a bit if beastiality mixed in. Seductively, I asked him to join me, only for him to decline. Not because he wanted to, but because 'it was proper punishment for him to watch'. I demanded him to enter, to which he eventually obliged. I proceed to punch him in the face; this only convinced him that I was into it, as he stroked the leg of a now fainted goat. I locked the door and left him there, to do god knows what.

I made it back up to the surface. Apparently, I was underneath a club, where the laser lights beamed and the DJs performed. The dance floor was a giant 4K screen protected by thick glass, images and colors popping in and out repeatedly. A good half were stoned, and three-quarterswere drunk. I needed to find my contact again, though it didn't take long to spot him. He was watching everything from above. Realizing I was naked, I quickly took a disguise. I saw the bartender leave to take a break, and I followed behind him only to mug him and take his clothes. I felt bad, I truly did, but this was Xeon V; anything goes here.

I posed as a bartender for a day, studying the nature of the club. The owner never really paid attention to his customers unless the customers complained. There was a significant drop of partiers after the Golden Wave; best case scenario is that they all had serious hangovers. After I had studied the club long enough, I finally decided to confront the owner. They had their own office at the very top, and so I knocked on their door. Insulted, they opened it, demanding who I was, to which I promptly socked him in the face. WhatbI didn't count on were his large Apex guards. 7 feet tall behemoths who promptly knocked me out cold.

I came to chained against the wall in a cellar. The very same guards were prepping a large battery with alligator clips, presumably to shock me. And so they did, for several hours. God, that was painful. I attempted to tune out the pain, and devote my processing purely for hatching a plan to escape. It then came to me, in an electrifying flash of awful pain, what to do. Thus, I shut my optics off, and lowered my processing power to go so low that they could not be heard. I pretended to have perished. The guards figured that I had long since outlived my stay, and prepared to dispose of my husk. When they unchained me, I lunged quickly for the clips, and proceed to electrocute them. I scoured fr the incinerator, dragging their bodies around as best as U could, and disposed if the trash. Cruel, I know, but anything goes in Xeon V.

I took one of their guns and took the pleasure of walking to the owner's room. He saw me, clothing tattered, circuits jutting out, burnt and visible, my optics visibly cracked. He was going to prepare to say what I think was an apology, but then I forgave him pre-emptively with my bullets. Stole his clothes, and then tossed his naked body into the incinerator. I think he may have been genuinely sorry about my treatment, but for other reasons. I felt bad, but alas, anything went in Xeon V.

I found the deed to the club in their room. As it turns out, they killed the previous owner, who which in turn followed a long line of owner killing. Apparently I legally became the owner upon killing them. I contemplated the thought of running a club as I watched the partiers on the dance floor. Then I tossed the deed into the crowd, and let them fight over it. I didn't really care for it; I already had my directive. I looted the owners money and left the planet to buy a proper engine.

I don't like killing people, and I genuinely hope I never go back there again. That's the thing I hate the most about Xeon V; in the end, anything goes.

Spoiler: Page 4

9:05

Visited a Florian village for supplies. It helps that I'm a glitch; once you get past their innate desire for stabs, they're surprisingly friendly people. They were fascinated by some of the stories I told them, and I even showed them some of the trash I've collected. Sold some of it to them for cheap, and gave some others as gifts. In turn, they gave me their trash along with some gifts; a necklace made of the teeth of beasts recently hunted, a spear made of solid bone, and some cooked meats. I was flattered, and naturally, I kept the things they gave me.

I stayed overnight in their village. I heard knocks on the door; it was a small group of Florans. They wanted to join me in my ship, as they always wanted to pursue what lies beyond in the stars. I had to decline, as some of the locations I visited were too dangerous biologically for Florans. However, I gave them the schematics for an old ship to them. Their eyes lit up, despite not understanding what was wriiten in those blueprints. They thanked me, and left.

When I awoke this morning, I saw the entire village hard at work, seemingly united by a common purpose. I asked one of the Florans; as it turns out, the entire village decided to build a ship to, "carry their ssstabsss to the ssstarsss." I was glad to see them set abalze with new purpose, even though I knew it meant sending a bunch of stab-happy hunters into space. They waved as I left in my ship, as I saw the bare bones of their ship out the window of mine. It was crude, but definitely a step in the right direction.

As I drifted along space, I charted the course to Hyperion, the intergalactic trading center prominent in this local galaxy. I needed a new engine, after all. It's a miracle I even lasted this long with the one I have. Some new clothes would also be nice.

 

Spoiler: Page 5

10:22

I've left Hyperion with a brand new engine and some nice clothes. Someone asked me how I got the large amounts of money that I had; I didn't tell them, for the sake of not revisiting old memories. I still refuse to visit Xeon V.

I landed in a local Avian village out in the Grecian Star System, on the planet Zeus. A standard jungle planet, I cut me way through the shrubbery to make it to their location. Avians are very kindly people, but it's best to tread carefully unless the philosophies of the grounded are dominant in said village; they take their beliefs very seriously. The fall of Avos is evidence of this.

So in my eternal genius, I had the audacity to sell them sacred items I had pilfered from an empty Avian temple I had plundered recently. I am not a thief, but since all the guards were already dead upon my arrival, I decided that what remained had no point to continue there, and would make good merchandise. Added with my lack of spirituality, this posed a very bad combination. I might as well had been selling a crucifix lit on fire to a religious human.

The population turned on me very quickly, and despite my various apologies, I was forced to run to avoid being hunted down like a dog. I hid as best as I could, but they knew the terrain as if they had acquired it through instinct by evolving there for millions of years. Surrounded and outgunned, we eventually reached a compromise; I would relinquish all the sacred items in my possession that were Avian, along with a 15% fee of my total funds and any building materials in order for them to create a new temple in the name of Kluex. My life would be spared, and I would immediately be banished, never to return there again.

Of course I agreed to it. I had nothing truly important to lose beyond my life, and the only alternative was death.

After I gave in to their demands, they escorted me back to my ship as I gave them what they desired. Afterwards, they banished me ceremonially, and I left for space once more. I added Zeus in my ever growing list of planets never to visit again, alongside the likes of Xeon V, the hellpits of Tartarus 1-8, the sand planet Anastasia, and many more.

The will of Kluex is very real, apparently!

Spoiler: Page 6

4:33

I was harvesting Oculemon from the eyestalks of the Eye Plant in some backwater planet in the middle of the Gamma Sector. Oculemon is known pharmaceutically for it's healing properties when it us extracted properly, as the fruit itself is poisonous to all but the Florian. Some say the bloom of the Eye Plant is known to drive people to complete madness; I don't know whether or not that's true, but either way, the trees themselves are rather freaky.

It was then that I stumbled upon familiar structures. The architecture was definitely familiar; glitch handiwork. But it was very different to what I had been used to see of my brethren, as it was extremely worn and in complete ruin. Books were scattered everywhere, and I followed that path until I had reached what was formerly a watchtower. I focused my optics and saw something stand on it's edge, vigilant of whatever moved. It was then to my horror that I had realized where I stumbled upon; the stomping ground of the incorrigible Eye Guard.

The Eye Guards are a mysterious sect of cultists who roam around the forests of Eye Trees scattered in various planets. All of them are identical in form, sporting a set of metal wings, Avian armor, their special eye helmet, and their standard signature eye sword. Despite no known undertaking of hostility against a given group or even a proper organized attack, there is only one thing on the mind of an Eye Guard: The destruction of any living thing that is unfortunate enough to cross their path.

Their loyalty, or even their very origin, is constantly in dispute in various scientific and anthropological communities. Some say the Eye Guard it the result of those who are over-exposed to the presence of the Eye Tree, and suffer from deep schizophrenia as a result, having given in to visions and hallucinations on what they have to do. Others claim they are ordinary cultists who have attained a greater power through a successful sacrifice, thus advancing their importance in the grand scheme of the daemonic forces lurking in the background. Others claim that they follow the orders of even higher level cultists called Dread Lords, and some say that they might even be related to the Doom Lord of Glitch lore.

I knew it had spotted me. I felt a familiar kinship, even from this distance. I didn't bother to stand around and think about it; I took out a sword and began running back to my ship. The Guard jumped, and flew down the length of the tower only to turn at a 90 degree angle and begin gliding to me. The sword was in its hand. He promptly kicked me down with his ironclad boots and stood atop me. I rolled, only for him to flap his wings, jump up, and stand in front of me.

The helmet covered his entire head. There was no expression visible, but I knew by his tone what he wanted.

"Prepare to embrace the darkness."

I kept my stance, and we dueled. We bobbed, we weaved, I blocked and so did he. His eye sword sent plumes of daemonic taint at me, to quick I ducked, swapped guns, and began shooting at him. He dodged excellently, with the ability of temporary flight. I got lucky; one shot managed to knock the sword off his hand. He jabbed me in the abdomen in response, and I felt the full force of his fist inside me. The force of his punch was impossible for an ordinary being. I clocked him in his masked, and knocked it off...

He was a glitch. Painted black, with sharp red optics. He reminded me of someone, but it couldn't be. It wasn't, I could tell. I shot him repeatedly while he was distracted by the lack of his mask, and he fell to the floor. It was a miserable sight; even in his dying state, he dragged himself along the ground towards me, growling, his voice weak and scratchy, repeating the same phrase over and over.

"We will tear out your soul..."

He definitely reminded me of someone. Someone who I have tried to push away from the furthest recesses of my mind. I put him out of his misery, and removed the things he wore. I held his helmet in my hand with a heavy heart and grave disappointment, and contemplated whether I should sell this. It's rare for people to come back from these kinds of encounters alive. I was lucky, since I only had to deal with one. I felt the evil and madness pulsate within the very metals of this mask. I took it with me, so I can take it where it belongs: burning in the core of a distant sun. I left, before others spotted me.

 

Spoiler: Page 7

8:21

Long ago, I swore off ever revisiting the hellpits of Tartarus 1-8, but now I find myself once again visiting it for the sake of getting a quick collection of diamonds and fuel.

Tartarus lies in rotation of the star Vesuvius, one of the hottest stars in existence. It's literal white-hot appearance have given it the nickname of the Pearl of Leo, as it lies within one of the newer constellations established in the galaxy, Nemean. The planet is but a black speck in front of it's sun as the second-closest object orbiting it, the first being Rome III. Their orbits are aligned so perfectly as to have Rome constantly stand in front of Tartarus, taking the brunt of the solar winds while Tartarus takes all of the heat. Due to a lack of atmosphere, it does not keep the heat, and the only safe place to land is on it's dark side. It only takes 3 hours to rotate, so anything done there must be done quickly.

So why would I risk life and limb to make it to this planet for only a short while? The surface of Tartarus mostly consists of diamond and solarium, held by a very brittle stone prime for the digging. I would only need an hour, tops, to get however much I need.

I carefully land on the surface in the dark side of Tartarus, and carefully walk out, decked out in survival gear. The dark side is cold due to the lack of atmosphere, only feeling brief whisps of heat from the lava vents on the surface, lovingly referred to as hellpits. I began digging, and after only 30 minutes, I feel that I have enough.

I look around the surface. This place... The location itself was familiar to me. I thought back to the Eye Guard, and then I remembered. This was the place where I had last encountered someone that I hope is long gone. We fought here, he and I, and we fought so viciously. He always put his heart into it, as someone with a proper directive would. He overpowered me, and dragged me on Hus face to 'dispose of me', as he put it with his tongue-in-cheek commentary. When I came to, his ship hovered over a local star.

...

I came to after zoning out, and realized something in the distance. It was a solid beam of light, the surface it beamed upon smoking and bubbling. Oh shit, I zoned out for too long. I took my things, ran to my ship, and quickly flew away before I was melted down.

I really need to stop going there.

Spoiler: Page 8

23:59

Drifting along the Beta Sector of the galaxy. Nothing much beyond hauling a large deposit of trash after having re-fueled the ship.

There are holes in my memory, something that I have never told anyone about. Not physical ones; merely gaps of my youth that I am unable to recollect. These are the things I know to be true, from what little I am able to recall:

- I was created in a glitch village as a trash man.
- I collected trash for what I have calculated to be 10 years in the village.
- Something occurred which led me to find or build a spaceship, and due to something, my directive adapted to find trash in space.
- I always went as Vector, but my last name is unknown. I added the man part later on when I was introduced to human slang.
- I was not the only trash man created.

It's an unusual feeling to not have a complete identity like real people. I don't pay much mind to it though, since my directive is far more important than whatever internal crisis I may have. The past is far behind me, and the future has yet to exist. All that matters now is trash.

Spoiler: Page 9

12:45

Finished shoveling trash away to a local star when I had an epiphany. I went through the list of planets I personally blacklist and went through them, one by one, as to why I would never revisit. After going through all 23 planets, I had one planet who had no explanation as to why I swore never to see again. It was then that it hit me; I never visited it.

The planet in question is Anastasia, a desert planet at the edge of the galaxy. It is the only planet that orbits its patron star, Xchon, and was named as such due to how the explorer, an early S-USSR navigator, saw a familiarity between the soft golden-brown hues painted on the surface and the princess of ancient human lore. The humans have long since lost their splinter organizations after their great tragedy, but the name forever stuck on the land.

I have no idea why I crossed ths out of my known routes, though. For one thing, I've never been on it. Everything I know about it is from basic reports; low level planet, desolate, formerly had very small settlements that migrated from space that eventually died out. Just sand and ghost towns. Not exactly prime estate to mine trash away, but not so much an awful planet that I would put on a list of things I would avoid like the plague. Something is up.

I've set the coordinates to there. Time to remind myself what was so awful about that place.

 

Spoiler: Page 10

5:34

Covered with robes from head to toe, I traveled through the sands of Anastasia until I reached the specific location I had specifically written down to avoid. I made sure the sandstorms wouldn't pump sand underneath my metal plates; it's such a pain to get out without using water. I didn't know why I wanted to avoid this location in the first place, which was home to space junk, sand, and half-buried vessels. Starships in the sand, long since lost to the might of time. Unsalvageable by any means; Trust me, I've tried.

Eventually I made it to my destination, which was a small deserted village. It was glitch in origin, through the architecture and some parts I found lying around. Naturally, I collected them, for the sake of my own personal repairs. It pays to be proactive.

In a blacksmith's cottage, I found something particularly interesting. In a drawer, I found the schematics of a glitch trash man, not too different from I. This doesn't surprise me, since the hive mind would ensure this information would flow from the stream of consciousness of every glitch that is still plugged in. I am not tied down by the artificial collective, but now that I think about it, I don't remember when I was severed from it. Food for thought, I suppose.

The glitch do not usually pro-create with a job in mind for the offspring. They are adapted later for the job they choose, and given the proper modifications for the job. Builders are given stronger joints, jewlers are given larger, more focused optics, blacksmiths are modified to handle higher temperatures and stronger force, et cetera. However, there was a dilemma reached: There weren't enough people who wanted to do a given job at times, which proves to be especially problematic in cases where villages were extremely small in number. As a result, some villages are forced to make specialized offspring; much to the lament of whoever was created. Usually, for it to work perfectly, the creation must lack proper identity and motivation to see or explore anything else. Otherwise, by giving them the ability of thinking a purpose for themselves, they will sabotage the survival of a village.

It's a classic impasse. The will of the individual vs. The needs of a group. It's things like this that usually cause a place to implode.

The trash man class of a glitch existed because no one else would do it themselves. At best, it's doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result when in reality it will always be the same, trapped in an eternal struggle against the concept of entropy itself. At worst, it's realizing on a daily basis that one day, you too will befall the very same fate, holding the parts and bodies of comrades long since past and dumping them to a firey grave. The futility of it all is too much for some glitch to bear, which is why people like me are created. I carry the burden on my sleeve, and don't even think twice about it.

Now that I have the schematics of... well, me, I can do some long needed physical repairs of myself. I was built with two notable modifications; specialized proton guns in the palm of my hand, meant to blast away at solidified trash too hard to move in it's own state, and jet propulsion in the center of the bottom of my feet, to jump to higher locations I can't reach. They've been worn for years, and I could never fix them since I didn't have the blueprints for it.

Boy, the glitch on this really looks like me.

I looted whatever else remained and marched back on my ship and made my way back to the stars. There's nothing left for me here, as I casually remove Anastasia from the list. Only 22 planets I will never see again.

I take another look at the blueprints. Wow, it even asks for the same color and metal plating I have! Definitely a lucky catch.

Spoiler: Page 11

6:49

I've repaired myself fully! Oh, it's been so long since I've felt the tingly pulse of energy in the palm of my hand and in the soles of my feet. Feels pretty good, like a really awesome manicure, only with more science. I've long since stored away the blueprints in a chest on my ship, and it's definitely not going anywhere.

I've plotted the next course to go to. It's a large Avian hub known as Sora; a planet with no star, heated artificially by the intensity of its core thanks to the scientists who have synthesized it's power artificially. It is capable of moving, but is typically stationary, and the coordinates are only known to those who either live on the planet or visit for business. They coordinates update every 72 days by having the planet travel through hyperspace while shielded, so that those who are unwanted lose their ability to keep track of where it is. No Kluex to answer to, these people are the result of science prevailing as the dominant ideology, so I have nothing to fear in terms of banishment, unlike a certain other planet. The planet itself is particularly small, though. Only takes a day to travel.

There is something unusual, though. The coordinates haven't changed for more than 100 days. They must be encountering more peace than usual, and have decided to ease off on other travel for now. I'll be trading some stuff and hauling trash out of there; they really like it when I do the latter, as most people do. I can even catch up with some old friends there!

Nothing much else to report.

 

Spoiler: Page 12

??:??

I've never been more terrified in my life.

I approached the docking gates of Sora, only to realize that the gate was permanently open. I tried contacting the gate operators to see what was up with the anomaly; only static was heard. Hesitantly, I landed in the docking bay, and parked my ship with the others. I had noticed the others were broken into, and began to grow more suspicious by the minute.

I got off the ship and entered the main exchange hub that connects to lanes upon lanes of shops that extends for miles on end. Typically, there is a bustling crowd waling around where conversation is heard, trades being negotiated, even laughter. There was life, but now, there is not...

No, instead, there was only blood. Avian blood and tattered feathers everywhere, and gunshots splattered everywhere on the floor. Nothing but death, decay, and... ash? What the hell?

There were no bodies, either. It's as if a mass genocide took place. What was more curious was the trails of blood and ash. I felt the floor; there was a surprising amount of heat. I kept looking around, and remembered that Soran security consisted of constant monitoring with armed turrets that were lined along the roof of the complex. I looked up and sure enough, I saw the turrets, whirring and ready for the hunt.

...and then they started aiming at me. Oh shit.

I ducked under a steel table as I heard the shots clang against the metal. I grabbed the legs of the table and hefted it up with my back, turtle-style, and ran while the bullets hailed all around me. I found a door that led to a maintenance shaft. I tossed the table and rolled into the door, rolling down the stairs.

I got up after a long and painful tumble, and read the sign. This led down to the core, where the planet was artificially heated. I followed the long and winding path, the air pungent with blood and heat, as I could feel the heat grow stronger and stronger. In fact, it felt too strong; how could any organic survive with these levels of heat emission?

Once I made it to the edge of the core, I had found my answer. They didn't. They had long since disintegrated, as the controls beeped in pain and the corpses had long corroded to bone. It was then that I saw the worst horror of all.

Etched everywhere on the walls, clawed in, was the insignia of a warhead.

I knew who did this. I know the culprit. He could still be here. I need to hide.

The room then began to get hotter, and I had realized then what happened. Someone broke the core, causing flames to spew out and consume those trapped in the buildings. Any survivors were gunned down by the turrets, which were then incinerated again by the exhaust of the unstable core. The person who did this ensured a 0% survival rate. I began running, retracing my steps back, grabbing the table, running back to my ship as I heard the roar of the flames behind me. I left, panicked, scared.

I sent a public transmission on my ship to those with the coordinates to Sora not to go there. At the rate it's core was collapsing, it was certain to explode at any time. I didn't care if I tipped off my location, I needed to make sure no other lives were lost.

I am still haunted by what I have seen today. I can't believe he's returned, when I am certain I left him for dead. Maybe it's a copycat? No, his style was precise, always engineered brilliantly, just like this. It was his work alright; which means he's not only out doing what he does best, but definitely has me in mind.

I need to lay low. I'm very scared. I don't want to die...

 

Spoiler: Page 13

??:??

I'm drifting at the edge of the galaxy in Sector X, at the very rim of the fringe. I've shut off my ship and have ceased to send a signal; and turned down the lights by 50 percent. There is no signal going outwards or into my ship, and I'd very much like it to stay that way. The ship will remain stationary, floating in the abyss of space until I feel I am safe again, which is probably never. By all accounts, I could have been spotted and tracked already, but by turning off my instruments after I reached this destination through hyperspace, the likelihood of being found is drastically reduced. At least, I hope it is.

If you've read this far, and I have long since died, then it is my obligation to tell you why exactly I should be so petrified with fear as to hole away into some obscure region of space for all eternity.

The markings left in Sora in the room where the core was being artificially heated belonged to an old former acquaintance of mine. As I've stated before, I was not the only trashman model created; there was another, who resembles me, but is painted as black as the forge that created him. Instead of five fingers, he has 3, built long to dig into the dirt with his bare hands, and able to crush solid metal with pure force.

His name is Raster.

Long ago, he and I used to mutually pick up and throw away trash from the village which we were built in. We were never that close; at most, we were co-workers with a mutual cause. He left with me after I had abandoned the village for reasons I still can't recall, since it's been so long. However, he quickly turned hostile on me; we began to fight, and I shunted him through the dumping zone of my ship, hurling him through deep space. He survived; and not only did he survive, but he also proceeded to hijack his own ship, the Nemesis, and adopt a brand new directive: The elimination of all forms of life in the Universe. This issue stemmed from a corruption of his previous directive of throwing away trash; since life-forms not only dispose waste, but become it, the natural course of action is to eliminate the problem at the source. He does not value life like I do, as trash is not what could be, but rather, what it is. Something that is trash is meant to be completely useless and unusable beyond any form of repair, which is something life-forms are not.

There is no convincing him now. For almost a century, he has been pathologically killing entire populations single-handedly. His talent for it only grows with practice, as he relentlessly trains in physical, mental, and emotional combat, and the fatalities he is responsible for only grow exponentially as a result. This is not the average serial killer: Most of them pride themselves in their work, and even get a sexual thrill from it. But not Raster, no, not him. He goes beyond all that, beyond pleasure for it, beyond having fun. It is his life goal. It is his entire existence. There is not a single thought that goes through his mind, the entire fiber of his being, that does not relate with the directive he wishes to accomplish.

I know what you're thinking: He's as much a life-form as the rest of us. Why hasn't he killed himself? Hilariously enough, he actually does plan on doing that, but only when he is the last living thing standing. Then, and only then, will his blood-lust be sated, as the final life-form capable of creating waste is eliminated from existence. He even told me how he'd do it: Ram into a quasar as hard as he can, and explode violently into pieces, then let the inevitable big crunch deal with the remaining trash left unchecked. He feels that this is the only way the directive can truly be accomplished, and anything else will only end in futility.

Despite all this, he is dangerously charismatic. He will befriend you, he will gain your trust, he will court you; There is nothing he considers uncouth, or unethical, or too low to dabble in. The different forms and layers of deception are simply tools to him, choosing the right tools for the right job. He knows no moral, no honor, and no promise. The only thing he delivers is on payments for services, and even that he justifies by saying that he will kill them eventually, and that now is simply not the right time.

He sought after me many times, since he and I share a past. At first, it was to recruit me, but later on it was specifically to kill me. He feels my directive is a bastardization of his own, even when it's actually the other way around. As a result, we've fought each other on planets we've met up in. I've managed to defeat him each time, but every encounter gets me closer and closer to the realization of my own mortality. I am not combat-oriented for obvious reasons. I am a simple trashman, who thinks on his feet for the sake of quickly evading a scenario. He, on the other hand, devotes all of his time and energy not only finding new ways to kill en-masse, but also to kill on a personal level, training constantly when he isn't behind the console of his ship with every single weapon possible. Knives, guns, launchers, swords. His favorite is dual-wielding blades, but he's adept with mostly anything. He's had the time to do so.

 

Spoiler: 13.5 (due to size constraints)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I last encountered him 10 years ago on the hell-pits of Tartarus 1-8, a planet I crossed off my list. I did so because I didn't want to remember what I did that day.

I had recently found the location of the planet from a tip in a local bar from an experienced miner. I landed in the proper place to avoid being melted alive and began mining there, when I heard the familiar hum of another ship. To my horror, I turned and realized it was the Nemesis, with Raster looking from the window of his cockpit. A smile ran across his face, for he knew what was about to happen. He was going to kill me, here and now, and he wanted to do it personally. He aimed the blasters at my ship, as he beamed down and approached me, holding a controller with a button.

"Vector! Oh, it's been so long. Really, it has! Looks like you stumbled upon one of my mining grounds for fuel. That's pretty unfortunate, considering I have to kill you now."

I gave him a long, hard stare.

"Oh, the silent treatment? How sad! Really Vector, I thought you'd be more mature than that. Oh well. Here's how this is going to work. I have your precious ship hostage, and since I know you're quite the sentimentalist, I know that you'd listen to the demands that I have about being escorted to my ship so you can be killed."

There was a reason as to why he didn't kill me where I stood; he wanted to savor it, since I eluded him for so long. That is his one innate flaw: The deep rooted delusions of grandeur which compel him to treat his directive almost as if it is of a higher purpose. He loves being dramatic.

"And if I refuse?"

It was at that moment that he shot me with a stun ray, paralyzing my circuits. Without a word, he dragged me to his ship as I heard him whispering to himself faintly in my stupor,

"Haha. 'And if I refuse.' What a moron."

I came to, chained against a wall. All around me were bullet holes, and it was then I realized: Not only was I on his ship, but he was about ready to use me as target practice in his own personal firing range. Goddamnit; he baited me with taking my ship hostage so I'd lower my guard to his demands, only to be paralyzed anyway. Classic Raster.

He stepped in wearing his usual outfit: Black, plated armor with a short cape and fierce boots fit for the stomping. He cocked his plasma rifle, and aimed the cross-hairs directly at my forehead.

"I'm going to kill you. Then, I'm going to scavenge your ship for spare parts and any leftover money, destroy it, and haul the remains to the sun. I'm going to fashion your body-parts into wonderful jewelry; maybe some gauntlets, or decorative armor plating? Who knows! But boy, it's going to be hilarious to know that people are going to compliment me for essentially wearing the robot equivalent of a dead carcass. Not that it matters; they all will follow suit. Any last words?"

I thought quickly, and remembered something. I began beeping. Raster was puzzled, and wondered why of all moments I would begin beeping randomly aboard his ship. That is, until he heard a crash hit the side of his ship violently. He was shocked to find my ship ramming right into his, and while his was far bigger, he was immediately distracted with moving his ship away, as it hit the main part of his hull. I had enabled GPS tracking of the ship to my body in the event that I were ever to lose it, it would go straight to me. It never worked completely in the sense that it was a bit too literal, but in this case, it did its job just right.

I took this moment to test the integrity of the chains. Naturally, he used very poor quality ones, since he wallows in the trash just like me. It took all of my force, but I was able to break through the chains, as I quickly ran through the ship, passing by his armory and picking up a sword. I ran to his cockpit to strike him down, but naturally, he blocked my attack with the side of the rifle he was going to shoot me with. He shoved me back, and began shooting at me, as I kicked down his table and used it as a temporary means of blocking until it was thoroughly burnt. I grabbed a throwing dagger he had and aimed at his hand, disarming him. He punched me in the face, knocking away my sword, and from there on, we fought hand to hand. He hit me with a hard left, and a hard right, constantly pulling punches into my abdomen.

It was at that moment that I did a move dirtier than he could ever expect: I scampered back for the dagger, and as he approached, I charged him. He grabbed me by the waist, which was precisely what I wanted him to do: I slashed out his optics. He wailed in pain, knees bent, unable to see. I kicked him down as he writhed, circuits cackling as glass was smeared all over the floor. I plunged my hand into the area exposed, grabbed the area in which his energy source connected to his data banks, and ripped it out without any remorse, as he convulsed in pain and went limp on the floor. An anatomical equivalent would be removing the section of the neck that connects the spine with the brain.

I dropped the severed cable to the floor, and stared at the cadaver, wondering what to do next. Cold. Dead. My mind far in tune to the desire of survival, I looked at what I had done. Lo, he was trash, trash that I had to deal with. In the end, I was no better than he was. In that respect, I guess he was right: Everyone becomes trash one day.

After some looting, I set his ship to go to the coordinates of the furthest edge of the galaxy, doomed to drift in synchronization with the galactic core for all eternity. A derelict ship with a defunct ideal, I watched it go into hyperspace to be forgotten forevermore. I set off to my next destination, never to revisit this place again.

I don't know how long he's been around. He could have been planning all along, preparing his next strike. I know for a fact that, if he's returned, he's after me.

I'm scared. I'm so scared. Oh God, dear God, he's back. He's back... I'm so scared...

If you're reading this, and I'm dead... you need to find him, and kill him for good. Don't make the same mistake I made. Leave no trace of his existence. Please.

please i beg of you just dont let him come back

god

why

 

Spoiler: Page 14

??:??

The only thing that helps me keep track of time is my built-in biological clock. I forget to check it sometimes. I've been floating adrift alone for... I think it has been a few days. I refuse to return; the consequences so unimaginably dire.

I've been trying to keep busy with this journal, along with other things. I'll write them down as I go along.

??:??

I've remodeled the inside of my ship to look a bit nicer. Cleaned up a bunch of things, since usually it's one big mess. You get so focused with a directive that you have a habit of forgetting anything else that isn't relevant with it, but just as important. It does look nice now... if a not a bit empty.

??:??

I've trashed the inside of my ship again, since I didn't like the clean look, but then picked it all up again, only to trash it. Wonder why I even bother, it's only going to be me for a while now.

??:??

I looked through some of the things I keep as personal belongings, and remembered that I kept some decoys in the event of an emergency.

A decoy is a small device that, when placed on the floor, will create the simulation of a person, usually randomized and kept as generic as possible. A glass coating 50 atoms thick is kept liquified for the sake of having some form of contact: the glass itself is very durable. Then comes the holographic exterior, which simulates the details of an actual being. The glass resonates and helps gives the holographic projection a form of pseudo-solidity, for the sake of emulating the feel of whatever person it's creating. Decoys come in 6 races: Human, Avian, Apex, Glitch, Floran, and Hylotl. More specialized decoys exist: Chefs, Doctors, Merchants, even Wizards.

Decoys are cheap for the most part, but the more specialized they are, the more expensive they will be. Decoys are also banned in some sectors for emulating life-forms, albeit there is no case of a Decoy ever becoming sentient. A Decoy only has one line to say, and will repeat it each time you try to speak to it. They are not capable of reproduction, love, emotion, anything else besides what they're made to do. It's hilarious how I can share more of a kinship with a Decoy than most people, but I digress.

Despite how dumb they are, Decoys do serve legitimate purposes, and there are good reasons to have them. For one thing, if you're out in space alone, having a few around you will make it look like as if there's more people in your party than there really is, which can deter small-time raiders from attacking your ship. If you do have crew members, mingling them with fake ones not only enforces the former point, but also keeps any attackers confused on who to shoot. Some Decoys even come programmed to fight, in which they will wield their own weapons and kill whatever attacks. These models are usually flawed, however: They attack /anything/ that attacks them, even if it was misconstrued as a simple touch. They are typically used as the front line of an attack against other ships; once they're all dead, the real crew-mates move in for the kill. Naturally, the stronger the model, the more expensive it is. The Tier 10 model costs an eye and an arm, but it can survive nearly anything put on it's path, and it's power? Forget about it.

I take out a large steel plate and place it on the floor. It's a Hylotl Decoy spawner; I activate it, and out comes the fake Hylotl, as it stands there. It's a female, blue-skinned, in the traditional monk attire. As I approached it, before I could even speak, it said the first and only line it will ever say:

"I feel dry. Won't you make me wet?"

Oh goddamnit.

Spoiler: Page 15

??:??

Sat around wondering what to do. The Hylotl decoy sits next to me, as I remain uncomfortable in it's presence. Of all the lines to say or choose, it decided to chose that one. It looks at me, and repeats again:

"I feel dry. Won't you make me wet?"

Oh my God. This is ridiculous. At this rate, I'd much rather face Raster and get killed than to deal with the scrutiny of a poorly-devised innuendo. No wonder he sold me this Decoy so cheap. I gave a good look at her.

"Listen. I need you to peek around the windows and tell me if there's anything around."

She frowned.

"I feel dry. Won't you make me wet?"

This was hopeless.

??:??

I've dug out a microwave while the Decoy is busy... staring at a wall, it seems. I brought it out for the sake of keeping me sane, but it seems I didn't think it through. Also, I have named her Dee.

In an act of boredom, I've redesigned the circuitry of a microwave and gave it a simple A.I.; enough so that it can talk. It doesn't talk in the traditional sense, but rather it communicates by rapidly flashing 0s and 1s on it's screen and transmitting a signal to me, in which I intercept and interpret as language. It can't move beyond opening and closing it's microwave door, and I've disabled the microwaving function for obvious reasons.

I asked it whether it was alive. It began cursing violently at me.

I think I'm done with playing God for the day.

??:??

I have potentially made the most hostile microwave A.I. in existence. I have never seen something so small be so loaded with such vulgarity. I've raised many possible explanations: It's angry that it can't move, or it's simple frustrated with it's limited design. Either way, for the sake of humoring it, I've kept it near me and have continually spoken with it.

At least it's better company than the Decoy that is sleeping in my bed and won't leave from it at all.

??:??

I am sitting in a circle cross-legged with a talking microwave and a Decoy that specializes in a single innuendo, wondering what I did wrong with my life as I speak with both of them.

Something curious to note: Despite the limited speech, Dee understands everything the Microwave tells her, and vice-versa. This is a worrisome development, since Decoys aren't known to be sentient, and it may be just the Microwave giving her commands.

Both of them stare at me, waiting for me to say something.

"What do you want from me?"

The Microwave asks why they're here, you moron. I tell them it's because I needed people for the sake of not going insane, to which he refutes with the fact that the only things I'm talking to is a living Microwave and a Hylotl Decoy. I tell him that I'd rather have them than be killed by an ex-partner. He says he'd roll his eyes if he had any, so instead would flicker his lights in a buzzing tone to mock me. Dee looks at me, and inquisitively says, "I feel dry. Won't you make me wet?"

This is currently what eternity looks like right now.

This is Hell.

(That should be all of them. Anything from here on are new updates. I deeply apologize for the amount of multi-posts I had to do; due to the size constraints, I had to forcibly split them apart into different posts so they can all be intact, so much so that one journal entry had to be split in half for the sake of size. Enjoy!)

 

(New Updates From Here On)

Spoiler: Page 16

??:??

It's been a week now, yet it feels like an eternity. Dee the Decoy keeps walking around as she keeps randomly standing up and sitting down. The Microwave has not spoken to me for a while, most likely because it is bored with me. The ship has been adrift for a while now, to the point where we've been increasingly getting closer to a small planetoid and integrating ourselves into it's orbit.

I'm getting a bit tired of hiding. My mind is at an impasse; if I hide for all eternity, I neglect to serve my directive. If I come out of hiding, I will be able to address the directive, but I will likely die in the process. If I die, I cannot address the directive. But perhaps by living, I will have done more of the directive than what I would have done were I to remain in hiding. However, I could continue the directive and stay in hiding; it would just be very, very slow. Exposing myself seems more efficient. I do not know anymore.

The Microwave told me that win or lose, I would eventually have to face him again. Maybe I am not giving the Microwave enough credit for it's wisdom. Raster is a good tracker, he could find me eventually.

Then again, I'm reasoning with a Microwave. He beeps at me angrily, accusing me of an ad homiem attack and suggests I should do countless unspeakable things I'm not going to write into this journal.

Dee approaches me and pats my back, saying, "I feel dry. Won't you make me wet?" In that moment, I get an idea. I give Dee a hug. In her surprise, she repeats the line again, as I turn to my console and activate my ship once more. I will be docking with the planetoid and do some very special modifications to my ship before I continue forth into my directive with new enthusiasm, clear of what must be done: I must face him, and make sure he is beaten for good.

 

Spoiler: Page 17

3:45

It's come to my realization that I have no idea where to start in terms of finding him.

Seriously. Where the hell is he? He could easily be anywhere if he felt like it.

Hypothetically, let's say he was tracking me since his arrival on Sora. I shut off all my instruments during my transition in hyperspace to make sure he couldn't track me in the event that he tried to find me. He would've attempted to find my signal and track it, only to lose it and be force to stop at a random point during hyperspace. Doing that, he would have easily just stopped searching for me, and focused his attention to more relevant interests.

However, the problem with this is that he was long gone when he left for Sora. There was no sign of any other ships for 30 clicks. Could he have cloaked? Unlikely; the state of his ship due to lack of maintenance for however long he was offline would probably be a more pressing manner to address then adding extra frills. All of this implying that he's still even on the same ship, let alone in the same sector by now. It's possible he still wants to kill me, but because of the fact that I've evaded him this far, he may just have put those plans on the shelf until he can properly spot me.

I get an idea, then quickly reject it. I could make a distress signal that would go through the whole galaxy that would emanate from my ship, baiting him to come to me, but he's smarter than that. He wouldn't simply walk into a trap knowing that I was out to trap him, but he'd also create a counter-trap purposefully for the sake of walking into mine and rendering it useless, compromising myself. This isn't just anyone I'm dealing with: This is a sharpened, megalomaniacal, genocidal psychopath who's sole purpose is to kill. If he's had enough time to practice now, imagine now when he's come to and realized the number I did on him. He will spare no expense on ending me.

...my optics squint in thought. I head to the nearest trading post to gather supplies; I have a plan.

 

Spoiler: Page 18

8:34

I've long since left the trading post and have been sending out a signal I've built throughout the entirety of this galaxy for what has been a few days. It's a signal so strong that some ships have come and gone to my location simply to figure out it's origin. Eventually I shut it off; it was clear it wasn't working.

The signal disrupted Dee's projection for a bit, but it's back to normal. The Microwave told me if I ever sent that signal out again, he'd try to cook me alive. Something isn't right, though. I can't put my finger on it... I look out into space, out the window of my cockpit, and it dawns on me. I look out to the side, with the same visual of space. I've realized what's wrong.

It's all pitch black. No stars.

I turn the external lights of my ship on, and they beam around to reveal solid steel everywhere. I'm inside something... but what? Could it be Raster's ship, and he's finally captured me again after all these years?

The lights keep flashing around, and the answer becomes clear as day as the lights flash upon a sign, spray-painted onto the steel.

"GALIPOL CLASS CRIMINAL BARGE"

Oh boy.

 

Spoiler: Page 19

12:34

I think it's been a day since I've been trapped inside this ship. I have no idea where I am, and no means of escape. Seriously; I've tried just turning on my engines and just bursting out of there with whatever force possible, but they've been disabled. That's Galipol for you.

Galipol stands for Galactic Interpol, a policing unit supported by over 80 planets galaxy-wide, and growing. They are an organization that is the ultimate in peace-keeping; essentially, a bunch of space cops running around making sure criminals are on lock-down. They're good at what they do, but only in the places that they do it, since they first need to be accepted by a civilization at a planetary scale in order to have jurisdiction there. Many civilizations are ambivalent about their presence, or flat-out refuse to adopt their policies because they feel that they can police their own by themselves. Some places go as far as to list the Galipol as a terrorist organization! Admittedly, most of those places are pretty crooked, but still.

The Galipol have their own controversial maneuvers. For one thing, when they arrest you in space, they don't just take you, they take your ship, too. They'll send a simple signal to your ship which dictates your rights under the Galipol Code of Conduct, blah blah blah, legal mumbo-jumbo, as they capture you and carry you to who knows where. If there is a warrant for you out there, and you're in their jurisdiction, they will capture you. It's not a matter of how, or where, but when. They'll never reveal themselves until you are 100% captured and detained. You don't track Galipol; they track you.

Usually they'll detain their prisoners in some place until they post bail or get some sort of lawyer. Corruption in the Galipol is very low, but exists; some officers, for a decent bounty, will "skip" due process and go straight into locking you up into one of their many, many prisons. The prisons themselves are state of the art, constantly improving on new and powerful ways of punishment. Again, controversial.

Someone has reported me and gotten me arrested for something. Admittedly, I am no saint. There are some laws I have broken, but nothing too severe to go beyond a large fine, since I have a habit of trespassing into things I really shouldn't be prying into for the sake of collecting trash. Maybe Community Service? That'd be funny; for trying to pick up trash, I'm sentenced to picking up trash. I've tried escaping through the door, but it's bolted shut.

I guess now we play the waiting game.

 

Spoiler: Page 20

??:??

I blacked out...

I've regained sense and I've come back to, only to realize I'm in a white hallway. A very long, seemingly endless hallway...

I've been walking through it for what feels like days. I still have my journal, and my pen. I've been marking the edge of the hall and kept an eye on the distance. This hallway is so long, That I can eventually see the mark fade out of view. This is especially horrifying, since this implies that the hallway is more than a mile long.

Could it be a temporal anomaly and that I'm just walking in a recursive loop? No, couldn't be it. I retraced my memory and remembered that I was being escorted by Galipol to... somewhere.

I pause in realization. Oh no. Now I know where I am. I never really thought they were real, only the stuff of rumor and speculation, but it's true. This place genuinely does exist. Oh God, this is insane. I'm only going to go insane here. At least I have my journal! Maybe then I'll crack just a little more slowly, like a fine roasted chestnut on a blazing fire.

Galipol has been accused of creating prisons so ridiculous, so utterly depraved, that they cross normal morality twice, and are "reserved for the worst criminals out there". Rumor goes, however, that these prisons are actually used by crooked cops to keep their hit from ever seeing the light of day again. They just... disappear. And this, this is one of the rumored places they disappear to; The Ourobouros Hallway. It is a giant hallway fit for the dimensions of an average person, painted in pure white and made with solid steel on the outside, that loops around the entirety of a planet. The victim usually wakes up with no recollection of how they got there, and in a fit of survival, feel the need to walk the length of the hallway. Again and again, they'll just keep walking, their visual and audio sensory systems deprived of genuine stimuli, where they eventually go mad and either starve to death or end their own lives.

The walls of the Hallway are coated with a small electromagnetic resonance that eliminates markings. As I walked back to where I marked my spot, I realized it was gone. I can sense the hum, and it's intensity only grows the more I stay here. It is the only sound possible here. I sit on the floor, my back leaning against the sterile pearly-white wall.

I really need to get the hell out of here.

 

Spoiler: Page 21

??:??

It's been days... I can feel it in my circuits, it's been days. I don't care what my biological clock says; it's been days.

Everything is... it's white. So much white. There's nothing to process, it's just all... blank. I've walked, but it's futile. It's all the same. I've punched the walls, scratched the surface, to see if anything changes. Anything! I can hear my own circuitry whine; this place must also be a sound chamber, proofed against external sound. Oh God, this is killing me.

I lay on the floor, and slowly assume the fetal position. It hurts. I can hear the hum grow louder in my head. God, it's almost deafening.

I start yelling in pain to drown it out. I yell as hard as I can, but sounds only blend.

I shut off my optics. I don't want to see anything anymore. It's all pain. Only pain...

...

...I've had an idea. In my darkest hour, I've been able to have a thought. I turn on the GPS locator to see where my ship is, and realize that it's right here on this very... planet? Whatever. I turn my optics back on again, and flip the switch. The ship should be coming to me now.

...and now I need to close this book and start running, because it's literally going to crash into where I am, and I'd very much like to stay alive.

 

Spoiler: Page 22

12:45

For a moment, I believed I put myself in more danger by summoning my ship than just standing around in this hallway. I could sense the signal bouncing back and forth between my ship, but I could not tell when it would arrive. I kept running.

It was only then that an audible crash was heard with the groaning of metal being raked along the ground, with the shriek of metal being pierced. I saw the helm of my ship pierce through the hallway a few feet away, and kept running for my life. I would stop it from having the ship continue to try and track me, but the problem was that the ship was blocking off my only way out, and the helm had no access point. I can only break through so much metal with my own bare hands; some things are simple too strong for me to handle.

The ship pierced through the bottom of the hallway, and the hallway began mounting itself on the ship and curling up, like a knife peeling away wood. In my insanity, I took it as an opportunity to leave the hallway, and began running the other direction. I ran across the hallway that was being raised up to the heavens and jumped out of the hole in the hallway at the top, made by my ship. I jumped, and fell for a solid 30 feet into the ground. The impact smashed my left hand. I didn't care. I was finally free of that hallway, and I disabled the signal I was emitting. The ship stopped, wedged under a towering white crooked spire of what was formerly a hallway. To the other side, I saw the rest of the hallway. It really did loop around the planet.

I held my broken hand in pain. Alright, so maybe I did care.

I turned on the signal again as the ship forcibly dragged itself from the ditch it made, still groaning against the dirt as it moved slowly, after dredging itself into the earth. Once it was free enough, I hopped on, and checked the entirety of my ship to make sure nothing was missing.

Sigh. My weapons and my money are all gone. It's a pity, too; after the events on Xeon V, I had raked a small fortune that I was keeping in the event of an emergency. Many raw metals I had taken are gone, too... Curious. No matter. Money comes, money goes, and so does trash and things of it's ilk. I checked the fuel gauge: Untouched. I blasted on out of here, in one of the rare instances where I do not clean a mess. Perhaps I will clean it another time, but for now, let the Galipol handle it.

...I've noticed that my Decoy is gone. Unfortunate. The Microwave is still there; however, upon closer inspection... it's been ripped apart from the inside? Wow, I didn't think the Galipol would actually stoop so low as to destroy an innocent A.I. like that. I've begun repairs on them as of now.

Boy, this has been hectic lately- I pause. My scanners detect something close by, much larger than our ship. I bring up an image of the ship that's tracking us from behind, that seems to be slowly creeping up to us...



No. That's impossible! Is that... it looks smaller than I remember, but... is that the Nemesis?

 

Spoiler: Page 23

5:23

I am a fool.

I have made proper repairs to my ship. I am very low on fuel, with no other place to go. This has been a troubling set of days.

My suspicions were confirmed when my ship was rocked by one much larger than mine. It was the Nemesis itself, reincarnated. It was a smidge smaller than what I remembered it to be, but it was there, in the flesh. It was attacking from the side with double-barrel cannons, intent on my destruction. My shielding dropped in a flash, and I was certain to be a goner.

I should spoil it now for you, if you are reading this. I'm not dead yet, at least not in this chapter.

The turrets on the Nemesis blew out my thrusters like nothing after the shielding went down. The only perpetuated movement was that of the inertia provided from the impacts of the shots, as my ship moved to the side while moving forward. The Nemesis began to loom over my ship, hovering atop. My ship began creeping to a halt, unexpectedly. Seems that Raster has been up to his old tricks again, and installed the newer iteration of his ship with a gravity well. The surface of his ship, when close enough to another, can maintain the victim ship in gravitational lock, slowing it until it is completely motionless in space. His was presumably very basic: It required very close contact. Not that it mattered, as he had me in his cross-hairs.

Everything was silent for a bit. I armed myself in wait for his arrival, as I knew he would. His delay most likely was to do the same, as he knew I would arm myself and not make the same mistake of properly finishing him off for good. A good janitor should never leave any trash behind, that's for certain.

I waited behind a desk for his appearance. I had kept a weapon out in case of emergencies like this: My tesla coil gun; commonly used by the Apex. I had salvaged it from the remains of a lab, and kept it as my own last line of defense in the event things got very sour. I did not hide it in the usual place where my salvaged guns and weapons were. Oh no, this one was special, and definitely a secret.

...I hear the teleporter fire up. It's time.

...

...he's unarmed.

Not only is he unarmed, he looks... different. Raster was never the kind to partake to the usage of armor, but now he seems to be covered with it, head to toe. A black helmet covers the entirety of his head, lined with golden rimming, and a dark set of metal armor. It's like he's in an exo-suit.

Naturally, I ignored this and fired upon him, only to whip out a shield- wait. Wait! That's my shield he's using!

He rolled and slipped an electric grenade under the desk. I moved away, only to realize... those are my grenades he's using!

I fumbled over, distracted, only to receive from him a punch in the face. I fell back, and landed on the floor. I had only begun to realize what he had done, while he put a boot on my chassis and stepped on it hard, my body creaking and groaning.

"What a way to see each other again, Vector. I missed you. Really, I did. I missed you by several solar systems, actually. You're a hard man to lure out; even harder to wait for."

I asked him how he did it. How he planned this whole thing, how he came back to life. So many questions burning within me, and yet I feel he would only answer a few simply to keep my curiosity caged up in turmoil.

"Now now, that would imply you killed me in the first place. Your pacifism is your weakness, after all: Avoiding the worst outcome of a fight, you'd much rather pull a cord out of my head and leave me adrift than to properly dispose of me. Finding you was not much of a big trial either: I pulled some of my old crooked contacts from Galipol, arranged for them to have you caught after I anonymously tipped you off to some crimes you've made. You really ought to steer clear of those private junkyards, Vector. It's not really doing you any favors."

I cursed him under my breath as he kept crushing my body. If the force of his steel against mine wasn't enough, it was the fact that the armor he had on amplified his power. I could sense the energy pulsating throughout his body. Whoever sold him this needs to reconsider their life choices. He had something in the palm of his hand. It was a button.
"Some intrepid humans found the wreckage of my ship and brought me to life. I helped them as they helped me repair my ship, shunting away unnecessary parts and the like. Smaller, more compact, but still as good as it once was. No more shooting ranges, no more lounges. The bare minimum."

"Of course, I was going to kill them mercilessly, but something within me changed. I think it was the shock of realizing my own mortality, because you see, I've had an epiphany. A very pertinent one, you see. I realized that... I will not be able to fulfill my directive as I am now. Simple murder... it's so inefficient. By the rate that I kill the source of all waste in the galaxy, or even the universe, the population will have tripled. I will have done nothing, all work in vain. I've undervalued trust. I've undervalued teamwork, and organization. But most of all... I've undervalued numbers."

I did not like where he was going with this.

"I have you to thank, though. Naturally, I'm not going to tell you the rest of my plans. Consider that a juicy little preview of things to come. Because I have you to thank for this... I'm going to spare your life."

He kicked away the gun from my hand and helped me up. I was very, very skeptical, but he did not do anything as he simply walked back to the teleporter.

"I understand if you don't trust me. You have every right not to. In fact, I'm not even telling the truth right now. But what I will be honest about... is that I sincerely thank you for the generous investment you've given me. Now I can pay back some loans for a particularly new function my ship has, along with some other spending. Until we meet again, Vector."

I was wide-eyed. I quickly leaped to the gun he kicked away from me, while he pressed the button in his hand. Before I had a chance of firing, he simply said these words:

"That is, if we meet again."

And vanished into a light-form, beaming up into his ship. A hard clank was hit on the top of the ship, piercing the surface as I saw a steel spike rammed down from the ceiling above. The Nemesis flew off in a blip of light as my ship remained in a stand-still. I heard a whirring from the device above, and left my ship to inspect it. The ticking grew louder with every step.

It was a bomb. Not just any bomb, either: the PFL-30, also known as the Plasma Flooder. The sharp metal spike it's mounted on not only serves as a landing-base to have it pierce the ship in question and latch onto it, but it doubles as a cap that is opened, releasing the full contents of the explosion into the ship and eliminating the target in a violent haze of plasma from the inside. The top then explodes itself and rips apart the ship with the hole now exposed to space, ripping apart whatever remains as it succumbs to the vacuum, as one big pop.

I felt doomed.

 

Spoiler: Page 23.5

So there I was. It was me on a damaged ship with a bomb planted into the roof ticking to a countdown of hot plasma destruction that was sure to take me with it. It was a difficult thing to strategize: Disarming it is next to impossible, as I do not know the schematics of a PFL-30 bomb, and I did not want to risk cutting an incorrect wire only to reach my doom. Prying it out would be difficult... without an object to cover the gap, all of my belongings would eject out into space.

I entered my ship again through the trash hatch I have. It doesn't matter if I step out into space, as I do not breathe oxygen, and the heat conducted from my energy core into my metal exterior kept me from freezing. I did not have any trash in the hatch during that time: I found that suspicious, as I was certain the last time I was on this ship, I still had some raw materials.

I kept searching for an object large enough to cover that stupid hole. It was then that I remembered that I had a refrigerator in storage to be sold off in a local colony. Lo and behold, there it still was... yet something felt off. Regardless, I took the refrigerator with me, carrying it with both hands and putting it below the hole where the bomb was. I ran to get a long lead pipe, and then made it back atop the roof of the ship. I was tempted to turn off the artificial gravity and just headbutt the damn thing, but I realized that I would be ejected into space and never be able to ride my ship again.

I jabbed the pipe underneath the bomb as it ticked faster. Desperately did I pray that physics would aid me in this venture as I put in my all to work that bomb out with the pipe. 3 minutes passed as it beeped faster and faster; I could feel my mental processes creak with fear, ticking at pace with the explosive. At last, it pried itself free as it slowly began floating away. The fridge acted exactly as I anticipated: It shot up like a missile and lodged itself into the hole. Crude, but effective. To give the bomb a good sense of inertia, I gave it a good punt and sent it the opposite direction of where the ship was floating.

However, I wasn't out of the woods yet. While my ship will not be annihilated internally, the bomb was still in close range as to deliver some damage. I set the coordinates quickly for a random planet and got the hell out of there. As the ship's systems went into hyper-drive, I saw the bomb explode in the distance, blue plasma sprayed everywhere with no visible secondary explosion. So beautiful, and yet so deadly; that could have been me.

----

After I scanned through the entirety of the ship, I had realized Raster's endgame. He was not after my hide. He wanted my things. The small fortune I had attained in Xeon V was gone. The vast majority of my weapons and devices, both in my lockers and hidden areas were gone. My building materials that were going to be donated were gone. He may have even killed or kidnapped that stupid Hylotl Decoy, Dee. The only thing that I find peculiar that he didn't steal was the blueprints to the Janitorial Glitch Model. This is surprising, since I had damaged his optics and cabling.

The Microwave was also here; it had purposefully stayed quiet as to not tip off anyone. He told me he heard voices, the corrupt Galipol forces and Raster entering the ship and doing who-knows-what with it. He couldn't tell what they did, as he has no viewport.

I sat in a chair to contemplate my next move. It was clear that, as of right now, Raster has no interest in killing me. I must continue my directive as planned; but first, I had to dock with a planet to do a thorough check of my ship, and conduct proper repairs.

---

And so, we are here at the present. I had looked over the ship in a local colony, with no noticeable tampering beyond the theft of the majority of my belongings. My engines were fixed, but apparently the hyperspace jump I had performed depleted a lot of my fuel. Hole fixed, morale low, I set adrift a Dead Zone. I did not pay proper attention to my map: Dead Zones are large areas of space where there are no solar systems or stars around for light-years. It is all simply dark-matter.

I have prepared a frequency to sweep several parts of the galaxy. I can only hope there is someone to help me...

I've been such a fool...

 

(From here on, these are all mostly interactions with people on the server itself. If you've interacted with this character in any way, you might actually be on here! My memory isn't the sharpest thing out there, but it will be kept as chronological as possible, with as much detail recollected as possible.)

Spoiler: Page 24

9:12

I'm sitting here in a room that belongs to a Floran here on this planet. Never have I been so humbled by the hospitality of others; you get so used to the brutal reality of space and all of its hostile, twisted nature and incessant paradox, that you forget that there are some genuinely good people out there.

They call this place Talon's Reach. There's nothing genuinely out of the ordinary about the planet itself, circling around a Sun and whatnot. What is truly extraordinary, though... is the vessel they live on. A huge ship, powered by the Avian crystals of lore to such a magnitude that it's awe-inspiring to anyone who ever saw it. I was given access to it in order to view such a power source; I couldn't get too close, as the energy it radiated was capable of messing with my circuitry. Genuinely magnificent.

A few days after I had repeated the signal throughout the galaxy, a group of Avians had come to my aid. Their names were Light-Chaser, and Keavou. Their planet was still a hidden base, and reasonably so, as they were grounded and opposed the reign of the Stargazers. They double checked my credentials and made sure I was not a threat or a spy, and then escorted me to their ship, as they beamed me down to their land.

I told them of the tale that I've said here, that you are reading now in the event that I am long dead.

They gave me their sympathies, and Light-Chaser offered me free fuel for my ride home in his shop. I thanked him deeply, and told him that I would not be able to leave yet. I did a systems check of my ship in the days that I drifted without fuel waiting for someone to come: My mapping instruments were damaged, and needed repair in order to go to the other sectors in the galaxy. He understood, and proceeded to show me around the flying city.

It was there that I met a Hylotl named Roshadus, and his Floran friend Nocturna. An archelogist and a weapons specialist, respectively, they were some of the most accepting people on the planet. We had idle conversation together, of our experiences. I met Nocturna's mate, Eryzule, and they let me sleep in his bed until I was ready to leave. Later I had met a man named Tale-Teller, leader of the Talons of Avos. You can sense the nobility, heroism and might exuding from every part of his armor, from every feather and every limb of his body. We did not speak much, as he had business to attend to later.

It's been a couple of days now. I went hunting with Eryzule, Nocturna and company, scouting barren lands for things. Nocturna and I visited a place called Liberty Mills; a place I will come someday to clean trash from, as it is aching to have it's trash collected. I purchased some fine weapons from Nocturna in exchange for money and some experimental weapons I had collected from trash heaps and repaired. I cleaned the place, and collected it's trash wherever I could. Truly, this was paradise.

Late last night, I focused the entirety of my energy to repay the kind people of Talon's Reach for their hospitality. It took every bit of improvisation that I could muster, with materials from all around the floating island ship, but I managed to make it.



It is a small planetary vehicle made for transporting materials back and forth from the ship to the surface of the planet. It is armed with 2 simple turrets, and has an anchor inside for more effective landing. A platform opens, drops the anchor, and slowly the ship descends to it's weight. Currently, it is nameless, but I will leave the naming to those here on this planet. They were impressed with the gift, and plan on using it for ease of transportation into other areas of the planet.

Tomorrow, I leave this place. Were I not bound by my directive, I would probably live here. Alas, I am a rolling stone, and while I gather no moss, what I will gather is precisely what I must gather: Trash.

I will miss them. I will try to visit whenever possible.
[/quote]

 

Spoiler: Page 25

9:34

I traveled along my map to a place known as the Wolf's Den in my quest to find trash.

I found a girl named Emily, who was playing her violin at the time; I asked her about the place. The planet itself has no real name beyond the set standard naming scheme prevalent in ship maps, and she and I walked into a bar. This isn't the set-up to a punch-line, we literally walked into their bar.

There, I met some colorful personalities. Most notably one named Flora, who is a young, bubbly Floran who likes to run around and do... things. She was weird, but in the good way: I traveled with her to some planets and hunted with her, as I foraged for trash. I need to stop making hunts with Florans a habit, because at this rate I might as well be reprogrammed as one.

Beyond that, nothing significant. I could not find the true owner. I decided to revisit it another day.