Chapter 2.2

"We have been contacted by another species."

Murmurs of hushed awe swept through the room but were quickly silenced by a knock of a fist on the table. Forgetfulness of positions as soldiers would not be tolerated.

"They have informed us of who our enemies, the Axians, are."

A screech of a chair scratching across the floor echoed.

"We've no idea whether to believe them or not, but they are our only hope."

Once again, mumbles rose, whispers under breath of speculation and doubt. How far had the Axians undermined human society?

The marshal answered the elephant in the room swiftly. "The Axians have gained full access to our teleportation network. We are unable to travel efficiently," he said, "unable to protect our people."

He paused, letting his words sink in. Maybe that was why Han Tian was the marshal, and nobody else. The power he commanded with his words was immeasurable.

But the words that fell out of his mouth seemed to have flown into one ear and out the other, unlike the reactions his other information provoked.

Still, he continued without hesitation. "The species who has contacted us, who have named themselves the 'Kine', have provided us with valuable intel on the Axians. They have told us their history and their conflict with the Axians."

"It goes like this…"

...

Decades ago, the Kine were living peacefully in a prosperous and beautiful world. They had many cities and technology galore that they used to survive because although their world was gorgeous, the other species saw them as prey.

To repel these other species, the Kine used metal—a particular and unnamed metal—because, after much experimentation, they had come to the conclusion that contact with metal hindered every species on their planet. By the time of the invasion, the Kine had already taken to building everything with metal even though the close proximity with it had always irked them. They adapted quickly though.

It was like any other day, the day of the invasion apparently, when everybody was alerted by their wristwatches—which the marshal had explained was a method for the original storyteller's government to notify their people—to immediately take shelter in their houses.

It wasn't long before everybody was at home. The storyteller, in particular, was in a house with their family in tow. They were all huddled up in their basement, the storyteller's parent and sibling on the floor while they sat on the bed.

The storyteller had offered to switch spots with their sibling, knowing that they would be unnerved by sitting on the metal floor, but their sibling refused because they knew that the storyteller was a bit more sensitive to these things. In hindsight, the storyteller had reflected, maybe the result would have been different if they had let their sibling sit on the bed, but there was only space for one person—the reason being that people of the Kine species slept sitting upright.

So while they were waiting in safety, the storyteller's parent—people of this species only had one parent just as there was only one gender—decided to check out the situation since they hadn't gotten any updates on their wristwatches.

The storyteller and their sibling tried to dissuade their parent, but they vehemently insisted. That parent was actually secretly part of a rebel force in the government which the storyteller knew, so they understood their parent's decision to see if the situation was real. So the storyteller let them go.

While the storyteller waited impatiently, a sudden shock racked their sibling's body. They stood, worriedly approaching them as they twitched once, then twice, and then finally stopped moving altogether.

Panic filled their heart. What had just happened? They searched for their sibling's pulse, finding, horridly, that there was none. The panic that had swelled up in them burst forward, and they rushed up the stairs to their parent.

The scene before them was one they could have never imagined. Their parent was lying on the floor, in the same condition as their sibling. They leapt to their parent's lifeless body, trying to shake them awake.

There was nothing there that could have possibly caused this scenario to happen, so it was only right that they did so. That was… until the smell of static electricity tickled their nose.

Tears welled up. Before they could pour down their face, however, they heard the sound of the door being kicked in. They scrambled towards the countertop, hoping to spy on the intruders without being caught.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the metal floor. It was a man—or what the storyteller had later identified as a man—who had entered. He had what looked like a taser in his hand, and instantly, the storyteller connected the dots.

The man had pressed the taser to the metal house, letting the electrical current from it travel throughout the house to his two victims. The storyteller saw red.

They jumped at the man, tackling them to the ground. The surprise attack caught the man off guard, and he fell to the floor, his head violently smacking against the metal. With no hesitation, the storyteller threw their meanest punches at the man, not letting up for even a second as the man's head flew side to side, his face unrecognizable after only the first few hits.

They finally stopped, gasping for breath. The fog in their mind receded to show the results of their beating. Their breath caught.

Was…was the man dead?

They jerked the man's head back in haste to reach his neck, immediately wincing in guilt when they heard a small crack echo in their ears. They ignored it.

Resting two fingers on the man's neck, they searched around for a pulse, any sign that the man was still alive. Nothing. A beat passed. Still nothing.

They drew their hands back, trembling. Their fingers curled, forming the familiar shape of a fist, the same shape that had punched this man to death. There was not a speck of blood that tarnished their white skin, but as they stared at their hand, they felt like it was stained red.

No amount of washing would rinse that off.

They backed away from the proof of their crime, horror in their eyes. Their back collided with the countertop, stopping them, forcing them to reconcile with what they had done.

They pressed their hand to their throat, forced themselves to swallow down the guilt that was rising, told themselves to calm down.

Slowly. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Shaky breaths echoed throughout the empty house, now devoid of all but one life. They picked themselves up, closing their eyes firmly. When they opened them again, they were filled with steely resolve.

Yes. They had killed the man.

But the man had killed their loved ones. He deserved every bit of the ending that came his way.

A knock clanged against the metal outside. The storyteller jolted out of their reverie. Unfamiliar words reached their ears, but they could tell that somebody was calling for another, probably the dead man on the floor.

They observed the man, noticing some similarities between him and themselves. At that moment, they made a decision.

They unclothed the man—which everybody in the room found utterly disgusting—putting them on themselves neatly. They changed their face into an identical match with the man laying on the ground—something that the Kine were reportedly able to do. They walked out of the house.

It seemed the person who had called for the man was still waiting outside. He glanced over at the storyteller, speaking foreign words.

They coughed a few times, low grunts coming out, pointed at their mouth, and then shook their head.

The man knitted his brows together. More words spilled out of his mouth. They seemed incredulous, a rising tone at the end signifying a question.

The storyteller assumed so. They nodded their head, pointing back into the house, then miming a choking scene.

The man took a while to realize the significance of this statement. He nodded, grim. Then he spoke into a device he pulled out of his back pocket, presumably to tell them that the storyteller's species would fight back.

The storyteller followed the man. They travelled through the chaos, multiple Kines dead on the ground, others being killed. The storyteller averted their focus from the scene, telling themselves that they would find justice for all those that died. Still, every scream of despair, every plea for mercy, they all shook them to the core.

They flinched slightly, but refused to show any bigger reaction lest the man in front of them notice. They continued to follow the man like a sheep herded by a shepherd, foolishly, having no idea that they were being led to their potential doom.

Before they could even protest, they were thrown into something similar to a cell. The storyteller sat in that cell for what seemed like days.

How long was it really? They had no idea.

No light reached this cell, nothing to signify any passing of time. There wasn't even any watch on them. It was like they were certain that the storyteller could not escape.

Finally, after a long period of hunger, the storyteller was allowed some food—food they had never seen before, they noted. Nevertheless, they scarfed down the food. There was no need for manners when a life was at stake.

Finished with their meal, they placed the plate back down on the outlined square. It sank, a new square quickly rising up to take its place.

It was like a ray of light shining down on them. They had gotten a peek of what was underneath this impenetrable cell! There was hope after all.

Through many days and many flimsy makeshift tools, the storyteller pried the square open. They glanced down.

Hot steam blew into their face. The storyteller shut their eyes, vaulting backwards. Blinking to clear the smoke out of their paining eyes, they went back in for a second shot. This time, they were able to see it. Below them was a bowl of simmering stew, a delicacy that made their mouth water.

Another burst of steam shocked them back into reality. They blinked, tears leaking out. The water droplets rolled down their cheeks, hanging threateningly on their chin. The tears dropped.

Straight into the bowl they went, a little dimple created where they finally landed while a stew droplet flew into the air. The storyteller watched as the screen next to the bowl changed, the sodium levels suddenly going up by a minuscule 0.00001%.

The system seemed alarmed. This was not supposed to happen.

An arm appeared in the storyteller's vision. Not a regular arm, a mechanical arm. It held a cup in its robot fingers, tilting it ever so slightly such that only a drop of water entered the stew, rebalancing the sodium levels.

The storyteller grinned. Chances were, there was no living being in that room. They lifted themselves up, planting their hands on the edge of the floor and swinging down. Using the momentum, they launched themselves off, landing firmly only three feet away from the boiling pot of stew.

And they hid there for the rest of their time on the ship. There was only one close call: When somebody had entered to look for them.

At first they were curious. Why had this man only come to search for them now?

So they followed the man back. They saw, to their horror, the reason for this search.

Dozens of men were led to a ring and told to fight to the death in a brutal free-for-all. The last man standing was allowed to be reinstated into the military.

Shock struck the storyteller.

How could somebody possibly do this? This was dozens of people they were talking about. And of their own species as well!

It sickened them to the point that they turned on their heel and ran like their life depended on it.

Deep in the kitchen, where they huddled up in a corner, they resolved that they would end this race and all of its tyranny.

"And when they heard that we were a species yet to be conquered by the Axians in their endless bloodlust, they pounced on the opportunity to get revenge," the marshal finished.

Ling Xia cocked his head, curious about a few details. Like… "Marshal Han, if I may speak."

The marshal nodded. "Yes," his cold voice crept into Ling Xia's ears, sending a wave of chills down his back.

"May you explain the Axians' tyranny part?" he asked politely.

"I apologize. It slipped my mind." the marshal humbly said, not quite acting the part though. "They have been running around in the galaxies for millennia. Once they travel to a galaxy, they wage war against it, killing everybody in sight."

"Has the stowaway provided any information as to what the cause of this is?" Wei Liqin jumped in. Reasoning for an act always brought the weaknesses of a group to light.

"We were given no such information, unfortunately. We speculated that it was a lack of resources. However, the Axians could have stayed with the first species they conquered, and the Kine storyteller also explained to us that the invading spaceship left very quickly, so that has been struck off the list."

The marshal scanned the crowd. "Any ideas, ladies, gentlemen?"

Ling Xia and his friends shared a glance. Although it had been a long time since they could give their input like this, they had nothing to say, nothing to prove that their minds were still as sharp as ever.

Their lack of words was taken surprisingly calmly by the marshal. "This is okay for today, but in the future the military expects you to participate. There is a reason you were assigned to fleet zero and not any other fleet," his curt voice sounded.

The soldiers straightened their backs instinctively, the weight of this failed duty releasing their desire to better themselves. They nodded firmly. Unanimously they proclaimed, "Yes sir," while placing a hand over their heart. They seemed to have finally realized that they were no longer chess pieces trapped in an endless cycle of torture, but soldiers of this galactic empire.

Pride renewed, they grinned. A few puffed their chests out.

The slightest of smiles graced the marshal's lips. "Good. Let us continue. Our goal for this meeting is to discuss who will fight the Axians in the system and who will do so in this world. You will be assigned into two groups. If you believe you will perform better in the other group, please inform us."

The marshal turned his head to his assistant who was standing next to him. She cleared her throat as her eyes scanned the clipboard she was always holding.

"Group one will be entering the system again. Group two will stay here and engage in online warfare with the Axians. Please listen carefully for your assigned group," she said, mostly repeating what the marshal had already informed the soldiers of.

"Group one: Su Hua, Xin Rui, Ling Xia…"

She went on to talk for some more time, and Ling Xia noted that the first people to come out of the system were the ones going back in, presumably because of their previous experience with saving people, with a few exceptions. The higher-ups probably knew of those exceptions' abilities as well.

The people in group two were then declared. Ling Xia vaguely heard Yang Lizhen's and Wei Liqin's names being called. A wistful smile landed on his face. He probably wouldn't see them much anymore.

"Every day," the assistant went on to say, "soldiers in group one will enter the system and rescue soldiers. Rescued soldiers will be assigned to group two unless they are unforeseen circumstances. That is all."

The instructions were vague, but their intentions of keeping group one and group two separate were crystal clear. Before Ling Xia could ponder on the reasons they wanted this, the marshal stood from his chair. "The newly rescued soldiers should stay here to be assigned their rooms. Meeting adjourned."

Everybody stood after him, filing out of the doors.

Ling Xia trailed behind Su Hua to their room.

"That was weird," she stated.

Ling Xia glanced at her stoic face before humming in agreement. "Mm."