Welcome to Astralis, the sprawling citadel considered the galaxy's largest hub of commerce, technology, and culture.
The hum of solar-powered engines is ever-present as flying trains, school transports, and personal aircraft crisscross the air, leaving faint blue streaks behind as they zip past the high-rises chasing their destinations.
The crowded streets with glowing walkways pulse with activity at all hours.
Hover-ads shimmer, projecting multilingual slogans and dazzling 3D models of everything from user-friendly jetpacks to designer clothes.
Beyond the bustling core of the Citadel, past the vibrant marketplaces and the giant glass domes of the Trade Center, lies a district devoted entirely to industry and engineering. This sector belongs to Collateral Dynamics, the largest engineering corporation in intergalactic space travel and shipbuilding.
Massive, open-air platforms buzz with cranes, automated loaders, and tech crews in reinforced suits.
Here, spacecraft of all sizes deploy and arrive on their landing pads, while others rest in various states of assembly, maintenance, or retrofit. The scent of plasma welds and ion coolant lingers thick in the air.
Among the rows of parked cruisers and military-grade frigates sits a ship that stands out for different reasons.
A medium-size, boxy craft with visible hull wear, matte black streaks, and faded silver panels. The words B.O.B, short for Big Ol' Beast, are spray-painted across its side.
The ship looks like it's survived one too many rough jumps through asteroid fields-and kept going anyway.
On top of it lies a man in his twenties, Ben Ryder.
Legs stretched out, eyes half-lidded, a holographic projection hovers above his wrist from his holo-link, a sleek, modular band that acts as a personal interface.
It controls his ship systems, syncs his finances, communications, and even environmental readouts.
Right now, it displays a space drama rerun he's watched a dozen times-more background noise than actual entertainment.
Ben's hazel eyes occasionally flick toward the motion around him. A pair of cranes whirring as they lift a bulky engine core onto a nearby freighter, workers in navy blue uniforms moving like ants around landing platforms, robotic loaders skimming across the duracrete.
He chews a stick of synth-gum with relaxed disinterest, just letting time pass.
He wears a sleeveless utility vest and stained cargo pants, boots unlaced. His dark, untamed hair blows gently in the warm breeze filtered by the district's climate regulator.
The buzz of the shipyard, the faint scent of thrusters, the ever-present glow of Astralis in the distance-this is his lullaby.
Ben lets out a low sigh and dismisses the show he's watching with a flick of his fingers. The moment he does, the holo-link lights up again, this time with an incoming call. A familiar name pulses in soft blue light across the interface:
Kazwell - Incoming Transmission
Ben sits up on the edge of the ship's hull, squinting against the sun, and accepts the call.
Kazwell's face appears in crisp 3D above the band.
Warm ivory skin, sharp cheekbones, dark eyes that are both tired and irritated, and his signature eyebrow slit cutting clean through his right brow. His haircut is sharp as always-faded on the sides, tousled on top like he didn't try, but totally did.
Kazwell doesn't wait for a greeting.
"Man, I need a drink."
Ben raises a brow. "Bad day?"
Kazwell leans closer to his end of the call. "Let's just say my latest bounty turned out to be against dangerous twins-both pissed, and both very good at throwing knives."
Ben smirks, chewing his gum slowly. "So... you got paid?"
Kazwell stares at him flatly. "Of course I fucking didn't. They got away. Besides, do I ever call you after getting paid?"
Ben lets out a short laugh. "Fair point."
Kazwell glances over his shoulder, revealing he's standing outside a low, one-story building with a flickering neon sign: The Drift Lounge. The logo cycles between a stylized comet and a whiskey glass with a ringed planet inside.
"Come meet me here," he says, jerking his thumb at the sign. "I need something strong, and I need it now. I'll grab our usual spot."
Ben gives a half-nod and sits up, stretching his arms. "Alright, I'll be there in ten."
The call ends with Kazwell's face glitching slightly in the hologram before it vanishes.
Ben slides down the side of B.O.B., using one of its large, squared thrusters like a makeshift ramp. He lands beside the ship's sealed boarding ramp with a thud, his boots kicking up a bit of dust.
Resting against the hull is his hoverboard-scratched, dented, and very likely still unstable. A custom build, like most of his creations. Reliable... most of the time.
Ben grabs the hoverboard and slaps the side twice to wake it up.
It vibrates softly, then hovers into the air with a whine. Ben steps on and kicks off toward The Drift Lounge, the city's lights reflecting in the distance off the metallic edges of Astralis' skyscrapers.
He weaves through the layered bustle of Astralis, the hum of his hoverboard trailing behind him like a low purr.
The city pulses with life. Elegant towers shimmer in the late light, their surfaces catching glints of neon from below as advertising drones hover in formation, cycling vibrant displays of luxury gear, next-gen enhancements, and lifestyle upgrades.
"Holo-Link 2.0 now available!" chirps a passing holo-ad as it tracks Ben's movement.
The translucent projection follows him for a beat, showing off the latest version of the bracelet wrapped around his wrist. Sleeker, faster, smarter. Full neural interface. Auto-sync across planets. "See beyond the interface-see yourself."
Ben rolls his eyes and ducks under it, narrowly missing a pedestrian lane and dodging someone passing through.
The streets are alive with species from all corners of the galaxy. A towering Kraventh lumbers through a crosswalk, its thick, obsidian-like hide reflecting flashes of red from nearby store signs.
Across from it, a pair of delicate-winged Sylari flutter down from a high balcony. Some speak to humans, translating their native languages with their holo-links.
But even in the vibrant swirl of commerce and culture, there's order. Astralis doesn't allow dangerous chaos.
At nearly every corner, sleek black enforcement drones hover silently, their blue-lit visors scanning crowds, pinging IDs, and logging foot traffic.
Officers of the Stellarium Directorate-uniformed and stern-walk in pairs through denser zones, their presence more symbolic than necessary. Crime isn't common here, at least not out in the open. Not with heavy surveillance.
Ben slows slightly as he approaches a cross-street packed with food carts and market stalls.
Scents of seared meat, sweet vaporfruit, and frying synth-dough fill the air. He drifts past a shop window showcasing nano-fabric clothes that change color depending on mood, then another lined with crystalline headsets advertising "dream-link VR experiences imported from the Eon Sector."
It's loud. Colorful. Controlled. And still, somehow, beautiful.
Astralis isn't just an enormous city-it's a statement. A shining monument to unity, ambition, and control. And in the middle of all of it, a guy on a half-busted hoverboard cruises toward a one-story bar at the edge of the entertainment district.
Ben coasts off the main thoroughfare and takes a side ramp sloping down beneath a gently flickering sign: The Drift Lounge. Neon letters buzz against a dark panel of brushed steel, their faded edges indicating the bar's age.
It's not the kind of place tourists stumble into. It's the kind of place that doesn't ask questions-and doesn't care if you walk in wearing battle armor or smelling like engine coolant.
Ben hops off his board just as it gives a sputtering whine. He kicks it into a power-down and leans it against the wall before pushing through the long doors.
Inside, the lounge is dim, and pulsing with low synth beats that seem to ooze from the walls.
Amber and violet lights cast moody reflections across chrome surfaces and foggy glass. The ceiling is low, the crowd tight, and the air thick with the scent of spiced liquor and old stories.
Near the back, tucked in a corner booth half-lit by a hanging lamp, Kazwell sits with a half-empty glass in front of him, scrolling through bounty listings on his holo-link.
His usual confident expression is dimmed, tired. There's a scrape on his cheek, a scorch mark on the edge of his jacket, and his right gauntlet has a dent in it.
He looks up as Ben approaches, raising a brow.
"Oh shit, you made it. Didn't think you'd show. I just ordered your drink, but I was going to drink it," Kazwell greets as Ben slides into the seat across from him.
"You said it involved alcohol and complaining," Ben replies, lifting a brow. "Didn't want to miss that. But damn-what happened to you?"
"Shit, do I look fucked?" Kazwell asks, fixing his hair.
"Of course you do. I haven't seen you in two days and you look like a refugee now," Ben says, trying to hold back a chuckle.
The waitress comes by with Ben's drink and gives them both a smirk. "Now don't drink too much today, boys," she says, locking eyes with Kazwell before turning away.
"At least I get laid," Kazwell whispers to Ben.
Ben rolls his eyes while grabbing his bioluminescent drink. "Ouch."
Kazwell gives a short laugh, but it fades quickly. He looks down at the drink in his hand, swirling it slowly. "Got evicted."
Ben blinks. "What?"
Kazwell doesn't look up. "Landlord finally had enough. Said late payments, no consistency, and zero signs of improvement." He leans back, exhaling hard. "I haven't landed a successful bounty in three weeks, Ben. All the ones I do find either vanish or barely pay. I'm burning credits faster than I can earn them."
Ben frowns, sitting back with a quiet breath. "Damn, Kaz."
Kazwell looks at him now, trying to pass it off with a tired smirk. "It's fine. I've slept in worse places."
"You're not sleeping in alleyways."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
Ben shakes his head. "No. You're staying at my place. I've got room-and you practically live in my gaming room anyway."
Kazwell blinks. "You sure?"
Ben meets his eyes. "It's not charity, man. You're my friend. You'll get back on your feet. Until then, the couch is yours."
Kazwell hesitates, then nods slowly. "Thanks."
Ben raises his glass. "You'd do the same for me."
They clink drinks lightly, and for a moment, the tension between them eases.
As Ben takes a sip, Kazwell's eyes wander across the lounge-and stop.
At the far end of the bar, a girl sits with a half-smile tugging at her lips. She's effortlessly striking-dark curls framing her face, a confident posture, and eyes that lock directly on Kazwell. She doesn't look away. Instead, she lifts her glass slightly and smirks.
Kazwell's expression shifts into a grin like someone flipped a switch. "Well. Maybe tonight's looking up."
Ben chuckles. "She's got that dangerous look."
"My specialty."
Kazwell stands, smoothing his jacket. "I'll be back. Probably."
"Hopefully not with a black eye."
Ben watches him stroll off, all swagger and ease, already exchanging quiet words with the girl. From where he sits, Ben can read the body language-the casual lean, the brush of her hand, Kazwell's confident tilt forward.
He shakes his head and finishes the last of his drink with a sigh, then gets up and walks to the bar counter.
The music in the Drift Lounge settles into a rhythmic, pulsing beat. Neon lights glow soft amber against the bottles behind the counter.
Ben sits at the bar, swirling his empty glass, his gaze flicking between the dance floor and the holo-display showing a hoverbike race replay.
A subtle breeze of perfume brushes past him-light, earthy. Someone slips into the seat beside him. He turns, just enough to catch a glimpse.
A woman with striking green eyes meets his gaze.
"This seat taken?" she asks, her voice soft, nearly drowned out by the music.
Ben takes a second to really see her. She's beautiful, with wavy chestnut hair falling past her shoulders, dressed simply but with effortless elegance-out of place, yet perfectly at ease here.
"No," he says with a faint smirk, gesturing. "Be my guest."
She offers a small smile and sits. There's something calm about her, like she's used to attention but never asks for it. Her hair catches a shimmer under the lights as it frames her face.
She lifts a hand gently. "Evenin', Gerald."
The bartender-broad-shouldered, graying, with a sharp goatee-turns with a grin. "Well, look what the tide dragged in. Usual?"
"Please."
He gives her a playful salute and turns to make the drink.
Ben straightens slightly, almost without realizing it, and sips from his glass.
She flicks a glance toward him, casually smoothing her hair, quick enough for him not to notice.
Minutes pass. The bar gets louder as more locals walk in. Ben glances at the dance floor, then the woman beside him, who's now watching the hoverbike race above the bar.
Gerald returns and places a pale violet drink in front of her. "There you go, trouble."
"Thanks, Gerald."
She takes a sip, then murmurs softly, almost to herself, "Interesting."
Ben turns toward her. "Sorry?"
She tilts her head slightly, her green eyes catching a sliver of neon light. "Usually, when I sit next to someone, they hit on me."
Ben lets out a quiet laugh. "Oh. Damn. Didn't mean to break tradition."
She smirks faintly. "Not a complaint."
He chuckles, then eyes her more curiously-casual, not intrusive. "You sound relieved."
"Just observant."
"Well," Ben says, setting down his glass, "if it helps, I was trying to think of something clever."
"Were you?"
"Yeah. Guess I'm not great at breaking the ice."
She tilts her head slightly, studying him now. He's not being pushy. Just relaxed.
"You from around here?"
"Yeah," Ben says. "Got a place a few blocks out. Mostly work in my garage. You?"
"I pass through."
"You travel a lot?"
"You could say that." She taps the side of her glass lightly.
"Gerald seems to recognize you."
She leans on the counter. "He's got a memory like a vault."
Ben nods. "Fair. But that means this isn't your first time here."
She stares at him warm eyes. "So what do you do in your garage?" She asks, changing the topic.
"Oh, ... Well I mostly break stuff... then figure out how to make it better."
She looks faintly impressed. "Useful skill."
"Got me through more than a few messes."
His eyes flick down to her wrist, and his brows lift slightly. "Oh-you've got the HoloLink 2.0?"
She follows his gaze, then lifts her arm. "Yeah. Wanted to see what all the hype was about, but it feels the same."
"It's got a stronger dual-core processor, adaptive holo-field, real-time neural sync... thing's basically a spaceship for your wrist."
"You sound like you've built one."
"I could if I wanted to." He smirks and finishes his drink.
She exhales softly-something between a sigh and a laugh. "So, you're a tech guy?"
"Well," Ben says, squinting playfully, "more of an inventor."
She taps her glass again, eyes still on him. "That sounds like a metaphor."
Ben shrugs with a half-smile. "Maybe. But you'd be surprised how many things are better after they've fallen apart."
She looks at him for a moment-really looks-like she's trying to read through the cracks. "That sounds like someone who's seen a lot fall apart."
He chuckles softly. "Yeah, well... haven't we all?"
She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she takes another sip of her drink and glances at the screen above the bar, now showing highlights from a star cruiser bike. The engines roar in silence, the image flickering with static.
"Ever ride one of those?" she asks.
Ben leans forward, elbows on the bar. "Tried. Crashed in under three minutes. Was fun, though."
"Let me guess," she says, a smirk playing on her lips. "You broke it and tried to make it better."
He laughs. "Exactly."
"I like that," she says, her voice quieter now. "Fixing things. Most people just leave the mess behind."
Ben's smile fades just slightly, like something distant just brushed his thoughts. "Some messes are worth staying for."
She looks at him, softer now, maybe a bit surprised by the honesty.
"You got a name, Mister Fixer?" She asks, setting her empty glass down.
"Ben." He extends his hand.
She smiles like she already knew. "Kyara." She shakes his hand, firm but calm. Meeting his gaze for a long second before releasing her grip.
Ben watches her fingers slip from his, "Kyara," he repeats, his voice low. "Nice to meet you."
Then, out of the corner of his eye, movement catches his attention. Kazwell rushing across the lounge, his arm slinging around the shoulder of the girl he'd been eyeing earlier.
They disappear together, slipping into the narrow hallway that led to the restrooms. They disappear together
Ben exhales a dry chuckle and shakes his head.
Kyara notices. "Friend of yours?"
Ben nods. "Yeah. Kazwell. He's... a walking bad decision wrapped in charm."
"Do you fix him if he breaks too?"
Ben chuckles at her comment. "Whenever I feel like it." He says before ordering another drink.
Meanwhile-
The hallway to the back of the Drift Lounge was narrow and dimly lit, buzzing faintly with the sound of music and voices beyond the walls.
Kazwell followed the girl, the heat of her hand still wrapped around his as she led the way with quiet confidence.
Her eyes flicked back to him once before she pushed open the door of the unisex restroom and slipped inside, pulling him with her.
The door shut behind them with a click.
Inside, the space was cramped - tile walls glowing under soft blue light, a sink, a mirror, and barely enough room for the two of them to breathe.
But that didn't matter. The girl turns, backs him against the wall, and kisses him hard, her fingers threading into the collar of his jacket.
Kazwell responds in kind, his hand finding the curve of her waist, his other bracing against the wall behind her as their mouths move with impatient hunger.
There was no talking, no teasing. Just urgency.
She leans into him, her breath warm against his skin as they tangle closer, lost in the rush of the moment.
He lets himself forget everything-the bad bounties, the eviction, the credits he didn't have. Right now, none of that mattered.
She smiles between kisses, biting lightly at his lip before pulling him deeper into the kiss again.
The mirror behind her foggs slightly with their breath, and somewhere outside, the bass of the music pulses through the walls like a distant heartbeat.
It was quick, electric, and over just as fast.
When they finally pull apart, the girl smooths her hair, catching her breath with a grin. Kazwell adjusts his jacket, smirking as he looks at her.
"See you out there?" he asks.
"Maybe," she says, "If you survive."
And then-cold metal.
A dagger touches his neck, still and sharp.
His entire body freezes. Confused.
"Uh, maybe we can leave the role plays for another day?"
She doesn't smile this time.
"You've got two days," she says, voice smooth but ice-cold. "Two days to pay what you owe Ronker"
Kazwell blinks. "Ronker?"
"You remember him," she continues, pressing the blade just enough to make her point. "The guy you conned on Nevaris? The one who doesn't usually send warnings?"
Kazwell raises his hands slowly. "Look, I didn't con anyone. I just-took a detour before paying him back."
"Cute," she mutters. "You know, I really do like you, you're my type, but it would be a shame if I have to get rid of you... So tell it to someone who cares. Two days. Or next time, I'm not bringing a message."
She steps back, slipping the dagger into a hidden sheath at her thigh. Her flirtatious smirk returns like a mask sliding back into place.
"Oh-and try not to tell anyone," she adds, brushing a finger against his cheek. "Wouldn't want your little friend at the bar to get nervous."
With that, she kisses him one last time, then turns on her heel and disappears through the restroom door.
Kazwell stands there, his body frozen for a second, then his jaw clenches, frustration boiling over. His fist flies forward, connecting with the cold tiles of the bathroom wall with a brutal thud.
"Fuck!" He shouts, the sound echoing through the empty room.