Humanity once declared itself the pinnacle of evolution.
With their axes, they felled forests. With their bows, they hunted beasts. With their pickaxes, they hollowed mountains. With their swords, they crowned kings. And with their dreams, they left footprints on the moon.
But then, just then, man had arrogantly pointed their finger towards the stars, as if they were destined to sit among them, among the cosmos.
That arrogance crumbled the day the stars came crashing down.
Without warning, without ceremony, hundreds of colossal alien vessels popped into existence just beyond Earth's orbit. One moment, the sky was still. The next, it pulsed with alien light as the armada bled into orbit.
They requested a brief diplomatic meeting with world leaders, and after a bit of introduction, they call themselves the Zha'kal Empire. More specifically, these spaceships were part of their new territory expedition armada.
As for the Zha'kal Empire itself? An intergalactic empire spanning thousands of galaxies and ruling over millions of civilizations. They had waged wars beyond counting. Destroyed planets. Enslaved entire races. Toppled monarchs like chess pieces.
They are the architects of the cosmos.
The result of that meeting was a declaration and an ultimatum.
Humanity was suddenly declared a vassal of the Zha'kal Empire and then classified as a 'lesser civilization'.
As a 'lesser civilization', humanity was not entitled to 'own' any planet and therefore was stripped of the right to settle on Earth. It no longer belonged to humans.
Humanity was evicted from its home world and 'relocated' to a 'better place', together with other fellow 'lesser civilizations'.
Their word is absolute. There would be no negotiations nor specific timeframe. Any form of resistance will be met with swift and total annihilation.
The Zha'kal Empire will 'facilitate' humanity's relocation.
Colossal cargo ships descended upon the planet, scooping up entire populations in batches, like poultry transport. Cities were emptied, homes abandoned, and whole histories erased in the span of a few years.
And so, the exodus began.
They would be brought to the Ecumenopolis.
Humanity's first steps into the interstellar age were not born of ingenuity or diplomacy. There was no grand council of civilizations, no peace offerings, no shared technology. This was the harsh reality of the cosmos.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Bro! Wake the hell up!" A rough shake woke Faith from his sleep.
"You wanna piss off Khalang? 'Cause I sure as hell don't! You've been late too many times already! Move your ass!"
Faith blinked. "Huh? Wha—? Did I oversleep? What time is it?" His hand scrambled for the wristwatch beside his pillow. The dial was blank, no numbers, no markings, just four blunt hands creeping across its surface. Watches did exist here, but their time wasn't measured like Earth's.
"Shit, I'm late! Love, where's Mom? Where's the stuff?" His eyes darted around the three-by-four-meter 'apartment room', half of it taken by the bathroom stall the size of a closet. Their family lived in this cramped space.
Love shoved a plastic bag at him. "The stuff's here. Check. Mom and I made 20 necklaces this time. We tried a new design, turned out pretty cool. Oh, and Mom went with Dad to the workshop."
Faith widened his eyes. "She's still trying to get an accounting job for them? Mom and Dad barely even understand their language, what use can mom be? I don't even know why those guys want to hire Dad in the first place!"
Love crossed her arms. "Don't discredit Dad like that. You know he's a good mechanic back home. I guess he fixes their machines better than their techs." She chewed her lip. "As for Mom... let's just hope she finds something."
"Hopefully, I guess..." Faith then dug into the plastic bag, pulled out a necklace, and carefully inspected it.
"Oooh, shit. These actually look fire."
The knots were clean, the knits loose and woven like macrame, the beads lined up perfectly with little stone trinkets dangling here and there. It was like some ancient Egyptian jewelry mixed with his grandma's old wall hangings.
"Right? We made it all night when you're asleep, so make sure you sell it all. Also, catch!" Love then threw a plastic-wrapped nutrition pack the size of a brick across the table.
"Wow. Is this one the smokey toothpaste flavor? My favorite." Faith remarked with an unimpressed face.
"Yea, now eat. All of it. You skipped dinner yesterday and directly went to bed." She thunked a dented canteen next to it. The water inside was taken fresh from the shower head. It was warm, probably funny-tasting, but still drinkable.
"I was tired. Going here and there. Tending Khalang's stalls ain't got me easy." Faith said as he peeled back the crinkling wraps, revealing the dense, putty-like slab inside. It smelled smoky and minty with a chemical undertone. He took alternating bites and gulps. The routine was joyless.
"I know you've worked your ass out for us... but don't overwork yourself will ya? Your well-being is more important ya know." Love pouted.
"I know, I know. Then, I'll be leaving now. Thank you Love, take care." Faith patted his sister before leaving. His stomach sat heavy with the unsatisfying meal, but at least it wouldn't growl during work.
As he stepped out into the hallway outside, Faith caught the familiar reek of the 'apartment' building he was in. Stale alien sweat, rotting synth-food, and something metallic underneath it all. The corridor was tight, and doors between rooms were barely spaced. Other tenant's rooms were probably as tiny as his. The building was practically a 15-floor coffin apartment.
He could see the flickering lights casting long shadows over the stained walls. Trash piled near the stairwell, untouched by whatever passed for maintenance here. At least the smell didn't reach their room.
On earth's standard, this place was a slum apartment, Kowloon 2.0, yet his family was lucky to afford such a place. Most humans don't. At least, not a place as 'luxurious' as this.
Outside, The streets pulsed with humanoid alien life. Chitin-plated merchants haggled with avian-headed vendors. A line of triangular-headed laborers carried some heavy machinery through the crowd. Nearby, a slickskin with eyestalks chopped meat by the stall, serving food to a blue-skin. By the brothel door, a hulking four-armed prostitute leaned against the wall, its crimson skin glistened under the neon signs.
Their bizarre anatomies didn't faze Faith a bit. He was used to it. To these creatures, a human was just another face in the crowd. For all their differences, they were civilized enough to mind their own business.
The sky cast everything in an artificial orange glow, though "sky" was too generous of a term for the cavern ceiling looming 150 meters above.
That's right, he is underground. This entire place was deep underground. How deep? God knows.
For blocks and blocks as the eye can see, buildings rose like rotten teeth, almost reaching the ceiling. Their facades were pockmarked with countless windows, neon signs, and holographic advertisements. These buildings are mostly factories, workshops, cramped apartments, and rundown stores.
By the streets, lively ground markets seethed with merchants hawking scavenged tech and suspicious meat skewers by the sidewalk. Crowds of aliens flowed like water. Cars, scooters, cycles, even busses with different shapes and sizes roam the bigger roads.
This was no mere settlement, it was an entire city, cramped with alleyways, roads, and buildings that sprawl across a hundred square kilometers. This one whole space is called a district. And this was just one, among the hundreds of thousands tunneling through the entire planet's crust.
Faith vigilantly navigated through the crowd towards the busiest market in this district. Along the way, he could see beggars sitting slumped against every wall. Most were aliens, but human families huddled among them, with the same hollow eyes and outstretched hands. Faith kept his head down. Spotting fellow human beggars was never good. Most were desperate, and desperate people caused trouble.
As he finally reached the market center, a certain stall came into view.
"Feheth! Late again?!" A gravelly voice cracked the air.
Faith flashed a grin, already behind the stall as he spoke. "Pleasure meet, Boss. I sorry late." he rattled off in Mahahlakese.
Making up for lost time, he restocked the displays with one hand, wiped grease from the counter with the other, and tore a knotted plastic bag open with his teeth "Trouble on way. But look." He shook out 20 necklaces, their trinkets clattering against the scratched acrylic display. "Family make new design. Very good."
"You stink of excuses."
Khalang, a Mahahlak merchant who owns this stall, snatched a necklace with his chitinous fingers. His two eyes flickered over Faith's merchandise. His stall sells all kinds of cheap jewelry, and he knows if the necklaces was worth a display or not.
"Hmm... Not bad... Hwahwahwahwa not bad! Yesterday's trash sold slow." A wheezing laugh rattled from his vocal slits as he scrutinized Faith's work. One claw jabbed at a crooked price tag and stuck it to the necklace. "Let's see if today's trash burns faster. Help me with the ledger. Then check the inventory. I will put display after I inspect all your family's… art."
The alien stood at human height, his body looked like a fusion between an insectoid and a humanoid. His vocal slits vibrated with wet, breathy speech. His chitinous fingers drummed the counter once, twice, before he spoke again. "By the way." A claw flicked at a display necklace, sending it spinning. "Heard your kind's becoming pests lately."
Faith didn't look up from the ledger.
"More coming every day. Begging at port gates. Squatting in cargo yards. Stealing from stalls — bad for business! Traders posted notices saying 'Watch for humans.' Hwahwahwahwa!"
Faith's pen paused. He stared at Khalang with a curious face. "Other races steal. Beg. Squat. Why humans special? New arrivals?"
His batch of human refugees were the only one dumped in the Batlan province. No new humans refugees had come to this area since.
"Hwahwahwa! Correct!" Khalang's mouth clacked in amusement. "They arrived two days ago on Kaiamuk Port. You'll smell them soon. Hunger stinks worse than rot. Hwahwahwa!"
Faith's pen stilled.
For all its purposes, this planet was a landfill for civilizations. It was a name given by its inhabitants, translated fittingly into English: the Ecumenopolis.
For millennia, the Zha'kal had dumped countless civilizations to this planet. As the population swelled, they dug deeper — stacking cities underground, layer by layer. Now, the crust was a honeycomb of districts, stretching kilometers into the deep.
To keep it all running, the planet's surface was riddled with monstrous holes called ports — each one 10 kilometers wide and plunging just as deep. Their ribbed shaft held scaffolds and docking bays, where ships came and went, delivering cargo and supplying the life above and below.
Kaiamuk — The only port to the Batlan province.
Two months ago, those very docks had spat him out into this alien world. He remembered it vividly: the cargo bay doors creaking open, the sudden assault of foreign smells and noise, the strange architecture, unfamiliar customs — the sheer otherness of the place. Like a caveman dropped into Manhattan.
Here, language was a wall. Earning money? Impossible. Finding a safe place to sleep? A fantasy. The newly arrived humans were homeless and despised. They learned quickly that sidewalks weren't for resting, alleys weren't for hiding, and public places weren't for begging. The enforcers made sure of that.
Surviving the so-called Portside District was brutal — a name given to this subterranean megacity clinging to the edges of Kaiamuk, teeming with wealth, commerce, and vivid alien life. But not for them.
The smart ones slipped through through the megacity maze, making their way to the satellite districts — a scattered, loosely governed zones far beyond the port. There, no one cared if you slept on the streets or begged for a living. Opportunities, though meager, were better and prices were cheaper.
Those who stayed behind in Portside either found hidden found hidden corners to settle —or rotted, waiting for help that never came. Because no one came.
Faith's family had wandered the Portside maze for weeks before stumbling into one of those far-flung districts. They'd settled. Made a living.
Now, from within this fragile new beginning, Faith watched the fresh wave of arrivals roll in.
More humans.
More mouths to feed.
More desperation.
Today's work passed like the last thirty.
Faith went through the motions, pitching lines to sell Khalang's goods, haggling with a six-limbed alien, sweet-talking a blue-skinned matriarch, bickering with the spice vendor, balancing ledgers, knocking on doors, and collecting Khalang's debts across the district. He laughed when customers expected it, and nodded when Khalang demanded it, he was the perfect employee. All while soaking up new words, experiences, and precious bits of information.
He now understood the Mahahlak language, which was by far the biggest gain from working with Khalang, apart from money. Khalang taught him, not out of kindness, but profit. A useful human was a profitable one, yet Faith learned fast.
In this district, language was currency, and he'd be damned if he stayed illiterate. Any new words and phrases he learned, he would scribble notes over his notebook with the cover titled 'English-Mahahlakese Dictionary'.
By closing, his feet ached and his lungs stung from the ammonia-heavy air. But he'd done his work, the necklaces Love and mom made just sold out and earned him 260 Batlan credits clean. Khalang took his usual 20% cut, plus an unpaid labor from Faith.
Not a bad deal, considering Khalang lets him sell his merchandise in his stall. The permits, connections, and hassle of opening a stall at the busiest market are untenable for a human like him.
Faith detoured before heading home, today's complete sell-out meant he could afford more materials for tomorrow's jewelry batch. He mentally cataloged his usual suppliers like Old Zrrak for stones, the blind Grothian sisters for durable yarns, and that shady vendor near the tunnel who sometimes had iridescent synth-cords under the counter.
After a bit of walking, Zrrak's stall was hunched in its usual corner, its shelves overflowing with stone oddities from a hundred conquered worlds. Faith's calloused fingers skimmed over his usual buy, the dull blue chunks and mud-brown shards. These stones were cheap, pretty, and soft enough to carve into trinkets.
But then something caught his eye.
A pink stone, flat and perfectly round, streaked with liquid silver filaments curling like frozen lightning. Faith stared at the stone, its silver filaments like veins of liquid lightning. His mind buzzed, a subtle hum in the background, like the flicker of a faulty lightbulb. His pulse quickened, and with it, his stomach churned, unsettled by the strange connection he felt to the object. The more he stared, the more his thoughts grew hazy... almost as if the stone were calling him. Is his mind was filled with... Obsession? His initial curiosity was replaced with fear.
"The fuck was that." Faith took off his eyes from the stone and blinked rapidly.
"Boss, this what stone?" He asked, not daring to look at it again.
"That? Xithilio. Only found on one dead world. Melts in moonlight. Pretty right?" Zrrak grinned.
"Stone make eye crazy." Faith said rubbing his eyes.
"Gahaha funny words to make me lower price, human." Zrrak chuckled unimpressed.
"No... No... I'm not intrest—" Faith was cut short when he felt a sudden throb in his chest.
'What the—'
His body reacted as if it refused to part ways with the stone. He could suddenly feel his emotions filled with unexplainable disappointment.
'Am I going crazy. I'm actually going crazy.'
He squatted for a while while rubbing his eyes, trying to make sense of his condition. Perhaps he was just sick? But the throbbing did not stop. He also found some sort of emotional attachment to the stone.
'Was it really because of the stone?'
"Hey human! Crying isn't going to make things cheaper!"
His fingers brushed the stone once more, and he felt something pull at him, something almost wrong about the way his chest tightened. What was he doing? Why did it feel like the stone was a part of him? His gut told him to walk away. But his hand already reached for his coin pouch, as though on its own accord
"How much?" Faith unknowingly said.
"...120"
"Make that 100. Together with the usuals, so 190."
"Hm... I agree."
He slammed down 19 10-Batlan coins. "Don't forget, blue stone and brown shards must big chunks. Small I no take."
After the transaction was completed, he put away the stone-filled plastic bag into his drawstring and was about to leave, when a human hand grabbed Faith's shoulders.
Faith was extremely alerted, especially since the other party was a human.
The man looked about forty, his face already gaunt from hunger, his clothes still carrying the sharp antiseptic stink of Zha'kal cargo holds. Behind him stood a woman clutching two children, their wide eyes darting between the alien crowds like cornered animals. Their accents were heavy, Slavic, likely Ukrainian or Russian.
Faith's gut twisted. No Slavs had been in his batch. These were the new refugees Khalang mentioned about.
"You American? Speak English?" the man demanded, his voice cracking. "Where this? Where other humans live? You have food or water? Please. Family thirsty, hungry. Very very hungry. We lost here."
'Shit.'
Faith exhaled through his nose.
'Shit.'
He'd been in their place once. He remembered the hunger. The helplessness. His hand twitched toward his credit pouch before stopping.
'Idiot, if you helped them today, tomorrow they're at your door with ten more.'
"Listen, friend, I don't have much time, money, or food with me, but do what I say," he said, lowering his voice.
He pointed northwest where neon noodlesign flickered. "That place is human-owned, the Chinese guy Dong Fang knows English. Go ask him for food and a job before more of your batch settles here. I hear they sometimes hire people to become food peddlers."
Faith tapped his temple. "Sell whatever Earth things you still have. Clothes with tags best, aliens pay good for 'authentic human fabric.' All your jewelry, even broken watches they buy. Oh! Do you have anything electronic? That also earns good credit even if it has no battery left. That stall near that gate buys Earth garb—"
"Pizdets, we have nothing!" The man's fingers dug into Faith's arm like rusty nails. "Group of men take everything when we step off ship. Just take! Please! You help us, da?"
Faith pulled back slightly. "Wait... what? Who robbed you? Guys near the ports don't usually care about humans like us. If it's those alien street gangs or some mafia shit, I can't help you, next time go through somewhere less dodgy-looking or go in groups— "
"Nyet, nyet!" The man shook his head violently. "Not alien! Earth men! Chinese men! 'give bag or we break hands.' Took my wife gold ring, our good coats, even children's shoes!" Behind him, the woman lifted a bare foot, the skin already raw from filthy streets.
The man's eyes narrowed. They flicked over Faith's shoes, his filled-up drawstring bag, and the way he carried himself, like someone who hadn't missed a meal in weeks. "But you… you have place, have job, eat food. You know how survive here. Help us—"
Faith didn't wait. He twisted free and shoved into the crowd. The man shouted after him. The market swallowed the words.