A boy, around age of 8 to 10, is running aimlessly in the dark. His breath is heavy, and his sweat is all over his body. His small legs pushed against the cold, damp grounding, and he's not even sure if it's floor, or soil, it's too dark to see everything. He can't even comprehend if he is upside down or standing upwards. The weight of the darkness around him felt suffocating, his eyes, wide and frantic, darted to any directions, but there was nothing to see—just endless black.
He stumbled again, the sharp stones beneath his feet scraping his skin, but he didn't stop. Keep moving. You have to keep moving.
Where?
Wherever! If you keep moving, you will be free from this darkness!
The panic rose in his chest, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, drowning out all but the thudding of his own body against the unseen obstacles. He was alone. No one was coming to save him, he knew that. But he can't afford to give up, it's not in his DNA.
His breath came faster. Where is the exit? Where's the way out?
Gradually he can hear noises. Finally! A sign of life!
As the noises took shape, glowing pairs of red eyes appeared in the dark. Savages, watching him from the shadows. The little boy found himself surrounded by enemies. Every single one of them, enemies.
Their maniac laughs echoes in the darkness, knowing that the boy has now trapped in their trap.
There's no way out.
You're only running in the circle.
Jared jolted awake, his breath short and his eyes wide open, moving frantically as his brain assured him that he was safe now. The sound of Herman's whimpering followed, and then the dog licked his cheek before curling up in his lap. The soft, fluffy fur always brought him a sense of calm.
Jared took a deep breath and laid his head back against the seat. Above, the canopy door shut tight, the glass letting Jared see the ocean of stars, beautifully scattered and glittering. Somewhere out there, a star had just died, and another was born. The cycle of life didn't wait for anyone. Everyone was minding their own business. No place for the clingy to beg for attention.
Jared grabbed the drink he had bought back at the space station. He quenched his thirst before checking the gas and the map to see how far he was from his destination. He'd been turning off the power to save gas when he went to sleep.
It was time to continue the journey—to escape Charles. He just wanted to live his life without anyone trying to pull him back into their possession. It wasn't going to work both ways anyway.
Jared powered on the trooper pod and launched it toward Stormborn.
It's just few light years away.
It looked like a barren, metallic planet, with bronze dominating its surface. Once Jared entered the atmosphere, the surface of dead land, like the gate of hell, welcomed him.
It was a place for fugitives and outlaws to gather and refuel. There, people with bounties protected each other. The police knew about this place but, for some reason, left the outlaws alone. Jared had learned that the police also protected them, because sometimes they could be useful in certain cases.
However, just because they protecting each others, doesn't mean Jared is safe. He has to watch out because some of them would know him as a former bounty hunter. Surely some would want to square things with him, either perhaps one of their comrades was captured by the police because of Jared.
Finally, Jared could trade his trooper pod for something more suited to his new life of adventure. With Flaggot's connections to the police, he was clearly not someone to trust, leaving Jared with no choice but to live a stray life. It reminded him of the days of survivals when he was raised by a stray female dog in the streets of Gnosach, Planet Alayan—kicked by adults for stealing a loaf of bread and pelted with stones by kids his age for being a weirdo.
The difference now is, he can speak human language, he wear clothes, and he got some money so he doesn't have to endure the night's cold and bugs. He can rent a room.
"Stay here, Herman, hungry people here eat dogs," Jared gives Herman his socks so the dog can smell the scent while he is away. Jared close the rented room's door and lock it, and then he left to delivery hub. From the address in Ms Clementine's ID card picture he had taken before, he wrote down the address and deliver the credit card back to her.
The mail officer was a Vadam. He looked like a green human squid with a large head and lazy eyes. He input the delivery data into the system. "That will be 10 credits."
Jared handed him the cash.
"Oh," the mail officer noticed something. "It seems like this person is a traveler. Do you still want to send it to this address?"
It made sense that they needed to question it. Travelers usually sold their homes to buy camper pods and live a nomadic lifestyle, which is what Jared was about to do. That's why, on their ID cards, travelers were required to inform authorities they were probably nomads.
"She only gave me that address," Jared shrugged.
The Vadam inputted it into the system anyway. "Do you want to make sure it reaches her? There will be an additional charge."
"How much?"
"Just 50 credits."
Jared pushed the edge of his lips to the side before handing over the money. After all, she had helped him escape, and for all the trouble he'd caused her, 50 credits seemed like a fair exchange.
Once he finished what he needed to do at the delivery hub, Jared walked down the street, enjoying the nightlife of Stormborn. Many rascals burned used tires at the side of the road. Some blasted music from stereos and had a rap battle—an Earthling vs. an Orkan. Their rapping was inaudible, sounding almost like a broken washing machine. At least they had style.
Some women in provocative clothes eyed him, but Jared remained unbothered. They were prostitutes, willing to trade their services for even a cigarette. Some were so desperate they reached out to Jared, offering their services. He couldn't judge them. He knew some of them ended up in this sad life because they had dreams of being a celebrity or model, only to be scammed by a psychopathic agency that blackmailed them.
But he couldn't afford to help them, because Jared just wasn't into them. At least he didn't reject their offer with humiliation.
Unexpectedly, a male prostitute approached him. He wore makeup, and his face was far from attractive. "Hey, handsome, care to share the night together?"
Jared stopped walking, unable to help but smirk.
Not long after, Jared found himself in a dark alley, taking care of his business. He didn't usually go for people like this, knowing how adventurous they could be. But after the experience with Ken--the waiter at the bar in Minerva, he wasn't sure what to expect anymore. When they kissed, it felt like Ken would give him his whole world. But, as it turned out, he'd do the same for any guy who fell for his charm.
What had that been about? Money? Or was it just the thrill of adventure, the joy of hopping from place to place?
This prostitute reminded Jared of Ken. The pretty-boy waiter who served drinks on roller blades and wore skirts. Ken loved crop tops, makeup, and his curly hair was always perfectly styled—he fit Jared's favorite type: androgynous. Their first kiss had happened only hours after Jared found out that Logan had kidnapped his dog, Herman.
But the connection didn't even last a week. Jared soon found him kissing another man, clinging to his muscular, tattooed arms like a monkey.
"What do you think you're doing? Are you whore?!" Jared snapped, pulling the waiter closer in anger.
Ken only smirked, mocking him. "Really? Do you think I'd date someone like you? It's all just for fun, Jared. We're only young once. Why tie ourselves down to one person? And even if I did want someone, it wouldn't be you. You're nothing but a whining dog, begging for a home."
How can Earthlings say such mean things to one another? Is that the only way they know how to say "no" or express rejection? Or, despite their obsessions, are Earthlings actually heartless? Are they truly capable of love, or do they have a different idea of what love is? Do they use love merely as a means to enhance lust?
Even someone like Charles, who is compassionate and kind to everyone, he also wasn't very good.
Jared still remembered the day when he was 15. At that time, his name was Jacques Durant, and he planned a surprise birthday for Charles in their unit. The plan was simple: turn off the lights and when Charles entered, Jacques would pop the confetti and surprise him. He must be really happy!
As evening came, Jacques decorated everything—even setting up a prank by attaching a string to the door handle, rigging it to a bucket filled with flour and raw eggs. When Charles entered the room, he would get covered in flour. He would print the photo on a shirt, and wearing it for a week for class.
As the sky grew darker, Jacques wondered why Charles hadn't shown up yet. He usually got home around six after spending time at the library.
8 PM: Still no sign of him. The excitement started to fade.
10 PM: Jacques grew sleepy and eventually dozed off.
6 AM: Charles returned home to their unit. The sound of the door opening—followed by his scream as the bucket of flour and eggs crashed onto him—woke Jared up. The first thing Jacques did was wake up in panic.
"Oh, I overslept! The surprise party...!"
But then he saw Charles standing there, looking furious, his entire body covered in flour and eggs. Jacques burst out laughing, realizing his prank had worked.
Charles, seething, grabbed a handful of flour from his clothes and threw it at Jacques in frustration. Then, without a word, he walked past the untouched cake on the table and started changing out of his dirty clothes, his mood sour.
"You think this is funny? You better clean up my clothes!" Charles said flatly.
"Sorry about that, but... it was your birthday yesterday, wasn't it?" Jacques started to wonder if he'd gotten the date wrong.
Charles didn't respond.
Obviously, he was mad. Jacques cleared his throat and asked, "So, where were you? I didn't know the library was open 24 hours…"
"I'm not coming from the library. I slept well, no worries," Charles muttered as he rinsed his flour-covered face and hair, clearly pissed.
"What? Then where were you?" Jacques started to feel upset because it seems that Charles did not want to spend time with him anymore.
"I was with Mourice," Charles answered casually, turning on the shower. "Now, would you mind leaving and closing the door? I need to clean up the childish mess you made. It wasn't even funny."
"Mourice? Oh, so you two sleep together now?"
Jacques knew who he was—their senior, assigned to mentor Charles. The instructors often told Charles to replace Jacques with Mourice so he could get better grades, to which Jacques strongly objected. Because of that, the plan remained just a plan. Mourice always lingered as a looming replacement, yet they remained friends. Since then, Charles had become glued to him, and Jacques had started hanging out alone. And once they got together, everything Charles talked about was Mourice—how smart he was, how talented he was, and how much Mourice inspired him.
Now, on his birthday, Charles had been with Mourice, sleeping in his bed.
Jacques felt his face heat up, like a kettle about to explode.
"Where else should I have slept? The floor?" Charles said casually as he picked up his towel and went into the bathroom. "It was already 2 a.m., so I slept in his bed."
"Oh, must have been an unforgettable night!" Jacques's voice sounded grim. He felt so betrayed right now.
"Just remember, it was my birthday, so we hung out together—just a casual walk across the empty streets, talking about casual things. You know him, he's a smooth talker. Time passes by so quickly when we talk," then he adds dreamy smile as he pour shower on his dirty hair.
"Oh, so," Jacques tried to calm the raging fire inside his heart, "while I was waiting for you to come home and celebrate your birthday like an idiot, you were actually having a good time with him?"
"Yeah? Why? Is that wrong? Do you want me to not have friends at all?" Charles asked with a dumbfounded expression, as if he had no idea how Jacques felt right now.
Words stuck in Jacques's throat. He was unable to say anything. He didn't even know what this feeling was. Should he be mad? Should he be sad? How was he supposed to express this explosive feeling inside without hurting anyone or destroying something?
"I thought I was your boyfriend," Jacques finally said.
"So what? I can't have friends just because I have a boyfriend?"
"Sure you can, but you seem to like spending time with someone else more than me, so I was wondering if…"
"What?" Charles was mad now. "You're upset because I didn't care about you? Because I spent time with someone who can actually make me be in a better mood?! You want me to stick with you all the time with your suffocating clinginess? You want me to get stuck with your stupid sense of humor while I can have another company who crack really funny jokes? Face it, Jacques; you've got nothing to offer! Grow up, Jacques! I'm not your mother or father!"
Charles shoved Jacques out of the bathroom and locked the door.
You always trying to make me jealous on purpose, saying hurtful things as if I didn't matter. But now that I'm actually leaving, you won't let me go.
Karma is a bitch, isn't it, Charles?