In the 1960s, when John Kennedy declared Mankind would land on the moon, he had no idea what he'd unleashed. Then, in 2060, my forefathers set upon our home galaxy in the name of Interstellar Expansion, leaving the Solar System, only to find we weren't alone... not even close. Humanity was outmatched, laughed at, shunned for the next forty years, and even fought off a few attempts to be conquered. Back then, I thought I knew what I was doing when I, in the year 2100, I declared our intention to surpass even the oldest races in the Milk Way and Andromeda Galaxies by hyper-shotting, or as most of you would call it, faster-than-light-travel, with a slingshot.
We "tested" a few ships, but our window was fast closing. When I ordered the best and brightest within the ranks of Humanity's military, I knew "he'd" answer the call. Ever since he and his crew had to watch his parents get brutally killed in an "act of caution" from a corrupt empire, I knew Prescott J Philip would be the commander for this mission. When he and the Scott's Crew loaded up into the USS Spirit of Freedom, Humanity's oldest and strongest battleship, and then ripped across open and closed space like a teenage kid with some souped-up hotrod who'd blown past the police, I knew they set this world straight.
However... When that Battleship-Class Spacecraft was sucked into the massive black hole at the center of our galaxy... I never expected to see him again, let alone have his weapon pointed at me, accusing me of...
The radios across human-controlled space squeal and pop with an all-too-familiar tune and all-too-recognizable voice of one mister "Rocket-Sled Kennedy", Disc-Jockey of Station 57.
"Ladies and Gentlemen shut that fucking Terra-Superior drivel off. Remember kids, last week's heroes, are yesterday's villains, and yesterday's villains, are today's only hope! Terra-Superior? More like Terracotta, as in... they don't do anything other than glare annoyingly at those brave morons breaking the speed limits of every Milky-Way self-righteous overlord, warlord, council, you name it! YEAH!"
Kennedy lowered the master audio of the quirky intro and leaned into the broadcasting microphone with a deep breath and a heavy smack of his lips as if a grin you could have sworn you heard crept across the known hyperbelts of hijacked radio waves. "Oh, and this little number on in Astro-second, comes at the request of one "extra protein? Da." woman, and her "Star 'n' Stripped Vengeance" leader... ARSCOTT! PRESCOTT! THIS IS OUT TO Y'ALL!"
As the tunes begin blasting away, the FCSS Spirit of Freedom exits FTL, on the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy, surrounded by a legion of other ships, eager to face humanity should they look to "try anything funny".