WE THE YOUNG: DESTINY’S MAKERS

Chapter 1: Lone Star Down

“My Yang,” Wiggi’s voice beckoned loud and strong “Broken Arrow, JumpMasters down.” TikTok popped her knuckles. “OK, let’s go viral.” She spun once, arms wide, then leaned in like a conspirator. “But style’s not optional. They’ll need something bold. Something defiant. Something… shimmer-core reactive.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’ve got design drafts already.”

WeChat smirked, tapping her temple. “And they’ll need connection. Peripheral-wide, past the outer cosmos and beyond. No latency. No hubahla. Not on my grid.”

BYD gave a low hum, perfectly tuned. “Comfort. Precision. Built-in hover propulsion. And—” he paused, winked, “—community life support systems. Leaders don’t posture. They carry. They balance.”

Someone suggested a stream drop, a quick push to public channels.

TikTok didn’t flinch. “No hubahla,” she said. “Fakey wakey, ay boys… leave that for, well… you know who.”

WeChat nodded. “We don’t trend. We transmit.”

Huawei closed his eyes—not to withdraw, but to center. “Then we resonate to them.”

“Like this?” the team replied, almost in unison, as they shimmied in sync—a pulse of style, spark, and shared signal.

TikTok laughed. “Yep. Got it. Now that’s viral… and then some.”

Locked deep in an asteroid belt, a strange static force pulsed with light that bent the void around it, never quite touching. The glow remained isolated, its silent throb imperceptible. A forgotten cruiser hung motionless, Earth-born and obsolete. Dark. Lifeless. Shadowless. Asteroids careened past, a chaotic ballet of near misses, their rocky surfaces grinding and screeching in the vacuum. An instinct screamed: don’t touch. No shadow clung to the cruiser. It lacked any tether, adrift in wrongness, swallowed by utter silence. A cruiser shouldn’t hang still; this one defied gravity at dead center. Its shape possessed no weight. Its hull held no breath. A relic of Earth’s golden age. Colonization, a forgotten dream, long erased. Yet, a faint thrum vibrated within its metal shell, not light, not heat, but code. A repeating signal tore through the static, brittle and broken. Each burst weakened, fractured, a crooked echo. But it persisted. “Lone Star down… Lone Star down…” The message warped, time tearing at its edges. No uplink responded. No pingback returned. Only that cry echoed, rebounding across silent systems, striking mute satellites, dead debris. A ghost refusing to fade. Most systems registered nothing. Most simply ignored it. But three listened.

Galaxy’s eyes locked on her HUD, her breath hitching at the sight of a broken waveform. “dAIn,” she whispered, her voice barely a tremor. The hum of stabilizers vibrated through the deck plates.

“Earth-code?” dAIn’s voice resonated through the comms, a calm tone underscored by a faint electronic thrum. “Syntax… obsolete. Layering… deep.”

“Pattern: human,” a synthesized voice confirmed, precise and measured. “Earth-code detected. Origin: Unknown sector. Source: Hope-class Intergalactic Cruiser.”

A flicker raced across the data-slate. dAIn’s tone sharpened, the light behind the voice thinning to a razor’s edge. “Status: decommissioned. Life-signs: unregistered. Transmission integrity: fourteen percent. But… still active.”

A shiver traced Galaxy’s spine. The broken signal, the impossible message… it clicked into place. The glitch had found a voice. Her name hung unspoken in the air. In the continuum, purple 8s tumbled, followed by glowing 10s. Hieroglyphic primes strobed, bathing the bridge in urgent light. They slammed through code meteors, logic fracturing in their wake. The BYD solar wings of their interceptor snapped open, slicing through the digital chaos. A raw urgency propelled them forward. Syndicate drones swarmed their path, spitting fire. Streaks of plasma seared the void.

“Hard left!” the automated system blared, alarms flashing.

“Hull integrity seventy-two percent,” dAIn reported, his voice steady despite the shuddering impacts. “Evasive action advised. Dragon Tail maneuver suggested.”

Orion’s jaw clenched, his knuckles white on the controls. “Do it now.” The Glider spun, a corkscrew carving through space. The last remnants of the glyph storm fell away. Bright orange Qs flickered, looping like frantic signals. A cascade of 404 errors blazed across their displays. Warning lights pulsed. Below, on the edge of their sensors, symbols dissolved, light bleeding from a non-stellar horizon. Not dawn. Not the sun. Something vast and unknown approached. The glitch no longer hid.

The pre-dawn air hung thick, a metallic tang clinging to the recycled atmosphere. Inside their cramped module, Orion stilled, his thumb tracing the cool surface of his data-slate. A subtle vibration ghosted his palm, a familiar resonance. The archive hummed, a deep, steady thrum. “Xylosian data… anchored,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration in the small space. His gaze met Nebula’s, a silent pressure passing between them. “Their legacy… shielded well.” The air shifted, a barely perceptible change in the energy field. Only Orion seemed to register it. Nebula offered a tight smile, the worry around her eyes softened by the sight of their daughter. Galaxy bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes wide.

“The park? Real park?” Her voice vibrated with excitement.

“Awesome work stuff, right?” She pointed, her finger hovering near their data-packs.

“Tell me! How can I help?” Her eagerness tightened the unspoken tension in the small space. Nebula’s hand settled on Galaxy’s shoulder, a familiar weight. Galaxy leaned into the touch, a faint tremor vibrating beneath the warmth. The Connector.

“Steady now, little star.” Nebula’s voice remained soft, but her grip tightened slightly. “This needs a delicate touch.”

Her gaze locked with Orion’s, a silent weight exchanged. “They thrive well on Xylos’s silence.”

“But Mum! Dad! I’m not a baby anymore!” Galaxy’s voice rose, a tremor of defiance beneath the fear. “I really want to help!” Words spilled out, sharp with urgency. The injustice of being sidelined fueled her longing. She wanted to stand beside them.

Orion closed the distance, his hand swallowing Galaxy’s smaller one. The rough calluses of his palm contrasted her smooth skin. “We know, Commander,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her hand. The familiar nickname, a lifeline in the rising tension. “Your courage… it’s a force that shapes worlds. We need to shield that, keep it burning bright.” He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering, a silent plea passing between them. “This battle… it’s ours to navigate, for now. Promise me you’ll listen? Trust our judgment on this.”

A flush warmed Galaxy’s chest, a confusing knot of pride and frustration. She yearned to stand beside them, to face the unknown head-on. But the deep lines etched around her father’s kind eyes, the shadow of worry that tightened Nebula’s smile, held her captive. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a muscle twitching in her cheek. A silent, internal battle raged: rebellion against the sidelines warring with a dawning understanding of their fierce protectiveness. This wasn’t about proving her strength; it was about their primal need to keep her safe.

Her gaze fell to the worn wooden table. Her small hands pressed against its edge, the rough grain biting into her palms. The table wobbled slightly under the pressure, a silent protest. The legs thumped back down, the sound echoing the frantic beat of her heart. Finally, a sigh escaped her lips, a reluctant slump of her shoulders. “Okay, Dad. But… if there’s anything… anything at all…” A spark flared in her bright eyes, a stubborn refusal to be entirely passive. I have to trust my instincts, too.

“That’s my brave girl,” Nebula murmured, her embrace fierce, the scent of her scarf – wild Xylosian flora and faint starlight – filling Galaxy’s lungs, a bittersweet anchor. A subtle pulse thrummed against Galaxy’s cheek from the fabric, a silent reassurance. “Your voice will be heard, little star. We will make them see, together. We always do.”

A delicate stillness settled over them. A stolen moment of unity. It came before the storm. But the air crackled, an unseen energy raising goosebumps on forearms. A premonition tightened chests. The danger felt close, just beyond their fragile haven. Galaxy’s breath hitched, her small chest rising and falling with a complex rhythm. Love, fear, and a dawning sense of responsibility warred within her.

Unseen and unheard, a monstrous shadow fell over their light. The air outside thrummed against their eardrums. A low growl vibrated through the deck, steadily climbing in pitch. Then, the piercing shriek of Syndicate engines tore through the quiet. Galaxy’s head jerked up, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks. A hulking vessel blotted out the window, black smoke billowing in its wake. The deck plates beneath their feet vibrated fiercely.

Orion and Nebula moved as one, their bodies a shield around Galaxy. A sickly yellow mist hissed from unseen vents, its acrid tang seizing Galaxy’s throat. Her breath hitched, her limbs locked in place. Pure terror stole her voice. Her parents’ faces contorted, their eyes watering, hands flying to their mouths. A silent scream clawed its way up Galaxy’s windpipe.

“Under us, Galaxy! Now! My shirt!” Orion’s voice was a ragged rasp, his eyes burning with desperate urgency. Galaxy’s hands fumbled, scrambling beneath them. The rough weave of his tunic pressed against her face, carrying the faint scent of engine oil and him. His final words were a broken whisper against her ear. “Stay down… air clears… love you… protect… your destiny…”

“Mum! Dad! No…” Galaxy’s voice fractured, a raw, animalistic cry. The warmth of their bodies leached away, replaced by a chilling stillness. Their breaths hitched, then ceased. Their weight pressed down, heavy and final.

Frozen beneath their still forms, Galaxy’s mind cracked. A cold fury clenched her jaw, piercing the shock. They did this. Hatred, sharp and bitter, lodged in her throat. Her fingers trembled, reaching for their hands. They slipped on cooling skin.

The world swam, the engine’s roar fading into a distant hum. Beneath her parents, a strangled cry ripped from Galaxy’s lungs. Utter desolation. The bright morning shattered.

The yellow haze thinned, revealing a park bathed in a deceptive sunlight. Galaxy’s arms trembled as she pushed against the unyielding weight, finally freeing herself. Damp grass clung to her clothes. A sob tore through her, a ragged sound that echoed the emptiness within. Mum and Dad were gone. Their light, snuffed out. Her fingers tightened around the charred scarf, the rough fibers a stark contrast to the memory of their soft touch. A cold void opened inside her, threatening to swallow her whole. Then, a tremor ran through her small frame, not of grief, but of a hardening resolve. They will pay. Her small fists clenched, knuckles bone-white, a furious energy thrumming beneath her skin.

Time stretched, each silent second a fresh wave of agony. Galaxy sat amidst the vibrant green, now a cruel mockery of life. Her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. Shallow breaths sawed at her throat, each one a painful reminder.

Then they arrived. Shadows detached themselves from the thinning haze, their movements fluid, predatory. Dark vehicles slid to a halt, their engines a low, menacing growl that vibrated through the earth. Their arrival was swift, silent, like hunters circling their prey. The figures moved with chilling precision, faces hidden behind dark visors, expressions unreadable. They reached for Galaxy, their grip firm and inescapable.

“No! Let me go! You monsters!” Galaxy’s shriek tore through the quiet, raw and desperate. Her small body went rigid, every muscle straining against their hold. She clawed, her fingers scraping against cold metal and rough fabric.

“Asset secured,” a flat voice stated, devoid of inflection. “Proceed directly.”

Her cries were muffled by the cold, metallic confines of the transport. The air tasted of fear, sharp and metallic on her tongue. The familiar world vanished, swallowed by darkness. Stark, unyielding surfaces pressed in. The engine’s hum was a relentless thrum against her frantic heartbeat. Panic, cold and sharp, squeezed her chest. Where? The whispered stories, the chilling accounts, flooded her mind. The scarf, clutched tight, offered no solace, only the ghost of smoke and their scent. The engine’s hum was a countdown to an unknown terror.

The building reeked of stale chemicals and the oppressive thrum of machinery – the stench of Syndicate power. Galaxy was dragged out, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. Rough hands steered her, prodding her forward. Harsh, indifferent voices buzzed around her. A large screen flickered distantly, displaying the sterile lie: “Tragic atmospheric incident…” Liars. In a corner, a smaller feed flickered, shaky citizen footage: the Enforcer-craft, the billowing gas, the truth. The Witness, a flickering defiance quickly overwritten by official narratives. But the raw data persisted, archived, waiting. Someone saw.

Galaxy was shoved into a chair, the snap of cold cuffs echoing the chill that seeped into her bones, mirroring the captors’ eyes. Panic clawed at her throat. Prisoner. This unyielding system. Her eyelids squeezed shut, her mother’s touch a phantom on her hand. The Connector felt cold, inert. Days bled into a haze of torment. Captors’ words twisted her grief, her parents’ sacrifice.

“Glitch,” one sneered, his breath cold on her ear. “Asset now.” Their words chipped away at her. The vibrant girl faded, replaced by a hollow ache. Death clung to the air. Fragmented memories flickered, corrupted images. Grief and numbness warred within the cold cell. Cruel laughter echoed, unanswered. Her fingers tightened on the memory of her mother’s smile. Memory, the only blueprint now. Despair gnawed. Dreams offered no comfort. Was it all for nothing? Darkness pressed in. “Even in darkest soil…” her mother’s words, a bittersweet torment. Yet, a faint tremor within. Their conviction. For them. Not just vengeance. Survival. Carrying their light. A faint pulse against her wrist. The Connector. It registered the shift within. Determination, a fragile shield. They tried to break her. She refused to shatter. She steeled herself, drawing strength from echoes. Frustration tightened their faces. Their methods grew harsher. Still, no break. “Never lose hope…” her mother’s gentle whisper. “Courage isn’t absence of fear…” her father’s steady voice.

“I’ll be worth more fresh,” her voice, surprisingly level, cut through the silence. “Food. Now.” Cold calculation flickered in her eyes. Use their hunger. They laughed, but one tossed her a nutrient bar. A small victory. In the quiet, her will solidified. Their spirit lived within. Their fight continued. A faint rasp against metal. Freedom. The lower hinge gave. Footsteps outside. She froze, the shard of metal slipping in her numb fingers. Defeat tasted like ash. Not over. Not yet.

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