Emperor Doland leaned back in his cushy office chair, a lit cigar in one hand and a glass of the galaxy's finest whiskey in the other. The smell of tobacco smoke mixed with expensive liquor tickled his nose and reminded him just how good things were in the Cosmic Star Empire, largely thanks to its monopoly on space travel.

The Commonwealth had to practically beg the Empire for transportation when moving around even the most basic necessities, but here on Mega Earth, nearly every luxury the galaxy had to offer was at Emperor Doland's fingertips. He chuckled wickedly at the thought.

The buzzing of Doland's commlink put a premature end to his break. Sighing, he set aside his cigar and brought the device to his ear. "Go for Daddy Doland!" he answered.

"Uh... hello, your Highness. This is Captain Chalmers of the ISS Everest. I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news, sir."

Doland took a quick swig of whiskey. "I don't really like hearing stuff like that, Captain Chambers," he replied. "What's the problem?"

"Captain Chalmers, your Highness."

"Yeah, that's what I said," Doland argued. "Now tell me what's going on, Captain Chutney. And be quick about it. I'm off to play Space Golf with some very rich and very important people later, and I'd hate to leave our guests hanging."

"Well, your Highness," began the captain, "it's about those Spooky Boxes you were having delivered. So far, four of them have made it to Mega Earth, but we've lost track of the remaining three. We are investigating the disappearances, but we suspect interference from the Gagarin Rebels."

"No, no, no," Doland angrily interrupted. "Fake news. There is no rebellion. That's just a hoax the communist Commonwealth made up to make me look bad. It was probably those aliens who are always trying to steal our stuff!"

There was a long pause on the line before Captain Chalmers continued. "The good news, your Highness, is that we have a means of tracking the Spooky Boxes and have located two of the missing three. We're sending troops to retrieve them as we speak."

"What about the last one?" Doland asked. "We need ALL of the Spooky Boxes for my amazing plans to work, Chomsky."

"We're umm... not entirely sure about that one, your Highness," the captain reluctantly answered. "It's like it just vanished from the face of the galaxy. Still, we did locate the wreck of the ship that was carrying it. It can't have gone far."

"Listen, Chazansky," said Doland. "I have huge plans for these Spooky Boxes. HUGE. And if you mess this up for me, it'll be the last mistake you ever make. Got it?"

"...understood, your Highness."

Doland disconnected the call and finished off his whiskey with several gulps before slamming the empty glass on his desk. He grumbled to himself as he fiddled with his commlink, calling his secretary. "Linda. It's Daddy Doland," he said. "Put out a call to every mercenary company you can get ahold of. I need their most morally dubious to help us track down some Spooky Boxes. The pay will be substantial."

"With all due respect, your Highness, my name is Lynnette, and under no circumstances am I going to call you 'Daddy Doland,'" the secretary replied. "I will, however, get those calls out for you straight away."

"Thanks, Layla. Daddy Doland, out."

* * *

Spaceman slowly opened his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion throughout his body. His surroundings were still fuzzy, but he could easily tell that he was no longer among the wastes of Hogwash, and that was a big problem. The last thing he could remember was the weird talking box and the strange vision he had experienced.

"Ugh..." he groaned. "What the heck happened?"

When his vision came back into focus, he was sitting in a small, dingy prison cell, complete with iron bars and a lumpy cot. As the memories came flooding back, Spaceman immediately sprang to his feet and grabbed the bars of his cell. "Hey!" he shouted. "What the heck is going on here?"

A giant mechanical eyeball attached to a robotic arm dropped from the ceiling and began scanning him, its lens focusing back and forth on him. After a moment of intense scrutiny, a booming voice echoed through the chamber. "PRISONER 132001, YOU ARE ON THE WAY TO SUPER XTREME SPACE JAIL FOR YOUR NUMEROUS CRIMES AGAINST THE COSMIC STAR EMPIRE."

"What 'numerous crimes'?" Spaceman protested. "I only did like two illegal things. Technically."

"PLEASE STAND BY," said the voice. "PROCESSING... PROCESSING... PROCESSING... YOUR CRIMES ARE AS FOLLOWS: ILLEGAL POSSESSION OF A FIREARM, INTERACTION WITH A CLASS A RESTRICTED SPACE ARTIFACT, ILLEGAL SALVAGE OF AN IMPERIAL VESSEL, THEFT OF AN IMPERIAL VESSEL, DESERTION, LOITERING, LITTERING, LOOTERING, AND FAILURE TO VOTE FOR EMPEROR DOLAND."

"Wait a minute!" Spaceman shouted. "You just made a bunch of those up!"

"THE COSMIC STAR EMPIRE REGRETS TO INFORM YOU THAT IT CAN CHARGE YOU WITH ANY CRIME THAT IT SEES FIT, CITIZEN."

"That's stupid," Spaceman replied. "You're stupid. And you look stupid."

"THE COSMIC STAR EMPIRE WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU THAT IT IS NOT STUPID, AND ALL DISSENT WILL BE CRUSHED."

"Whatever, man," Spaceman said, dropping onto the lumpy cot. "So when do we get to Super Xtreme Space Jail, anyway?"

The world around him jerked suddenly, sending him rolling out of his cot and onto the floor. As he regained his footing, the voice bellowed, "WE HAVE ARRIVED AT SUPER XTREME SPACE JAIL. STEP FORWARD FOR PROCESSING, OR YOU WILL BE CRUSHED."

"Well, that's convenient, I guess."

The door to Spaceman's cell swung open with several clunks, clangs, and creaks. As he stepped forward, he was met by nearly a dozen humanoid automechanicals, each armed with a stun baton and an angry face painted on their normally featureless heads. They ushered Spaceman down a long hallway, and he did not want to be crushed by angry-faced robots, so he followed along obediently. There was a small room at the end of the hall, and as he reached it, one of the mechs shoved him inside.

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He was met by another one of the robotic "eyes" on a stalk. It began scanning him, and after a moment, the voice returned. "FLIGHT LIEUTENANT BILLY WILLIAMS-DOOM JR.," it began. "YOU STAND ACCUSED OF NUMEROUS CRIMES AGAINST THE COSMIC STAR EMPIRE: ILLEGAL POSSESSION OF A FIREARM, INTERACTION WITH A CLASS A RESTRICTED SPACE ARTIFACT, ILLEGAL SALVAGE OF AN IMPERIAL VESSEL, THEFT OF AN IMPERIAL VESSEL, DESERTION, LOITERING, LITTERING, LOOTERING, VERBALLY ASSAULTING AN IMPERIAL AUTOMECHANICAL, CALLING THE COSMIC STAR EMPIRE STUPID, BEING STUPID, DISPLAYING REBELLIOUS TENDENCIES, FAILURE TO VOTE FOR THE EMPEROR, AND POSSESSION OF UNSANCTIONED MYSTICAL POWERS. THE COSMIC STAR EMPIRE FINDS YOU GUILTY OF ALL CRIMES AND SENTENCES YOU TO LIFE IN SUPER XTREEM SPACE JAIL, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY."

Spaceman shook his head, trying to process the laundry list of crimes that somehow got longer during the walk here from his cell. "Hold on a second," Spaceman said. "Don't I get like... a tribunal or something?"

"JUSTICE HAS ALREADY BEEN SERVED."

The floor suddenly opened, and Spaceman felt his stomach jump into his throat as he dropped down a long chute. He slid through the darkness for what felt like an eternity before finally slowing down as he was dumped on the surface of a barren planet. Spaceman stood up and brushed himself off, but before he could gain his bearings, a large crate came down the chute after him, nearly taking his legs out from under him. "Ow!" he shouted. "What the heck?"

As the chute pulled away and retracted, Spaceman looked up to see the prison ship that had carried him here floating ominously in the planet's atmosphere. Spaceman angrily shook his fist and made a rude gesture as the ship's thrusters fired and propelled it back into outer space. It did nothing to help the situation, but Spaceman felt a little bit better, at least.

Spaceman sighed, then took his first good look at the planet. It was a dusty, sandy, rocky wasteland that reminded him of Hogwash, except somehow far less welcoming. The only signs of life beyond weeds and animals scampering about were the blocky administration building and the tent city of inmates surrounding its walls. There were no fences or barriers beyond that, which was odd; was escape so impossible that there was no point in keeping prisoners contained?

With another sigh, he popped open the crate at his feet and quickly scanned its contents. Spaceman's trusty blaster and its holster sat atop the rest of the crate's contents, and he quickly strapped it to his hip before rifling through the remaining items. There was an ample supply of non-perishable foodstuffs, potable water, and camping supplies, enough to last maybe a month if carefully rationed.

Spaceman had only heard about Super XTREEM Space Jail through rumors, but none were good. It was apparently not a traditional prison but a penal colony where the Empire dumped its undesirable with a month of supplies and left them to fend for themselves. They probably figured those criminals would either starve or die from the environment by the end of the month, and most of them probably did.

The situation seemed hopeless, but Spaceman was not ready to give up just yet. He grabbed a backpack from the supply crate and loaded it up with whatever he could fit before setting out toward the tent city. The trek was short and uneventful, and as he approached, he was met by a burly, red-scaled saurian accompanied by several other prisoners. "Hello, new meat," the creature growled.

"Uh... hello, lizard guy," Spaceman replied. "How about that weather, huh?"

The saurian stepped forward and put his hands on Spaceman's shoulders, looking down while towering over him. "I see you have brought us some supplies," he said. "How kind of you, human."

Spaceman clutched his backpack tightly with one hand while slowly moving the other toward his blaster pistol. "No, actually, these are my supplies," he replied. "No worries, though; we all make mistakes."

The saurian tightened his grip, and Spaceman could feel his claws begin to dig into the armored bits of his space suit. "You don't seem to understand," said the saurian. "You're new here, so you've got to pay the 'new guy' tax. That means give me all of your stuff, or I will tear you limb from limb and eat you. Slowly."

The escalating scenario brought a handful of curious onlookers who were more than happy to witness a bloody beatdown, but Spaceman was in no mood to be eaten by a giant lizard. It had been a few years since he last used it, but now seemed as good a time as any to employ the famous Space Wizard Mind Trap. With a wave of his hand, Spaceman imposed his will. "You do not want my stuff," he proclaimed. "You want to return to your tent and rethink your life."

The saurian loosened his grip and eyed Spaceman strangely. "I... do not want your stuff?" he repeated. "I want to return to my tent and rethink my life?" But then the rage returned to his eyes, and he snarled angrily. "What? No! I do want your stuff! Give me your stuff!"

Though the Space Wizard Mind Trap had failed, it did provide enough of a distraction for Spaceman to unholster his blaster and jam it into the base of the saurian's jaw. "Listen, I would very much prefer to keep my stuff and also all of my limbs," Spaceman told him. "That way, you don't have to worry about your brain exploding into mush when this blaster goes off."

"That's enough, Rhaz."

The entire crowd seemed to turn in unison to face a well-muscled, swarthy man emerging from one of the tents. Even with a quick glance, it was easy to see that his body had been heavily augmented with all manner of cybernetic components. Spaceman figured he was most likely one of the Commonwealth's cyborg super soldiers that they had deployed during the Great Space War.

Rhaz, the red-scaled saurian, did not seem particularly happy to see this man. "Stay out of this, Bedlam," he barked. "You know the rules! New folks have to give up their stuff!"

Bedlam, the combat cyborg, sized Spaceman up quickly before returning his attention to Rhaz. "Well, given that the gentleman in the space suit is about to turn your head into a canoe, maybe you should make an exception for today," he said with a shrug.

There were a tense few moments of silence until Spaceman cleared his throat to speak. "Listen, my guy, Rhaz, right?" he said. "There's still plenty of supplies in the crate. It's all yours; just let me keep what I've got here, and we won't have any problems."

Rhaz narrowed his eyes at Spaceman, then looked back at Bedlam. "Fine," he snarled, pushing past Spaceman and heading for the supply drop. "But I'll be watching you, new meat."

Bedlam smiled broadly as he watched Rhaz and his entourage disappear into the distance. "Picking a fight with the ringleader on your first day?" he remarked. "You're either incredibly bold or incredibly stupid."

Spaceman shrugged. "I've been told it's actually both," he replied. "So uh... 'Bedlam' was it?"

Bedlam nodded. "That's what they call me these days. And you?"

"Spaceman. You know, because of the space suit."

"Yeah, thanks, I got that," Bedlam chuckled. "Anyway, welcome to Super XTREME Space Jail. Everything here is terrible, and the average life expectancy is about a month."

"If we're just supposed to suffer and die, why do they even bother giving us supplies and junk?" Spaceman asked. "Seems kind of... counter-productive."

Bedlam pointed a cybernetic finger toward the sky. "Entertainment," he replied. "They got a whole mess of surveillance satellites in orbit watching us for some reality show or something. I don't know the exact details, but I'm guessing they dump weapons and other supplies out here to keep things 'interesting.'"

"Yeah," Spaceman sighed. "Classic Empire."

"Yep," Bedlam agreed. "Anyway... you interested in helping me get out of here? I've been trying to cook up an escape plan, but I've been missing a few crucial pieces. I'm thinking a Space Wizard might be just what I'm looking for, though."

"Who says I'm a Space Wizard?" Spaceman asked.

"Come on, man, I'm not dumb," said Bedlam. "I worked alongside a few of them back when the war was still in full swing. I recognize the Space Wizard Mind Trap when I see it, even if it doesn't work."

"Hey!" Spaceman shot back. "It's been a while. And it almost worked!"

"No, I'm pretty sure Rhaz almost bit your face off," Bedlam teased. "But never mind that. Do you want to help me or not?"

Spaceman nodded reluctantly. "You know what? I've been here for like ten minutes, and I already hate it, so I might as well give busting out a shot," he said. "What's the plan?"