The alarm blared through the cramped confines of the asteroid mining facility, a sound more piercing than any drill or engine Marcus Fletcher had ever heard. He had anticipated this moment, but the reality was far worse than he had imagined. He'd tried to warn the engineers—tried to convince them that the shield generator was failing—but they dismissed him. "What do you know, kid?" one had sneered, his ego inflated by Finisterra Corps' blind faith in its technology, making it easy for them to ignore the obvious.

Now, as chaos erupted around him, Marcus sank deeper into a booth in the cafeteria, watching the panicked workers surge toward the emergency shuttles. He felt a mix of fear and resignation; there would be no shuttle for him. Finisterra had only allotted enough for the official personnel, and his existence had always been a precarious secret.

Eighteen years ago, during a raid by a marauding ship attacking the facility for its resources, Sarah Fletcher—an elite defence pilot assigned to protect the facility—had taken down the enemy vessel. In the chaos of the battle, she spotted a single escape pod launching from the wreckage of the enemy ship. It was only the size of a child. Instinctively, Sarah retrieved it before it drifted into oblivion, only to discover a small infant inside—Marcus.

Rather than report him to Finisterra, Sarah chose to hide the child, smuggling him onto the facility under the radar. She knew that Finisterra, with its corporate obsession with efficiency, would never allow an outsider, especially one from an enemy vessel, to live. Thus began Marcus's secret life within the shadows of the mining colony, hidden from the prying eyes of the evil corporation. Sarah raised him, teaching him how to survive without being seen, always reminding him that discovery meant death.

When Sarah died—killed in a suspicious laser mining "accident" that everyone whispered about but no one dared investigate—Marcus was left completely alone. Without her protection, leaving the facility became more than just dangerous—it was impossible. Finisterra controlled everything: travel, identities, supplies. He had no papers, no official existence. To survive, he had to stay hidden.

As he watched workers scramble for safety, Marcus's mind raced with thoughts of what could have been. What if he had been born into Finisterra's favour, with a secure job and a life outside this hellhole? Yet here he was, a nobody on a mineroid, cursed to forever yearn for freedom while those around him were content with complacency. "What more is there to want?" they often said. Everything, he wanted to scream. Everything beyond these chains.

Humanity had grown complacent under Finisterra's rule, preferring the illusion of safety over the risk of exploration. In their indifference, he saw a future devoid of progress, of hope.

A stray asteroid had been detected, hurtling toward them with deadly inevitability, and the facility was unprepared.

Suddenly, a worker stumbled, pushed aside by the frantic crowd, his head cracking against the floor with a sickening thud. Blood pooled around him, and Marcus's heart raced, a primal instinct urging him to look away. Yet he couldn't. He felt a mixture of horror and opportunity. This could be my chance— My way out.

Rushing to the fallen man, he checked for a pulse—nothing. Panic surged, but he stifled it. Focus. He dashed to the cafeteria line, grabbing a dull knife, its weight heavy in his trembling hands. Blood splattered across his face as he carved away the dead man's hand, the grotesque act both revolting and exhilarating. It was the moment he had both dreaded and anticipated—a gateway to freedom, a sacrifice made in the name of escape.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he made his way to the shuttle bay, adrenaline coursing through him. As he entered, the reality of the situation hit him like a freight train: he was utterly alone. Only one emergency shuttle remained, its door looming like a gateway to a new life.

He pressed the severed hand against the print sensor, heart pounding as he willed the mechanism to recognize the hand print of the dead man. After what felt like an eternity, the door slid open. Clambering inside, he activated the launch sequence with a shaking hand, the familiar sights of his makeshift home disappearing behind him.

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Marcus initiated the engine. The shuttle roared to life— it jolted forward, the familiar hum of the drive filling the air. He glanced back at the facility, its sprawling complex of mining rigs precariously attached to a massive asteroid now a distant memory, and felt a flicker of hope igniting within him. This was it—the moment he would transcend the chains of his past.

Without warning, the shuttle surged, activating the Wormhole Hyper Interstellar Passage system—WHIP for short, and a swirling vortex materialised ahead of him, the wormhole opening with an otherworldly glow. Marcus's breath quickened. He had to make it through before the asteroid impacted. As the entrance loomed, a countdown appeared on the display:

60 seconds until the wormhole closes.

57 seconds. The alarm blared louder, reverberating through the small cockpit. Marcus gripped the controls, his heart pounding in time with the countdown.

50 seconds. The shuttle jolted violently as debris began to strike the hull, sending tremors through the structure. He braced himself against the control panel, sweat beading on his forehead.

45 seconds. Panic surged again; he needed to concentrate, but his mind raced with possibilities. What if he couldn't make it?

38 seconds. He locked eyes with the wormhole, its entrance pulsating with energy. The timer ticked down relentlessly, a reminder of his precarious situation.

32 seconds. The facility behind him loomed larger in the viewport as the distant asteroid collided with the mineroid facility, a cataclysmic explosion erupting behind him. Chunks of metal and rock began to fly past the shuttle, and Marcus was thrown against the restraints. He could almost feel the heat through the shuttle's hull, a violent reminder of what he was leaving behind.

28 seconds. With a deafening roar, debris struck the shuttle, sending it spinning wildly. He fought against the disorientation, his focus narrowing to the swirling portal ahead. He had to act now.

20 seconds. The countdown echoed in his mind like a war drum, and he took a deep breath, feeling a surge of determination.

15 seconds. The colours of the wormhole morphed, swirling into a mesmerising dance of light. As he approached the threshold, he felt a strange sensation building within him, an energy that vibrated at the core of his being.

10 seconds. He gritted his teeth, readying himself for the unknown.

5 seconds. At that moment, as the timer reached zero, the shuttle lunged forward, colliding with the closing wormhole

A jolt ripped through him, more intense than anything he could fathom. Pain exploded across his body, overwhelming him in a kaleidoscope of sensation. It felt as though every nerve was on fire, and he was being pulled apart, stretched across infinity. His vision blurred, colours morphing into unimaginable hues that twisted and writhed like a living thing, invading his mind with images of places he had never seen—twisting cities, alien landscapes, and faces that felt both familiar and foreign.

And then came the noise. A deafening, discordant symphony, a cacophony of sound that pierced through him like a thousand blades. The wailing seemed to echo from the very fabric of the universe, drowning out everything else. It was a sound of destruction and rebirth, a sonic explosion that reverberated within his skull, clawing at the edges of his sanity.

As he spiralled through the wormhole, he could feel the intense vibrations wrapping around him, compressing and expanding, threatening to tear him apart. The colours shifted again, swirling into patterns that made no sense, and for a moment, he lost his sense of self, becoming one with the chaos. There was no Marcus, no miner, no orphan. There was only the experience—a transcendent moment that blurred the lines of reality, a dance of existence that challenged everything he understood.

Time lost all meaning. Seconds felt like eons, or perhaps eons were crammed into mere seconds. Pain ebbed and flowed, but it never faded, becoming a constant companion in this psychedelic whirlwind. And amidst it all, he felt something shift inside him, a profound change sparking within the depths of his consciousness.

Then, suddenly, it was over.

He emerged from the darkness, spinning toward the planet Bosnack, his heart racing. But in that moment of chaos, something had changed within him. The sound that had filled his ears was gone; an eerie silence enveloped him, the world around him muted, as if he had crossed a threshold beyond sound itself.

No longer a prisoner of Finisterra; he was a man reborn, propelled by forces beyond his understanding. The galaxy awaited, and he was ready to confront it.