We all look up into the night sky. The black sea with embers in it's embraced. Taunting, laughing, and shimmering to dreamers. The rich and ruling class say dream the sea is theirs. The working middle class say it's theirs to share. And the poor? Who cares what the poor dream of? The overpopulation city planets and their smog skies cut down any dreamer who wish to challenge the narrative.

What about those who escaped those imprisoning skies? They found that the Void and it's calling was true, provided that they could pay the Void's tax.

In the great expanse, a lone ship floated. A rock hauler. Known for their size, but not for their speed. At the bottom of the hill is a net. Used for tugging asteroids, lay mangled and torn. It's cargo long freed by it's bonds. The blocky ship condition was no better. Thrusters flickered and cough. The dim light from the cockpit glow with warning. Shards of metallic limbs spark in protest of their treatment.

Thunder reverberate throughout the hull as the feet of the crew ran to get the ship back online. Everyone shared one thought, survival. Each heart beating a mile a minute. "Move! Get the engine back online!" A bald man in a vacuum suit that was more practical than not, bellowed orders from a catwalk above the main compartment. He stole glances from a monitor. His hands squeezing the railing, his suit hiding how pale he has gotten. The emergency lights grew in radiance as a soft hum soothed the minds of the ships inhabitants. But they worked harder, knowing that they didn't have a lot of time.

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Static filled the man's monitor. His face turned grim. "Men." He spoke softly as if his previous tone was a lie. "It's been a pleasure to be your captain. May we find peace." Anti asteroid guns rang out throughout the hallways.

He turn around and reached the monitor. He put in his captains ID and password in the monitor's second functionality. He pulled up the last few days logs and purged them from the system along with images that looked more like runes than anything else.

Outside the battered ship, a sleek black ship came into view. It's nose pointing to the damaged ship. A purple light emerged from vents as heat wafted out. Soon a beam of destruction reached the hauler.

It snapped the titanium frame, tore the crew out of the safety of it's bosom, and spat them into deep space. Bodies frozen solid, some ruptured, others shredded.

The ship, humanity lost on it's crew, used anti ship guns to poke holes in anything that possibly still retain oxygen.

The victor, if you could call it that, scanned the remains. They searched large chunks down to individual bodies. The few survivors, who sought refuge in their suits, were expunged through the use of small debris guns.

Finding no more source of life, the ship sped up. It's new destination not known except for it's captain and those that issued such orders.