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he wind howled across the shoreline, lifting the dust like a funeral shroud as Colonel George Taylor dropped to his knees. The sand clung to his hands, gritty and cold, as he stared up at the broken ruin that loomed over the beach like a ghost from a dead world. It had once been a symbol—proud, defiant, a beacon of hope. Now, the shattered crown and half-buried torch of the Statue of Liberty stood as a grim epitaph to everything humanity had lost.
Taylor’s breath caught in his throat. His voice cracked with rage and heartbreak as the truth thundered through him.
“You maniacs... you blew it all up,” he gasped. “God damn you. God damn you all to hell!”
The waves crashed in the distance, but even they seemed hushed—like the planet itself was holding its breath.
Light-years away...
In the endless black sea of space, a single starfighter cut across the void like a blade. Its sleek lines glinted against the darkness, engines humming with the quiet confidence of 25th-century tech. Inside the cockpit, Captain Buck Rogers sat alone, one hand on the controls, the other resting easy by his side. But his eyes were sharp—scanning, questioning, always alert.
He didn’t trust the silence.
The stars outside the canopy held still, too still. No drift, no static, no chatter from Earth Directorate. Just that kind of deep, ominous quiet that came before the unexpected—before something changed everything.
Buck narrowed his eyes.
“Captain Rogers to Earth Directorate,” Buck said into the mic, his tone cool and collected, but with a flicker of tension beneath the surface. “Sector’s clean so far. I’m thinking one last sweep, wide arc, then I’m heading home. Copy?”
Static.
Just static.
Buck’s brow furrowed as he gave the console a quick double-tap—nothing fancy, just the kind of seasoned move a pilot makes when he knows his gear should be working.
“Earth Directorate, this is Captain Buck Rogers,” he tried again, a little sharper now. “Do you read me?”
Silence.
The kind of silence that didn’t sit right—not out here, not when you were supposed to have a whole planet listening on the other end. Something about it scraped the edge of his instincts. Too quiet. Too still.
Buck leaned back slightly in the cockpit, eyes narrowing.
“Great,” he muttered. “Just what I needed—dead air in the middle of nowhere.”
The cosmos hurled its fury at him without warning. A blinding shaft of light, like a divine lance, shattered the darkness, searing his vision as it tore across the cockpit canopy. Buck's hand flew up, shielding his eyes from the incandescent glare, the raw power of the phenomenon forcing him to turn away. The light throbbed, alive with an eldritch vitality that sent tremors coursing through his very marrow. When the radiance finally waned, Buck cautiously lowered his hand, his eyes snapping open and shut in rapid succession to banish the seared afterimages.
"What in the name of all the stars was that?" he breathed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a piston. His instruments, attuned to detect the most ephemeral disturbances, stood mute, their screens a maddening blank. The data stream remained as barren as the void itself, a cold denial that this event had ever pierced the fabric of space. Yet Buck's senses screamed in defiance. He had beheld the spectacle, felt its primal force—and whatever had unleashed this fury, it was no product of mortal science.
The void itself seemed to split asunder, unleashing a second blast of incandescent fury that coalesced into a mesmerizing spectacle directly in Buck's path. His fingers clamped down on the controls, white-knuckled, as the light resolved into a shimmering column of luminescent orbs. They pulsed and swirled, their rhythmic movements weaving a hypnotic spell that threatened to ensnare his very mind. The orbs danced with a precision that bordered on the choreographed, their ethereal ballet drawing closer with each heartbeat. Buck's thoughts careened wildly as he strained to grasp the nature of this phenomenon. Were these glowing sentinels harbingers of destruction, or entities governed by some unfathomable logic? Or did they belong to a realm entirely beyond the reach of human comprehension, their purpose and design forever shrouded in mystery?
"Alright, Bucko," he muttered under his breath, giving himself a quick mental slap, "keep it cool, daddy-o. We’ve got a long road ahead, and no time for any funky business. Just keep your head straight, and let’s cruise through this mess."
The glowing orbs swept past him—fast, silent, and precise. They skimmed the hull of his starfighter by mere inches, close enough to light up the cockpit with a wash of blinding brilliance. Trails of shimmering light hung in the vacuum behind them, fading like the last sparks of a dying fire.
Buck didn’t wait.
His fingers flew across the console, punching in commands, flipping toggles, bringing every sensor online. Long-range scan. Spectral analysis. Proximity alert. Nothing. The readouts stayed empty. Clean. Dead.
“Come on, give me something,” he muttered.
That’s when he heard it.
A sound—not exactly in his ears, but in his head. High-pitched. Piercing. A hum, sharp and shrill, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Buck grimaced, slapped his hands to the sides of his helmet as the pressure spiked. It felt like his brain was being drilled from the inside out.
Warning lights flickered across the dash. Then sputtered. Then died.
The hum surged—louder, deeper, relentless. His starfighter bucked slightly, systems failing one by one like dominoes tipping in a slow, inevitable collapse.
And then—nothing.
Just silence.
Not the kind of silence Buck liked. Not the kind that came with peace.
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Buck’s eyes snapped open to a searing white light. For a second, he wasn’t sure if he was awake—or still drifting somewhere between dimensions. As his vision adjusted, shapes began to emerge through the brilliance.
Figures.
Motionless. Silent. Staring right at him.
They stood like statues, not a muscle twitching, eyes locked on him with a focus that sent a chill straight to his core. The silence in the chamber wasn’t just quiet—it was unnatural, the kind of stillness that made your skin crawl and your instincts scream.
Buck tried to move—and couldn’t.
His arms, his legs—locked down tight. He looked down, squinting through the glare, and saw the sleek, unfamiliar material binding him to a chair that looked more alien than ergonomic.
Panic kicked in fast.
He strained against the restraints, muscles tensing, breath coming short and sharp. Nothing gave. No give, no creak, no comforting pop of a buckle breaking. Just that unyielding grip of something not built by human hands.
Where was he? Who were these people?
And more to the point—how the hell did he get here?
They didn’t move. Not a twitch. Not a blink.
The figures stood like they’d been carved from light and shadow, their eyes locked on Buck with an intensity that cut right through him. Cold. Calculating. Watching.
His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry as Martian dust. Nothing came out. Just breath and the quiet buzz of fear tightening around his mind like a vise.
Finally, he forced it out.
“Alright... who are you guys?” Buck said, masking the edge in his voice with that trademark mix of charm and nerves. “And what’s with the silent treatment?”
Before the words could fully settle, the air changed.
A voice—deep, resonant, and utterly alien—spoke without speaking, as if it bypassed sound altogether and went straight into his head. “Do not attempt to communicate,” it said with the calm certainty of something far beyond human. “You are safe.”
Buck swallowed hard, eyes narrowing. Safe? That was never a word he trusted when someone else had to tell him.
Buck's pulse was thundering in his ears, but the voice hadn’t come from the room. It hadn’t come from anywhere he could pinpoint.
It just... was.
One second he was alone in a room full of silent watchers, the next he was hearing a voice—calm, commanding, and nowhere to be found. It hadn’t passed through the air. It had gone straight into his brain like a lightning bolt wrapped in silk.
He swept the chamber with his eyes, scanning each unmoving figure for a clue. Nothing. No lips moved. No gestures. They just stood there, still as statues and just as human-looking as a shadow on the moon.
Then came the silence. Not just quiet—but that unnatural kind, thick enough to choke on. Only the sound of his own breath reminded him he was still real, still awake, still here.
His instincts were screaming now. This wasn’t just alien tech or another Draconian trick. This was something bigger. Something... old. And powerful.
Then the voice returned, smooth and unwavering, cutting through the tension like a blade through fog.
“His response is normal and is responding to Balcon infusion,” it said with clinical precision. “Allow him to rise.”
Buck didn’t know what a "Balcon infusion" was—but he had the feeling he was about to find out.
One of the beings glided toward him—silent, fluid, and almost weightless. It raised a hand, long and slender, not touching, just hovering a few inches from Buck’s forehead. A faint light pulsed from its palm—soft, steady, and warm like moonlight through a window.
The effect was immediate.
A rush of energy slammed through Buck’s nervous system, like his body had just been jump-started by the universe itself. His muscles responded before his mind could catch up. Whatever had been holding him down—fatigue, confusion, fear—burned away in a flash.
He stood, slowly, every sense on high alert.
Across from him, the beings waited. No words. No movement. Just presence. Silent. Imposing. Unfathomable.
Buck’s eyes scanned the room again—walls too smooth to be metal, too bright to be stone. The light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It wasn’t just illumination—it was intention.
Still riding the surge of whatever had just hit his system, Buck tried to keep his cool.
“Alright,” he said, steadying his voice. “You’ve got the whole ‘cosmic enigma’ routine down cold. But I gotta ask—who are you people?”
The answer came, not through mouths, but through thought—rich, melodic, and almost soothing in its calm certainty.
“We are dwellers in a dimension quite apart from your own,” the voice said, not boastful, not threatening—just true.
Buck nodded slowly, taking it in. Part of him wanted to laugh. Part of him wanted to run. But all of him knew—this was no dream. This was real.
Buck stepped forward, slow and steady, across a floor that didn’t quite feel like anything he'd ever walked on before. Not metal. Not stone. It had no weight, no sound. Just presence.
The closest being stood before him—if “stood” was even the right word. It seemed to shimmer, anchored more by will than gravity. Buck raised a cautious hand and reached out.
His fingers slid right through the thing’s face.
No resistance. No reaction. Just empty space where matter should’ve been.
He pulled back fast, heart pounding. That old pilot’s instinct flared up—fight or flight. But neither felt right. Not here. Not now.
“What the hell…?” he whispered under his breath.
Ghost? Illusion? Advanced tech? He didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to back off without some answers.
This time, he moved slower, more deliberate. Hand outstretched, his fingertips brushed the edge of the being’s form—and then something hit him.
Not physically. Not pain. But something else.
Energy.
It surged through him like a jolt from a star, hot and cold all at once, lighting up every nerve ending and every thought he’d ever had. His breath caught. His vision blurred.
And then—images.
They came fast and without warning: stars being born in the void… cities not built, but grown… machines that lived and dreamed… civilizations older than Earth’s sun, long since vanished into the dust of time.
Buck staggered back, gasping, eyes wide.
Whatever these beings were—they weren’t just looking at him.
They were showing him everything.
Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of information flooding his mind, Buck stumbled backward. The weight of newfound understanding pressed upon him like an invisible force. This encounter was far beyond anything he could ever have imagined.
“Terrific,” Buck muttered, barely audible, the sarcasm rolling off his tongue even as his voice cracked under the weight of disbelief. “I knew it. I must’ve cashed in my chips. That’s it—I’m space toast.” He turned toward the motionless figures, his brows furrowed, trying to make sense of the impossible. “So, let me get this straight—you’re telling me I’m dead, and you guys are what? Angels with better lighting?”
There was no reply—at least, not from any mouth he could see.
Instead, the same rich, resonant voice echoed in his mind, smooth and almost amused. “Curiously enough, Captain, your assessment holds a grain of truth. Allow me to introduce you to one of our own, who will serve as your guide in the task ahead. Please... follow.”
Buck’s eyes narrowed. Task? That was a word he didn’t like unless it came with mission specs and a clear exit strategy.
“Hold on a minute—what task?” he asked the room, but the voice was already gone, leaving nothing but the faint hum of energy and the silence of beings who didn't believe in answering twice.
Ahead, one of the forms began to move—graceful, silent—gliding across the luminous floor and down a corridor that stretched longer than it had any right to. A corridor that looked more like infinity than architecture.
Buck hesitated.
Yeah, this had “setup” written all over it. But standing still wasn’t his style. Not when there might be answers at the other end.
He blew out a slow breath, rolled his shoulders, and muttered, “Alright, Bucko. One foot in front of the other.”
And with that, he followed.
Wherever this rabbit hole led, he was already falling.
Buck exhaled slowly, the kind of breath a man takes when he's run out of explanations. His eyes scanned the corridor around him, wide with awe and just a touch of unease. In all his years—from deep-space missions to dodging Draconian fighters—there were very few places where Buck Rogers didn’t feel at least somewhat in control.
But this place? This wasn’t one of them.
The corridor stretched on endlessly, gleaming with a kind of light that didn’t seem to come from any one source. The walls didn’t hum. They didn’t pulse. They just were—clean, perfect, and impossibly still.
As he walked, the irony started to settle in. The 20th-century flyboy, now a 25th-century legend, lost in a hall that looked like it had been built by the gods themselves. Buck gave a dry chuckle under his breath, but it vanished fast. There wasn’t much funny about this place.
Because what lay ahead... was something else entirely.
The hallway opened into a chamber bigger than any he’d seen before—so vast it felt like he’d stepped into the heart of a star. Light surrounded him, brilliant and all-consuming, yet it didn’t burn. It simply was, wrapping around him like the silence after a storm.
Then he saw the figure.
Draped in flowing white, the being stepped forward, its presence unmistakable. With each step, the cloak shimmered and shifted until, before Buck’s eyes, it peeled away—revealing a man. Human in form. Ageless in presence. Silver-white hair framed a strong, calm face. There was no menace there—only patience... and power.
“Step forward, Buck Rogers,” the man said. His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It carried a weight all its own—refined, resonant, and as steady as the stars themselves.
Buck felt a strange pull of recognition. Not memory, exactly. Something deeper. Something instinctive. He stepped forward slowly, curiosity battling the last remnants of caution.
The man smiled gently.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, and there was something genuine in his tone. Not a trap. Not a game. Just truth. “There is much we need to discuss.”
Buck nodded, the last of his defenses falling away.
“So... how do you know—” Buck began, then stopped himself short. His eyes narrowed. Curiosity was getting the better of him, but he wasn’t about to let this slide. If this guy wasn’t one of the glowing light-beings, then he was someone—or something—else entirely. And Buck needed answers. Fast.
The man turned to him, calm but firm. “Buck, this isn’t the time for questions or small talk,” he said, his tone clipped with authority. “Time is slipping away. If we’re going to succeed, we have to move now.”
Buck didn’t like being told to shelve questions—not when he was knee-deep in cosmic weirdness. But there was something about the way the man said it. No arrogance. Just urgency. Purpose.
Still, Buck wasn’t going to nod and smile. He’d played along with too many mysterious types already. He took a step closer, eyes locked on the man.
“Alright,” Buck said, voice tight. “Let’s talk about this ‘task.’ What exactly are we talking here?”
The man paused. Then, with the poise of someone used to commanding attention across galaxies, he spoke.
“To begin with,” he said, “my name is John. And we need your help to prevent the destruction of Earth.”
Buck blinked, stunned.
“What?” His heart skipped a beat. “Destruction? You mean Draco—?”
“Draco’s Royal Fleet will strike again,” John said, nodding. “But they’re not the real threat. What’s coming… what could end your world… lies buried deep in a place you’ve all but forgotten.”
He turned slightly, his voice dropping into something colder.
“It’s in Anarchia.”
That name hit Buck like a cold slap of reality.
He stepped forward, tension rising. “Hold it right there, buster,” he snapped, hand gesturing in the air. “You’re throwing around a lot of high-stakes drama and not giving me nearly enough to work with.”
John began to turn away, already walking toward the corridor beyond.
Buck called after him, frustration flaring. “John! You’re not helping here. If Anarchia’s packing something that can wipe out the planet, I need to know what—and I need to know now.”
John's gaze locked onto Buck with the precision of a targeting computer. His expression was carved from stone, but the fire behind his eyes burned cold and real.
“A nuclear warhead, Buck,” he said flatly. But the weight in his voice hit like a hammer—equal parts anger and something deeper... disappointment. “It was built in your time. By your people.”
Buck froze. The words struck harder than any laser blast. His mouth opened, but no sound came out for a second. Finally, he forced a reply.
“My people?” he said, voice cracking under the pressure. “No... that can’t be right. We weren’t—” He stopped himself. The truth was, he didn’t know what they were capable of anymore.
John didn’t flinch. “It still exists,” he said grimly. “Operational. Armed. And if the ones who control it now choose to activate it... your world ends. Completely.”
Buck staggered back a half step. His skin went pale, the color draining like a system losing power. This wasn’t a threat from deep space. This was something worse—homegrown.
“My God...” he whispered. “I’ve got to contact—”
“No.” John’s voice cut through him like a vibro-blade. Firm. Final. “You can’t tell anyone.”
Buck blinked. “What are you talking about? You want me to sit on a planet-killer and say nothing?”
John stepped forward, unshaken. “You’re here because you’re the only one who spans both timelines. The past. The future. The choices that were made... and the consequences that followed. If this mission is going to succeed, it has to begin with you—and you alone.”
Buck stared at him, jaw clenched, mind reeling. The future had always seemed like a second chance.
But now? Now it looked a lot like judgment day.
“John, why don’t you people just go find the warhead yourselves?” Buck asked, taking a step forward, confusion etched across his face. “You obviously know it’s there.”
John’s expression hardened, his voice turning flat and cold. “Because we won’t. It goes against everything we stand for.”
Buck raised an eyebrow, not liking the sound of that. “You’re telling me morals are worth more than saving a planet?”
John nodded slowly. “Yes. We have sworn never to interfere directly in the destiny of any world. Not Earth. Not any.”
The words hung heavy in the space between them, sounding less like policy and more like scripture.
Buck let out a breath, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “Well, that’s a hell of a noble stand to take—right up until the moment everything we care about goes up in smoke,” he shot back. “Then what? You stand there and observe?”
John didn’t flinch. “That’s exactly why we chose you, Buck Rogers.”
Buck stiffened.
“You’re of Earth,” John continued, his voice now quieter, but deeper, carrying a solemn power. “You carry the knowledge of the past and the eyes of the future. We can’t act—but you can. With only minimal guidance, you can reach the point we cannot.”
Buck looked away for a moment, his jaw tight. The idea of being the only card left in the deck wasn’t unfamiliar... but this? This was bigger than anything he'd ever been handed before.
“Yeah,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Lucky me.”
Buck lowered his head, the weight of the conversation finally pressing in. The confidence, the sarcasm—all of it faded as uncertainty crept in around the edges.
“John…” he said quietly. “What am I supposed to tell my people? Am I really expected to lie to them about something this big?”
John’s gaze was steady, piercing, but there was something else behind it now—a spark of anticipation. “Buck,” he said, his voice softening, “don’t you ever wonder about the time you’ve landed in? About the century that’s racing ahead of you? Haven’t you felt the pull to discover what became of the world you left behind? Your own legacy? The ruins of Chicago are just the beginning. Anarchia holds more than danger... it holds the truth.”
Buck’s voice was dry, almost a whisper. “Where do I even start?”
John gave a solemn nod. “That choice is yours now. I’ve pointed the way—but from this point forward, the path is yours to walk.” He stepped closer, voice dropping into something more personal, more urgent. “There’s one more thing. Once you return to Earth, you’ll need help. There is another—someone like you. Someone tied to both the past and the future. When you hear his name, you’ll know. That moment… that’s your beginning.”
Buck stared at him, stunned. “But I’m light-years out. How do I even get back in time?”
John’s expression never changed. “You’ll be returned to Earth. Quickly. But before you go, there’s something else you need to understand.” His tone turned grave, heavy with implication. “Your people are not alone on Earth. There is another intelligent species living alongside them. They may seem primitive... but they hold the key to Earth’s restoration. And your descendants, Buck—they carry the key to yours.”
Buck could only stare, mouth slightly open, stunned by the enormity of what he was being told. It was too much, too fast, and yet... it all felt inevitable.
“Say what?” he finally blurted, blinking in disbelief.
John’s voice turned final, like the last note in a song only the stars could hear. “I’ve told you everything I can, Buck Rogers. Now—your task begins.”
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