Space Chronicles - Entry 1 - The Empire Strikes

Space, it’s so vast and lonely, your only companion is the steady thrum of the machinery on your capital vessel. Occasionally, a communication might disrupt this steady rhythmic thrum, an order here, a greeting there.

Ranzeth: "Enemy homeworld appears to be all clear."
Commaneder: “Roger, continue your patrol.”

Slowly, the brave Empire soldier floated through space ensuring the rebel forces were kept planetside, protected solely by their strange alien technology that barred all entry but theirs. Suddenly, a warning blipped on his radar.

“What is this?”

Quickly, Ranzeth scanned the red marker, the information that he received surprised him. It was the Supreme Admiral’s ship, the leader of the rebel scum, the traitor to the universe. Without hesitation, he moved to engage.

“I’ve got you now.” His thought was quickly interrupted as another enemy blip appeared on radar.

“No time to play the hero now,” Without further hesitation, he put out a distress call.

“This is Scout Ranzeth, engaging with multiple rebel vehicles, Homeworld fleet support requested.”

That was the last thing he thought for some time. Minutes flew by, support warped in, more enemies warped in and a frantic engagement began. Orders were called out, and the Empire entered into formation Alpha 7.6. This particular strategy appeared to be too much for them, for when the dust settled all that remained was the husk of the Supreme Admiral’s ship, his supporting forces were nowhere to be seen.

“Long live the Empire!”


i’l have what your drinking xD


Five days. It has been five days since comms traffic made a peep. I know that I am out here to patrol and be ready for action; not to be the one to cause it. But I can’t seem to shake the feeling that this isolated patrol 50k clicks out from Donare West is more of a punishment than an act of defensive prudence. I know Fleet Command had good intentions when they issued the new orders regarding standard operating procedures now that our protective shielding arrays have been compromised but I think Commander Ranzeth sent me on a mission of obscurity.

Commander Ranzeth. A great commander in every battle scenario I’ve found myself in but somehow a mystery to the entire division. Ever since I accidentally stumbled upon his rare and extensive digital rainbow unicorn porn collection on his personal Falcon Intercept Fighter I think he has had it in for me. I wish that event never took place. Damn, why didn’t he just encrypt his porn like everyone else? Regardless… here I am. Issuing another personal log for fleet records, and more importantly, my own sanity. It seems the only thing I can do on this damned patrol is log reports. The ship makes it’s own course corrections. The fighter maintains it’s own weapons stores. Even the god damn fuel subsystem is rendered obsolete thanks to this advanced alien core ACP Central Directive procured from a recent top secret raid. Why do they even need me to be on this ship? What is the point? What purpose do I even serve?

I guess I should go below decks and stroll around the garden. That sometimes helps. I still swear that you can get buzzed if you sniff enough of this desiccated Durain powder…

“Alert. Fleet emergency distress priority channel online. Alert.”

What the hell? A call for emergency fleet support from Commander Ranzeth himself…

“Computer - Encrypt all fetish pornography and prepare for immediate jump to Homeworld system.”



Stumbled? thats not how i heard it…Someone may have used the term “stole”…not sure.

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Copied. I copied it. You got me.

Look, I need it man. I can’t get off with the normals any more.