Rayn's hands were looking pretty rough before his shift ended. The polymer gloves he wore offered little protection against the hot edges of the scrap metal he had to process. He worked alone on the lower decks of District C known as Bone City - part of Neo Sulawesi, built on the bones of the old world. His job involved recycling machines that were actually automated, but not quite without human hands. Easy jobs would always be around in this new world anyway.
And Rayn had just finished his eighth shift this week.
Same corner. Same routine. Same pay that signified the inadequacy of his life.
Rayn wiped the sweat from his forehead and brow as he walked towards the counter where he reported the end of his shift.
"I'm done"
"Hum, good job."
Just the routine conversation they had as subordinate workers of this company. Nothing more and no waste of energy.
He worked hard. Shutting himself off from problems. Not asking for too much.
At the end of his shift he passed through the metallic hallway, Rayn had gone through another long and tiring week. He finished checking out of the system using the retinal scanner - sometimes it could not detect him, like a broken machine that did not care about his existence.
With that, Rayn left the building where he worked after handing over his equipment and walking away from the place where his daily life was embodied.
He stepped out into the night, carrying his old bag, his boots treading on cracked concrete like a normal person - and humans no longer enjoyed the night sky.
The world that was once so beautiful filled with intricate buildings and well-maintained city plants was now left with broken machines, blinking street signs, humming vents, and walls that smelled of oil and rot.
The dim neon lights above blinking like the beat of a tired heart.
The buildings in this district were stacked and lined up, like high-rises. He climbed the iron ladder in the hallway to the communal roof - a quiet place he could enjoy.
Rayn enjoyed the gentle breeze, but even that wind was beginning to grow colder than usual, signaling the imminent arrival of winter, but even the seasons no longer mattered in a district like this.
Up here, the sounds grew quiet.
And the sky opened up clear.
It never ceased to amaze him, even through a thousand times sightseeing. The stars were real, distant, and sharp.
But above them, the stars shone no longer as the highlight of the night.
And not just the stars.
Hovering in the earth's sky, like celestial gods, were structures of impossible scale: spiraling towers, islands that defied gravity, thrones of alien design. One in particular—a massive obsidian-topped fortress—hovered silently along the horizon, its underside shining like a captured star.
Most of these structures had been there since before Rayn had come to this world.
They had been there for decades. Everyone had seen them. There was no question about it.
They were a part of our skies now.
They were a reminder. That this planet was no longer ruled by its guardians.
The Vaerdians.
They were the pioneering aliens who had first arrived on Earth - not as rulers, but as explorers, architects, guardians of something that humanity itself had learned. They brought with them light-years of advanced technology when they came, and they brought with them a sign of peace. Not prosperity for humanity, just a sign of peace.
The Vaerdians were tall - about two meters tall - with broad shoulders and a mass of muscle, with a blue-white skin that glowed at certain times. They walked like nobles and spoke wisely. Their foreign languages were unified in a single language. Unlike humans who spoke many languages, they cared not for the languages of Earth but instead introduced a more sophisticated communication technology.
Some humans admired them. Others tolerated them. The rest adapted to this.
Meanwhile Rayn… felt nothing.
Rayn leaned against the metal edge of the building. His eyes searched the sky again, thinking about many things.
"It's been a hard day," he asked no one.
He said it every night. It wasn't a rhyme or a poem. Just a truth among the lower classes like himself.
Sometimes he imagined that someone would listen to him.
As he enjoyed the wind of the growing night. The gusts of wind lightly brushed the hair around his eyes.
He closed his eyes.
And just in time, a faint ripple crossed the atmosphere above - thin, prismatic light formed into a ball above the heads of the inhabitants. A virtual screen opened wide like a giant, transparent lotus in the sky.
It was the nightly Battleground Broadcast - a celestial news update every rotation, displayed to a virtual public as large as the cities of the planet. The projection was subtle, unobtrusive, like a gentle reminder to the inhabitants that such was the name of the technology.
The news featured a sequence of statistics and visuals in sleek alien letters. The letters also synergized with the widespread technological bracelets for humans. Turning into a language they has mastered.
The interface rotates to display player rankings by planet, complete with the highest resolution of each frames, sorted by various renders and user tags.
Rayn watches it all like a child staring into a fire - silent, listening.
Rank #1 – "Kellion the Cindered Fist"
🜲 Skin: Ash-Clad Revenant (Prime-class Exoform)
Species: Vaerdian
Battles: 432 Wins – 2 Losses
Last seen: Arena Delta-Null
Rank #3 – "Dagger-Veil"
🜲 Skin: Noir Dancer (Core-class Exoform)
Species: Human
Battles: 216 Wins – 17 Losses
Last seen: Ruined Metropolis
Names scroll by. Vaerdians, humans, outworld creatures. All wear Skins - manifestations of their appearance and power. All are incredibly dramatic: armor suits, hooded assassins, cosmos-spiced wizards. It was called Exoform.
Then, a list clicked on Rank #10.
Rayn blinked.
The entry was empty.
No picture. No skin. No battle traces. No species registered.
Rank #10 – "Unknown (Null)"
🜲 Skin: None
Location: Unregistered
Access Level: [REDACTED]
Rayn's breath always stopped when he saw this one entry.
So foreign yet always there. He sometimes felt that there was a similarity in that identity to himself.
Empty, like his life's purpose.
Then his bracelet buzzed.
It was old technology - connected to the central data grid. He hadn't received so many messages or ping notifications in weeks. But now, it was flashing with unfamiliar text.
[Congratulations, you're invited to join the Battleground!]
Rayn stared at the text.
This was the most foreign sentence he had been in years and the most familiar to the world.
He had never actually registered with the Battleground system. He felt inadequate. The system was generally reserved for combat-ready citizens - soldiers, criminals, even politicians.
Those with a sense of meaning and purpose in life.
He felt like he would never touch something like this.
Slowly he felt the fear.
Goosebumps and a chill down within his spine.
In the darkness of the night, a pulse of light shimmered along with his bracelet.
Somewhere up there - deep in the dark fortress - a signal was received.
A code was activated.
And a message was sent out into the galaxy.
Epoch-class anomaly located. Identity: [REDACTED]. Status: Hunted.