"Today, you are here." A man stated, his thin lips parting just enough to speak. "And here, you might die. You may be injured. And you sure as hell won't be happy."
The crowd stood silent, their mouths shut and their eyes sharp. He had shaved black hair and four identical scars on his neck, as if scratched by a lion. His complexion was sickly, like that of a ghost.
He frowned. "But you already knew that…"
"Whether you're here to escape or to conquer, you chose to be here." His right hand hovered over a keyboard, and with a single press of the 'enter' key, a large, holographic screen appeared for all to see.
The image showed a bipedal species with violet, reflective skin. Two black horns extended from its temples, curved like an ox yet sharp like a knife.
Thick, white hair cascaded down its neck, adorned with cultural ornaments that the crowd wasn't familiar with.
Its arms were short but slender—shorter than a human's, but not by much. Its lower body, however, was much thicker—higher musculature than that of humans.
It seemed that this species relied on its legs.
Its stomach carried a faint, natural plumpness—not flat, but not round either. Just enough to store any fat the legs didn't use. Though, if the species was anything like a human, appearances would vary between individuals.
"—Y'all done admiring it?" The man's voice cut through their awe, smirking like he was speaking to fools. "Because if you aren't, then you're in for a rude awakening."
He raised an arm, pointing at the display. "These beautiful things are the enemies. They will try to kill you, and they are dangerous."
He pressed another key and the screen shifted once more. Only this time, a list appeared, expressing data about the species:
Race: Velnyx
Average Height: 6'3 [191cm]
Average Weight: 235lbs [107kg]
'Sheesh.' A man whistled. 'All that weight must be in its legs, huh.'
Known Strengths: Speed, Agility, Endurance, Precision, Reaction, Tough Skin, Strong Bones, Spatial Awareness, Leg Strength.
'Yeah, it's definitely the legs…'
Known Weaknesses: Arm Strength, Blood Loss, Torso Wounds, Strategy, Prospective Intelligence, Adaptive Intelligence, Guns.
'Guns, really? What fool made this list? Everything is weak to guns!'
Habitat: Pretty much everywhere.
'Again, who made this? Would it kill them to add more detail? Environments that the "Velnyx" are weak in? Temperatures? Anything?'
What to do if you encounter one:
1: If you have a gun, hide it.
'Right.'
2: If it's aggressive, don't hide it.
'Oh really? Thanks man, that helped.'
3: If it's with a group, don't run, it will catch you…
'That's frightening.'
…in that case, make it clear that you are not dangerous. Drop your gun, then kneel to the floor.
'Wow.'
4: If they attack anyway, pick up your gun and shoot while you flee. You'll definitely die, but maybe, just maybe, you could be the first to survive.
'The first? That's even more frightening.'
Snap! The hologram flickered before vanishing.
The man snapped, so the crowd rose, following protocol.
"You will be released onto their planet—not as their kin and not as their allies, but as you." He weaved between his audience, whispering into a random adult's ear. "Your only advantages will be communication..."
He rested his hand on the shoulder of a middle-aged man. "...intelligence…"
Moving in front of the nonchalant teen who had whistled during the presentation, he finished: "...and preparation."
—
—
—
Too many years ago, a program had been released, allowing anyone with exceptional athleticism to apply. The campaign had started long before, but only now were they drafting the general public.
After an… unfortunate series of events, Auren found himself holding an invitation letter.
With nothing left in his life to retreat to, he accepted—both excited for the adventure and terrified of his inevitable death.
After all, while he wasn't particularly fond of living, his fear of death was impossible to ignore.
After a month or two of waiting, he was moved into a strange preparation camp run by the military. Its purpose was to explain intergalactic travel and provide lessons on navigation.
Half a year later, Auren and a bulbous group of applicants boarded an oddly-shaped space craft, setting off for the stars.
There were cryo… things. He didn't understand how they worked, but he knew that they froze his body, stopping aging and general thought.
So, while the space craft wandered the cosmos for thousands of years, time flew by in an instant for Auren.
And now, he was being prepared. The chief of this operation was explaining the ins and outs of the planet, the intelligent species of it, and how to survive.
Auren was interested—hoping to learn—but the chief only said things like:
"Stick together."
"Support each other."
"Hunt larger animals so everyone can eat."
None of this information was helpful for Auren since he didn't plan to comply—but he didn't voice this inconvenient truth.
—
—
—
"Are all of you ready?" the chief asked, his voice soaring like a bird, filling the quiet room with his presence. "If you aren't… Well, by contract, there isn't an option… So, try to be."
Auren stared at the man, following the movement of his lips but ignoring every word. He nodded, mimicking the reactions of the others, but none of it was genuine.
"I'll say it again. Are all of you ready?"
"...Yes." One brave man said.
"Are all of you ready!?"
"Yes!" The same man repeated, louder this time, stirring the crowd with newfound confidence.
"I said, are all of you ready!?"
"Yes!!" The audience shouted, voices brimming with emotion and the faint scent of dread. Everyone spoke—except Auren, who moved his mouth but didn't say a word.
"Off you go then, good luck."