"It's simulated, right?"
Of course it's simulated.
No one told her this thing could really birth a cosmos.
Staring at the miniature scene now hovering before her, Silver Wolf fell silent.
A… pocket universe?
She could spot a fake at a glance; this wasn't a hologram or data model. She could see the laws inside knitting themselves together.
On instinct she aimed her 'controller'—a short wand with a plastic star glued on—at a dim patch of nebula. That sector quickly condensed and spun into a newborn galactic arm.
"…"
A flick of the wand nudged a planet's orbit in the fresh galaxy. The tiny world obediently veered off-course.
Silver Wolf set the wand down, grabbed the half-finished fizzy cola beside her, and chugged.
She had actually created a universe.
With a cheap-looking kiddie toy bought from a merchant called Cosmic Junk Company, she'd birthed a nascent cosmos.
Exhilarating!
Silver Wolf was hooked on this [game].
Yes—the genesis set—it was literally a children's game!
It was hands-down the most outrageous and entertaining thing she'd picked up in years.
Before digging into the company's background, though, she had to share the discovery with Kafka. After a few missions together, she and her organization mates had gotten close.
She lifted her communicator, tried to compose a text, then realized words wouldn't cut it. She dialled Kafka's video line instead.
"Kafka, look." Excitement tinged her voice. "New game, ultra-freeform sandbox. I just finished the starter map."
On the other end, Kafka was elegantly wiping down her submachine gun. She paused, violet eyes lifting to the feed Silver Wolf shared.
"Oh? Looks like a… refined orrery," she murmured, mild amusement in her tone.
"Hardly." Silver Wolf tapped the plastic-star wand; a star flared to life, radiating gentle light. "It's the genesis set, sold by 'Cosmic Junk Company'. Whole bundle: five thousand credit points—steal."
"Cosmic Junk Company?" Kafka echoed. "Sounds like a prank."
"Prank or not, it's fun," Silver Wolf said, eyes glued to her new toy. "These are real galaxies—an honest-to-goodness universe."
"Sounds like a delightful toy," Kafka replied, ever gentle. "Enjoy. But don't get too absorbed; we've a new mission soon—you and Star."
"Got it," Silver Wolf answered absently, already planning the evolution of her first civilization.
So fun!
"Better post a hiring ad; if junk demand spikes, service quality could tank."
Caelus slapped up a recruitment notice online, casual to the core: "Cosmic Junk Company hiring. Room and board provided. Job: fly a junk ship and sell junk. Requirements: thick skin, no aversion to garbage. Details in person."
He didn't expect takers; the outfit sounded like a scam—or pirate bait.
"Well, that was fast… We're in Talia Star System, not far from his ping. Follow the orbit and you're there in no time."
Still, applicants needed testing—or a few restraints.
When he arrived at the meet-spot, several candidates waited, one in a conical hat hiding his face.
"I'm here. Where are you?"
Caelus messaged; the hatted figure stepped forward.
But the silhouette made him frown; something felt off.
Why does that build look familiar?
The man lifted the hat.
Caelus:?
Dan Heng?!
Yet clearly—Dan Heng didn't know him.
"Hey, kid," Caelus said, arms folded, sizing him up. "Looks sturdy, but this job's trash duty. You okay with that?"
"Fine. Just need room and board."
Dan Heng nodded.
His last firm's freighter had blown after an Antimatter Legion raid.
Time for a new berth.
Caelus debated "do I confess?" versus "too much hassle" for half a second, then kept the act rolling.
Another legendary junk king once said: deep-space exploration is just picking up garbage in space.
Dan Heng leaving the Astral Express to go solo… no big deal.
"Great! I like a no-nonsense attitude." Caelus flashed a flawless grin, slapping Dan Heng's shoulder—still solid. "But you look sharp—how'd you end up… er, what brings you to my little outfit?"
Dan Heng's gaze was calm as a deep pool: "Ship lost. Need work and a place to stay."
"Understood. Space is risky," Caelus sympathized. "Stick with me—room, board, free roam! Our creed: find value in junk, miracles in trash!"
Patchwork hull plates and exposed conduits silently testified to the ship's rough history.
Dan Heng eyed the vessel, brow twitching almost imperceptibly, then followed in silence.
Inside was a flying scrapyard: odd junk sorted yet strewn, air thick with rust and machine oil.
"Your cabin—clean it yourself." Caelus pointed to a tidy but clearly salvaged compartment. "Settle in; we ship out to the next source soon."
Dan Heng set his small bag—clothes and basics—on the sole bunk and began neatening.
"…All right, Dan Heng, get comfy fast."
"Sure."
Dan Heng nodded.
Then he froze.
Wait.
When did I ever tell this boss my name?