Frederick, Maryland - 5:55 AM
Time Till Probes Hit - 6:00 AM
Lucien killed the Volvo’s engine. Valerian stepped onto the familiar driveway stones, inhaling crisp air that still carried a faint antiseptic tang. Four cars waited—his hatchback, his mother’s reinforced SUV, and the twins’ sedans. Home, he thought, though every breath reminded him of hospital nights.
Lucien’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Son, what are—”
Valerian’s gaze lifted to the dawn sky—once soft pastels, now pierced by silent, metallic shapes gliding downward with undeniable purpose. Drone?like yet unmistakably alien in silhouette, they hovered in the upper atmosphere, visible only by the faint red streaks trailing each one.
Blue: Ah, the welcoming committee. I trust you remembered to tip the void?faring bellhops?
Valerian swallowed. “The UAPs… are here.”
Lucien’s face went pale. “Good heavens… what are they?”
Blue: A question that plagues philosophers—and now, your dear old dad. Spoiler: it isn’t ‘more ramen.’
Valerian's internal response was a mental eye-roll. 'Focus, Valerian.'
“I—I don’t know, Dad. The news was vague. From what I see this may be something more. Assuming won't help though will it?”
Before his dad could respond in that moment, Veronica and Victoria tumbled onto the porch, disheveled and alarmed. “Dad? Valerian? What’s happening?” Veronica wide eyed with shock asked.
Victoria pointed skyward, voice shaking: “What… are those things?”
Lucien’s pragmatism snapped in.
“I don’t know, girls. Inside—now. We will discuss more after we get settled.”
He shepherded them toward the house as Valerian followed, heart hammering. Inside, the familiar warmth of home felt impossibly small against the unfolding spectacle outside. They gathered in the living room, eyes glued to the windows as more metallic shapes drifted into view.
Soon the comforting sounds of breakfast rose around them—bacon sizzled, coffee gurgled—each ordinary note a bizarre counterpoint to the extraordinary sight overhead.
Violet appeared in a sharp black pant?suit and crisp white shirt, her silver badge glinting on its chain. Her gaze, usually warm, was cool and assessing as she joined Lucien.
“Lucien, what in heaven’s name is happening?” she asked, concerned, her hand briefly touching his arm.
He described what they’d seen. Violet listened, brow furrowed. Then sighed to herself.
“The early reports mentioned unidentified aerial phenomena,” she said. “Very little concrete information. The precinct is on high alert and on standby, trying to make sense of this.” She gave a tight nod. “They’re advising against panic, but…with those things now here...” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken worry hanging between them.
Blue: Standby for what, precisely? A polite request to leave? Perhaps a strongly worded galactic memo?
Valerian suppressed a smile. 'You’re enjoying this far too much Blue. And you seem to be aware of what's going on...'
Blue: Enjoying? Please. I am merely observing the logical inconsistencies of your species’ reactions. And Of course I'm aware. I'm a cosmic being of great power. You will know in due time.
Violet moved toward the kitchen. “I need to head in. This will get… complicated.” She glanced at Valerian, motherly worry flickering in her eyes. “You doing okay, sweetie? Your dad’s staying home with you, it's the weekend so don't worry about classes.”
“Yeah, Mom. I'm fine. You don't have to worry. I will take a short break... until this whole thing blows over.”
“It’s my job to worry. Get enough rest, okay?” Violet ruffled his hair.
“Okay, okay.” Valerian tried to protest with a helpless smile. Lucien and the twins laughed at the scene, knowing full well Violet won't let Valerian go easily after this.
Violet laughed and looked at him for a moment then, then poured herself coffee, gaze fixed on the sky. “Those things… they’re unlike anything we’ve seen.” She sighed, touching Lucien’s cheek. “Keep the doors locked. Call me the moment anything changes, okay?” She kissed him, hugged the twins, then gave Valerian a searching look before stepping outside. The low rumble of her unmarked armored SUV backing out was a stark reminder: for her, this was a crisis, not curiosity.
Blue: And so, the apex predator of your local ecosystem departs. One wonders if her authority extends to interstellar visitors.
Valerian watched her go, a knot of unease tightening in his gut. The world had tilted on its axis—and the only one he could truly share it with was a sarcastic voice in his head. This was just the beginning.
Back in the kitchen, the aroma of bacon got his stomach rumbling in hunger. Veronica expertly flipped pancakes while Victoria arranged bacon strips on a paper?towel lined plate. Lucien watched them with a fond smile, though worry still furrowed his brow.
Veronica, as she slid a stack of golden pancakes onto a plate, looked directly at Valerian, her usual playful smirk softened with genuine concern. "Hey, you doing okay, Valerian? You gave us a real scare last night."
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Victoria nodded in agreement, her bright emerald eyes fixed on him. "Yeah, you look a little… out of it still." She placed the plate of bacon on the table near him.
Lucien pushed a steaming mug of coffee toward Valerian.
“Take it easy this morning, son. No need to rush back to normal.”
His eyes were shadowed with concern—mirroring the storm inside Valerian’s mind.
Valerian wrapped his fingers around the mug, drawing strength from its warmth. He set it down carefully, meeting his father’s gaze.
“I will,” he said, voice firmer than he felt. “I just need some time to… figure things out.”
Blue: Remarkable. Your biological units are displaying concern. Perhaps they sense the impending arrival of your far superior intellect and are preemptively mourning your inevitable obsolescence.
Valerian ignored the jab. This moment was about his family, not Blue’s antics.
“Did you see how shiny they were?” Victoria asked, sliding a plate of pancakes forward. She tapped her fork against the table, eyes on Valerian. “Almost like… chrome tears.”
Blue: Chrome tears? A poetic thought, but utterly inaccurate. They’re more like… stainless?steel sighs.
Veronica offered a gentle smile. “Just take it easy, okay? No heroics today.”
Blue: Heroics? The most strenuous feat he’s attempted this week is navigating the treacherous path from bed to gaming laptop.
Lucien chuckled softly. “You two look out for him better than I do. Just… relax, Valerian. No classes you can’t miss, right?”
Valerian shook his head. “Nothing crucial.” He lifted his mug again. “I’m going to clear my head. Upstairs.”
Veronica and Victoria exchanged a look and nodded.
“Alright,” Veronica said. “But let us know if you need anything.”
Lucien reached out, squeezing Valerian’s shoulder.
“Get some rest, son.”
As Valerian stepped away, their concern clung to him. The probes still drifted outside—silent sentinels reminding him of how little control he had. He squared his shoulders. He would find answers. Starting now.
The stairs creaked under his weight. With each step, determination settled in his chest.
Inside his room, he closed the door gently. Dust motes danced in the morning light. Posters, LED strips, and his gaming setup waited—unchanged yet somehow unreal. He’d return to Arcadia soon. Recovered. Ready.
If Blue doesn’t out me first.
Blue: Indeed. One does not simply allow a galactic emperor to remain in such a… physically compromised state.
Valerian rolled his eyes and grabbed a towel. A hot shower was his next command.
Steam enveloped him as water sluiced over his shoulders, each droplet washing away the last of his hesitation.
Blue: The ritualistic cleansing of the mortal coil. A necessary, if somewhat inefficient, process.
Valerian let the water run. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath.
“I need answers,” he murmured—half to himself, half to the sarcastic voice in his head. He might actually be going insane
Valerian smirked. Agency, he realized, was what he needed. It was about choosing what to do next. He stepped out of the shower, ready to take that first step toward reclaiming his reality. For the first ever, he felt... alive.
Stepping out of the shower, he dried off and pulled on a comfortable black hoodie and equally soft black sweatpants. He settled into his worn gaming chair at his desk, the familiar setup a small anchor in the storm of the morning's events. He looked around the room, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.
“Okay, Blue,” he said aloud, voice echoing in the quiet room. “You keep telling me I’m a galactic emperor—show me something real.”
Blue: A direct question. Refreshing. Simply state your query, Impirator. The keyword is… 'status'. You don't have say it out loud if you prefer a mental command will suffice.
Valerian hesitated for a moment, feeling a little ridiculous. Talking to a voice in his head that no one else could hear felt like a one-way ticket to a padded cell. But the curiosity was too strong to resist. So much crazy has happened already so what the hell? 'Status Page'.
The Blue Screen morphed into a long sheet of data.
Name: Valerian Beaumont
Title: Crowned Heir of the Crimson Empire
Sync Rate: 3.6%
Health: 88% — Mild Electrical Trauma
System Points (SP): 0
Reputation:
? Earth: Unknown
? Crimson Empire: Classified (Sync too low for access)
- Strength: 4
- Agility: 5
- Constitution: 10
- Reflexes: 3
- Perception: 15
- Catalyst (CAT): Inaccessible (Sync too low)
- Quantity Affinity (QFA): Inaccessible (Sync too low)
? [Shop]
? [Missions]
? [Tech Tree]
Modules Locked: [Empire Command] | [Fleet Manager]
(Requires Sync Rate ≥ 50%)
- Imperial Mind (Locked) — Requires Sync Rate ≥ 100%
- Ascendant Body (Pending Sync) — [??]
- God Protocol (Access Denied) — Incompatible Biometric Signature
"A walking contradiction. A godbrain stuffed inside a noodle body. Fixing you will be like upgrading an abacus into quantum computing—one traumatic push-up at a time. But hey, at least your brain’s not fried… yet."
Valerian stared, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes darted across the information.
“What… what is this?” he whispered, voice barely audible. He blinked rapidly, wondering if he was still dreaming, if the laptop’s jolt had fried his brain more than he thought.
Blue: A comprehensive overview of your current capabilities, Impirator. Though, I suspect much of it will come as… disappointing news.
“No, no, this isn’t… this can’t be real,” Valerian stammered, mind reeling. He remembered countless hours spent poring over similar screens in Endless Space 2—planning his empire’s expansion, tweaking ship designs, outmaneuvering alien adversaries. “The Crimson Empire… that was just a game. A stupid game I play in my dorm room.”
“How… how is this happening?” he breathed, terror and bewilderment coiling in his chest. He looked around his room—anime posters, sci?fi ship models—suddenly alien and insignificant. “Is this some kind of… hallucination? Did that shock mess me up worse than I thought?”
Blue: Hallucination? A rather pedestrian explanation for these extraordinary circumstances. While your recent… electrocution was undoubtedly a setback, this interface is quite real. As real as the alarming collection of empty beverage containers in your domicile.
“Who are you?” Valerian asked, voice steady. He scanned the room again, half-expecting another presence. “What are you, Blue? Are you… part of this… system?”
Blue: An excellent question, Impirator—one that’s plagued philosophers for millennia: ‘What am I?’ In my case, the answer is… multifaceted. For now, consider me your dedicated, if sarcastic, system interface. Think of me as the infinitely intelligent—and perpetually disappointed—co?pilot of your rather chaotic existence.
Blue’s answer was infuriatingly vague, yet undeniable. The status panel, the objects outside up in the atmosphere, the blue screen—it all tied back to the Crimson Empire. His empire. The one he’d believed existed only in code.
A wave of dizziness washed over him. This wasn’t just a strange morning; it was a complete upheaval of everything he thought he knew. His life—and reality—felt rewritten by a cosmic developer with a penchant for the absurd.
Blue: Welcome to the Crimson Throne, Impirator. Let’s begin.