Story

3465 AD.

The world exploded into a vibrant display of fireworks.

A smirk slowly began to radiate from my face as I stood watching the flames leap higher and higher. There was no time to change my mind. Fifty-seven people: forty men, eleven women and six children. My victims' lives were now only a surreal reflection, a drop in the sea of the destruction that was to come. Still, they had been human. On account of that fact, something cruel deep inside of me made me feel a pang of guilt. I washed it away.

The flames seemed to mock me. The wailing sirens of the alarms danced amongst the firestorm of my own ambition. It wouldn't be long.

I watched intently as the judge's gavel made the definitive strike in the case. The sound resonated throughout the room for what seemed to be an eternity. It was an old tradition carried over into a world of novelty; a mere echo of what had been, a formality only observed due to lack of an alternative. It made no difference. I knew where I was going.

Screaming girls yelled out to me from below as I was flown to my fate. They would go home and watch their screens in anticipation, to see if I would make it past the shattered remnants of the hull of the last poor condemned soul. They had no idea. The lives of the aliens were the only cost, the tally of destruction the only measure in the competition. The prison of the day was the cramped cockpit. The condemnation was a life as a celebrity; a celebrity doomed to his inevitable death against the hoards of the enemy.

This was entertainment.

Dominance of the galaxy by mankind for the past century had infused the world with an infallible sense of egotism. It was a plague, inflamed only by its own evident legitimacy. And the millions of slaughtered alien attackers were the only witnesses to its brutality. It was a vat of arrogance; the only way to empty it was to strain yourself to one pail after another, after every effort the pile of dead aliens adding twice as much vile liquid as you had just taken out. It was a losing game.

I was here to change all that.

It always ended the same. The dramatic explosion, the death tally, the whine of the hordes of fans, the clinking of drinks and the exchange of wealth. It was always the same. Moments later, the weapon would be activated and the fleet of invaders would be obliterated, as an overgrown giant would idly swat a fly on its shoulder. The next fly that landed would inevitably echo its predecessor. It would be allowed to linger for amusement, with criminals unworthy of their crimes plucking its wings off, one by one. As soon as the entertainment was over, the fly had outlived its uses. One would think the flies would catch on, realize the futility of attempting to conquer the beast. But when you can't leap off of the easel, seeing the picture was a liberty you didn't know existed. This was justice.

I had been briefed. The specs of my ship were impressive. The justice system was nothing, if not fair. My enemies were nothing, if not stupid. My task was to survive; my fate was to die. I was the gladiator, the galaxy my battleground. The only lingering hope was to make some mark of graffiti on the wall of heroes, of those who had managed to prolong their destruction for split seconds longer than their predecessors. These were our heroes: those condemned to the fawning women, to winning the bets and providing distraction for their ever-shortening interlude between life and death.

But I was unlike all of my predecessors.

I wasn't here just to survive.

I was here to win.