Ezekiel
Half Pint
Eviledd1984
Guardian Angel Haruki
Supermaxx
GreenGrenade
Simple Unicycle
Lexisheeps
LG
T H E M I L K Y W A Y G A L A X Y
Space Sector 2814 | The Sol System
On January 11, 2007, FY-1C, a Chinese weather satellite in low Earth orbit, was destroyed. On January 14th, the United States accused China of using anti-satellite weaponry, a fact that China would deny until January 23rd.
With a mass of 750 kilograms, the destruction of FY-1C was the largest creation event for space debris, with more than 2,000 pieces of notable shrapnel and an estimated 150,000 particles traveling at a speed of several hundred miles per hour, more than 500 miles above the planet.
As of December 2019, more than 3,000 pieces of debris from FY-1C have been flagged as a threat to the International Space Station.
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THE INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION
L O W E A R T H O R B I T
Fifteen days.
It’d be another twelve before a Russian resupply mission to the ISS would supply their re-entry vehicle to return to Earth. Until then, Commander Albert Michaels and Lieutenant Micah Flint were NASA’s chosen lab rats for carrying out experiments and surveys aboard the station -- not the least of which was the ongoing attempt to understand the effects of low gravity environments on the human body.
Oddly enough, the timing had put them in a rather unique position to record a phenomenon that might have otherwise escaped scrutiny. What it was, exactly, was still a matter of conjecture. It was definitely a spike in the electromagnetic spectrum that was detected inside the Van Allen radiation belt. The first had been along the outer belt, with a secondary bloom and then a third that had been an exponentially more significant increase in the readings, located in the inner belt.
Albert had gone to check on the Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer, in order to pull the readings from there for comparison against the terrestrial sensors.
“Alpha Station, this is Kennedy. Over.”
With the EM flare in the Van Allen belts being the day’s hot topic, Micah didn’t think twice when the radio crackled. Instead, floating over toward the intercom, the astronaut toggled the station’s internal communications as he announced, “Mission Control’s on the line.”
“Alpha Station, this is Kennedy. Over.”
Drifting over to the external communications panel, the American pilot donned a headset. Toggling a few switches, he announced, “Kennedy, this is Alpha Station. Read you lima charlie. Over.”
Albert was just gliding down into the module when the response came back. Flipping another switch, Micah put the audio over the external speakers. “Alpha Station, we have a malfunction light on the S2 board. Can you confirm? Over.”
The two astronauts exchanged a look. Micah floated away, toward the mentioned panel, as Albert took his place by the comms port. “Kennedy, this is Commander Michaels. Standby. Over.”
Micah looked back from the console. At the faint shake of the man’s head, Albert said, “Kennedy, we are status green. Repeat. Status green on S2. Over.”
“Alpha Station, this is Kennedy. Understand status green. We show carbon dioxide readings increasing. How you? Over.”
The atmospheric monitors were over on Michaels’ side. Drifting away a moment, the man glanced at the dials. Then he checked them again. Floating back to the panel, Albert looked straight at Micah as he said, “Kennedy, Alpha Station. They’re up by one-point-eight percent.”
Micah inverted himself in mid-air, reaching underneath the console. “Let me try re-setting the switchboard,” the pilot stated aloud.
“Kennedy, Micah’s resetting the fault on the S2. Standby. Over.”
There was a minute pause. The lights went out on the switchboard, as Micah forced the breaker reset. Then, all the lights came on a few seconds later. As the diagnostics trickled through the start up routines, a number of indicators cycled from red to amber to green.
All except for one.
A bright red indicator light was showing.
“Kennedy, Alpha Station. We have a critical failure on the ELSS. Over.”
It’d be another twelve before a Russian resupply mission to the ISS would supply their re-entry vehicle to return to Earth. Until then, Commander Albert Michaels and Lieutenant Micah Flint were NASA’s chosen lab rats for carrying out experiments and surveys aboard the station -- not the least of which was the ongoing attempt to understand the effects of low gravity environments on the human body.
Oddly enough, the timing had put them in a rather unique position to record a phenomenon that might have otherwise escaped scrutiny. What it was, exactly, was still a matter of conjecture. It was definitely a spike in the electromagnetic spectrum that was detected inside the Van Allen radiation belt. The first had been along the outer belt, with a secondary bloom and then a third that had been an exponentially more significant increase in the readings, located in the inner belt.
Albert had gone to check on the Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer, in order to pull the readings from there for comparison against the terrestrial sensors.
“Alpha Station, this is Kennedy. Over.”
With the EM flare in the Van Allen belts being the day’s hot topic, Micah didn’t think twice when the radio crackled. Instead, floating over toward the intercom, the astronaut toggled the station’s internal communications as he announced, “Mission Control’s on the line.”
“Alpha Station, this is Kennedy. Over.”
Drifting over to the external communications panel, the American pilot donned a headset. Toggling a few switches, he announced, “Kennedy, this is Alpha Station. Read you lima charlie. Over.”
Albert was just gliding down into the module when the response came back. Flipping another switch, Micah put the audio over the external speakers. “Alpha Station, we have a malfunction light on the S2 board. Can you confirm? Over.”
The two astronauts exchanged a look. Micah floated away, toward the mentioned panel, as Albert took his place by the comms port. “Kennedy, this is Commander Michaels. Standby. Over.”
Micah looked back from the console. At the faint shake of the man’s head, Albert said, “Kennedy, we are status green. Repeat. Status green on S2. Over.”
“Alpha Station, this is Kennedy. Understand status green. We show carbon dioxide readings increasing. How you? Over.”
The atmospheric monitors were over on Michaels’ side. Drifting away a moment, the man glanced at the dials. Then he checked them again. Floating back to the panel, Albert looked straight at Micah as he said, “Kennedy, Alpha Station. They’re up by one-point-eight percent.”
Micah inverted himself in mid-air, reaching underneath the console. “Let me try re-setting the switchboard,” the pilot stated aloud.
“Kennedy, Micah’s resetting the fault on the S2. Standby. Over.”
There was a minute pause. The lights went out on the switchboard, as Micah forced the breaker reset. Then, all the lights came on a few seconds later. As the diagnostics trickled through the start up routines, a number of indicators cycled from red to amber to green.
All except for one.
A bright red indicator light was showing.
“Kennedy, Alpha Station. We have a critical failure on the ELSS. Over.”
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M E T R O P O L I S
T H E C I T Y O F T O M O R R O W
The boy sat out on the fire escape.
The bare iron of the rickety, scaffold-like lattice that snaked up the side of the mid-century brownstone was rusting against the rapidly aging structure. Graffiti marked up the lower part of the building, layers of paint fading against broken plaster and broken brick, with trash lining the alleyway below.
A pair of hand-me-down headphones -- the cushion pad missing from the left ear -- hugged the side of the child’s head, the music turned up and still unable to drown out the sounds coming from the apartment behind him.
A flash of light was followed by a sudden darkness and a loud crash. Someone had thrown a lamp.
His parents fought for a lot of reasons. His father drank too much. His mother smoked too much. He was laid off from work. Her job didn’t pay enough. They were behind on bills.
But, mostly, they fought about him.
“That lil crotch goblin’s your blood. Ain’t no cousin of mine a god damn mutie!”
“Fuck you! Fucking dad of the god damn year. You ain’t had a job in weeks.”
“Yeah, and if it wasn’t for the mutants in this fucking family, maybe we’d be able to get the fuck out of this god damn mutant town.”
Tears slipped down either side of the child’s face. Large, amber eyes peering out from behind a rubbery flesh that was a brilliant orange, sparkling like sequins as the low light glinted off the fish-like scales. Fins extended out from the bald head.
Sammy was different.
Sammy was a mutant. Because of that, the only place in Metropolis that they could find a landlord willing to take them was here. A three block area of the slums that were referred to as Mutant Town. His mother had grown up here, dreamed of leaving and wound up pregnant her senior year of high school with a mutant baby that had bound her back to the very legacy of poverty that she’d longed to escape from.
His parents weren’t married. His dad had tried to skip out on them, but after a few years the child support garnishment had caught up with him, and he’d moved in then. At that point, it had become a cycle of abuse, rehab, and foster homes.
The familiar sound of police sirens echoed up from the street. Blue and red lights reflected off the walls, as a police car pulled into the alley off the street.
Maybe this was another night where he’d be taken to sleep in a different home…
A flash of lightning overhead drew his eyes upward. There was no thunder. Just pulses, like heat lightning, coloring the sky.
Except the lightning was... green?
Rising up from his seat, the deformed mutant clung to the fire escape even as he strained and squinted to make out what was happening above.
There was another flash and flicker of emerald lightning, followed by something like a spark. That spark was falling from out of the clouds.
Then it started to zig-zag. Like a drunken butterfly, it weaves an erratic path in the air, skimming over the top of Metropolis’ high rises. Dipping perilously, struggling to lift itself, the green spark clipped the side of a nearby building. Now it was tumbling, slipping lower and lower. As it came nearer, it seemed to bounce off the side of the neighboring apartments, bouncing off into the alley where Sammy stood.
When that happened, he had a glimpse of the green light as it passed. It was a boy. A boy engulfed in green flame.
Bouncing off the side of the building, the flaming boy smacked into a dumpster and then tumbled out into the alley floor below.
The bare iron of the rickety, scaffold-like lattice that snaked up the side of the mid-century brownstone was rusting against the rapidly aging structure. Graffiti marked up the lower part of the building, layers of paint fading against broken plaster and broken brick, with trash lining the alleyway below.
A pair of hand-me-down headphones -- the cushion pad missing from the left ear -- hugged the side of the child’s head, the music turned up and still unable to drown out the sounds coming from the apartment behind him.
A flash of light was followed by a sudden darkness and a loud crash. Someone had thrown a lamp.
His parents fought for a lot of reasons. His father drank too much. His mother smoked too much. He was laid off from work. Her job didn’t pay enough. They were behind on bills.
But, mostly, they fought about him.
“That lil crotch goblin’s your blood. Ain’t no cousin of mine a god damn mutie!”
“Fuck you! Fucking dad of the god damn year. You ain’t had a job in weeks.”
“Yeah, and if it wasn’t for the mutants in this fucking family, maybe we’d be able to get the fuck out of this god damn mutant town.”
Tears slipped down either side of the child’s face. Large, amber eyes peering out from behind a rubbery flesh that was a brilliant orange, sparkling like sequins as the low light glinted off the fish-like scales. Fins extended out from the bald head.
Sammy was different.
Sammy was a mutant. Because of that, the only place in Metropolis that they could find a landlord willing to take them was here. A three block area of the slums that were referred to as Mutant Town. His mother had grown up here, dreamed of leaving and wound up pregnant her senior year of high school with a mutant baby that had bound her back to the very legacy of poverty that she’d longed to escape from.
His parents weren’t married. His dad had tried to skip out on them, but after a few years the child support garnishment had caught up with him, and he’d moved in then. At that point, it had become a cycle of abuse, rehab, and foster homes.
The familiar sound of police sirens echoed up from the street. Blue and red lights reflected off the walls, as a police car pulled into the alley off the street.
Maybe this was another night where he’d be taken to sleep in a different home…
A flash of lightning overhead drew his eyes upward. There was no thunder. Just pulses, like heat lightning, coloring the sky.
Except the lightning was... green?
Rising up from his seat, the deformed mutant clung to the fire escape even as he strained and squinted to make out what was happening above.
There was another flash and flicker of emerald lightning, followed by something like a spark. That spark was falling from out of the clouds.
Then it started to zig-zag. Like a drunken butterfly, it weaves an erratic path in the air, skimming over the top of Metropolis’ high rises. Dipping perilously, struggling to lift itself, the green spark clipped the side of a nearby building. Now it was tumbling, slipping lower and lower. As it came nearer, it seemed to bounce off the side of the neighboring apartments, bouncing off into the alley where Sammy stood.
When that happened, he had a glimpse of the green light as it passed. It was a boy. A boy engulfed in green flame.
Bouncing off the side of the building, the flaming boy smacked into a dumpster and then tumbled out into the alley floor below.
