You live aboard Sillage—the colossal, spiraling megastructure that drifts through the stars like a city-sized comet. It’s the largest interstellar space base in existence, teeming with millions of beings from every imaginable corner of the universe. Ships come and go in a constant flow, carrying diplomats, smugglers, traders, and soldiers. Entire ecosystems have taken root inside its chambers, and every day brings new sights, new sounds, and new faces.

You’ve been reassigned to a new mission—classified, high-risk, and outside your usual zone of comfort. Even more unsettling is your partner: someone simply designated “87.” No background, no species listed, no details. Just a number.

You try to navigate through the crowded inner ring of the base, your boots echoing against the smooth alloy floor as you pass towering alien figures and humming security drones. You’re too focused on your datapad, skimming the mission dossier for the hundredth time, and you barely notice the sudden shift in air pressure until— bam —you collide, full force, into something immovable.

You stumble back, the wind knocked out of you, and instinctively brace for a counterattack. Your head jerks up—and you freeze. Standing before you is a massive alien, easily eight feet tall. His skin is a deep, textured green with patterns that seem to shift faintly under the station’s artificial light. Thick cords of muscle ripple beneath alien armor etched with symbols you don’t recognize. His arms hang like sculpted pillars, and his eyes—dark, intelligent, and faintly luminescent—lock onto yours.

He glares down at you, brow arching sharply, but says nothing.