RECORDING 23

  After my interview with the admiral, he sent me on my way, directing me to an old acquaintance of his—someone who had once led the administration on Atmos, a planet once conquered by the Universal Union. This man had been the mastermind behind the Atremos Rebellions, which had raged throughout the early 2040s, during the Union's expansion.

  With a sense of both anticipation and uncertainty, I managed to hitch a ride aboard a multiversal freighter traveling toward the newly independent planet of Atremos. Now free from the Union's grip, Atremos had become a symbol of Peace and resilience amongst the new Multiversal order. I was determined to sit down with the former leader of the resistance and hear firsthand accounts of how the Union’s first contact had unfolded, as well as the brutal path they carved during their early days of multiversal expansion.

  I traveled through the rifts on an old freighter, entering Universe 308, and the journey was long but necessary. The mysteries of the Union’s rise to power were too vast, too complex, to ignore. I hoped that this interview would give me crucial insight into the Universal Union's machinations, and perhaps, reveal the hidden truths about its true nature.

  As I disembarked on Atmos, a world shaped by both rebellion and peace, I felt the weight of history pressing in. It was time to uncover the story of the Union’s invasion—its first contact with alien worlds—and how their expansion forever altered the course of the multive- huh wait, that's a little to dramatic, let me try that again

  I arrived at one of Atremos' local bars, the Lucky Gorabesh, a worn but cozy establishment, the kind where the smell of strong liquor and the hum of low conversations fill the air, one of the few to survive the Allied Counter offensive in the war. Krell was easy to spot—a massive figure, towering above everyone else with his multiple arms and reptilian skin, a true representation of his Atmosian heritage. His presence was commanding, yet there was a certain calm about him as he nursed a drink in one of the quieter corners of the bar.

  Following the admiral's directions, I approached him and introduced myself. The moment I mentioned my connection to the admiral and explained the purpose of my visit, Krell gave me a long, scrutinizing look. His eyes, yellow and cold, studied me as if weighing my worth before deciding whether I was trustworthy enough for an interview. After a long pause, he finally nodded, signaling for me to take a seat across from him.

  With his permission granted, I knew this interview was going to provide some much-needed answers.

  Krell’s gravelly voice rumbles as he eyes the recorder with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

  Krell: "So your punny little device is going to record me with that, huh?"

  Interviewer:: "Yep, may be old, but nothing beats a good old recorder, Mr Krell."

  Krell lets out a low grunt, clearly unimpressed.

  Krell: "Hmph. Think whatever you like, human. But nothing beats a good holo-recorder. Talking conversations… that’s from experience in the spy ring. Gor lak bohin radison!"

  The sound of footsteps echoes, heavy and deliberate, reverberating through the floor. The air grows tense for a moment.

  Voicel: "Already? But you already had some!"

  The voice of a worker or companion can be heard, shouting from across the room.

  Voice: "Krell, you’re already 10 beers deep—"

  Krell interrupts with a booming command.

  Krell: "You heard what I said, boy. Now get me MORE!!"

  A brief pause, the clink of a glass, and then silence, as the bartender quickly complies.

  Interviewer: "Alright, now that we’re settled, would you like to begin?"

  Krell takes a deep drag from his cigar, his sharp yellow eyes glinting in the dim light of the bar. The faint murmur of other patrons is barely audible in the background.

  Krell: "You wanna know about the Union and their first take in their multiversal expansions , huh? About how they came, about how we fought... Well, sit tight, human. It’s not a pretty story. And I’m not sure you’re ready for it."

  He leans back in his chair, clearly reflecting on the years that had shaped his life, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his glass. A long, drawn-out silence hangs in the air before he speaks again, his tone shifting into something deeper, more introspective.

  Krell lets out a deep breath, taking a slow sip of his drink before leaning forward, his reptilian fingers drumming lightly on the table.

  Krell: "Well, it was… what? 7,000 years ago when our planet first met the Union. Back then, we were still a humble world—not even fully unified yet. Nation-states, rivalries, politics… all of that nonsense. But we had just taken our first steps into galactic expansion. And if I remember right, I myself was the Vock Holrboch—or, as you humans would put it, the Vice President—of the most powerful nation at the time: The Republic of Dorckres."

  He lets out a short chuckle, shaking his head as if the memory itself is too distant to feel real anymore.

  Krell: "Anyway, the contact… the contact."

  A brief pause, as if the weight of that moment still lingers in his mind.

  Krell: "When we first came into contact, it was purely by accident, mind you. Back then, every major nation was sending out expeditions, hoping to find new reserves of lithium, plutonium—one of the newly discovered resources at the time, powerful enough to power whole planets. Even oil, though that was more of an old-world relic. Every faction wanted control over these resources, and competition was fierce. Then, one day, one of our vessels—just a standard mining expedition—stumbled upon something unexpected. A Union ship, doing the same thing we were."

  Krell leans back, his yellow eyes narrowing slightly as he recalls the moment.

  Krell: "And let me tell you, when that news got back to our people, the lab boys? Oh, they were ecstatic. You should have seen ‘em—running around, shouting, celebrating. Finally, we had proof. Proof that we weren’t alone in this ancient, forsaken universe. Or… at least, that’s what the head scientist, Kriel, said. Something poetic like that. You know how scientists are."

  He exhales slowly, watching the faint curls of smoke drift from his cigar before shaking his head.

  Krell: "But looking back, I wonder… did we find them? Or did they find us?"

  For a moment, there’s only silence, the low hum of the bar in the background. Krell’s fingers tighten around his glass.

  Krell: "Because if we had known what was coming… we might’ve left that ship alone."

  He started to look into the distance, a sad gaze in his eyes

  Interviewer: "Eh-hem—anyways, Krell, if I can call you by your first name? I would—"

  Krell: "Ha! We Atmosians pride ourselves on having single-word names! To have a second is an insult!"

  Interviewer: "Ah, right, sorry about that… Anyways, when you first came into contact with the Union, did they immediately try to subjugate your planet? Like the U.U.A., the Andy Empire, and, well, you know the others."

  Krell scoffs, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a thud.

  Krell: "No, not entirely. Those humans and the other… lesser races love to demonize the Union, twisting history to fit their little narratives. You see, when first contact was made, it was actually relatively peaceful. The Union wasn’t trying to play the role of a colonizer—not at first, anyway. They even put laws in place to protect our planet, our nations, from invasion. And they weren’t from our universe. That was made clear early on. The Union had crossed the veil from another reality, and they claimed they weren’t here to conquer. Just… to exist alongside us."

  Krell leans forward slightly, his expression momentarily softer, contemplative.

  Krell: "Hell, I even met the Director himself during the Meeting of Nations. Back then, I thought he was a kind soul, a visionary leader with a genuine desire for peace."

  A bitter laugh escapes him, the amusement failing to reach his reptilian eyes.

  Krell: "Or at least… that’s what I thought before the Great Invasion."

  A pause. The hum of the bar fills the silence before he continues.

  Krell: "For a time, things were good—especially for the Republic of Dorckres. We were their number one trading partner. Our economy thrived, our people prospered, and everything seemed stable. That is, until the rumors started."

  He taps his fingers against the table, a rhythmic, almost impatient sound.

  Krell: "Whispers of the Union expanding. Quiet invasions. Unseen battles in distant star systems. At first, we dismissed it—after all, there was a whole galaxy left unexplored. Why would we worry? But then…"

  Krell stops, his fingers tightening into a fist against the table. His voice drops lower, edged with something darker.

  Krell: "Then, the veil was lifted, and we saw the Union for what it truly was."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Krell: "One of our spy vessels—an upgraded model, a gift from the Union itself—was sent to verify the rumors. To the eighty hells, I thought it was a brother’s joke! I mean, the Union was one of our greatest benefactors. Why would they be out there committing genocide? Why would they ever try to take over our beloved planet?"

  He exhales sharply, shaking his head, as if still trying to convince himself of the absurdity of it all.

  Krell: "Then, a couple of weeks later, that ship returned—or what was left of it."

  Krell’s jaw tightens, his fingers tapping once again against the table, but slower this time, more deliberate.

  Krell: "It limped back to one of our outer colonies, burned beyond recognition. Looked like a Great Mother Dragon had ripped it apart with her claws. And this wasn’t just any ship, mind you. It was one of our newest stealth frigates—state-of-the-art. Nano-defense shields, kinetic railguns, quantum cloaking—the whole damned ordeal."

  Krell leans back in his seat, exhaling through his nostrils, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

  Krell: "To see it destroyed like that—it sent shockwaves through the entire Republic. The public was told it was an accident, of course. Some kind of ‘navigation failure’ or ‘pirate ambush.’ But behind closed doors? Between me and Presigfka—the President—the truth was much worse."

  He goes silent for a moment, his claws flexing slightly as if remembering the weight of the classified reports in his hands.

  Krell: "The data logs, the distress recordings… They told a very different story."

  He exhales sharply, his claws tightening into a fist against the table.

  Krell: "That ship—our ship—had gone deep into uncharted space, following the whispers, the rumors. What it found… gods help us."

  Krell leans forward, his voice dropping to a low growl.

  Krell: "An armada. A Union armada, hanging over some unknown planet like a swarm of locusts. They weren’t just occupying it—they were erasing it. We hacked into their comms, patched into their encrypted transmissions. The justification?"

  Krell’s expression darkens, his yellow eyes burning with the memory.

  Krell: "'Too violent,' they said. 'Uncompliant in the ways of peace.'"

  He spits the last word like venom, shaking his head.

  Krell: "I heard it myself. Some Union commander, cold as the void, declaring the planet a lost cause. Not worth integration. Not worth saving. So they burned it. Cities, forests, oceans—it didn’t matter. The orbital bombardment was relentless. They turned an entire civilization into dust because it didn’t fit into their 'grand vision' of order."

  Krell exhales, rubbing his temple as if trying to ward off the ghosts of the past.

  Krell: "That’s when we knew. The Union wasn’t some benevolent force, some great peacemaker across the stars. No. It was a monster. A beast that smiled in your face while sharpening the knife behind its back. And we? We had been feeding it, welcoming it into our homes like fools."

  Krell: "The day we saw that race erased from existence, vaporized in an instant… That was the day everything changed. It was a wake-up call, one we couldn’t ignore. We knew what was coming. The Union wasn’t done with us. So, in secret, we began to prepare for the inevitable. We started pulling together—nations, tribes, even some of the alien factions we’d once treated as outsiders. Everyone who felt the Union's boot on their neck came to us, and we built an armada, one that could stand up to the inevitable invasion. We couldn't afford to wait any longer."

  His voice becomes more intense, the weight of the history burning in each word.

  Krell: "But the Union didn’t miss a beat. They saw it. We tried to keep it quiet, but it didn’t matter. The Director, I’m sure it was him, manipulated the system, twisted the narrative. Our navy build-up, our cutting of ties—suddenly, we were a threat. And so, the Director moved to neutralize us before we could become a real problem."

  He pauses, eyes narrowed, as the scene shifts in his mind, the haunting realization creeping back.

  Krell: "They didn’t just label us a threat. No, they went further. They wanted to pacify us. They saw the unity we’d formed, the strength we’d built, and they knew that if they didn’t act fast, they might lose everything. So, they removed our protections, one by one, citing our military buildup as a threat to galactic peace. Just another excuse to squeeze the life out of us before we could get too strong."

  The tension in his posture grows as he continues, remembering the critical moments that followed.

  Krell: "But that didn’t stop us. We stood together, all of us. For the first time in centuries, the Atmosians weren’t divided. No nation, no religion, no old divisions—just a single people, ready to face whatever the Union threw at us. We thought we were prepared. But the truth is, nothing could have prepared us for what came next."

  He takes a deep breath, as though bracing himself for the painful memory.

  Krell: "In just a week, everything went silent. Our outer colonies, where we had sent our most advanced outposts—they went dark. No comms. No signals. Gone. And our fleets, our 5 million strong ships, they were all stationed above Atremos, waiting for what we thought would be the first wave of an invasion. We were ready. We stood united. We braced for impact, expecting a fight to defend our homes."

  He shakes his head, a bitter smile crossing his lips.

  Krell: "But we didn’t expect him. The Director himself."

  His voice drops, a touch of disbelief still present, as if the memory was too much to fully grasp.

  Krell: "When he arrived, it wasn’t with the fleets we had expected. It was with something far worse. The Director didn’t come to fight… he came to break us."

  Krell: "I was in the bunker with the President when we first got wind of it. At first, it seemed like nothing—just a small blip on our sensors. We thought it was nothing more than a stray probe or some insignificant object drifting through the void. So we did what any military would do. We sent out a few glorak homing beams and a couple of fighters just to investigate. No big deal, right?"

  His voice lowers, a shadow creeping into his words as the memory plays out.

  Krell: "But then... it happened. That thing—whatever it was—blew through our ships like they were made of paper. Just like that. In a matter of minutes, we watched our fleet of 50 million vessels get reduced to 30, then 20. It was... incomprehensible. A singular object, moving with such power that it cut through our advanced ships as though they were nothing more than toys."

  He leans forward slightly, as if reliving the horror of that moment, the realization setting in.

  Krell: "Our holo-feed couldn't believe it. We couldn’t believe it. We thought we were ready. We had prepared for years—built up our fleets, our armada—but this... this was something else. It was like a god had descended upon us, bringing retribution for some forgotten sin."

  He lets out a breath, the bitterness and disbelief still lingering in his tone.

  Krell: "In the span of just minutes, everything we had worked for—everything we believed in—was being torn apart. And then... that thing... it spoke."

  The atmosphere in the bar shifts, Krell's body tense, his voice taking on a more ominous tone.

  Krell: "That’s when we realized—we weren't just fighting an enemy. We were fighting a force beyond anything we could ever understand."

  Krell: "I watched as the thing tore through our fleet, tossing ships like they were nothing. Homing beams, laser turrets, even our ground railguns—they did nothing. It barely even seemed to notice. And then, in a haze of confusion and fear, the President ordered the satellite to zoom in on the object. What we saw sent chills down my spine."

  He leans in closer, his voice low and steady, as if the memory still weighs on him.

  Krell: "It was a human. A buff one, wearing a suit, sunglasses, and with some sort of breathing apparatus over his mouth. But that’s not what hit me. It was the aura around him. The confidence. And then... I recognized him. It was the Director. The same man I’d met in those first contact meetings all those years ago. Back then, he seemed like a diplomat—calm, composed, even kind. But now?"

  He shakes his head slowly, a bitter edge to his tone.

  Krell: "Now, he was a god in a suit. I knew in that moment that we were finished. He picked up a few of our carriers and threw them at the capitals of nations around our beloved planetl, reducing half of our major cities to rubble. It was like watching a child destroy his toys, and we were nothing more than pieces on the floor."

  The weight of the memory hangs in the air as Krell takes another drink. His eyes darken as he continues.

  Krell: "Then, he came to the bunker. The President and I were there, the last line of defense. And when the Director stepped in, I still remember it like it was yesterday. He looked at us and said—"

  He mimics the Director’s calm, chilling tone, his voice colder than before.

  Krell: "‘Ah, Mr. President, Vice President, it’s nice to see you again. Would you please surrender? I would hate to have a blotch on my suit and cause more bloodshed.’"

  Krell’s face hardens, recalling the President’s defiant response.

  Krell: "The President, of course, barked back. He swore he would never submit. And then... in the blink of an eye, the Director punched him—into atoms. Vaporized, right in front of me. And then, he turned to me. Asked me the same thing. ‘And you?’"

  He lets out a long, heavy breath, the weight of the moment still hanging in his voice.

  Krell: "I surrendered. Not just for myself, but for the whole planet. What else could I do? The President was gone, and we were already defeated. And just like that... the Union took everything. The rest is history."

  Krell’s voice grows even quieter as he reflects on the destruction and the weight of his choices.

  Krell: "When the Director did what he did, I... I thought it would end there. That once we surrendered, it would be over. I couldn’t have been more wrong."

  He pauses for a long moment, his yellow eyes staring into the empty space, as though reliving those horrifying days.

  Krell: "After the President was gone, the rest of us—those who were still alive—we were left to watch as the Union swept through our cities. Half of our major capitals turned to ash in a matter of hours. I stood there in the bunker, watching the screens flash with destruction after destruction... and I felt the blood of millions on my hands."

  He clenches his fists tightly, his claws digging into the table as his voice shakes with emotion.

  Krell: "It wasn’t just the fleet that fell. No. It was the cities, the families, the people who’d fought so hard for freedom. They were caught in the crossfire. They didn’t deserve to die like that. We didn't deserve to be crushed under the weight of someone else's ambition. And yet… here we were."

  He exhales sharply, his eyes becoming distant as the ghosts of the past haunt him.

  Krell: "I remember the cries. The screams of civilians, of soldiers who had no chance. Their homes—destroyed. The survivors—scattered, hunted down, and forced to live under the Union’s boot. How many millions? How many lives were lost because we—because I—thought we could stand up to the Union?"

  Krell’s tone hardens, but the bitterness in his voice is now mixed with an undeniable sense of guilt.

  Krell: "I was supposed to lead. I was supposed to protect my people, to guide them through the storm. But I failed them. And now, as I sit here, I can still hear their voices, calling out in the night. Their blood stains my hands. I made the choice to surrender, yes... but in that moment, I sealed the fate of millions."

  He runs his claws through his reptilian scales, his eyes never leaving the table.

  Krell: "It wasn’t just the fall of a planet. It was the fall of everything we stood for. And every time I look back on those days, I know—deep down—that I could have fought harder. I should have fought harder. But instead... I gave in. I let the Union win."

  A silence falls between us. The weight of the truth hangs heavy, as if the very air around us has thickened with the burden Krell carries.

  Krell: "And so, here I am—alive, still breathing, while the ashes of my people scatter across the stars. My guilt is all I have left. For every lost soul, for every life extinguished in that war… I live with it. Every. Single. Day."

  He takes another deep drag from his cigar, the bitter taste of regret lingering on his tongue.

  Krell: "But I’ll never forget. Not the faces of the fallen, not the screams in the streets. And maybe… maybe that’s all I have left to offer them. My guilt. And the truth. Because it’s not just the Director who’s to blame for what happened. It’s us. The ones who surrendered. The ones who didn’t see the danger until it was too late."

  His voice grows quieter now, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to me.

  Krell: "The Union didn’t just destroy our world—they destroyed our spirit. And after that, all we could do was try to survive under their control. But at what cost?"

  He falls silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.