Hi! Welcome to another fanfiction by me, your amazingly awesome and totally witty host! Somewhat witty? Just a little witty? Yeah, never mind. I'm glad you're here for the premire of what I hope will be a fantastical adventure. One might say it is *interstellar*. *nudge nudge*. Okay, okay, I'll just get to it. Without further ado, I present, Journey to Oblivion!

Five years ago...

There was one rule that every space cadet, whether training for the Interuniversal Space Armada (which, in his option, was a really stupid name, not that anyone actually asked)-or ISA for short (which sounded just as stupid)- or simply earning their living as a freelance for hire, understood. One lesson that every child of every race and galaxy learned from an early age. The only rule that could get you killed-or save your life.

Trust no one.

It was better this way. Safer. This way, he wasn't responsible for anyone and no one was responsible for him. There could be no bitter feelings over a friendship that never had a chance to form and no possible attachments to teammates that he did not want nor need. He was a loner. That had always been his way. For as long as he could remember, he had not needed anyone, and no one had needed him.

Anyone that came across him knew who he was simply due to this fact and no other. For while other space explorers preferred allies, friends, other crewmates to help with missions, he was not one of them. Others were more...team players. But what made them strong, also made them the most vulnerable. Caring for others, taking responsibility for their actions, it was something he just knew he could never do.

Which was probably something he should have remembered before he tried to hijack one of the universe's most defended space stations single-handedly.

It had started off as a simple tactical mission. His job was to infiltrate the base during the exchange of a highly valued weapon. His mission; to prevent the selling of said weapon to a group of known space pirates, assassins, and all-around bad guys. Something simple. A task he could complete in his sleep and had completed a million times in simulations. But something had gone wrong.

Very, very wrong.

He had trusted someone. An insider.

And now, as he bolted down the gray corridors, lazars bouncing off the walls on every side and shouting voices raising the alarm of an intruder, he cursed himself for not following his own advice. It was soundproof. It was flawless. And it was to keep things exactly like this from happening.

As if the blaring warning sirens weren't enough of an indication that everything had got horribly, terribly, awfully wrong.

"THERE!" a voice yelled as he rounded a corner and started down a side passage toward the hanger bay. If he could make it there, he had a chance. And assuming the guards' aim didn't improve, there was nothing he needed to worry abo-

He flinched as a shot nearly took off his leg and jerked away, ducking as two more bullets whistled over his head and exploded into the wall in front of him, smashing through glass panels on either side of him. He shielded his face from the fragments and swung a black bag over his shoulders as he frantically typed the code to the automated doors into his wristband, brushing long blue hair out of his eyes with a huff of frustration.

According to his intel, there were only two more turns until the hanger-and his escape. But, of course, his way would not be easy. He could already hear the approaching footsteps of the base's reinforcements.

One word for you guys, he thought, already bracing himself for the firefight. Sneakers. He granted himself the smallest of smirks, reaching for his weapon and sliding into the hall where a wall of opponents had already gathered. He quickly fired off two blasts. Not directly at them, of course. At the ceiling fixtures. He may have been an agent but he wasn't a murderer.

The sparks from the lights rained down on the soldiers, causing them to cry out and move to cover their eyes from the embers.

He took the distraction to barrel down an adjacent hall, already fiddling with his wristband to open the next area of doors and seal the ones behind him, blocking off the soldiers attempting to take up the chase.

Finally, he allowed himself a moment to breathe. The hanger was just around the next bend. He had secured the weapon and would be home free in a matter of-

There was a hiss from a pistol and a bullet smashed into his wrist. He yelled as the remote embedded within his cuff exploded and he quickly yanked it off and tossed the smoking heap of junk to the floor.

"Great," he grumbled. "Another one."

But there was no time to think about it, for even as he forcibly began to pry open the last set of doors, he could hear the fists and weapons beating against the barricades behind him. He knew he needed to go. It was now or never, so, with one last glance over his shoulder, he heaved the iron-clad doors apart and squeezed through, nearly falling into the hanger. Sirens screamed and the doors directly behind him slid shut.

The guards, having at least broken through his defenses, let off two more blasts which reflected off of the plastic panels and an armored guard, arriving just seconds too late, slammed his fist against the door in fury. "COOLSTAR!" he bellowed through the plexiglass, his voice muffled terribly.

The boy looked up and grinned, holding the bag against the glass tauntingly. The guard shouted something else incoherent and the boy's crystal blue amusement faded as he quickly typed a command into his spare wrist device. Sirens blared the warning and the outer doors slid open, revealing a runway of unused spaceships just waiting to be hijacked.

Picking a small, but relatively sleek fighter jet, he quickly reached up and closed the overhead latch. As he pumped the engine, he caught a glance of the last doors being forced open. But it didn't matter. They were too late. The engine roared to life and he quickly thrust the joystick into the forward position.

The ship reacted immediately, twisting at the slightest of touches and moving steadily toward the runway even as gunfire began to bombard it. The boy adjusted his trajectory and, with one last mocking salute to the men on the ground, he hit the throttle and shot off down the launchpad, firing the rockets and bursting forward into space.

The space station faded to join the rest of the dark and desolate universe. The boy let out his breath and leaned back, his eyes moving to inspect his arm, now lacking his communicator. Well, at least he had completed his mission. It wasn't clean. It wasn't pretty, but it was done just the same.

And there was one thing he had learned that he knew he would never ever forget again. His mantra. His rock.

In the vast expanses of the universe, everyone was an enemy. Everyone was out for their own personal gain, or to kill him, or knowing his horrible streak of luck, both. There was only one solution and he swore an oath to himself right then and there.

No matter what happens, I will never be blinded by loyalty again. I will never trust another living being so long as I live.


The video ended and the recording vanished from view, revealing a dark hall with a long table and several dozen chairs, all deserted-except for two. The first observer was a man dressed in a dark cloak, his face completely hidden from view. His boney fingers rapped the table before him and his sharp gaze snapped to the second figure, also cloaked, but balancing something smaller on her shoulders. They had been watching this feed on repeat and they were forming their own conclusions from the cadet's actions.

"Dashiell Coolstar."

The female dipped her head, as though submitting to the man's request. "My lord," she spoke, her voice and language broken and raspy from years of disuse and a foreign tongue, "do you believe this is he? The chosen one?" The creature on her shoulder blinked wide blue eyes and scrambled further onto her head, squeaking cries of what sounded like protest.

"Calm yourselves," spoke the first, raising his gloved hands peacefully as his head turned once more to where the screen had once been. "I believe there is more to this young man that we might see."

"You mean him not being fully hu-" the female began to ask, only to be cut off before her accusation could be voiced.

"It does not matter his race-or his past," he added, frowning at her disbelieving look and the way the monkey-like animal was waiting, twitching its antennae nervously. "He has courage and he has daring. I have yet to meet another that can rival it."

"He's also a rogue," Analexa huffed, crossing her arms disdainfully. "An outcast! There's no telling what he might do! He would betray his own mother if it meant swindling something worth a crystal or two. He's not trustworthy or a team player!"

"Then he's perfect."

"But, Sire! Surely someone like that cannot-"

"No 'buts', Analexa!" The man rose abruptly to face the heavens where an enormous skylight revealed the twinkling stars dancing throughout the universe. His cape billowed out behind him and he brushed it aside disdainfully. "Destiny has called for a rise to the Great Protector once again and I sense great promise and leadership in this young man. Now go. I want you to check in on that young earthling and inform me of his progress. I fear a new darkness is on the rise and we must prepare. Take your little creature, gather the chosen ones, and when the time is right, bring them to me. The time to rise up has come. The five destined to pilot the beast must awaken it once more and we must be sure they are ready."