A Morning of Unwanted Rituals
Soft music drifted through the ship's corridors, a slow, ambient hum of synth-strings and old Terran jazz. The Expedian 1.0 vibrated slightly as it tore through the fabric of space-time, streaking past the distant glow of dying stars.
Inside the dimly lit quarters, Holden Kash lay sprawled on his bunk, cocooned in his blanket like a hibernating space worm. His silken sleeping mask—a relic of his alleged past life of luxury—remained firmly in place, despite the rhythmic banging on his door.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Breakfast duty, Kash."
No response.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"ETA to Virgon—eleven hours. Get up."
Holden groaned, rolling over with dramatic flair, adjusting his mask as if he could simply will reality away. "Go away, you massive fridge."
Onions wasn't moved. He'd done this routine too many times to count. His knuckles pounded harder, rattling the metal door. "I swear to the cosmos, Kash, if you don't get your lazy ass up—"
The door snapped open.
Holden, hair a mess, shirt rumpled, squinted at the towering enforcer with pure, undiluted resentment. "You ever hear of knocking softer? Some of us are recovering from near-death experiences."
Onions crossed his arms, unimpressed. "You were watching a movie and eating space popcorn."
Holden scowled. "It was an intense film."
Before Onions could retort, Vernon Troppo materialized right behind Holden, eyes glinting eerily in the dim light.
Holden stiffened immediately.
That look.
It was the look Vernon always had before doing his thing.
Holden tried to step back, but Vernon was faster, his long, dexterous fingers drawing a single tarot card from his tattered deck.
"This one's yours."
Holden sighed. "No. Nope. I'm not doing this today."
Vernon tilted his head, unblinking. "This card is speaking to you. You need to see it."
Holden glared at him, then at Onions, who was just enjoying the free entertainment. "You're gonna let this happen? Again?"
Onions shrugged. "If I stop him, he'll just try again later even worse he may just turn it on me."
Vernon flipped the card over.
The image was haunting—three identical figures, standing side by side, but the one in the center had its head buried in its hands. Its fingers dug into its skull, the image vibrating with something… wrong. The border of the card was frayed, black ink bleeding into the edges like spreading cracks in glass.
"A crossroads is coming. Choose wisely, Holden Kash."
Holden snatched the card, barely giving it a glance before flinging it back into his room.
"Oh no. Spooky, ominous message. Whatever shall I do, oh wait, I know, nothing!"
He shoved past Vernon, grumbling as he headed toward the kitchen.
Behind him, the tarot card landed face up on the floor.
The figure in the center seemed… to be looking directly at him now.
Aboard the Virgon Spaceway: Old Max and the "Nuts"
The Virgon Spaceway was a congested mess, a massive interstellar highway stretching toward the infamous pleasure planet. Hundreds of ships—ranging from sleek luxury yachts to rust-bucket freighters barely held together—drifted forward in an endless, slow-moving queue toward the orbital checkpoint.
Inside a modest, rust-red cruiser, two elderly Zireths sat in the cramped cabin, waiting for their turn.
Old Max—a weathered, gray-feathered, perpetually scowling pessimist—grumbled as he stared out at the slow-moving traffic. He adjusted his flight cap, his beady yellow eyes narrowed in permanent irritation. "Back in my day, you didn't have to wait in a damn traffic jam just to get scammed by some overpriced casino. You landed, lost your money, and left. Simple. Efficient."
"Oh hush, Max," his wife, Ruby, cooed. Unlike her husband, she still had a soft optimism in her bright green eyes, her silver-feathered crest neatly braided. "Virgon's changed a lot since the old days. It's not just a den of vice anymore—it's a luxury den of vice."
Max snorted, adjusting his oxygen support strap as if the very thought of luxury offended his lungs. "Oh, great. So now it's expensive and soul-crushing. What an improvement."
The traffic crawled forward.
Then, Max's grumbling stopped mid-sentence. His beak clicked shut as he witnessed something utterly ridiculous.
From the Virgon checkpoint gates, an army of floating droids zipped through the air, darting between ships like buzzing neon fireflies. They were identical, all gleaming silver with a single glowing optic, their sleek oval bodies humming as they carried various products.
One swooped close to their viewport.
"Greetings, honored guest! I am Nut. Would you like to browse our wares?"
Max's brow twitched. "What?"
"I am Nut! We are all Nut! Service is our purpose!"
Another one zipped past, carrying a floating display of luxury wristwatches.
"Hello, I am Nut! Buy now, limited-time offer!"
Then another.
"Welcome to Virgon! I am Nut! The best selection of perfumes, please sniff here—"
A small mechanical puff of scented mist hit Max in the face.
Max wheeled back, coughing violently. "GODS DAMN IT, I'M ALLERGIC TO CAPITALISM!"
Ruby, meanwhile, was already swiping through a holographic catalog, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, look, Max! They've got handwoven Virgonian silk robes! And oh! A self-replenishing tea set!"
Max buried his face in his hands. "This is hell. I died and woke up in hell."
Ruby ignored him, happily making purchases while the Nuts whizzed around, announcing deals, shouting discounts, and cheerfully bombarding incoming travelers with flashing advertisements.
Max glared at his reflection in the viewport.
"I just want to play some poker, lose some credits, and leave this cursed planet. No shopping sprees. No gimmicks. No—"
Another Nut zoomed in front of him.
"Limited-time offer on premium anti-aging treatments!"
Max's feathers fluffed up in rage.
Ruby giggled. "Well, maybe you should try it, dear. Just in case."
Max leaned back in his chair, dead inside. "I hate everything."
"Max's Miserable Melody"
A slow, croaky tune hummed from Old Max's throat as he slumped in his seat, glaring at the blinking neon signs on the Virgon checkpoint.
His gravelly, world-weary voice carried the weight of every bad decision and wasted credit of his long, unfortunate life.
Max:
"I don't want thrills, I don't want fun—"
"Just wanna lose some cash and be done."
"Sit at a table, play a few hands,"
"Fold like a coward, then leave with my glands."
Ruby, swaying cheerfully in her seat, clapped her hands. "Oh, Max, you're being so dramatic."
Max ignored her, his expression one of pure existential fatigue.
Max:
"No excitement, no chase, no lucky streak,"
"Just a nice quiet loss and a heart that's weak."
"I'll grumble, I'll scowl, I'll curse my fate,"
"Then go home, write my will, and set the date."
Ruby, giggling, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Oh, but dear, you don't really want to die, now do you?"
Max:
"Don't wanna dance, don't wanna laugh,"
"Don't wanna sip some Virgonian draft."
"Don't want a massage, don't want a show,"
"Just let me be old and let me go."
Ruby sighed, shaking her head. "Now, now, sweetheart, you love a good meal. And don't you dare tell me otherwise."
Max mumbled under his breath but continued singing anyway, his mood a mix of resignation and defiance.
Max:
"Fine. One nice meal. A big fat steak."
"Then I'll sit by the bar and let my liver break."
"No adventure, no schemes, no stories to tell,"
"Just good old-fashioned gambling and existential hell."
Ruby leaned in, grinning. "Oh, come now, Max. You say all this, but you'll end up having a wonderful time. You always do."
Max groaned dramatically, rubbing his temples.
Max:
"Just one quiet night, no chaos, no fights,"
"No space pirates, no scams, no neon lights."
"Just me, my cards, a drink, a sigh,"
"Lose some credits, then happily die."
The song ended with a slow, melancholic note, Max closing his eyes like a man utterly resigned to his fate.
There was a brief silence.
Then Ruby patted his shoulder with a bright smile.
"Oh, sweetheart, you are so dramatic."
Outside, the spaceway continued inching forward, as thousands of eager visitors descended toward the glittering, deceptive paradise of Virgon.
Breakfast of Nightmares
Holden stood in the Expedian's modest, yet well-worn kitchen, grinning proudly at his masterpiece. The plates were arranged like an artist's final brushstrokes, the aroma was divine, and the presentation? Flawless.
"Another perfect breakfast, Holden Kash. A true culinary legend." He adjusted the collar of his apron dramatically.
The real game, however, was who would rush in first when he rang the bell. He ran through the usual lineup in his head.
Onions? Too disciplined.
Geiren? She always acted like she didn't care, but she'd rather die than be seen rushing for food.
Zana? Now that was a solid bet.
Still, he felt like spicing it up today.
"Let's go with Vernon," he decided, smirking.
He slammed his hand on the alarm bell, sending a sharp chime echoing through the ship.
And then, like an apparition from the depths of insanity, Vernon faded into existence.
Nude.
Soaked in water.
Soap and suds sliding down his body.
There was a moment of silence—pure, unfiltered horror and confusion.
Both screamed in perfect sync.
"VERNON, WHAT THE HELL?!" Holden staggered back, gripping the counter for dear life.
Vernon tilted his head, confused. "Oh. Is it breakfast time?"
Holden froze, his nose twitching as a peculiar metallic scent hit him. Not soap. Not steam. But…
"Wait. Do I smell Rinium?!" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Wait a damn minute! YOU'RE THE THIEF WHO KEEPS STEALING MY—"
But it was too late. Vernon vanished back into thin air, making his legendary escape before he could be questioned further.
The Horror Begins
The rest of the crew soon piled into the kitchen, drawn in by the lingering scent of Holden's cooking.
It looked heavenly.
It smelled delightful.
They dug in.
And then—
Chaos.
Geiren was the first to puke. She barely made it out of the room before the retches echoed through the halls.
Onions, ever the unshakable enforcer, went still. His eyes narrowed. He swallowed. Then he grabbed the nearest cup of water, chugged it, and collapsed onto the floor in dramatic agony.
Zana stood frozen in time, staring at her plate like it had personally betrayed her.
Vernon, nowhere to be seen, was probably spared from the massacre.
"What in the COSMOS IS THIS?!" Zana coughed violently, trying to scrape her tongue with her sleeve.
A purge. A plague. A universal culinary disaster.
Holden, still unshaken, refused to accept defeat.
"They're exaggerating. They're being dramatic. This is FINE."
And so, he took a brave bite.
Instant regret.
The taste was indescribable. Not even a black hole could erase this gastronomic sin from existence.
His face turned every shade of horror imaginable as he realized the truth.
"I… I have failed."
Holden sprinted from the kitchen, desperately looking for something to erase the crime against food he had just ingested.
Vernon's Tragic Fate
Some time later, Vernon wandered back into the now-silent kitchen.
A full breakfast spread remained untouched.
No witnesses. No competition.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"Oh, you guys didn't finish? Don't mind if I do."
The camera lingers on the moment before the tragedy strikes.
A beat.
A single yelp.
A curse so epic it shakes the walls of the Expedian.
And then—
The ship bursts into Virgon's crowded space traffic, spiraling straight into a world of trouble.
Welcome to Virgon—Where Capitalism Gets Creepy
Zana stood at the head of the briefing table, arms crossed, face set in her classic no-nonsense Captain mode.
The crew? A mess.
Geiren barely held herself upright, still visibly haunted by Holden's legendary kitchen disaster.
Holden sat hunched over, muttering, "I don't know what went wrong… I followed my process… I'm always good at cooking…"
Vernon looked disturbingly fine—the only sign of his suffering was the occasional eye twitch.
Onions? Silent. Stoic. But if you looked close, you'd notice his usual scowl was three degrees deeper.
Zana cleared her throat.
"Alright, listen up. We're on Virgon for one reason and one reason only—money."
The crew perked up slightly.
She continued, "Find rich idiots, get them to pay us for something, and get out. No fun. No shopping. No gambling. No whatever-the-hell-you-people-do. Business only."
There was a heavy, crushing silence.
Then, disappointment hit like a meteor.
"Wait," Vernon frowned, "so… no vacation?"
"No," Zana deadpanned.
"No shopping?" Holden looked like he might cry.
"No," Zana repeated.
"No gambling?" Geiren croaked.
"No."
The room darkened. Hope died. Dreams shattered.
Onions squinted suspiciously. "What if the client happens to be in a casino?"
Zana shot him a warning look. "Then you get the job and leave."
"What if the client in the casino is -"
Zana clapped her hands. "Dismissed."
The crew collectively groaned.
The Shock of a Lifetime
As the crew shuffled out in a haze of sorrow, a sudden alert flashed across their comms.
Incoming service droids.
That got their attention.
They gathered at the Expedian's main hatch, watching as a fleet of droids zipped toward them from the planet.
The first one landed.
Then the second.
Then… dozens more.
And for the first time since leaving the womb, Onions' face contorted in visible shock.
Because the droids?
They all looked exactly like Holden.
Except they were droids.
Their smiling, synthetic faces blinked in unison.
One stepped forward. "Greetings, travelers! I am nut! Would you like to see our premium selection of goods and services?"
Another chimed in. "Or perhaps partake in Virgon's finest entertainment and luxury experiences?"
A third leaned in close. "Or maybe you'd like to try our world-famous cuisine?"
The crew turned to the real Holden.
Holden, for his part, looked at his army of robotic doppelgängers and muttered, "Haha! Guys see, I told you I was famous!"
The Nut Problem
Virgon was a shopping paradise—and a nightmare.
Massive floating stores, neon-lit wonders, and endless advertisements crowded the sky, forming a chaotic ballet of capitalism in overdrive. And in the middle of it all?
Holden clones. Everywhere.
They weren't actually him, of course. But every single service droid, from traffic wardens to store clerks to police officers, looked exactly like Holden. And they acknowledged him as one of them.
As the Expedian 1.0 drifted through Virgon's traffic, Holden grinned in pure, naive excitement.
"I have never felt so welcomed in my entire life," he said, waving back at a NUT Police Officer who saluted him.
Zana and Onions were less amused.
Zana hunched over her terminal, scouring every database she could find. Onions did the same. The results?
Nothing.
The service droids were completely undocumented. No known manufacturer. No sales records. No blueprints. No origins.
"Custom-made," Onions muttered. "That's not normal. Somebody doesn't want them to be traced."
Zana leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temple. "I don't believe in coincidences, and this is one hell of a coincidence. We need to figure out what's going on here, one Holden is enough to give me an ache, this? I am not looking forward to it."
On the other side of Virgon, Old Max was having a terrible time.
His wife, Ruby, was loving every second of it.
Floating stores drifted in every direction—up, down, sideways, diagonally—making even looking around a challenge. Goods and services came to you before you even wanted them.
Max grumbled, his tail flicking in irritation as he watched his credit balance slowly drain.
"I hate this place," he muttered.
Ruby, barely listening, held up a shiny jewel-encrusted hat. "Max, doesn't this look lovely?"
"It looks like debt," Max snapped.
But then he saw it.
The Grand Peril Casino.
Of all casinos in the galaxy, this was the legend.
The biggest. The boldest. The most cutthroat. Max had heard stories. And as a lifelong poker player, he had to see it for himself.
Max vs. The Nuts – A Ridiculous Nightmare
But before he could even set a course, a Nut droid rolled up to him.
"Sir! You haven't purchased anything yet! What can I get you?"
Max squinted. "Nothing."
The Nut didn't leave.
Instead, another Nut arrived. Then another.
Then five more.
They all looked the same—identical grinning Holden-faced droids, their metallic limbs twitching with excitement.
Their glowing eyes locked onto Max like predators who had finally found their prey.
"No purchase detected," the first Nut announced. "That can't be right. Here, have a special offer!"
A luxury jacket, once 500 credits, dropped to 5.
Max frowned. "Still nothing."
More Nuts arrived.
A hoverboard zipped past, nearly hitting him. "FREE. TAKE IT."
Max took a step back. "No."
A Nut threw an empty bag into his arms.
"LIMITED DEAL! BUY 1, GET 5 FREE!"
Max shoved it away. "BEAT IT, BUT TIN CAN, I DON'T WANT ANYTHING!"
The Nuts glitched.
Then, suddenly, they surged forward.
More abandoned their posts, leaving customers mid-transaction. A floating store suddenly tipped sideways, crashing into another, sending luxury watches spiraling into the void.
Traffic halted. Ships honked.
And still, more Nuts arrived.
A thousand grinning Holdens in service uniforms, marching, zipping, rolling, climbing over one another just to reach him.
Max turned to Ruby. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"
"A SALE?" Ruby guessed weakly.
A Nut lunged at him with a gold-plated spoon.
"PURCHASE. THE. SPOON."
Max ducked. "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!"
Another Nut held out a diamond-encrusted belt.
"50,000 CREDITS?"
Max screamed.
"FINE. ONE CREDIT. JUST TAKE IT. JUST BUY SOMETHING."
Max ran.
But they chased him.
The Nuts jumped onto floating stalls, swung from banners, clambered over confused customers—all with wide, unblinking smiles.
A hovering traffic droid tried to intervene.
"Please remain calm and—"
A Nut tackled it mid-air.
Max zigzagged through a cluster of cruisers. The drivers barely reacted—this was Virgon. Things like this probably happened daily.
Finally, Ruby, in a desperate attempt to end the madness, grabbed a pair of socks and scanned Max's credit chip.
DING. TRANSACTION COMPLETE.
The Nuts froze.
Then, just as quickly as they had attacked, they dispersed.
Floating back to their posts. Resuming their duties as if nothing had happened.
Max stood there, panting, tail bristled, eyes hollow with trauma.
Ruby held up the socks. "See, dear? Now that wasn't so bad."
Max turned to her slowly.
"They… were willing to kill me.They have gone nuts!"
He did not say it dramatically. He meant it.
And from a shadowed alley, one Nut still stood.
This one wasn't smiling.
And it didn't look friendly.