What would you think…
If a comet didn't behave like a comet?
What would you believe—
If your radar detected a massive lifeform moving through space—
…but every other system showed nothing?
No visual.
No thermal.
No warning.
Just one signal.
Alive.
Approaching fast.
Would you ignore it?
Call it a glitch?
Or trust the instinct crawling up your spine?
Out here, anomalies weren't rare.
A newborn Leviathan drifting between stars wasn't unheard of—drawn toward energy currents like a child chasing warmth.
But even they—
were never alone.
There was always a second signal.
A guardian.
A watcher.
This?
Had nothing.
The Outpost Observer leaned closer to his console.
Nothing scheduled.
No alerts.
No nearby traffic.
And yet—
The signal was getting closer.
Stronger.
Then—
it changed.
One lifeform—
became many.
Clustered.
Too tightly packed.
Not like a ship.
Not like anything he'd ever seen.
"…That's not right."
He stood and moved to the observation glass.
Beyond it—
A sea of color.
Nebulae drifting.
Stars scattered like distant embers.
Peaceful.
Empty.
No Leviathan glow.
No movement.
Nothing that matched the signal.
Behind him—
the monitor pulsed again.
The cluster tightened.
Closer.
"…My shift ended seven years ago…"
The thought slipped out before he could stop it.
He should have been gone.
Replaced.
Home.
Hope twisted—
into fear.
Because whatever was coming…
…wasn't normal.
Then—
he saw it.
The trajectory.
His breath caught.
"…It's not drifting…"
It was being guided.
"Wait a minute…"
The dots on the screen grew rapidly.
Too rapidly.
His hands flew across the console.
Speed.
Distance.
Time to impact.
His face went pale.
Without hesitation—
he slammed his hand onto a sealed panel.
A button no one was meant to press.
Emergency Override.
The system unlocked.
He ran.
The station AI responded instantly—
transferring into his wrist unit as he sprinted from the observatory.
Down the stairs—
Skipping entire levels—
Five floors in seconds.
The escape pod.
He dove inside.
Ignored protocol.
Ignored authorization.
Ignored everything.
The hatch sealed.
Harness—half-secured.
His hand slammed the release.
The pod dropped.
Behind him—
The station exploded.
The shockwave caught the pod—
and hurled it forward.
Fire consumed everything—
then vanished.
Silence.
Speed.
Darkness.
He exhaled—
then froze.
"…No…"
Outside—
The universe had changed.
Color inverted.
Light twisted.
Reality felt… wrong.
He had crossed into it.
The Blacklisted Galaxy.
The pod trembled violently—
gravitational forces seizing it—
locking onto something far larger.
The comet.
Closer now.
Too close.
"…That's not a rock…"
It moved.
Corrected course.
Reacted.
Then—
he saw them.
Lights.
Red.
Orange.
Blinking.
"…Did it just…"
His breath hitched.
"…look at me?"
Every instinct screamed:
Run.
Too late.
A massive planet came into view.
The comet—
jerked.
Like something invisible had grabbed it.
Snagged it.
And the pod—
followed.
Pulled into the same path.
Impact.
A shockwave erupted—
tearing across the galaxy.
Expanding.
Faster.
Wider.
Unstoppable.
Then—
everything stopped.
And reversed.
Stars.
Dust.
Light.
Everything—
was dragged back.
Crushed inward.
Collapsed.
Folded into a single point.
Then—
It exploded again.
Silence.
Where a galaxy once existed—
there was now only one thing.
A black hole.
Not feeding.
Not moving.
Just…
spinning.
Like a boundary.
Like a lock.