In the wake of the EDTA Treaty, a new age of prosperity dawned on humanity. Sol Year 7847 marked a historical turning point not in peace, but in purpose. Humanity, once shattered by centuries of war and exile, found itself united under the banner of commerce and expansion. The EDTA Republic's recognition as a galactic superpower gave Earth and its colonies unprecedented influence, and with influence came greed.
Three colossal corporations emerged from the ashes of nation-states: Exnor, Selis, and Arrock. These corporate giants consumed all global and interstellar markets like black holes devouring light. Each had its specialty—Exnor controlled cybernetic and AI industries, Selis specialized in bioengineering and pharmaceuticals, and Arrock dominated weapons and heavy industries. Together, they formed a triad that monopolized every product traded within the EDTA Republic.
Trade routes opened across solar systems. Floating markets orbited dead stars. Mining operations drilled into the bones of ancient asteroid giants. Colonies bloomed like iron flowers on inhospitable moons. Through blood and battery, humanity carved itself a place of power, feeding off the EDTA alliance like a parasite masked as a partner.
By Sol Year 7851, humanity no longer sought survival. It sought dominion.
The corporate trinity Exnor, Selis, Arrock found common ground in one objective: expansion beyond EDTA borders. They lobbied the alliance under the veil of support, offering resources, labor, and technology to fuel the Alliance's primary directive: exploration of the undefined regions of the galaxy. But behind closed doors, Each had a singular goal: monopoly over Mankind.
Most benefited from corporate trinity is Alliance ,they extracted resources from edta for their ambition of singular civilization. Resource and slaves were bought in bulk by alliance
Primitive civilizations were discovered by alliance .Races who worshipped suns as gods, and sang songs to moonlight. To some in the alliance, these peoples were a marvel to protect. To the corporations, they were untapped resources.
Many of these native civilizations accepted the terms of integration, lured by promises of technology and a place among the stars. But not all bowed. Some fought. Some chose honor over survival.
Entire worlds were subjugated. Rebellions were drowned in flame. The alliance, stretched thin and overconfident, allowed the corporations to take charge of Slaves not as chains and whips, but as contracts and microchips. Dissenters vanished into processing colonies, while others were simply wiped from history. Extinction, rebranded as progress.
The Alliance economy had evolved into something complex and cruel. Common people dealt in energy coins—digital credits transferred via biometric tags. Ten energy coins equaled one cell, the basic unit for machinery and labor power. Ten cells made a battery, the standard medium of exchange for services and advanced goods. One hundred batteries equaled a Plasma.
But above all, there was stardust—the currency of the elite. Ten Plasma bought you a single gram. Stardust wasn't mined or created. It was harvested, often in dangerous, esoteric zones filled with collapsing quantum fields or black hole eddies. It shimmered with a strange glow and had a half-life that defied physics. Owning grams was to own a kingdom. Stardust was used for the construction of megastructures, bargaining with monarchs, and bribing the very fabric of fate.
Exnor operated entire AI fleets dedicated to mining stardust from The Wane Rings—a spectral field of dying planets spinning in syncopated rhythm. Selis, meanwhile, genetically engineered humans capable of surviving near-singularity environments just to touch the mineral. Arrock? They weaponized it.
Humanity had become more than conquerors. They were merchants of extinction, pioneers of profit, and oracles of opportunity.
But within the sprawl of greed and steel, resistance brewed.
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Daemon watched the shuttle steam as it touched down outside the Imperial Registration Hall. Its sleek hull shimmered under the sky of Mooyam's Central District. The crowd around him murmured in awe, eyes wide with wonder—or fear.
He pulled out his wallet: three energy coin.
"Shit," he muttered, stuffing it back into his coat.
Most people could live on that for three months. Daemon couldn't last a week. Not with how he spent credits—on old data drives, rare star charts, and broken tech he tried to repair by night. He wasn't reckless. Just… curious. Always curious. Curious enough to risk everything for the stars.
The Alliance Army. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't safe. But it promised off-world travel, food, a place to sleep—and maybe, eventually, access to the stars beyond the EDTA Core Systems. That was all he ever wanted: to escape Mooyam, its choking smog, its walls of chrome and rules and history soaked in corporate blood.
He adjusted the strap on his shoulder bag and sprinted toward the building, dodging freight bots and vendors hawking cracked VR chips.
A digital sign flickered overhead:
"RECRUITMENT OPEN: NAVY | PLANETFALL DIVISION | EXPLORATORY CORE"
Perfect.
Daemon's chest heaved as he reached the registration. but the queue made him to loose hope . after long waiting A tired bot scanned his ID, paused, then buzzed.
"Status: unhealthy applicant. Manual approval required."