Bubble Boy

Hyperion, Somewhere in Deep Space. Also, Nowhere That Makes Sense.

Zoe kicked open the cargo bay doors like a sheriff in a bar brawl.

She wore a leather cowboy hat tilted like a legend and held a rope made from hyper-vines.

She rode Fred, the jail-goat-turned-steed, now in a horse costume complete with fake hooves and googly eyes that looked in two directions at once.

Fred neighed aggressively. Like he meant it.

Zoe twirled her lasso above her head and shouted,

"IT'S SPACE RODEO TIME, BOYS!"

Across the deck, Bolt and Construct bolted in opposite directions, both in bull costumes, tails flailing.

"WHY DO I HAVE BELLS?!" Construct screamed.

"It's for authenticity!" Bolt yelled, horns wobbling.

Fred galloped sideways. Zoe whooped like a cowboy possessed.

Meanwhile, in the navigation room…

Jace and Blaze were studying a stack of maps written by Harmonian preschoolers.

One was literally a macaroni collage.

Another just said: "Follow the jazz."

Blaze squinted. "This one says we're upside down. Is that metaphorical?"

Jace didn't respond at first. He was staring at her, very pointedly not looking at the map.

"You know," he said, brushing dust off a crayon-scribbled quadrant. "You're kinda radiant when you're confused."

Blaze blinked. "I will punch you into a black hole."

"Promise?"

She flushed slightly, then turned back to the map. "This one tastes like glitter. Why does it taste like glitter?"

He leaned closer. "Maybe you're just dazzling."

"Shut up before I superheat your lips."

But she didn't move away.

Elsewhere on the ship, the Sacred Circle of Suffering was underway…

Gladiator and The Orphan sat cross-legged in front of a small plate.

On it: one gelatinous alien fish eyeball, still blinking.

They clapped.

Patty cake. Patty cake. Smash. Slide. Triple flick.

Sweat poured from Gladiator's temples.

"Give up," whispered The Orphan. "You blinked during the shoulder shimmy."

"NEVER," Gladiator growled. "Honor is at stake."

They clapped again.

Suddenly: slip. miss. double tap fail.

Gladiator froze.

The Orphan pushed the eyeball toward her with the gravity of a thousand suns.

Gladiator lifted it to her mouth like a samurai accepting fate.

Chewed.

Cried internally.

On the roof of the ship...

Starman and Seaman sat in lawn chairs duct-taped to the hull.

A small boombox played smooth jazz. They sipped cosmic tea. Gazed into the endless abyss.

Starman crossed his legs and murmured:

"Stars don't pay taxes.

Yet they shine so judgmental.

Am I their refund?"

Seaman nodded. "Inspired. Try this one..."

"Cosmic whale hums soft

I hum back, we are in sync

Then I step in poop."

They shared a solemn nod.

Then Starman added:

"Why does Fred eat rope?

He is goat, yes, but wiser.

I trust no goat now."

Seaman tapped his seashell pen. "Haunting."

Back on the deck...

Fred did a sick barrel roll.

Zoe roped Construct midair and yanked him into a pile of hay someone installed for "cowboy vibes."

Bolt slipped on his own bell and screamed, "I'M MILKED OUT!"

She pinned them both.

"Y'all been rustlin' too many bad puns," she said, rope tightening. "This here's Bubble Ranch law."

"Can I at least moo dramatically?" Bolt asked.

"No."

Construct whimpered, "I think I pulled a tail."

Zoe stood tall, rope on hip, cowboy hat tilted low. Fred neighed the national anthem of a planet that doesn't exist anymore.

Later that night…

The crew gathered in the lounge, sipping hot choco-slime.

Blaze leaned near Jace. "If you ever tell anyone I smiled earlier, I'll burn your shoes."

"You smiled?" he said, grinning.

"I will destroy your timeline."

Gladiator sat motionless, traumatized by the texture of the fish eye.

The Orphan held a small trophy labeled "Eyeball Assassin".

Bolt was covered in hoof-shaped bruises, eating oats.

Fred licked the ceiling.

Zoe tipped her hat.

And outside, stars drifted past the windows like lazy sparks.

From the rooftop, came one last haiku:

"Ship floats like a fart

Silent, powerful, confused

Just like our friendship."

Back on Earth, one month has passed…

It was raining the kind of rain that made the sky look angry, thick, slanted sheets of water that sounded like whispers on the rooftop.

Troy stood in the center of Zoe's room.

She hadn't touched it since she left with the Hyperion crew. Everything smelled like her bubblegum perfume and slightly singed leaves.

He stood still for a long time.

Then, slowly, he reached out and touched the old lasso she'd left hanging on a hook. His fingers trailed across it like a ghost trying to remember who it once was.

The room was pink and green and filled with too much joy for what he was about to become.

He turned to the desk.

Dozens of Legion case files lay open, maps with red string, old rogues gallery photos, some marked "Deceased" and others, "Missing", all back on the radar. All active again.

A screen blinked beside him:

CRIME RATE UP 42% IN 3 MONTHS

UNCONFIRMED SIGHTINGS: BLACK WIDOW WALTZ. MAJOR MAYHEM. DR. LULLABY.

Troy's eyes were dark, not with tiredness but with weight. With something building.

The files blurred in front of him.

His father's voice echoed faintly in his memory, "We fight so others don't have to."

But lately, it felt like he was the only one still fighting.

The door creaked open.

Annie, in pajamas and a hoodie three sizes too big, peeked inside.

"Hey," she said gently. "You haven't slept. Or... moved. Since yesterday."

Troy didn't answer.

She walked closer. "I know you're worried. About them. About Zoe."

He finally looked at her. His voice cracked low, tired. "The world's breaking again. And we're not ready."

Annie touched his arm. "That's not all you're feeling."

He pulled away, not roughly but like a man already halfway underwater.

"I should've gone with them."

"Troy..."

He clenched his fists, trembling. "What if something happens and I'm not there? What if they die out there in space while I'm sitting in her room, playing detective?!"

His voice rose, only for a second. And then it fell again.

Annie took a breath. "They trust you. She trusts you."

Troy shook his head. "They shouldn't."

His eyes, once filled with bubble light, now shimmered with shadow.

"I can feel it, Annie. Something's coming. Something big. And if I don't get ahead of it... people are going to die."

He stared down at a photo of the Legion from three years ago.

Everyone was smiling.

Troy wasn't.

Outside, thunder rolled.

The room dimmed further.

And in the dimness, Troy's shadow looked longer than it should have.

Like something had begun to stretch inside him.

A crack in the boy who once just wanted to be a hero.

A new mask, unspoken, taking shape.

Elsewhere... in a darkened corner of the world…

A screen blinked in a hidden lair.

A hooded figures smiled at the footage of Troy, watching him unravel.

"Just like his father," she said. "But softer. For now."

"Let's see how far the boy will fall... And rise into our God."