John sat in what he could only assume was the station’s command center, staring at the holographic display that outlined everything under his supposed control. The station, or rather, the modular shipyard, had finally accepted him as its legal administrator, thanks to his luck and some questionable galactic bureaucratic loopholes.


    The catch? The station required an immediate claim tax payment before he could actually do anything with it.


    "Let me get this straight," John said, rubbing his temples. "This place is mine, but before I can use it, I have to pay some outdated currency tax to the galactic government... which may or may not even exist anymore?"


    Vrixibalt, ever the dedicated scientist, adjusted his scanner and nodded. "It appears the system''s taxation protocols haven’t updated in, oh, two thousand cycles. The governing body that originally owned this facility may no longer be operational, but the automated payment system remains functional."


    "So who the hell gets the money?" John asked.


    The alien scientist hesitated. "Unknown. However, if the fee isn’t processed, the station may trigger a repossession protocol, effectively locking us out... or worse."


    "Define worse," John said cautiously.


    Vrixibalt scrolled through data, his elongated fingers tapping rapidly. "Records show that unpaid taxes on facilities of this type could initiate an emergency liquidation process."


    John blinked. "Liquidation as in...?"


    "As in everything on board gets converted into a resource slurry for resale on the intergalactic market," Vrixibalt clarified. "Including, well, us."


    John groaned, slumping into the chair. "You know, back on Earth, I already hated paying taxes. Now you''re telling me I have to pay back taxes on a station that’s been abandoned for centuries, using a currency that doesn’t even exist?"


    Vrixibalt offered a weak shrug. "At least it’s not an unreasonable amount?"


    John squinted at the holographic screen. "Five hundred million units. Five. Hundred. Million." He exhaled slowly. "And you don’t think that’s unreasonable?"


    Vrixibalt hesitated. "I meant... in comparison to some historical records of planetary-scale repossession fines, it’s quite modest."


    John gave him a deadpan stare. "Oh, well, that makes me feel so much better."


    <hr>


    A Possible Loophole


    Before John could spiral further into existential dread, a sharp beep sounded from the console. One of the other crew members—Drix, the reptilian engineer—hissed in amusement. "Actually, there may be a way around this."


    John perked up. "Please tell me it involves some kind of get-out-of-debt-free card."


    Drix flicked his tongue. "Not exactly. But, according to this readout, the station is still equipped with an asset reclamation system. It can take raw materials and convert them into credits within its outdated economy. If we can find valuable scrap or artifacts, we might be able to generate enough funds without actually paying real money."


    John tapped the console, bringing up a map of the station. "So, what you''re saying is... we loot the place, feed it into its own system, and use its own credits to pay its own damn tax?"


    "More or less," Drix confirmed.


    John grinned. "Now that sounds like a plan."


    <hr>


    Expanding the Debt... Again


    As they scoured the station for potential salvage, John had an uneasy feeling. Something about this place didn’t sit right with him. Maybe it was the eerie silence, or the fact that no one had actually explained why the station had been abandoned in the first place.


    He glanced at the holographic display again. "Hey, Vrix? Why was this place left to rot?"


    Vrixibalt frowned, running calculations. "The records show the station was abandoned due to... a financial collapse of the overseeing organization. No catastrophic events, no enemy attacks—just financial mismanagement on a galactic scale."


    John let out a dry chuckle. "So this entire station got left behind because some bureaucrats couldn’t balance their checkbooks?"


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Essentially."


    "Great," John muttered. "Just what I needed. A haunted space station, but instead of ghosts, it’s full of bad accounting decisions."


    Just then, the console beeped again. The station''s automated voice chimed in, startling everyone.


    "Warning: Claim tax remains unpaid. Deadline approaching. Additional penalties will now be applied."


    John winced. "Uh... define additional penalties?"


    Vrixibalt paled. "It appears the system is now factoring in late fees."


    John rubbed his face. "I swear, if my luck doesn’t kill me, intergalactic bureaucracy will."


    The sound of John’s frustrated groan echoed through the command center as he stared at the updated balance. The station’s automated system had wasted no time in slapping a 15% late penalty onto the already absurd tax, bringing the new total to 575 million units.


    Vrixibalt double-checked the readout. "If it helps, I believe the system caps penalties at 30% before activating liquidation protocols."


    John shot him a look. "How exactly is that supposed to help?"


    Before the scientist could fumble through an answer, Drix reappeared from one of the side corridors, carrying what looked like a broken mechanical drone. "Good news," the reptilian engineer announced. "The reclamation system is still operational. Bad news? We need a lot more scrap to cover even a fraction of this debt."


    John sighed. "Of course we do."


    <hr>


    A Dangerous Alternative


    Just as they were about to gather more salvage, a new alert flashed across the station’s interface.


    "Warning: Unauthorized Lifeform Detected."


    Everyone froze.


    John slowly turned toward Vrixibalt. "Did… did that just say unauthorized lifeform?"


    The scientist tapped hurriedly on his scanner. "It appears so."


    John exhaled. "Okay, so… is it talking about me? Because, technically, I wasn’t exactly authorized to be here when we arrived."


    Vrixibalt shook his head. "No, the station had already logged your bio-signature when you assumed control. This is something else."


    A tense silence settled over the group.


    Drix flexed his claws. "We should check it out. If something’s moving around in this station, it could be valuable—or dangerous."


    John sighed. "Because of course there’s something lurking on the abandoned space station. My luck wouldn’t have it any other way."


    <hr>


    The Discovery


    Armed with what weapons they had on hand—John holding a reinforced metal pipe since no one trusted him with anything more advanced—the group cautiously made their way toward the lower levels of the station.


    The deeper they went, the more intact the station seemed. Unlike the outer corridors, which had clearly suffered centuries of neglect, this part still had power, with dim emergency lighting flickering along the walls.


    Then, they found it.


    A sealed containment chamber, its control panel still active. The alert was originating from inside.


    John stared at the reinforced glass, but whatever was in there was hidden behind thick layers of frost. "Please tell me this isn’t some kind of bioweapon experiment gone wrong."


    Vrixibalt wiped condensation from the surface of the glass. His eyes widened. "This… this is incredible."


    John didn’t like the way he said that.


    "What exactly am I looking at?" John asked, peering into the chamber.


    As the frost cleared, the shape inside became visible. A humanoid figure, seemingly encased in an advanced containment suit, was suspended in a stasis field.


    Vrixibalt’s voice was barely above a whisper. "It’s a preserved pre-collapse entity."


    John blinked. "A what now?"


    The scientist gestured excitedly. "Someone—something—from the time before this station was abandoned. This could be the last remaining member of whatever organization controlled this place!"


    John crossed his arms. "Okay, but why is it locked in here?"


    Before anyone could answer, the station’s automated voice crackled to life.


    "Containment breach detected. Warning: Subject stability compromised."


    John took a step back. "Oh, hell no."


    A mechanical hiss echoed through the room as the containment locks began to disengage.


    Drix’s frills flared in alarm. "We need to leave. Now."


    Vrixibalt, however, was too engrossed in his scanner to move. "Fascinating! The bio-readings—John, you might want to see this."


    John gritted his teeth. "Buddy, unless those readings tell me we’re not about to have a problem, I don’t want to see anything!"


    The chamber released a final clunk, and the reinforced glass shattered outward.


    From within, the figure began to move.


    John’s grip on his metal pipe tightened. "Yeah, this is gonna be a problem."