The next morning, the sky over Varros Prime was a pale, hazy orange. The usual stream of air traffic was suddenly disrupted as people pointed, their vehicles slowing to a hover. A man was walking on nothing, high above the city, his boots meeting empty air with solid, unhurried steps. He moved with the casual purpose of someone crossing a quiet street.
Below, on the crowded walkways, a hush fell, followed by a wave of murmurs.
"Who is that?" a scaled Tarkesian vendor asked, dropping a crate of fruit.
"He's breaking every flight law on the planet!" a human dockworker gasped, staring up.
"But... he's not using a grav-pack. He's just... walking."
They watched, a mix of fear and awe on their faces, as Marc made his way toward the gleaming, needle-like spire of the Omni-Stellar headquarters. He was a dark speck against the vast sky, utterly unconcerned with the rules of the world beneath him.
