The Phrelem's scale is that of buildings, long legs similar to that of a spider attached to their non-existent limbs. They are comparable to a giant elephant without their fake legs and arms, noticeable only by their proxy brethren with arms and legs just as they do. These proxies are the reason why they can tower over their slaves across millions of planets under their rule, stepping and crushing on those who even comply to their will by pure spite. Their original bodies being a scaly, fleshy matter, muscles twisting into each other hardened to that of obsidian, walking above the populace of many other races wearing a glowing white mask staring down on those below.

The Phrelem is a race that thrives off of slavery, feeding off of planets and sucking them dry of resources like leeches. The low growls of their ships bring fear into many's hearts for when they hear it, they know what is to come.

A race born in harsh conditions on a small planet with an atmosphere as thick as Titan's in the Milky Way, they were forced to evolve in an abstract manner wherein their muscle has become its chassis. Most are born without limbs and they produce asexually. Ones with limbs are called proxies and have volunteered themselves to be the first race's slaves while the limbless reign above them for their superior intelligence.

From the Solar System Ustyce Major, Planet Ganmantra, Andromeda.

Commentaries from the Abyss, Ludis Minor, Commander of Terra.

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The Gambler sits idly by in his ship, tearing up in his bed, arm thrown over his eyes. The Drone from before waits beside him, staring down at the Gambler. He sighs, "What galaxy are we in? Do you know?"

"Dormenium Proxis, near Orestes Maltrom."

"What do they look like? If I can find my galaxy then there might be hope in retu-" The Gambler stops talking to think. "Wait... wouldn't the world have ended by the time I return? Time runs differently depending on where you are in space so... wait! What if I get really old!?"

"You will not, your Mexe, also known as your suit, pumps a chemical in your blood that prevents you from aging normally on planets and in orbits of different solar systems."

"Wait, does everyone have that? Wouldn't it also not matter since they'll be a drastically different age than me anyway?"

"No, everyone who takes part in this chemical ages at the same rate."

"How do you know that?"

"That is how the chemical functions."

"Can you show me what the galaxies look like now?"

The Ship pauses, not responding.

"Hello?"

"Sending information."

The Gambler hears a beeping sound in his Pauldron and opens it, "You can send me information like that?"

"The Drone is connected in something that you'd call a Bluetooth."

"Okay..." The Gambler checks his Pauldron, seeing two pictures of the galaxies the Ship had referred to. Two galaxies, Dormenium Proxis and Orestes Maltrom. The Gambler stares at the two. "So, we are in...?"

"Dormenium Proxis."

"That looks like Andromeda while Orestes Maltrom looks like the Milky Way. Would it even matter though? By the time I get there, we'll either all be dead or out in space, but that doesn't change the fact that my family won't be alive by then."

"You are not wrong."

The Gambler chokes up, "Fuck..." The Gambler then shakes his head, holding back his tears. "Should I search the planet we're on? What's it even called?"

"It does not have an official name, but it was registered as, Dismentis Parylis Marto."

"What is up with this backward Latin?"

"That is the language of the human race that resides in this galaxy."

"How do you know that?"

"Radio transmissions, most of everything was also automatically installed into my system."

"Okay..." He pauses, "Should I check out what this 'Dismentis' is about?"

"Unrecommended, because of the planet's gravitational field, it would be hard to leave and we would have to expend valuable resources to even go back into orbit without crashing back down into the planet."

The Gambler stops to think for a second, "Wait... how much fuel do we have? Don't go down to the milliliter, just tell me how far we can go with the fuel we have now."

"We cannot leave this star's system with the fuel we have now."

"Can I get fuel from this planet?"

"It will take some time."

"How much time?"

"Three years in this planet's rotation."

"How many years in time is that for my body?"

"A few days."

"Right... how much do we have in food supplies?"

"Five years worth."

"Can we get more? Does the planet we're hovering over have any life?"

"Yes, it does. The planet life there though has nothing of large mass since the planet itself is too large for anything of massive size to live on it."

"So... how do we collect these things?"

"Drones - there are four massive drones attached to the bottom of the ship, two are for hunting down living things in ships or even in a situation like this is where it has to hunt for food, and there are two mining drones. It will then take days to process food and materials, checking if there are diseases and such attached to it. In the case that does occur, we will use a specific chemical that is perfect for cleaning objects of interests and substances from a planet called Hydrosymphatic Chloride. It consis-"

"I'm fine, you don't need to tell me more. Could you send those drones for me then?"

"Yes, the process is going to be delayed by a small margin by the planet's gravitational force."

"Okay, that's fine."

The Gambler sits in his room patiently, eating disposable packages once in a while to keep himself decently full, reserving the rest of it sometimes just in case he runs out of food one day. Hours and days, weeks, and months.

To the Gambler, he felt like he was going mad. No human interaction, the monotony of every day being satiated by an odd conversation with him and his ship. He wanted to meet someone else for once, but the paranoia of contracting an unknown disease lingers over him. He wanted something that wasn't just a robot talking to him face to face, didn't help that he didn't know the language that the other races use so when he encounters them, they might be hostile and he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of it. The Gambler knows not how to fight, he prefers talking things out and since he is aware he would understand none of what they were saying, it made him afraid, to say the least.

Months then turned into years.