In the golden age of interstellar expansion, Senkoro was a beacon of human ingenuity. Once a thriving colony, it was built upon the ruins of an ancient alien metropolis, its towering structures fused with cutting-edge technology. Terra-formers had worked tirelessly to transform its desolate landscapes into a habitable world, drawing energy from the planet’s deep-core reactors. Senkoro stood as a testament to humanity’s resilience—until the silence came.
The catastrophe began with a whisper. Communications with Earth faltered, riddled with static and incomprehensible data bursts. What first seemed like a minor solar interference soon spiralled into widespread system failures. Long-range transmitters collapsed, artificial satellites flickered out of orbit, and supply ships vanished without a trace. No distress signals were acknowledged. No rescue fleets arrived. Senkoro was alone.
Panic set in among the colonists. Government officials scrambled to maintain order, assuring the populace that help was on the way. But the truth was undeniable: every attempt to reach the home world was met with nothing but the void. It was as if Earth had ceased to exist.
As desperation grew, so did the divide between factions. Scientists theorized that a catastrophic event—an astronomical anomaly, a solar storm of unprecedented scale, or even an unknown artificial interference—had severed their connection. Others whispered darker theories, of deliberate abandonment, of a war back home that had erased all civilization. With no information beyond their dying systems, speculation festered like an open wound.
Then came the power failures. The deep-core reactors, once self-sustaining, began to wane. Automated repair systems failed to respond, and without outside assistance, maintenance crews struggled to keep the lights on. Cities plunged into darkness, and once-prosperous settlements collapsed into ruin. The climate, once artificially stabilized, shifted unpredictably, turning fertile land into arid wastelands and flooding entire districts with toxic storms.
Civilization unravelled. The fortunate fled underground, scavenging what technology they could salvage. Others took to the skies, repurposing decrepit spaceports into makeshift strongholds. Bands of survivors formed, some seeking to rebuild, others preying on the weak. Bounty hunters, scavengers, and rogue scientists became the new aristocracy, trading in information and relics of the old world. The remnants of law faded into myth, and the name Senkoro became synonymous with survival.
The final days of the old world are lost to time. Some say a final transmission was sent to Earth, a desperate plea that went unanswered. Others believe the last of the great cities fell in a final battle for dwindling resources. No one knows for certain, for history has been rewritten by those left behind.
Now, Senkoro is a graveyard of dreams. A world where rusted machines whisper of a forgotten past, and the sky itself seems to mourn the loss of its once-great people. The stars remain silent, and Earth—if it still exists—has long since turned its gaze elsewhere.
This is Senkoro. A world of survivors, outcasts, and dreamers. And perhaps, one day, someone will learn the truth of what happened on that fateful day when the silence began.