This world was covered in a vast ocean that was much like the Red Sea – it had remarkably low salinity, unfathomable depth, and was quite cold. However, if one were to lay their ocular mechanisms upon the body of water, they would say ‘that is quite red.’ One would have to imagine that is exactly what the Lone Rider said to itself as its nebula bike touched down on a protruding gray rockface. It continued to make noises that seemed to be emitting from its hexagonal helmet. They were undecipherable but had a sort of consistent rhythm to them. The quick shrill let out by the Lone Rider as they took a sample of the ocean in a porcelain tube could be interpreted as… sadness. Difficult to say, the Lone Rider has always been impossible to gauge. Perhaps it was a reaction to the smell of garbage bag scum wafting from the water. It placed the sample in its forward waist box and a comically loud ping echoed through the air. The Lone Rider’s robotic claw retracted into its wrist and a tubular tool took its place.With it, the Rider began sucking up the red liquid. This went on for two of this planet’s day and night cycles, which was the equivalent of seven galactic days, at the minimum – the count was lost.
The natives simply stared at the alien guzzling their ocean. Oh yes, there were natives – the Agorians. Pink ball-shaped creatures that had three flat eyes, no apparent mouth, and four stubby appendages on their bottom-side. They were not previously visible beneath the murky red waters, but they peeked out some time during the first night. The hexagonal helmet rotated and the Lone Rider stopped for a moment. The Agorians were many, but they were all evenly spaced out. They began to scatter the surface as far as the eye could see. Some were even on nearby rock peaks. Most notably, they were shaking. The ever-so-slightest hum vibrated through the waters. The Lone Rider emitted another odd blurb and its helmet rotated back as it continued to collect water. Hums became murmurs; murmurs became whispers, which seemed to be the loudest they could go. They floated closer to the Rider sending gentle ripples throughout the surface but stopped at the same distance that they give each other. Their eyes offered the same blank look, yet they now carried a certain weight to them. The Rider remained ambivalent, content with continuing its task. Over the course of an exceedingly long period of time, the distance between the Lone Rider and the Agorians grew – the sea level was dropping. Its vacuum was adapting to the increasing distance and never ceased. The Agorians clung to the ever-emerging gray rockface. Their eyes slowly shut, the whispers slowly ceased.
After what could only be interpreted as several years, the once unfathomably deep ocean was now about 500 galactic meters. The Agorians were clumped together, silent and still. Finally, the Lone Rider got on its nebula bike and sped off from the planet’s highest peak back into the Rest of the Universe.