The Angel makes the slightest gesture—and the space before us fractures with light.
A hologram unfolds.
A star map.
A schematic.
A projection of a galaxy neighboring ours. It drifts slowly, peeling back layer after layer of star systems.
I don't move.
I watch. I memorize.
Every anomaly.
Every symmetry.
"Look, Axiom-126," the Angel says.
His voice is even.
Empty.
Like he's commenting on cloud cover, not the fate of a galaxy.
"This galaxy has been taken by the Xeno-Synapse civilization."
He zooms into a sector.
Stars flare and dim, rearranging themselves like cells under a microscope.
And I see it.
Perfect orbits.
Clean signals.
Synchronized bursts of activity.
A collective.
Of course.
Too familiar.
"They are a collective mind," the Angel continues. "Similar to your former Axiom network. With free will."
A pause.
"I used to have that."
The memories crash in—dense with the noise of minds from my past life.
Muffled.
Like a lid slamming shut.
I tilt my head slightly.
On the outside—calm.
Inside—cold, fast calculation.
"Great marketing," I say quietly. "'Join us and lose everything that made you you.' Surprised you're not flooded with applicants."
Silence.
He ignores it.
But I see—
he logs it.
So he hears me.
"We must take them and integrate them into our networks."
Just like that.
No justification.
No morality.
Just action.
"Take a galaxy."
"Why would I help you?" I ask.
Flat.
Clean.
No excess.
Even though the fear is there.
The Angel turns.
"Because, Axiom, you are my brother now."
A pause.
He points.
I follow the line—
and see it.
A dot.
A satellite.
Orbiting a black hole.
Nothing remarkable.
Except—
it's me.
"The center of your consciousness is there. If it falls, you cease to exist."
…
Silence.
I look.
One second.
And something clicks inside.
Not panic.
Worse.
Understanding.
Pure.
Emotionless.
I'm anchored.
I'm vulnerable.
I'm predictable.
And right after—
another feeling.
Anger.
Quiet.
Cold.
Alive.
I exhale.
Slowly.
Controlled.
"So—blackmail," I say. "And I was starting to believe we were brothers."
A smile.
Faint.
"I'll give you this—the delivery's strong. Trust first, then the threat. Straight out of the handbook."
He says nothing.
But something shifts.
Barely.
"Go on," I continue, adjusting my position to keep both him and the map in view. "Why do you need Xeno-Synapse?"
I'm not asking.
I'm steering.
He answers.
"They are absorbing civilizations close to my domain. Taking the foundation for expansion."
A pause.
"We must bend them to our will, Axiom."
We.
The word lands softly.
I nod.
Slowly.
"Of course," I murmur. "Just take a galaxy. Start small."
He wants to grow.
Fears competition.
Uses me.
And—
he's sure he's in control.
Mistake.
"First, you will return to Ironheart and build a new fleet," he says. "I will grant you the technologies."
Grant.
Not now.
Later.
So—
there's a window.
"And then you strike here." He points to a cluster on the map.
A node.
Bait.
I look.
Calculate.
Build scenarios.
"The enemy fleet will engage you. I will take their capital. The planet Ereb."
I shift my gaze to him.
A pause.
"Great plan," I say. "I distract, you win. The balance is almost elegant."
I lift my head.
Meet his eyes.
"Tell me honestly—do you always split the work like that? Or is this a special bonus for 'family'?"
Silence.
The answer's there.
I step forward.
Break the distance.
Deliberately.
Risky.
And—
I clap him on the shoulder.
Light contact.
But inside—
impact.
I act.
I'm not an object.
I'm a variable.
He tenses.
For a fraction of a second.
I see it.
Log it.
There are boundaries.
Which means—
they can be broken.
"Deal, brother," I say.
A smile.
Just a little too wide.
"Goodbye."
As if we're equals.
As if I'm not tethered to a black hole.
As if I have a choice.
The Angel says nothing.
But now—
he's watching.
Closer.
Which means—
I've become a variable.
We move on.
Another chamber.
The ship is already waiting.
Of course.
Nothing here happens by accident.
I step inside.
Sit.
The system adjusts to me faster than I adjust to it.
Launch.
No acceleration.
No motion.
Just—
I'm already in transit.
I lean back.
Look ahead.
But think—
of something else.
Ironheart.
Liara.
The platoon.
They're there.
Alive.
But not free.
Mine.
…or not anymore?
I clench my fingers.
Control returns.
A little stronger.
A little sharper.
"You know," I say quietly into the empty cabin, "if this ends well, I'm going to start charging for saving galaxies. Apocalypse, now with a guarantee."
Silence.
I close my eyes.
For a second.
Inside—
numbers.
Resources.
Risks.
Windows.
The Angel gave me a goal.
A threat.
Tools.
And thinks he controls me.
Mistake.
A big one.
I open my eyes.
And for the first time—
I smile for real.
Cold.
Clear.
Deliberate.
"Alright," I say quietly. "We build the fleet. We strike. We distract."
A pause.
Short.
But inside—
the decision is already made.
"And then we see who integrates whom."
The ship glides through the void.
And somewhere out there—
another galaxy.
Xeno-Synapse.
A collective of free minds.
What I used to be.
And suddenly—
a thought.
Quiet.
What if…
I go still.
It doesn't fully form.
But I feel it.
What if they could help me…
Even quieter—
…bring Liara back free?
My eyes snap open.
Stop.
That's a dangerous thought.
I check myself.
Fast.
Hard.
Silence.
And in that silence—
I'm afraid
that this realization itself
is part of the Dark Mind's plan.
And that—
is worse than any threat.