Inside the dark bedroom, only the traces of light emitted off the blue holograms consuming the room bring clarity to the space, for beyond the leaf window is the black night sky embellished with the purple clouds of nebulas and glittered with twinkling white stars. Below the night sky, the golden cities on the cloudy islands shine in their own golden light, for every tower functions as a beacon, providing life when the sun wouldn’t.

That is all past the window however, for inside the room itself even with the holograms there was no life, for the light they emit is minimal and still shrouds most of the room in darkness with corners in shadows.

What is partially also covered in shadows is the man seated by the desk, his back turned to the door to keep his gaze on the stack of screens in front of him. His white locks of hair sit on his nape and dangle over his shoulders, but other than that he’s featureless

Maps and globes levitate in the air behind the chair, some above the bed as well, the globes representing Earths that slowly spin in a consistent animation.

On the white table, the man in the room holds one of the blue screens, his eyes scanning the contents in search for any forgotten attributes of his enemy which he could find exploitations for, as he has amassed a grand archive which theoretically functions perfectly for the occasion.

Yet his face doesn’t appear so victorious, as instead after reaching the bottom of the sheet, he groans in defeat and throws the screen to the side, where it then fades into nothingness, being taken off display as he then picks up another to begin reading.

Those azure eyes move from side to side rapidly, his head steady as are his hands. His eyes reflect the blue light of the holograms, the words partially visible off of his irises.

Again the man tosses the sheet into deletion, but rather than picking up another he instead places his elbow on the table where he can rest his cheek on his hand and release another groan of discontent, still surrounded by a mighty stack.

His head tilted as it’s rubbed against his open palm, the man’s eyes trail off of the remainder of the logs he has on the table and instead to the leaf window, where his eyes instead reflect the purple light of the nebulas and the white dots of the shimmering stars, just as it did a decade and half ago.

Beautiful is the night sky, it nearly always was, the wondrous cosmic design of the purple clouds amongst the infinite white specs, which backdropped perfectly above the golden islands in the distance, glowing on their own.

Gazing through the window, the man just silently watches with his head resting against his hand, meditating silently to himself with wrinkles on his pale forehead. He then glances back at his stack, and then returns it again to the window. His eyebrow then raises, his face tightening up as a thought comes to mind.

Inside the dark bedroom, all of the traces of light emitting off the blue holograms consuming the room vanish, ridding clarity from the space and transforming it into a dark abyss, for all the globes, maps, and sheets disappear simultaneously.

Only the distant light brought by the window can give the room luminosity, but it hardly does, effectively making the room shrouded in shadows including the man seated by the desk, whose head is still resting on his elbow.

That changes however as he leans upright and raises his head before then slipping his elbow off of the desk and to his side. He furthermore maneuvers the chair backwards, away from the desk, and has it pivot to the side.

Finally, the man stands up from the chair after the long day of work, and he faces the exit of the room, his locks still as his body has become a silhouette, a dark figure in the void.

He gazes silently at the exit for a few moments, remaining still, patient, waiting. In the darkness he holds, thinking meticulously while in an ominous tint.

In a dark bedroom, there is not a single source of light, for instead the room has been let to sleep. That fact is unchanged even when the door dematerializes open with a subtle whoosh, revealing a silhouette standing in the also unlit lobby between the bedrooms. The silhouette simply stares into the room in silence, stalking ominously, waiting patiently. The room itself however is not silent, for instead there is a loud, obnoxious constant snore.

Inside the bedroom, the desk at the corner is covered with flasks and beakers filled with liquids of varying colors, with such quantity that some are on the very edge of the table, nearly about to fall off. Facing the desk is a large black bag resembling a trash bag, resting on the chair which is slightly turned.

Also inside of the bedroom, the bed in the far end is occupied by the body of a slender senile man dressed in a black slim jumpsuit of sorts that covers his legs and torso. He’s on his side, appearing to be the source of the snore, his eyes closed as he faces the direction of the desk where all the chemicals are resting too. His arms are extended out to cover more space on the bed than necessary, fully reaching out onto the edge of the bed as his legs are also swayed back and forth unkempt in a random posture.

In bed, the bald senile man keeps snoring every time his diaphragm is filled, clearly in deep sleep as he has no idea that he’s being watched by the silhouette waiting in the open doorway, who silently observes the man’s slumber.

In another dark bedroom also entirely unlit, the door opens up with the dispersal of the nanite cloud, once again revealing the same silhouette in the doorway, staring straight ahead in silence.

The silhouette stares to the right of the room, and then slowly turns its head towards the left to get a full scan of the space, keeping quiet as it stands in the dark lobby.

On the other side of the room, the desk at the corner is covered with figurines of characters dressed in uniforms with backpacks and others wielding swords larger than their entire body. There is also a great amount, although rather than being placed at random instead they are arranged along the three edges other than the central one facing the chair. The figurines are placed side by side in multiple rows with immaculate care. An open portion of the table remains at the front where one would have their hands, providing necessary space for work where it was done while still being surrounded by all the figures to give the sense of home.

Next to the desk is the white bed where the body of the short young woman dressed in a loose white short sleeved shirt and pink shorts lays in deep slumber, entirely silent as opposed to the snoring man. Her long pink hair rests behind her as her body is also on the side albeit with her back against the desk. In her hands she clings onto a large body pillow, her body pressing against it tightly as she lays in the center of the bed, and around her are various plushies including one of a life sized dog with galaxy-colored fur and sparkling orange eyes as well as one of a cartoonish young girl’s face wider than what would be deemed natural.

Surrounded by her own artifacts, the young girl sleeps soundly, her face pressing against the white pillow and her eyes shut but not tensely, for her face is relaxed as is her body which breathes steadily in tranquility.

Again, the young girl is unaware of the silhouette standing in the doorway, for instead she remains in her posture, surrounded by her plushies next to her figurines.

On the desk, among the horde of figurines stands the overly masculine figure designed in the style of a comic book character with the bizarre pose as it stands on its tiptoes with one hand against its hip and another over its face.

As the figurine dressed in the bright azure suit with the black cape and hood over the white mask stands still, the door materializes as indicated by the soft whoosh, leaving the room enclosed again.

In a different shadowy bedroom, the door opens to reveal the silhouette standing in the doorway, facing the white table in the corner where on the back edge of the table, for it was otherwise majorly clean, sits a pile of tools one of which resembles a phillips screwdriver and another has the shape of an eraser. Beyond that however the desk’s front is clean as well as the sides, leaving ample space as necessary for meetings, for the tools in the back take up little room but sit there so they can be equipped swiftly.

The silhouette turns its head to face the bed in the center of the room where an adult woman dressed in a green tank top and samely colored shorts is laid in deep sleep, her steady breaths audible but quiet and peaceful. Her short amber hair is also laid on the bed above her closed eyes on her relaxed face. She rests on the edge of the bed, not requiring or even desiring to use the full space, but instead content with the minimum. She lays on her back, her head facing straight up in a proper position. She sleeps alone on the bed with no additionals, for her choice to use little bed space is not for the sake of another entity. Her arms stay by her side as do her legs, resting almost formally even.

Similarly she does not notice the silhouette observing her from the confines of the doorway, watching her silently as she rests on her bed in the deep night.

At the doorway, the man gazes into the bedroom with relaxed azure eyes, dulled after a long day. His mouth is closed and in a neutral state, and his locks rest behind his head.

He silently watches for a few seconds, keenly observing the sleeper inside as his eyes contract into a sharp stare. He then expands his eyes after marking his conclusion, and exhales quietly. Finally the man lowers his head and turns around, walking away from the bedroom and allowing the door to summon the nanite cloud which then hardens and covers up the door, closing off the room as it was before.

In the upper floor lobby, the man steps up to the exact center of the circular platform in between the four closed doors. He stands still for a few seconds, and then glances around the tight lobby space.

Each of the doors are white but with golden text written in a curvy, elegant font. One door has the text of the number ‘1,’ and the next to the right has the number ‘2,’ then ‘3,’ and finally the last door to the left of the room numbered ‘1’ which the man just stepped away from has the number ‘4.’ Four rooms for the four members of the group, three of them sleeping and expecting the other three to be asleep too.

Yet amongst the group, one was up.

In the center of the lobby, the man stands between the doors, concluding his scan of the closed doors. He then lets out a soft sigh, and closes both of his hands into a fist. He lowers his head down to the ground, and shuts his eyes softly in a brace.

Suddenly, his entire body flashes bright blue, and as the light dissipates from the tight space, his body is no longer present in the lobby, rather gone without a trace as the lobby returns to complete darkness just like the rest of the house.

In a completely different place, a light of the same shade flashes too, and as that light dissipates it reveals that in its place stands the man, his body still dark due to a lack of substantial light yet still well brighter than the dark lobby, as his aged leather jacket is now more clear. The man, whose head is facing the ground and whose hands are in fists, relaxes his hands and raises his head up.

He opens his eyes as he stands on the black platform, surrounded by several flat holographic screens displaying pie charts as well as diagrams of solar systems and specific Earths above a number line. He takes a pivot to the side to observe his surroundings as he stands in the silent space, although much larger than where he stood before, for the walls can not even be perceived, rather in the distance is merely darkness. A breeze passes through the cave, brushing his locks and causing them to wave as his body remains still.

In his observations, the man raises his head up, gazing with calm blue eyes while his hair continues to wave.

In the man’s gaze is the endless array of stone stalactites along the cavern’s ceiling, each one razor sharp and pointing straight down where the man stands.

Facing up at the cavern’s ceiling, the man stands in the center of the black platform integrated on the much larger chrome circular platform which levitates in the expansive underground, emitting its own soft luminescence.

In the entire colossal space visible inside the gloomy caves, only a single chrome disk glows, completely alone in the endless caves below the sharp ceiling, surrounded by the boundless walls, and above the limitless dark lake of placid water given hardly any light to reflect due to the minimal space sources in the cave.

On that sole chrome pad, the man stands in the center, over the black platform and gazing around at the cave for as far as he can see. His mouth remains closed as his keen eyes survey the fortress in silent analysis.

He then finally fixes his sights in the direction of his body, and begins strolling forward in silent ghostly steps, finally having a goal in sight.

Alone in the monolithic cave, the small man steps off of the black platform and continues towards the edge of the chrome pad.

Upon approaching the pad, a huge blue light flashes off in the distance beyond and below the man. As the light fades into darkness, an entity is found in its place, that being another chrome pad just like the one the man is on. However, an odd property is that the pad itself doesn’t appear to be holding any equipment, for instead it’s entirely flat and empty, just a floor with no greater use. It emits its own light as well, providing a second source that greatly brightens the cave, although it’s still a far cry from its former operative state.

The two pads are connected by a translucent blue narrow bridge which has suddenly appeared, starting off at the edge that the man is approaching, and continuing at a gradual descent down to the new pad that has just appeared.

Without stopping or changing pace, the man steps on the translucent bridge, triggering a reverberating clang. He continues down the bridge, with every step causing another clang, which echoes eternally in all directions of the infinite cave. With steady steps he makes his way from the first pad to the other, taking the bridge only just wide enough to walk on, for even the slightest misstep could send him plummeting all the way down into the still bottomless waters.

Met by another gust of wind, the man’s locks drift once again as he strides to the end of the bridge, and finally he reaches the end where he then steps onto the next pad.

Right upon boarding the pad, from his perspective structures suddenly appear over the pad with complex silver machinery, chambers, hovering tables, and elevated black platforms. They however do not appear in blue flashes like the pad did, but rather the act of the man stepping onto the pad seems to have made them all visible to him as if they were already there and only by getting closer were they revealed to his eyes specifically.

Along half of the entire pad’s arch is an enormous machine of various components with large silver cylinders and chambers connected by huge tubes which then connect to a long oven-shaped machine that has several vials the size of an arm jutting out with blue liquids. The oven has several tubes running from it to another chamber built on three separate grounded platforms, and on top of the chamber are wires which curve out and stand like lightning rods. In the chamber is a transparent window which reveals a bright white glow, and from inside is a soft hum as it already appears operational. From the oven another set of tubes connect it to a batch of three cylinders in a triangular formation with several tubes interconnecting them, and in the center is a tube that juts from the pad and curves over the cylinders before arching back down and connecting to another chamber composed of several silver plates all hovering one above the other, spinning slowly and holding collections of the devices that resemble deodorant sticks with the strange blue gel substance inside.

On the other side of the pad is a long white table with curved ends, and projecting off of the table is already a wide holographic screen although currently black as it doesn’t display any notable information. In front of the table is a hovering chair similar to the one in the old main pad, made of silver without any padding.

Next to the table is another chamber large enough for a man to be placed inside, elevated on a black platform, and next to it is a table with black holographic monitors.

There are several more tables around the edge as well, for the pad surprisingly is one of the most busy of all of them despite appearing to have nothing at all.

In once again silent and steady steps, the man approaches the end of the complex machine where the full sticks are, but as he does so a familiar male voice with a British accent speaks in an ominous manner, for it declares: “You should not be here.”

Still the man keeps walking, his hands in his pockets as another breeze picks up his hair. He raises his head up towards the wide black screen, his eyes sharp as the voice echoes endlessly as a warning to stand down.

Instead however, the man assures in a calm tone, “I will not be found, don’t worry. But I need to be here, my inventory is depleted.”

Choosing not to stop, the man instead reaches the showcase of the various sticks, and he lets out a soft sigh with his back to the black screen. While he faces the different devices, a blue light projects off of his body and to the floor in the center of the pad behind him, causing a bright flash of light to scatter.

After the light dissipates, a pile of empty sticks appear in its place of great quantity, multiple handfuls of.

Not a single stick on the newly summoned pile has any substance inside, and they have been placed lazily as if tossed all together without organization. There’s no order, no care, just haphazard tossing.

Focused still on the showcase in front of him, the man then explains in a formal tone, “However, I may prefer to start coming here for my injections, doing it within close proximity of the group is notably too dangerous, I was nearly compromised earlier.”

“Would that not be more difficult? It is likely that your chances of being found would dramatically increase if your presence here did, at least your current methods allow you to remain where you should. You also would need to spend far more time if you came here for every instance, that may arouse suspicion,” notes the voice cautiously.

Instead, the man shakes his head and debates, “Then I’ll deploy better deception, I understand that concern however being caught with the serum will escalate concerns far quicker than needing to reason disappearances. I intend to station the group where there will be leisure time which I can use as viable openings, regardless of the altercations today I’ve maintained stability in their current position. I have a plan as always.”

“Perhaps, but that does not mean it is a plan I particularly find desirable. You have even neglected to speak to Dana on this matter, correct?” nudges the voice in a judgemental voice.

In response the man tsks and glances at the black screen before rationalizing, “Of all people, she would have the most negative reaction, I cannot let her in on this. I know her, there is no reasoning that’ll alleviate her discontent, if I tell Dana then it’d only result in needing to hide my work with greater difficulty. Now, placing such small talk aside, I wanted to speak to you about increasing the efficiency of the serum, I am still finding difficulty in access which is unacceptable given the current events.”

In a suddenly bold tone, the voice reproaches, “Sir, do you not hear yourself? As of now the potency is multiple magnitudes beyond what we established as the original maximum limitation. Every time you take another injection, your body crumbles more, I cannot in good conscience increase the strength.”

Annoyed, the man groans before scolding back, “Are you denying me? What does it matter if my body is slowly being damaged, it makes no difference if Exitium chops it into pieces next time he finds us, which it’s only a matter of time before he does!”

Still insistent to deny, the voice berates, “Sir, your body is not ‘slowly being damaged,’ given the current state of your being you have at best two years. Do you understand? Increase the dosage, and that number plummets, soon it will be just one year, half, a season, or less. We have done very well this past decade, please do not make hasty decisions now.”

Aggravated, the man takes his right hand and claws his forehead with it, stabbing his pale head with his wrinkled degraded fingers sharpened with sharp unrefined nails. His teeth grind against each other as his face tenses up with desperate sharpened irises.

Growling, the man takes a step back from the machine, and he then raises his head before ragefully fulminating, “So what?? What does it matter, I already completed my mission!! God dammit, if only they left when I asked them to. If only they returned to their own lives. If only they didn’t insist on joining me. If only they would let me be, none of this would need to happen!”

He then begins hyperventilating, and after turning around he walks across the pad with the drop of his hand, walking straight through the pile of empty sticks to which they clatter like glass and spread out, further polluting the surface without remorse nor even the slightest hint of concern. As the sticks clash against each other and slide over the chrome floor, they play an unharmous melody of echoes that reverberates infinitely into the endless abyss.

Until reaching the end of the pile does the man stop further ruining it, and only then do the clangs stop as he storms towards the table opposite from the machine.

Still gritting his teeth with a growl, the man slams both of his hands on the long curved table, causing another echo as he leans forward.

In a tight spidery grip, the man’s ghastly fingers slide back and claw the edge of the curved table, scratching the pure surface.

Lowering his head up, the man stares straight at the metallic white surface of the table, which casts a reflection of himself, staring back at him with the same intense and desperate face as his white locks drape down beside his head. The eye contact remains as both heads freeze, the one in the dark and the one in the light, two of the same from other dimensions.

In the white reflection gazing through the surface the man’s wide shimmering oceanic eyes stare straight ahead. He slowly calms his breathing down, although struggles to make any words between breaths.

Above the man, the voice in a delicate manner inquires, “Purely hypothetically, sir, but if they had not joined you, do you think you would still be here?”

After several prolonged moments of heavy panting, the man finally manages to calm himself down, letting his clawed tenacity loosen into a soft hold on the table, gently lowering his fingers onto the surface rather than exclusively the nail.

His mouth loosens as does his face, and his head raises his head off of the white floor and up to the black screen.

From white to black, he gazes into the dark screen devoid of reflection, devoid of himself, for instead it’s a black abyss that does not return the image of who stares back but rather carries it for eternity until it’s too far gone to scavenge.

Past the fine white locks against his ghostly neck, past the wrinkly temples long abandoned, the darkness can not be seen past, and once the man swallows and controls his breath, a moment of silence accompanies the black desert.

That answer is spoken in a soft whisper: “You still have Protocol Friday. You know the answer.”

Then, silence follows between the two, for the cave returns to the abyss of hollowness. For a moment only the breeze can be heard until it then passes, and then next came nothing for a patient moment.

In the silence, there was darkness.

In the darkness, there was nothing.

Then in nothing, the voice responds.

“Very well, I will carry out your command.”