In ancient times, man could only discern the time of day from the sight of the sun, thus without access to unrestrained nature they would be blind in time. Yet the further man advanced, so did their tools, their technology, until they developed the mechanical clock as a revolutionary device able to track the passage of time without the necessity of direct sight to the sky. In fact, there were very few true flaws with this device, for while the device could track time as it moved, it could not detect the precise time when relocated to another time zone. For the mechanical watch lacked any knowledge of its position in the world, and so if one was relocated far from when their clock was originally calibrated, their device would be rendered useless in a competition where even the natural sun would be victorious.

Yet technology rose fast, tweaking its flaws in a search for perfection, and eventually through the use of electronics came the digital clock, although that in itself was not truly the bound for in truth it merely functioned the same except for having different internals and a fancier screen capable of showing time other than in hands.

No, this was only a stepping stone, for the true revolution came with the internet, a way to know where one was in the world without needing to have sight of the sun. Clocks that accessed the internet could adjust themselves regardless of displacement, configuring themselves automatically to be correct anywhere. A truly perfect milestone in the journey for tracking time when technology had surpassed even the edge cases of nature.

Or perhaps it would seem that way, yet there was one remaining flaw. In the event where access to the internet failed, so would the clock’s ability to precisely determine the time given the current position in the world. Thus if there were to be a jammer prohibiting such access, centuries of human advancement were rendered obsolete.

Thus even as perhaps one of the most advanced humans to ever exist, one who didn’t only embellish themselves in technology but rather merge with it, exceeding the natural boundaries set by higher authority, rebelling against such to become a force whose power was only limited by will alone, the prisoner chained up in the brown rubber room can’t calculate the time where they were trapped in.

Of course the opaque material of the walls which provides no window screens disallowed for the natural technique of judging time, as in this moment there were no solutions to find just how long she has been marooned to those energy chains that bind her off her feet, the chains coiled from within the projector reels, two with one along each wall beside her.

They are perhaps the only technology of the room that can be easily discerned, for while it seems the doors have an illusive mechanism given their translucent properties when viewing from outside, only the projectors are visibly made from more than simple tiling of the rubber.

So close the shoes are to the ground, yet they dangled only inches from, rocking ever so gently above the rubber floor with bumps in each tile, tiles separated visibly as though there were cracks between the plating.

Unable to learn the hour, the prisoner’s head is just tilted down in misery, the body slightly hunched, the arms stretched out due to the persistent pull of the restraints, the ones who’d punish those even trying to budge against it.

The signature black hue of the cable signifies the type of running energy, and while perhaps this prisoner is not one who’d be specifically affected by its passive negation, she knew very well that she was not exempt from its defensive shocks.

Although in truth, the chains are not the true restraints holding the prisoner back, for if she so wanted, she can easily deactivate both in less then a second, in fact she could have freed herself the moment she gained consciousness. But the chains wrapped around her aren’t physical, instead the understanding of the keen surveillance she was scrutinized under, watched from just about every angle simultaneously constantly. Even the briefest of shots would be caught, and if any of her cybernetic augmentations were found, that could result in ripple effects that’d spill to all her life, potentially shutting it down from her regardless of if she lived or not. As long as she was being watched, she couldn’t make the move, even if it meant having to remain tied up for a time that couldn’t even be discerned.

Her only ability was to just lay standing, a frown below the amber bangs that covered the closed eyes. The C.E.O of one of the greatest powerhouses in the hundred worlds, the most advanced human born of her own making, all she can do now is sulk in anguish, sulk and wait in the silent room, the room that did not change with time, a prison detached from reality.

That is until the familiar whooshing of a dematerializing door along with the emergence of light striking her head on, her head tilting slightly as if wincing to the brightness although without sight of her eyes her expressions aren’t fully clear.

Next a voice speaks, one of a man with a deep tone more stern than the previous visitors, “So this is supposedly the leader, isn’t it?” as a foot steps over the opened door, partly now on the rubber tiling of the floor. The foot is partially exposed due to it only wearing flip flops with a red and white color scheme, with an exposed calf dressed more leisurely than the prisoner whose head remains low even with the presence.

Another foot lifts and drags ahead of the first before the former picks up and follows, a slow stroll inside from the man dressed in black baggy shorts although it’s substantially covered by what appears to be a black cape waving subtly in the movements.

The fabrics of the shorts are simple, nothing menacingly combative or armored but rather casual. In fact, the black cape isn’t in actuality a cape, but rather a black coat albeit with sleeves dangling freely thus resulting in a free motion. Similarly he has a simple sleeveless scarlet shirt open to reveal his chest which has a large crossed scar like an ‘X.’

His body isn’t particularly huge, his open shirt does reveal a refined abdomen but his actual shape is leaner, yet his height isn’t towering either. His face is also not one that commands fear but rather one covered in childlike curiosity, his eyes wide with raised eyebrows beneath a large yellow gus hat made of small fibers and a red band wrapped around, although that yellow seems somewhat artificial given patches reveal a natural dark green color beneath decrepit dye. He is clearly not young though, rather he looks to be in his thirties, with a beard not huge but present, his black hair extending past the hat as it reaches down the neck freely.

He speaks, although his voice is nowhere near as deep as the former speaker, not prepubescent exactly but high pitched relative for a man: “That’s what they said, but hm I don’t really know, he looks different from what I thought.”

Behind him that former deeper voice speaks to reprimand, “Wait Gally, you do know that’s…not a man right?”

Stunned, the man referred to as Gally stops only a few feet from the other end of the wall as behind him by the door stands the other man, one whose dressed in a purple hakama, purple like the patch of hair on his head which has a more refined shape similar to his overall body. That body is partially exhibited as his hakama is open to reveal his broad chest, although one scarred along the diagonal.

He’s not an old man exactly but is definitely older than the ally, around the range of forties, as that age brings harder skin. He has a long scar along half his face which traces under a hard black eyepatch that lacks any visible straps, one sharp with edges that illuminate a gentle purple glow. The other wide is open though, albeit not as widely as he lacks as much enthusiasm.

Right in front of the prisoner who hovers slightly above the men due to being suspended off the ground by the ropes, albeit hunched over with the head down, the man in the hat more keenly inspects the being, lowering his body to try getting a better sight of the face given that it’s covered by the amber bangs.

“Huh…well shit I swear I couldn’t tell, just don’t tell Mary that or I’m dead,” admits the man in an innocent voice despite the subject being of a captive.

“Right…well I don’t know if she even knows about this,” assures the man behind him, although an assurance said hesitantly before he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. The man notably has four blade sheaths on his hips, two on each side, for regardless of his relaxed attitude it’s clear he poses a threat.

“Well I didn’t even know about any of this until like an hour ago, nobody even told me about the raid mission. It would’ve been fun to beat up some authos again…oh well,” mentions Gally with disappointment in his voice, disappointment from not being able to partake in that horrible ambush.

“I don’t think they were sure they’d find them themselves, heard they got a tip anonymously. It could’ve been a raid on us, but I guess you got a special admirer somewhere,” explains the man at the door who hasn’t moved any closer inside the room, instead remaining coolheaded and calm as his friend closely observes the captive.

“Hmm,” ponders Gally before he then immaturely begins calling unrelated to the prior discussion, “Heyy, hello, hi there, good morning, good afternoon, this is your captain speaking! Hmm, hey Rezzo I think she’s asleep, man we picked a bad time for this. This is embarrassing, the king coming to intimidate the big corpo only to find him- her asleep,” while staring inches from the face almost obnoxiously.

Yet there’s no reaction from the prisoner, for her head remains tilted down, the bangs covering the eyes, only the frown visible. For its eyes could not be seen, and perhaps its eyes were not seeing, or rather they were not the eyes that her attention was focused on.

Instead the eyes whose sight mattered most are the black beads of the spider, the one whose body has a somewhat furry hide even if to the vast majority it’s entirely unnoticeable, for it’s whole presence seems not to be seen as it simply sits on the brown shoulder of the man who holds a tray as he turns around while in front of a horizontal line of other people, the one beside him being the man in the red overalls who also holds a tray as does everyone else. The line stands in front of a long station composed of a great table carrying an array of open containers filled with foods with several of them containing a strange green rice. The table is wide too as there are two lines, with another set of people on the other side of the station, each of them interacting with the utensils accompanying each tray whether it be straddles in soup pots or solid spoons for the rice.

After dumping a batch of rice onto his metal tray, the man in the bomber jacket turns around and walks to the very end of the table where sits several huge beverage coolers with spouts for the stack of translucent white cups, one of which the man picks up before placing the cup beneath the cooler and triggering a dark brown liquid to pour in while the man in the overalls argues, “Yeah but I mean it’s so clear Shawn’s trying to hog all the raid quests, I mean I swear I caught him at the board before they even updated once. At like 3 AM! He’s such an aim-hard” as he scoops a splash of pink beans onto his tray, his voice drowned out by the constant surrounding chatter.

Once the cup is nearly full, the man in the bomber jacket jerks his arm back which prompts the suspension of the pouring, letting him turn around with one hand holding the tray and the other holding the cup. He steps to the side of the table and turns around, his tray containing a mash of green rice, pink beans, yellow sticks shaped similar to asparagus, and black utensils in the package of a fork and spoon.

“I mean, didn’t he join a couple weeks ago? They’re usually like that at first, then they later calm down. Why’re you getting so held up by some kid anyways?” the man innocently ponders as his companion takes his own cup to fill for the same brown drink.

“Well I wouldn’t care if he wasn’t an ass about it, but he goes on and on about how he’s going to pass us in rank and how we’re all old queefs who stand around all day. I swear, I hate this new generation,” bickers back the friend as his cup reaches its full capacity such that some of the drink pours out, prompting him to jerk his arm back thus splashing more of the liquid off to the floor casually.

He turns around and follows the man side by side as they walk down the huge brown room with three floors, floors covered in long tables and benches swarmed with a population so compact that navigation is difficult. Many other men and women have trays and cups of their own, and no two people dress the same whether it be in neon jackets or militaristic camouflage gear.

The two specifically head towards a ramp that rises up to the next floor. While the whole room is decently lit by the luminescence of the walls, it’s also helped greatly by what seems to be many window screens along the walls, all of them shining cyan light into the hall.

From the prolonged reconnaissance journey of the spider, there was note that it seemed no room exceeded three stories tall, as while the space was huge it still felt somewhat compact, or at least limited in size. At the same time, every room had a similar width, nothing to the extent of a true warehouse, in fact in these larger rooms it seemed there were no doorways to any rooms to the sides, only back and forth, as though the land was narrow.

Again it couldn’t be understated how vast the facility was, yet for one meant to house such a huge population of inhabitants, it seemed to suffer from its spatial boundaries. Every room seemed dense, crowded, leading to the assumption that eventually the need for expansion would take form. While assumption that such expansion would be trivial would be naive, and there may have already been expansions yet the facility simply struggles to persist with the influx of pirates, such unchanging dimensions were noted in the survey.

Over the chatter coming from every angle, the man in the bomber jacket mentions casually with a shrug, “Sounds like how you were when you joined. Also man you’re twenty three, you’re not old.”

Beside him the friend in overalls scoffs and debates, “I’m way more mature than those kids. I mean I swear every year the next batch gets shorter and shorter, it’s like a damn daycare in here! See this was the problem with going closer to the Green Line, you find the people who are better off, more privileged, more annoying.”

Sighing from the neverending ranting upon reaching the end of the ramp, the man only walks a turn and steps onto another ramp heading up during which he snarkily remarks, “Yeah well it makes them more puntable, so really I don’t see the problem here. I think my foot can reach some of their necks. Anyways, windowside?”

Concluding the rant, the friend nods his head and agrees, “Yeah long as it’s not taken.”

On the upper floors the tables are not as long, for whereas the tables on the lowest floor were long benches that could seat seemingly fifty people, on the top level there are personal booths only for four or perhaps six if squished together. As a result it’s also slightly quieter, as while the chatter from below rises up, the distance helps to subdue the pollution.

While most of the booths are currently occupied, some of them by louder groups of four and others by silent lonesome men who keep to themselves, there’s a booth at the very corner of the room with a window screen, and the man in the overalls hastens his pace in his approach towards it.

Proceeding ahead of the friend, the man reaches the booth in seconds and slides into the side along the wall, placing his tray and cup down as his companion makes no change to his stroll as the small black dot remains on his shoulder, although it crawls around beneath the lifted collar even though it’s hardly noticed by anyone to begin with.

Joining with the overalls man is the bomber jacket lad who takes a seat on the opposite side of the table, sliding in and placing his tray down too. While the two have ample space to themselves given neither have to share their seat, the overalls man slides himself closer to the wall and towards the screen while asking, “All good if I open the window?”

Shrugging indifferently, the friend permits arbitrarily while scooping up rice with his fork, “Yeah go ahead. Hopefully a bird doesn’t fly through again.”

“Man that was months ago, you won’t let that down,” bickers back the man as he reaches his hand over the screen, to which a hologram projects in front of him displaying a small menu with buttons which he taps a few of before the window screen suddenly vanishes, yet immediately after the same block that the screen once inhabited suddenly bursts into a cloud of particles before fizzling out, allowing for a gust of wind to blow into the booth and subsequent room.

With the window open as desired, the man presses a few more buttons which closes out the menu interface, and he returns back to the center of his seat where his tray resides thus allowing him to pick up his spoon and slide it beneath his spot of beans while admiring, “That’s better.”

Through the window that the powerful cyan light and breeze comes through, the actual view itself lacks a landscape, for there is no visible ground whether it be flat plains, deserts, mountains or any hills of that sort. Instead there is merely the open blue sky, blue like the sea but with no actual surface. The only visible environment is a long gold brown strip horizontal across the window, in fact it’s rather large as it nearly covers half the height of the window, although it lacks any texture or detail to discern its identity.

During the casual meal between the two pirates, the tiny black spider crawls out from under the collar, moving to the other shoulder in the direction of the wall. More specifically though, the spider gazes straight at the open window, any facial expression lacking yet awe very much communicated by its prolonged stare.

An open window, an exit from the interior confines of the fortress. It was opened so casually, so thoughtlessly, yet this was the great break that had been sought for, sought for a time that couldn’t be precisely calculated but felt like eons in anticipation.

Yet now through the reflection of the spider’s beady eyes, it gazes upon the open window as the light shines through, beaconing onto it.

Caught in a trance of relief, the spider just stares at the window on the shoulder of the man eating his food as his friend does the same across, taking in a spoonful of rice and raising his head up to question, “So anyways do you think I have a shot with Mary- OH GOD THERE’S A SPIDER ON YOU!” in a calm and curious question turned to a violent scream.

He points immediately at the spider on his friend’s shoulder as over the crowd a distant voice shouted, “Shut up!” although ignored by the friend who turns his head, only puzzled as he seeks clarity: “Where?” as the spider instantly twitches to face the pointer.

“Where I’m pointing suh!” exclaims again the man as his finger remains on the shoulder as the spider freezes up, and the friend finally traces the point over to his own shoulder before bringing his finger over with his pointer finger and thumb placed on each other in preparation for a flicking motion while thanking, “Ah see it.”

Immediately the spider begins racing away from the shoulder, just narrowly dodging the flick of the pointer finger, but unable to withstand the force from the strike against the shoulder which thrusts the spider off its surface helplessly.

Bound to the whims of giants, the spider falls on the dining table right next to the filled cup where it then begins speedily crawling as from the other side of the table a closed fist slams down in persistent strikes for the spider, forcing it to strafe hastily to dodge certain death as the liquid in the cup ripples and jumps as the man bellows a warrior’s cry: “DIE DIE DIE! GET AWAY!!” with every word timing with another strike.

Movement rapid and jittery, the spider alas reaches the end of the table right as the fist nearly squashes it, but the bounce on the table yet again throws the spider up in the air, bouncing it just on the windowsill as there’s a thin border between the cafeteria and the infinite outdoors; freedom straight ahead, the spider races on as the man tries to grab for it, only for the spider to reach the end and vanish away from sight.

Growling in rage from the failed kill, the overalls man huffs and puffs as a few women who were walking past them stand still and stare judgingly, their faces of concern to the man’s seeming insanity before they whisper to themselves and walk away.

Watching his friend so aggressive while he himself continues taking bites of his meal, the man in the bomber jacket now free of the spider just peacefully calms, “Hey it’s gone now, don’t worry about it. It wasn’t going to hurt us anyways.”

Grunting regardless, the man finally recoils his fist back to his side and accepts, “Fine, man how do those shits even get all the way up here to begin with? I swear, someone must’ve carried it with them from outside, these newbies are nasties.”

“Yeah well I guess they’re sneaky little guys, don’t worry about it. Come on, eat your food before we get another complaint,” again cools the man before taking another relaxed bite of his food, and finally his friend complies with a sigh before returning his attention to his rice which he begins scooping from again to eat after apologizing, “Yeah got it, sorry.”

“Nah you’re goosh,” assures the friend as the two resume their meal, completely oblivious as right next to the window that spider clings onto the golden brown metallic wall– which has a pattern of groves reminiscent of planks– clenching tightly as the winds are surprisingly powerful.

What’s more shocking however comes from when the spider reorients down, facing below to what was assumed to be the ground perhaps a few stories down. Yet through the reflection in its eyes, there was no immediate floor.

Instead, ahead of the spider who stands on the side of the wall, its world rotated such that the sky is behind and the ground is ahead, it’s revealed that the world’s surface is far lower as mountains could be seen in their entirety, mountains tall yet so far down in ranges next to a beach, and beyond that beach is the great blue sea so vast yet so far.

Especially at a scale so minute, the environment ahead is so colossal, so overwhelmingly monumental. The wind blows against the spider yet it does not move, instead it’s fixated on that distant sight, the sight of the world forward yet unreachable.

“Man, I was hoping to at least get a short chat with her or something, this blows,” moans Gally as he stumbles back away from the prisoner inside the rubber room, the prisoner whose eyes still can’t be seen, the only parts of her body straightened out being her arms but only by the force of the black Anti-Exmatter ropes.

He turns around to face Rezzo whose back is against the wall, and he again complains: “I mean I guess the others are awake, but what’s the point? I wanted to talk to the big guy! Captain to captain, ya know?” as behind him a golden flare flashes through the amber bangs.

Against the ragings winds, the spider crawls up the side of the wall, although it’s becoming clear that it’s no ordinary building wall. Regardless it climbs higher and higher, passing the roof of the window that it escaped through, climbing as high as it can away from the world far below.

Up close, the dark brown furs of the spider begin to melt away, the soft fluffy material flattening into something more dense, the brown color morphing into an elegant gold.

Legs of the spider transform from the hairy organic limbs into golden metallic mechanisms, mechanisms that elongate and sharpen.

In fact the whole body grows larger, as what once was the size of a house spider grew into one more akin to a widow, for in fact even the body was smoother. Its strides too got longer on its climb up, and along its back as the golden hide takes shape there emerges an hourglass shape along the back reminiscent of a black widow’s marking. Just as the spider concludes its transformation, it reaches the ledge of the wall which it then climbs over.

Finally now on a flat surface on what was initially thought to be a brown rooftop, the spider turns around to get a better view of its surroundings.

Those surroundings come to be not of a great natural landscape, but rather a titanic structure levitating in the air which wrapped around as a ring although incomplete as there’s a noticeable gap on the other end. The ring is huge, able to wrap around mountains if it so chose to, and while the ring’s golden brown exterior is smooth– made of metal boards–, there’s an array of visible open windows dotted along the inner ring all across. There are also many other panels along the exterior of different shapes, some in arcs and others in grids, made with a grayer tint. The ring’s height is great too, about three stories tall uniformly, falling under the assessment made earlier.

Furthermore though, the actual ring isn’t perfectly round, rather it appears in actuality there are many huge sections that pivot off each other with slight rotations, rotations that on their own are minor yet result in this ring shape. Each of these sections are bordered by a transitional strip made of the same material as the grayer panels, allowing the realization of just how many sections there truly are. The distinction of each section resembles that of a train car, as in fact the entire construct hovering high in the air appears to be one huge train.

As that is precisely what it is, the titanic train wraps around to form a ring hovering over the infinite sea over the island, high up above the world with such scale that the spider cannot even be discerned as a dot from an encompassing view. The metallic body provides an almost royal wood texture, one that shines from the cyan light that passes through the strands of clouds both right above and right below the ring, as it’s situated high up in the atmosphere. The white clouds, the brown hull, the blue sky, it’s all so grand, and yet it’s all the more terrifying to note that this was enemy territory, one that was still holding the main body inside a cell.

After the gaze of astonishment, the spider pivots around and instead faces up at a glimmer of the sky above the clouds, facing straight at the distant cyan ball which was about half the size that it’d typically be, but its light still reaches even the Rim of the Superverse.

With the freedom that the organic light and warmth brought was a second freedom, one determined immediately with great relief.

That relief can be seen from the tilting of the frown on the human face, for it instead shifts to a slight grin, and that grin widens into an optimistic smile, the teeth visible and shining brightly.

Connection acquired.

Contact to the Superverse at large again.

Contact to help.

For as the spider stares up at the sky, it reaches out not with its legs but rather it directs its transmission up at immense speeds, up past the cover of white fluffy clouds, up into the sky that darkens once past the stratosphere and darkening ever more through the mesosphere until the glimmer of stars shines through, the stars covering over the infinite canvas whose base eventually darkens enough that the purple clouds peer through too.

Yet the transmission’s journey has only just begun, for it continues on towards the local gray Moon and soars right past it, onwards in the general direction of the cyan ball as it eventually approaches an orb drifting in space, an orb with a blue base, green and brown land, and white spirals of clouds, the next globe accompanied with its own moon. In spite of its beauty, that isn’t the destination as the transmission instead soars right past it, and even on approach to the following Earth it doesn’t slow down, not to the next, not to the next five, not to the next ten, not to the next twenty as it travels through the cosmos, local space in a sandbox with no end, zooming through the solar system so fast the worlds are only streaks of blues and greens.

But it can’t stop, it doesn’t stop, it continues past many more Earths, Earths with different tones as some lack greens and blues, some are merely blue altogether, others are covered in lights whereas some are purely left natural. Every world had its own slight unique appearances, different tones, different hues.

Every world traveled past has its own quirks, its own qualities that distinguish it from the rest, which includes the one Earth that the transmission finally beams into, passing through the stratosphere and soaring through the clouds until reaching over the dark nightly vast forest covered in mountain ranges and sierras for as far as one could see. While all the mountains and hills are huge no doubt, covered in green whether it be the grass or the trees, there is one that is distinguished against them all. For despite the forest being almost entirely green, there stands one mountain so tall that its peak is instead white, pure and above the world, its rockier body shaping it almost like a spear protecting its home.

Through The Peak, through the gray rocky layers that eventually transition to white metal which surrounds the huge garage hangar, the transmission passes through the floor down the many levels of red arsenal rooms and blue laboratories until eventually reaching the lounge embellished with white sofas and couches surrounding coffee tables, and on one of those couches is where that transmission finally reaches its destination: or rather whom, that being the man in blue.

Sitting down on the sofa facing the wide stretch of window screen that exhibits a beautiful view of the forest at the darkest hour of night where the stars flare and the nebulas graze, Meditat lowers his head with a curious gaze as his starry azure eyes flicker.

He raises his head back up and extends his naked hand to guide the projection of a blue holographic screen, one with a top-down map of the solar system with a line from one of the worlds in the center of the ring orbiting the central sun, and extending down nearly to the edge. Beside the map is also a box of text with labels that he observes, eyes scanning the document in seconds where they abruptly expand.

All the sudden Meditat stands up, his body stiff as the hologram glides with him only to then be relinquished as the familiar voice of Kokei inquires softly, “Anything wrong?”

Glancing to his side, Meditat stares at Kokei who's also seated on the couch with a cupcake in hand, the rest on the tray in front of them sitting on the coffee table next to two mugs of turquoise tea, one of them half finished but the other practically empty.

Concurrently as the elevator door dematerializes to allow Ekitai to step in casually, arms stretched over his head, Meditat declares in a hasty voice: “I just received an encrypted message from Dana, it just has a location but it’s on Earth 92.”

Perplexed at first as her friend approaches the two of them with a curious stare, Kokei tilts her head, also puzzled before asking, “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gritting his teeth in a clear show of anxiety, Meditat shakes his head before reluctantly revealing, “Earlier Dana went on a mission for work, and it involved going to the Rim by pod. She assured that she’d only be by the edge and for a short period, however messages in this format have only ever been shared between us for one reason alone: capture.”

Eyes expand wide in an instant from the horrifying truth, Kokei’s jaw drops and she quickly throws herself up to her feet before exclaiming, “Wait, you’re telling me Dana got kidnapped? No…no way….”

Overhearing the conversation, Ekitai just casually asks, “Wait what, someone got kidnapped?”

Meditat lowers his head to the side, breaking eye contact and instead gazing at the floor with a sharp glare, one intense of determination as he orders, “Orial, queue navigation to the received location by means of pod.”

He then lifts his head and turns it towards Ekitai to nod and elaborate, “Dana had to have been captured by pirates, damn I knew I should’ve gone with her…that was irresponsible. Regardless, I’m taking my departure now. This fortress has an adequate defense system that will protect you given you remain inside, I will also keep monitor of any suspicious activity. I should return in no more than a day, the fridge’s current supply should suffice and all other systems will remain operational in my absence.”

To that answer, Ekitai’s mouth opens, not in exaggerated animation like his friend but in a deeper dread, silent though as Meditat begins to march towards the elevator door, but doesn’t make a full step before being stopped by an arm cloaked in a white sleeve. Eyes glaring in agitation to the hindrance, he glares up the arm to find Kokei who asserts in a voice shaky yet passionate, “Wait a second, you’re not just going on your own! If Dana’s in danger, we’re coming too!” as Ekitai grits his teeth in reluctance, lowering his head despite the call to action.

Despite the earnest plea, Meditat just tsks and shakes his head before asserting back with a voice unwavering and cold, “That will not happen, bringing you to the Rim would only endanger you too. It would be pointless.” He then places his hand on Kokei’s arm as azure flames rush over it from his sleeves, wrapping around his wrist, palm, and fingers in a layer that materializes into his black and white gloves reinforced with the frosty crystal knuckles.

About to move the arm away, Meditat is approached by a tall shadow directly in front of him, calling for his attention as his frustrated glare shifts to a curious gaze.

Standing tall before the man who could create any weapon from his mind, standing as an obstacle that being a lanky senile man whose bones looked to be able to dislodge with just a gentle push, Ekitai glares back with yellow eyes that shimmer as he declares in a raspy but confident tone: “I’m going to save Dana, whether you’re the driver or I find my own ride. She’s one of us, it doesn’t matter the danger. We’re the Bellators.”

Grunting from the additional persistence, Meditat’s starry eyes shimmer as he lowers his head in contemplation baked in reluctance, the darkness of night behind him over the green forest and mountains.

Tsking again, Meditat grits his teeth but simultaneously drops his hand back to his side, moving it off Kokei’s arm.

A face of emotions in anger, vengeance, irritation but sentimentality, Meditat sighs and surrenders: “Very well, if you will inevitably follow and I assume she’ll grow upset if either of you are injured, you’ve given me no alternative. But I expect you both to be primed for departure right now, because my immediate path is for the garage. I will not wait.”

That assertion draws out some concerns and doubts from Kokei by telling of her frown and lowering of her arm before subsequently her head.

As both Meditat and Ekitai glare at each other, Kokei hisses to herself before then reluctantly admitting, “Shoot…I was supposed to finish up my work…and the deadline is in days but I’m so behind…. But…I’m going…I can’t just ignore this…but I…shoot I can’t mess this up for everyone ....”

Shifting attention from Ekitai to Kokei and with that shift coming one in the face to a more mellow expression, Meditat just sighs from the seemingly irrelevant obstacle, although there’s a clear understanding in his gaze from comprehension of realistic responsibilities.

Sighing again from initial reluctance, Meditat shakes his head before then commanding sternly yet not to her, “Orial, transmit me the completed files and prepare for upload to her repositories.”

Perplexed at first with a raised eyebrow, Kokei tilts her head as not even a second later the British voice of Orial responds promptly and formally, his voice emitting from Meditat’s body, “I have shared with you the generated files that will complete the tasks Kokei was assigned for December 21st, 2864, I am prepared to upload them to the corporate project’s repository under her account.”

From simply curious to horribly bewildered, Kokei’s eyes shoot wide and she straightens her neck before waving her hands in front and exclaiming desperately, “Wait wait what, wait how I mean no I can’t just use that, I mean no offense but it’s illegal to submit work generated by an A.I! I can’t just do that!”

Grunting from the rejection of the solution he had just sent his artificial ally to complete, Meditat just glares at Kokei with visible annoyance before then muttering in a somewhat condescending tone, “Do you want me to help you with it then?”

Instantly Kokei’s mouth opens to protest, although she pauses herself first for a couple seconds frozen before then ultimately dropping both arms to her side same as her head as in a more depressed voice she weakly brushes off, “Never mind…I’ll just…figure something out later….”

Nodding his head firmly with the extinguishment of the irritation and the reversion back to a determined warrior’s glare, Meditat shifts focus back ahead of himself to Ekitai before then demanding, “Do you plan on following or simply standing in my path?”

To that order, Ekitai steps to the side and watches Meditat march on towards the elevator door which Kokei, after frowning at the ground in dismay to the rejection of her own professional responsibilities that’d no doubt cause more stress later, lifts her head to face before then trailing towards it too.

Standing in place for a prolonged moment though, Ekitai just aimlessly gazes with a reluctant frown, as despite his seemingly unbounded thirst for adventure it seems in this case he isn’t as certain of himself.

Yet after biting his tongue, he returns to his assertion that he couldn’t simply leave his teammate stranded and captive, and when an adventure calls to him, he had to pick up the phone. Thus after a jerk of his head to toss off the doubts, he returns his own gaze to the destination of his next adventure, and begins strolling towards it too.

He does so to the elevator in the comfortable lounge room with fluffy floors and soft couches, on to the spacious garage with solid metal floors in a room mostly vacant, or that is until a burst of azure flames projects from Meditat’s raised hands several feet forward before then expanding out to take the larger shape of a pod. In seconds the construct is endowed with its properties as the flame extinguishes, leaving the shape to be that of a sporty azure pod, sleek with white and black rims, already hovering off the ground in an active state.

Furthermore, three of the doors promptly dematerialize in whooshes, with the three doors being the driver’s and the two in the back. First to step in is the driver, dropping his arm to the side before he slips into his seat with gracefully meticulous movements as Kokei strolls over to the other side of the pod and climbs in through her door.

Lastly Ekitai takes the final steps forward and throws himself inside the vehicle from the last unused door, seating himself and trying to adjust as all three doors are closed from the emergence of the clouds, and once the pod is sealed it then abruptly releases a devilish roar that quakes the whole room.

Promptly the pod begins its ascension towards the tall ceiling, first just moving straight up and rotating to the side but with no horizontal movement. It just rises towards the white ceiling as the diamond-shaped light flashes above before then vaporizing to reveal the large garage door, providing more than enough space for the pod to ascend through into the night sky.

Only for a couple more seconds does the pod ascend straight up past the interior before it then lifts its nose upwards and begins to pull in the direction it faces, moving at a speed that gradually starts to accelerate for a couple seconds.

Though that slow acceleration is then followed by an immediate thunderous boom that launches the pod straight up towards the atmosphere like a rocket, no, a lightning bolt, the black body a dot in a second which soon then vanishes into the black void just as the diamond door is shut again.

Inside the rubber cell Gally steps back and throws his arms down, slouching over in admission to defeat: “Well I guess that’s that, man I thought they said she was just awake like minutes ago or something. What a letdown, how come I’m not getting any of the action anymore?”

Behind him Rezzo leans against the wall with a cool composure, his arms folded over his chest and back pressed, his eyes closed as he simply advises, “If it matters, I’ll see if I can get you here once surveillance picks up that she’s awake. But you’re right, there’s no point waiting around here, let’s go.”

Sighing from the reluctant acknowledgement of the truth from his comrade, Gally lowers his head and murmurs, “I guess… Man I’m starving right now, I wish Beagle could cook for us again, all the food’s so bland nowadays.”

He then quickly straightens his posture and stretches both of his arms over his head, morphing attitudes in seconds into one more carefree as he turns around towards Rezzo and begins approaching him while more blissfully accepting, “Well I guess we can wait, it’s not like she’s going anywhere anyways.”

“Am I?” gently speaks a voice behind him, a different voice though as it’s feminine and in a deeper tone, spoken with a condescending tone which freezes the man.

Bewildered told by his chaotic gaze: his hanging jaw and wide eyes, Gally swiftly spins around to face back where he was before, the wall of the prison cell specifically the one that the prisoner is held up by, her feet dangling above the ground and her arms stretched out and gripped by the energy coils clenched in the projector reels, the body slouched forward limp.

“Are you certain of that?” again asks the voice in that same authoritarian tone, and despite the beaten state of the body, the inmate raises her head up, her amber bangs parting to reveal her glimmering green eyes wide not in fear but rather something almost terrifyingly stalkerish.

To what comes off almost like a mild threat, Rezzo’s eyes open with an apprehensive scorn whereas Gally smiles widely and his eyes light up in wonder.

“Hey, did she just wake up! Or was she listening to all of that?” Gally wonders verbally, still a carefree attitude.

Yet that show of indifference doesn’t deter the prisoner either, as she just glares straight at Gally, yet not in an expression of rage or hatred, but rather she has a smile of her own, almost fanatical, boasting with confidence.

In her same condescending voice she recalls, “You were complaining about a lack of action, correct? You want me to fix that?”

To that more blatant threat, Rezzo glares and pushes off of the wall, marching towards Gally and threatening back in a deeply aggressive voice, “Hey, you’re talking to the damn captain of the Sea Hats, the king of pirates, watch your tone-.”

“Wait Rezzo, no no no, this is getting interesting,” oddly interjects Gally, holding his hand out which commands Rezzo to stop in place. Whereas Rezzo’s expression had grown more agitated, Gally’s only became more intrigued, his smile wider.

“Well well well,” proclaims Gally as he blissfully strolls up to the prisoner who looms over him, glaring straight at him with a smirk, “I was pretty sure you were going to start breaking down and crying for your mommy, hell knows all your little friends were doing just that. I figured the big boss would be the best offender of them, you probably have never even seen a gun before.”

Although to that attempt at intimidation, the prisoner just continues to smile and doesn’t waver in her expression or voice as she asserts, “I’m sure your friends would do the same if someone put them in their place.”

Gritting his teeth in greater agitation, Rezzo lowers his body to a stance ready to spring on his knees, each hand grabbing on a hilt from one of the sheaths on each side of his hips, ready to strike.

However Gally again waves his hand in assurance, further perplexing Rezzo with a raised eyebrow and gaping mouth as his captain instead just raises his head up to meet her stare, his smile only getting wider as he admits, “I was expecting some snobby pig like some of the others but I think I actually like this one! She’s fun! I mean she’s clearly just talking out her ass, maybe she’s just so in her head that she doesn’t realize she’s even in danger, but man is this a show!”

“I could say the same about you,” the prisoner snaps back, even in spite of the accusation of her being simply delusional. Her eyes remain open as they’ve yet to blink even once, her grin persistent, fanatical.

That threat is responded to with a snicker from Gally, who doesn’t speak back but instead just stares up with a smile of his own, exhibiting his own lack of fear, his own strength in the freedom he has outside of restraints and in his own fortress, his own army ready to fight at any moment.

Yet all the same Dana stares down with a smirk, exhibiting her own courage, her own strength in the assertion of her safety, for while she may now be alone in this train full of enemies while still locked, she knew now soon the tides would shift, and when they did, she’d be the one surfing on top.

For her eyes did not waver.

Her body did not quiver.

She showed no fright.

She may be tied up.

But she was the one on top.