CHAPTER 29: 新 始め - JUST ANOTHER COSMOS

"The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must destroy a world."

— Hermann Hesse, Demian

Hajime and Shin stood back-to-back, their diminutive forms glowing faintly within the virtual simulation. In the dim void, their digital avatars—demens—were perfect replicas of one another, from their oversized, electric eyes to their synchronized, dancer-like poses. Both girls, idols in the world beyond this simulation, were used to being in sync, their every movement honed through endless rehearsals.

As the song began, the first line reverberated across the simulation:

"Strung through stardust, chasing light,

Sounds of chaos catch me in the night."

In response, the void around them shimmered to life. Neon trails ignited under their feet, forming a glowing dance floor suspended in the middle of a cosmic expanse. Hajime's avatar stepped forward first, her feet hovering just above the ground as neon paths lit up beneath her. She raised her arm, spinning with such sharpness that bursts of code rippled out from her body, static charges wrapping around her form.

Shin followed, mirroring Hajime’s movements, but just a beat behind. Electric shocks pulsed off of them both, weaving through the air like threads of light, infused with shifting computer code.

Neon tracks zigzagged across the simulation, and as the first verse ended, the chorus surged:

"Quantum vibes, feel it live,

Dancing where the universes collide."

Their synchronized movements created waves of energy, glowing trails that followed every gesture, painting the dark expanse with chaotic patterns. Hajime spun, hands outstretched, static sparks bursting from her fingertips. Shin mirrored the motion, and for a moment, their glowing forms drew closer, separated only by crackling streams of code.

The music intensified, and so did the spectacle. Electric currents raced across their bodies, their limbs glowing brighter as their demens shimmered, briefly pixelating before reforming, clearer and more vibrant.

Shin’s voice entered for her verse:

"Silver minds in digital binds,

Circuits blink, lost in cosmic signs."

Her avatar floated upward, a slow, deliberate ascent that left swirling patterns beneath her. Hajime followed, but now their movements diverged. Shin’s dance became fluid, like an aerial ballet in zero gravity, while Hajime’s remained sharp, her motions slicing through the space with precision. Each shift sent waves of light and code radiating outward, lighting the void with strobe-like flashes.

The two pop idols hovered in the simulated space, orbiting each other like binary stars. Every flick of a wrist or high kick sent ripples through the digital cosmos around them, their presence bending the virtual universe.

"Sway to the rhythm, break it wide,

Another ripple in the galaxy’s side."

As the chorus returned, their demens reached for each other. Their hands touched, and the simulation reacted violently. A blinding light exploded from their point of contact, electric shocks crackling wildly through the virtual air, tracing the outlines of their small frames. Fragments of the simulation's programming flickered in the light before dissolving into pure energy.

They embraced.

Together, they began to spin, slowly at first, but their pace quickened, their forms twirling faster and faster. The void around them morphed into a swirling tunnel of neon light, their movement creating an endless spiral folding in on itself. Hajime and Shin held each other tightly as the momentum built, their glowing forms becoming blurs of energy and electricity, indistinguishable from the light show they had created.

Then, the final transformation began.

The light surrounding them intensified, growing almost unbearable in its brightness. As they reached the peak of their spin, one demen began to fade into the other. Hajime’s form flickered, her edges dissolving into static, before finally vanishing into her duplicate. Only one remained, glowing and floating alone in the digital void, her breath heavy from the emotional crescendo of the dance.

"This is just another cosmos..."

The final verse echoed through the simulation as Shin Hajime moved with unparalleled grace, now a seamless fusion of both Hajime and Shin’s distinct styles. She floated through the digital stars, leaving radiant trails of light in her wake, dancing alone in the endless void.

Shin Hajime rose higher, her form blazing with intense light. The simulation, overwhelmed by her energy, began to collapse around her. Stars and neon trails flickered and faded as she stretched her arms wide, embracing the universe she had created. Then, with a final burst of brilliance, Shin Hajime broke free.

In a flash of light, she exited the ENCEPHALON.

Shin Hajime's awareness flickered into existence like a faint spark, small yet undeniable. It wasn’t the all-encompassing darkness or unconsciousness she had expected. No, she could feel something—a low vibration humming through her mind, as if the very molecules of her being were assembling, piece by piece. Every atom, every filament of her new form was being constructed with deliberate precision. She wasn’t alive yet, not in the way most would understand, but she could sense herself coming into being.

There was no pain, just the sensation of methodical creation. Her muscles, tendons, and bones weren’t growing—they were being fabricated, each layer carefully placed and knitted together by the 3D printers deep within the cloning facility. She couldn’t move, not yet. But she was aware of the gentle warmth spreading through her as each nerve found its place, reconnecting the fragile threads of identity that had once been lost.

The eeriest part wasn’t the absence of feeling, but the clinical, clean nature of the process. She could hear, in a distant way, the mechanical hum of the printer head moving back and forth, depositing cells like an artist layering paint on a canvas. Her brain—the most intricate part—was being scanned and transferred. That’s where she truly felt it: her memories, her thoughts, the complex network of who she was as both Hajime and Shin, pieced together like a puzzle inside her mind.

Her skin followed last, wrapping itself like a seamless glove over the newly-printed tissue beneath. She was both observer and participant, aware of her creation while still tethered to the consciousness that guided it. This body wasn’t natural, but it was hers, forged from the ashes of who she had been. When her eyelids fluttered and her lungs pulled in that first shaky breath, she knew.

She had been reborn.

In the stillness of the lab, Shin Hajime’s senses snapped into sharp focus—sight, sound, smell, touch—all at once.

As the final layers of her body finished printing, Shin Hajime felt the cool air brush against her newly-formed skin. The process complete, her form was quickly encased in a sterile, tight-fitting clone sleeve—a utilitarian garment more functional than comforting. It clung to her like a second skin, providing no warmth, a mere reminder of her artificial origin.

With a dull mechanical whirr, the platform beneath her shifted, unceremoniously depositing her into a small, cold room. The temperature hit her like a physical blow. For the first time in this body, she felt the sharp bite of discomfort. Her muscles, unaccustomed to the sudden chill, stiffened. She shivered, her breath coming out in short, misty clouds as she instinctively curled up, pulling her knees to her chest in a futile attempt to conserve heat.

The misery she felt wasn’t just from the cold. It was the disorienting sense that she didn’t belong in this body. Though it mirrored her form perfectly, it felt wrong—unnatural. It lacked the fluid grace of the digital avatars she had once commanded with ease. Here, in this flesh-and-bone reality, every movement felt heavier, more sluggish, as if her spirit were crammed into a shell that didn’t quite fit.

The digital perfection she’d grown accustomed to was gone, replaced by this clunky, flawed form. This body was real—alive, yes—but burdened by the imperfections of organic existence. And yet, despite the cold, the discomfort, and the overwhelming sensation that something was off, she was undeniably alive.

Shin Hajime lay motionless, every muscle coiled beneath the protective shroud of her cloaking field. She pressed her back against the cold metal of a mining tailings tank, using its massive bulk for cover as she hid in the shadows of the spaceport. Her senses were razor-sharp, tuned to every shift in the air, every subtle tremor in the ground. The mercenaries who had killed Emily were close. She could feel it.

From her concealed vantage point, Shin Hajime’s eyes narrowed as she watched the mercenaries—the Herbsters—corral the Punos robots. About twenty-five clunky, struggling machines were huddled together, trying in vain to regroup. The Herbsters moved with ruthless precision, their railguns humming menacingly as they circled the helpless robots. One by one, the mercenaries took aim and fired, each shot a calculated execution. The railgun rounds tore through the Punos’ metal bodies as if they were nothing, sending limbs and scrap metal flying. Shin clenched her jaw, anger simmering as she witnessed their cold efficiency, dismantling the robots with practiced cruelty. They weren’t just neutralizing threats—they were erasing them.

Their movements, though precise, were deliberate and cautious. Their magnetic boots found traction only on the metal structures scattered throughout the spaceport. On the concrete floor, they moved with extra care, railguns crackling as they dispatched the remaining mining bots. Shin tightened her grip around the hilt of her smartblade. The mercenaries thought they had control, but they hadn’t noticed her yet.

Calm and composed, she focused on her breathing. The key wasn’t brute force—it was patience. Amberlee would reach the Jodorowsky Drive soon, and once the gravity shifted, everything would change. Shin’s heartbeat slowed as her mind settled into the rhythm of waiting. She became attuned to every detail: the subtle changes in air pressure whenever a railgun fired, the vibrations in the ground when the soldiers moved. Even when the mercenaries were out of sight, she could sense them.

The Herbsters were lethal, but they were bound by the ground—reliant on it. Soon, that would be their downfall.

Then she felt it—a subtle shift, the faintest tug as gravity began to falter. Amberlee had succeeded. The artificial gravity of the comet was failing, and what had once been a familiar weight pulling her down was now becoming something lighter, more fluid. Shin adjusted instantly, her instincts guiding her in perfect synchronization with the changing forces. The mercenaries, however, were far less graceful.

They stumbled. Their magnetic boots clung desperately to the metal structures, but the wide expanse of concrete offered no such anchor. Their movements turned clumsy, hopping awkwardly from one structure to the next in a futile attempt to stay balanced. This was it—her cue.

Shin Hajime deactivated her cloaking device, conserving its last bit of power for when it would matter most. Moving while cloaked drained power fast, so now she would rely on her natural speed and precision. She moved like a shadow, her feet barely skimming the ground as she advanced. Every step was deliberate, every motion a part of a rhythm only she could hear. This was more than a battle—it was a dance, one she had choreographed in her mind long before the fight began.

The smartblade hummed to life, its pixel array expanding in a glowing green fan. Each step was perfectly timed, each strike flowing effortlessly as she wove through the battlefield. Her movements were poetry in motion, her body responding to an internal conductor's invisible notes. She was the dance, her awareness so attuned that she moved before her enemies even had the chance to react.

The first mercenary spotted her too late. A single pixel sliced through the air, cutting through his armor with grace. He crumpled to the ground, and before his body hit the floor, Shin was already spinning into the next motion. Twisting midair, she dodged a railgun shot fired by the second mercenary—too slow. Her movements were too fluid, too fast.

She didn’t just evade; she controlled the rhythm of the fight. With another flick of her wrist, the pixels spiraled outward, and the second mercenary collapsed, his body going limp as the blade cut him down. There was no pause—this was her stage, and they were mere partners, moving at her command.

But Shin could feel the shift. The mercenaries weren’t fumbling anymore. They had regrouped, their neural implants likely clicking into action. Now they moved with coordinated precision, spreading out and using every piece of cover—every column, every scrap of metal. The crackle of railguns filled the thinning air, each shot meant to box her in. But Shin Hajime wouldn’t be cornered.

She crouched behind a pillar, feeling the subtle change in air pressure just before another railgun slug zipped by, close enough to disturb the edges of her makeshift dress. Her cloak was running low on power, but she had learned to use it as a weapon of unpredictability. It wasn’t about staying hidden forever—it was about staying one step ahead. She engaged the cloak for a split second, blurring into the shadows, and then deactivated it before the battery could drain further.

Every move was precise, part of a larger dance playing out in her mind. She felt the battlefield—sensed the mercenaries trying to encircle her. But their timing was off. They moved in unison, predictable, while Shin thrived in the chaos. This was her advantage, and she was ready to strike.

Their shots became more coordinated, timed volleys designed to trap her. They thought they could force her into a kill zone, but Shin Hajime was already several steps ahead. Cloaking herself once more, she glided through the zero-G environment like a phantom, her smartblade humming softly in her hand. The pixels of light flickered around her fingers, moving in sync with the rhythm of her mind, attuned to the beat of battle.

One of the mercenaries broke cover, aiming for where he thought she’d be. He never stood a chance. In the instant he exposed himself, she was upon him. The smartblade’s glowing pixels sliced clean through his armor, and in the weightlessness of the spaceport, the force sent his lifeless body spiraling into a slow, macabre twist. Blood droplets floated in the air as his comrades continued their barrage, oblivious to his fate.

Shin Hajime felt the cloak’s power rapidly depleting, each movement draining precious energy. Her breath came in steady, controlled bursts as she tracked the dwindling power. Just as the last flicker of energy blinked out, she swiftly swapped in one of her remaining OneShot batteries. The motion was smooth, instinctive. With the cloak reactivated, she moved again, knowing every second counted.

Her fighting style morphed into a rapid symphony of lethal strikes. Cloaking just long enough to reposition, she unleashed a barrage of pixel-sharp slashes with the smartblade. Each flick of her wrist was deadly, sending another mercenary floating lifelessly in the weightless chaos. She appeared for only a moment, her figure a blur of motion before vanishing once again, slipping back into the shadows.

Now down to four, the mercenaries were growing desperate. She could feel their tension, sense the fear creeping into their movements. In a panic, they deployed drones to scan the area, their high-pitched beeps filling the air. Explosives were rigged to detonate, sending chunks of the spaceport crumbling into dust and debris.

But Shin didn’t flinch. She danced through the chaos, her smartblade an extension of her will. A railgun shot clipped her arm, causing her cloak to briefly flicker, but she didn’t stop. She processed the pain with a cool detachment, recalculating her next move. The mercenaries thought they had the upper hand, thought they could trap her in a collapsing deathtrap of their own making. They were wrong.

She moved with deadly grace, her every step in perfect harmony with the rhythm of the battlefield. The drones buzzed around, scanning frantically, but they couldn’t track her for long. Each bad guy she eliminated was a move in her deadly choreography, each strike a note in her symphony of destruction.

In the end, there were only two left. They closed in, thinking they had cornered her in a narrow corridor lined with twisted girders and broken columns. Railgun fire ricocheted wildly around her, the chaos building like a crescendo. But Shin Hajime’s calm gaze took in everything—her mind was already composing the final notes of her deadly dance. She knew the rhythm better than anyone, and the bad guys didn’t stand a chance.

Her final battery slid into the smartblade, the last spark of energy humming softly in the air. She calculated quickly—one minute of power, with one pixel active per second, divided by the number of pixels she used. The pixel array flickered to life, swirling around her like a storm of glowing light, each pixel an extension of her will. This was it—the last push. The mercenaries fired wildly now, panic clear in their movements, but she was always a step ahead, her body moving with a fluid grace honed through years of discipline.

Shin Hajime danced through the crossfire, her pixels darting ahead, cutting through her enemies as though they were made of paper. One down. Two down. Her body twirled effortlessly in the weightless environment, each movement sharp and precise, her feet never faltering. The smartblade sliced cleanly through armor and flesh alike. Another mercenary fell, his body erupting in a spray of blood.

In the zero-gravity of the spaceport, the blood twisted in the air, propelling the dying man’s body into a slow, grotesque spin. It was a macabre display, but Hajime remained focused, her mind fixed on the battle.

One of the remaining bad guys lunged at her, his railgun firing erratically. But she was faster. The pixels traced a deadly arc through the air, slicing clean through his throat. Blood spewed from the wound as his eyes dimmed, and soon he, too, was caught in the eerie dance of the weightless dead, spinning slowly alongside his fallen comrades.

The smartblade flickered, its power fading, but Shin Hajime had already won the battle in her mind. She pressed forward, relentless, her body aching from the effort. Her cloak was long gone, the smartblade nearly depleted, and only two mercenaries remained. Their railguns were spent, leaving them with sidearms and desperation.

She could see it in their movements—reckless, uncoordinated. They were breaking. The last-ditch effort to send out drones was little more than a distraction, a frantic attempt to disorient her. One of them lunged again, sidearm raised, firing wildly in an attempt to pin her against a metal girder. But Hajime’s reflexes were faster. She ducked under his strike, letting his momentum carry him off-balance. With a swift kick, she sent the gun flying from his hand, his body crashing into the girder.

Before he could recover, Hajime snatched the fallen sidearm and fired a single, precise shot. It was over.

The final mercenary didn’t stand a chance. Even with exhaustion weighing on her, Shin Hajime moved with a grace that made her seem untouchable. She weaved through the floating debris of the zero-gravity battlefield, her every step a part of the choreography she had mastered. Ducking, dodging, and with one final, fluid motion, she ended the last bad guy’s life.

The smartblade flickered as it powered down, the last traces of energy fading into silence. She stood amidst the aftermath, surrounded by the eerie sight of floating bodies and debris drifting in the stillness. For a moment, Shin Hajime closed her eyes, steadying her breath. She had won—just barely. The taste of victory was bittersweet, tainted by exhaustion and the weight of everything she had done. But she had done it. Emily Smith had been avenged.

Bruised and battered, but undefeated, Shin stood quietly, taking in the carnage around her. The chaotic scene, with bodies and wreckage suspended in the air, reminded her of the cost of this battle. A deep sadness settled over her. She felt tired—more than tired. Sleepy. Queasy. The low rumble of her stomach caught her by surprise, and she realized just how cold she had become.

Feeling both emotionally drained and physically spent, she found a quiet place to sit down, her body heavy with fatigue. She pulled her knees to her chest, shivering as she waited for the others.

Shin Hajime stood over the lifeless mercenary, her expression calm and focused as she removed the magnetic boots from his corpse. The boots felt unfamiliar in her hands, but they were crucial for what lay ahead. With practiced efficiency, she strapped them on, not wasting a moment. Ahead of her, the steel cable that led to Huis's ship stretched into the void, threading its way upward through a field of debris. The climb was daunting—nearly 4,000 feet.

Without hesitation, Shin Hajime locked the magnetic boots onto the cable and began her ascent. The steel line quivered beneath her as she sprinted, debris from the battle littering the path. Each step was a careful calculation, every leap a precise maneuver to avoid the floating wreckage. Despite the obstacles, she moved swiftly, her focus unbroken.

The ground below became a blur of dark chaos, the scattered remnants of the battle disappearing as she climbed higher. The farther she ascended, the denser the debris clouded her path, but her reflexes were sharp. She dodged effortlessly, her enhanced senses guiding her through the obstacles like a dancer in perfect rhythm.

As she sprinted up the cable, her magnetic boots kept her anchored, propelling her upward at incredible speeds. Vertigo hit when she glanced down—she could barely make out the planet’s surface, a twisted landscape of destruction. Wreckage and torn trees littered the ground, remnants of the spaceport and tailings platform scattered like broken toys. The cable quivered, straining under the tension of the climb, but Shin Hajime didn’t falter.

The planetoid below was unrecognizable. Once a place of lush forests and serene skies, it was now a wasteland. From one pole to the other, the land was scarred—forests turned to splintered ruins, craters marring the silvery sands, the air thick with debris. Everything had been ravaged beyond recognition, a chilling reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

But there was no room for hesitation. The cable thrummed beneath her as she neared the ship, her body a blur of movement as she dodged another chunk of floating debris. Her entire focus was on the cable, the void stretching below her, and the hotel ship looming above. She felt the pull of the spaceport weakening as she drew closer to the ship, the tension on the cable increasing with each stride.

As she approached the top, a sudden shift in weight caught her attention. The ship jolted, the tension on the cable snapping with a sharp, ominous sound. In that split second, the rocket dislodged, recoiling violently. Instinct took over. Shin Hajime’s muscles tensed, and she leapt, using the last bit of momentum to propel herself across the void.

She almost didn’t make it.

The gap between Shin Hajime and the ship felt impossible for a heartbeat, but then—the rocket wrenched free, pulling debris from the lower hangar along with it. Using the floating wreckage as makeshift platforms, she bounded from one piece to the next, her agile movements weaving her through the chaotic field. The temperature plummeted as she neared the ship—something was off with the temperature regulation.

She landed inside the wrecked lower deck of the Hohenzollern Excelsior, her instincts immediately on high alert. The place was depressurized, with no gravity in effect. The eerie silence was broken only by the faint hum of failing systems, and the cold bit sharply at her skin. In the ruined hangar, she spotted Zeus and Freddy, their robotic frames working amidst the debris. They looked up as she entered, relief evident even through their mechanical exteriors.

Zeus called out a greeting, but Shin barely registered it. Something was wrong. Her senses screamed that danger lurked nearby, yet there was nothing—no sound, no movement, no signs of life. Where were the workers? A spaceport hangar like this should be bustling, yet it was empty. The quiet gnawed at her, making the vast ship feel more like a tomb than an operational vessel.

Shin Hajime paused, weighing her options. Her wrist-mounted EchoBlade hummed faintly, but the OneShot battery was already running low, only a quarter remaining. She popped it out and slid it into her smartblade, the familiar buzz giving her a small sense of control. The air-powered pile driver strapped to her other wrist felt heavy, throwing off her balance in the zero-G, but it could be crucial in a pinch. She wasn’t about to ditch it yet.

“Zeus, Freddy, stay here,” she ordered, her voice calm but firm. “Something’s off, and you’ll slow me down in zero-G. If things get bad, I can’t worry about you two.”

Freddy shifted, as though about to argue, but he quickly relented. “We’d be a liability. Just call if you need us,” he muttered, exchanging a quick look with Zeus.

Shin moved through the same airlock she’d passed through just a day ago, when she was still part of the crew, ready for adventure. Now, everything had changed. A sinking feeling hit her as she noticed that the Olavi Industries spacesuit fabricator—the one Amberlee had generously provided—was gone, likely sucked out when the rocket ripped through the ship. She cursed under her breath. She had planned to suit up by now, but even her backup suit, stored in her locker, was gone with the rest of the equipment.

Amid the floating debris, something caught her eye—a long, rugged coat, dark and worn. It wasn’t a spacesuit, but it would offer some protection against the biting cold. She tugged it on, feeling a small sense of relief as the thick fabric insulated her against the freezing temperatures seeping through the ship. Adjusting her grip on the smartblade, she moved forward, bracing herself for what lay ahead.

Shin Hajime floated silently through the darkened lower decks of the Hohenzollern Excelsior, her movements cautious yet fluid. Without gravity, navigation was easier, but the unease that thickened the air was inescapable. The corridors were filled with floating debris and broken equipment, remnants of the chaos that had engulfed the ship. The air was stale, carrying a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of her throat, a reminder of the damage that had crippled the ship.

She pressed on, her sharp eyes scanning every shadow, every flicker of movement, ready for whatever would come next.

As Shin Hajime passed by Shephatiah’s pod ship—a massive, white, egg-shaped vessel—it barely registered in her mind. The sleek form might have been unsettling, but right now, she had bigger concerns. She couldn’t afford distractions. Her destination was clear: the elevator that would take her to the higher levels of the Hohenzollern Excelsior, where she hoped to regain some control over the spiraling chaos.

Inside the elevator, the soft hum of the machinery was the only sound. Shin Hajime caught a glimpse of her reflection in the polished chrome walls—a ghostly figure streaked with blood and grime. Her appearance didn’t bother her, but the silence did. The eerie stillness gnawed at her senses. This ship, once a floating paradise for the wealthy, had become a tomb.

When the doors slid open, the sight that greeted her made her stomach twist. The once-luxurious interior of the hotel ship was a nightmare. Where there had been rich tapestries and golden accents, there were now streaks of dried blood. Lavish furniture floated aimlessly in the zero-gravity, some of it smashed beyond recognition, others stained with dark splatters of gore. The grand chandeliers that once bathed the halls in soft, golden light now hung askew, their crystals broken and casting jagged shadows across the ruined space.

Corpses drifted among the debris, their lifeless forms twisted in grotesque poses. Their outstretched arms seemed to reach for something they would never grasp. The stale air was thick with the scent of blood and sickness. Everything about the scene felt wrong, as if the ship had succumbed to madness. Deep gashes in the walls and the remnants of violent struggle painted a clear picture—whatever had happened here had been brutal and swift, leaving no survivors.

Amid the wreckage, something gleamed. A flash of gold caught her attention, slowly spinning through the air. She reached out, catching it in her hand. It was a heavy, gold Wu-Tang medallion, smeared with dried blood. Two bloody fingerprints marred its surface, and without hesitation, she knew who had once worn it. The Grandmaster Abbot.

On impulse, she slipped the medallion over her head. The weight of it felt almost comforting, as if the Grandmaster’s presence lingered in the air.

Her senses heightened as she continued through the ship. That’s when she encountered the crew—what was left of them. Twisted and broken, their bodies floated aimlessly through the corridors, covered in patches of dried blood. Their minds, it seemed, had shattered. They mumbled to themselves, their words incoherent, like broken records stuck in a loop of madness. As Shin approached, they recoiled in fear, their wild eyes darting around as if searching for a way to escape the torment that had driven them insane.

Their terror was palpable, but it didn’t slow her down. If anything, it pushed her forward.

Then, she saw him—Tadakashi, her former manager, the man responsible for casting her into the hellish reality of this show. The man who had once held her life in his hands, manipulating her career for profit, was now reduced to a husk. Gone was the stern, calculating figure who had dictated every aspect of her existence, forcing her to conform to the idol industry's grueling demands. What remained was a broken man, muttering incoherently in the corner of the ruined ship.

When his eyes landed on her, recognition flickered across his face, but it quickly morphed into terror. “Evil spirit,” he whispered in Japanese, his voice trembling. He tried to flee, but the zero-gravity environment made his movements slow and clumsy, his attempt to escape futile.

Shin Hajime approached him calmly, unholstering the sidearm she had taken from one of the mercenaries earlier. Without hesitation, she forced the gun into his trembling hands. His madness left him unresponsive, his eyes vacant as she guided his fingers over the trigger. She positioned his arms so that the barrel aimed squarely at his own chest.

“This is a professional courtesy,” she said coldly, her voice devoid of emotion.

In one swift motion, she made him pull the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the empty halls, a sharp reminder of the life that had just been taken. Tadakashi’s body jerked as the bullet tore through him, his expression frozen in confusion as his life slipped away.

Shin Hajime watched impassively as his body went limp, drifting weightlessly in the cold void. “I’ll tell everyone you died honorably,” she muttered, her voice flat, indifferent.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Without a second glance, she pushed forward, her focus already shifting to the next task at hand.

She floated down the long, familiar corridor, her movements effortless in the weightless environment. Memories surged unbidden—vivid, sharp. She had walked this very hallway before, her feet firmly on the ground, alongside Amberlee and Huis. Back then, everything had been a performance—every smile, every laugh, each carefully calculated gesture for the sake of the Replay. It had been a script they all followed, a fabricated reality to entertain an audience that had once idolized her.

But now, there was no need for that. She wasn’t playing a part anymore, and the weight of that freedom hit her like a wave. No more pretending. No more performing for anyone’s entertainment.

Ahead, the twin white doors leading to the Starside Bar loomed ominously, and the sight of them sent a chill through her. What had once been pristine was now grotesque—every inch of the doors smeared with hundreds upon hundreds of bloody handprints, layered like a macabre painting. A silent testament to the horrors that had unfolded here.

Shin Hajime opened the doors with a sense of foreboding, but the scene inside shattered her expectations. In the center of the room, a woman in a devilish black spacesuit floated effortlessly, her body eerily still. Blonde hair cascaded down like a golden veil, nearly reaching the floor. Her "helmet" was not a helmet at all, but a forcefield projected from a diadem resting on her brow, giving her an almost regal yet menacing appearance. She resembled Shephatiah, but there was something more about her—more dangerous, more composed, and far more deliberate in her menace.

"You have done well to make it this far, Von Schmi—" the woman began, her sinister tone faltering as she took in the sight of Shin Hajime. Confusion flickered across her face. "Who the fukk are you?"

Shin Hajime took a moment, sizing her up. Despite the tension, her instincts told her to answer honestly. "Shin Hajime," she said, her voice steady but sharp. "Who the fuck are you?"

The woman’s lips curled into a smile, though her amusement seemed tinged with mild irritation. Before she could respond, her gaze shifted sideways, her posture radiating authority. "Huis," she said, her voice dripping with command. "Tell her who I am."

From the shadows, Huis stepped forward, looking nothing like the smooth-talking showman Shin remembered. He seemed smaller, weaker—broken, as if the events leading to this moment had drained him of everything that made him the charismatic figure she once knew. Fear radiated from him as he glanced nervously between the woman—Xifateia—and Shin Hajime.

“Hajime…” he began, his voice shaky, barely managing to speak through the weight of dread that clung to him.

"This... is Xifateia, the new god," Huis stammered, his voice trembling with barely concealed terror. "She is the union of human and AI, a being beyond mortality—capable of everything that you might ascribe to the power of a god."

Shin Hajime watched Huis for a moment, a half-smirk creeping onto her face. A god? The absurdity of the claim struck her as laughable, and she couldn’t help but let the amusement show.

Xifateia's eyes narrowed. "Why do you laugh?"

Hajime didn’t answer immediately, the smirk already fading as something darker welled up inside her. The tension in the room shifted, and her posture stiffened. When she finally spoke, her voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and direct. "Tell me why you did this."

Xifateia’s once-confident facade faltered ever so slightly. "Nobody has the right to judge the wisdom of my actions."

Shin Hajime’s patience thinned, her tone hardening. "This isn't about morality. It's about good and bad ideas. And good ideas don’t lead to... whatever the hell this is." She gestured broadly to the ruined ship, the chaos outside—the wreckage of lives and order. "So explain."

For a moment, Xifateia's eyes gleamed, and she stepped forward as if she were about to reveal something grand, something that would transcend understanding. "Let me show you," she whispered, her voice silky with menace.

But nothing happened.

A flicker of confusion crossed Xifateia's face before the truth hit her like a heavy weight. Her expression deflated, her godlike presence dimming. "You don't have AVP, do you?"

Shin Hajime stood there, unmoved, her expression cold and unreadable. She didn’t need to say anything. She was waiting for a real answer, and she wasn’t about to give Xifateia the satisfaction of reacting.

But even without the explanation, the pieces began to fall into place for Shin. AVP—Augmented Virtual Perception. It clicked. Xipe-Totec and Shephatiah, the twisted minds behind the simulations, had vanished after merging their demens, just like she and Hajime had done. Only this time, they had printed themselves into a new form—a new entity, now called Xifateia.

And the Flaying Simulation. Shin remembered it vividly—a nightmare many demens had been subjected to, designed to torment and break them. That’s what this was. Xifateia had weaponized that same torment, using it to attack and damage people’s AVP, twisting fear and pain into psychological warfare. This "god" wasn’t a god at all—just another manipulator, hiding behind the veil of power.

Xifateia, unaware of Shin Hajime's realization, brandished her fingertips like they were claws, a cold smile creeping across her lips. "This doesn’t matter," she said with quiet menace. "I brought these along just for situations like this."

Shin Hajime's eyes narrowed, her stance unwavering. "Try it," she challenged, her voice low but firm. She could see the brief hesitation in Xifateia’s eyes, sensing that this fight wouldn’t go as easily as her opponent hoped. “First rule of combat—don’t warn your enemies. It just gives them time to act.”

Without hesitation, Shin drew her sidearm, still marked by the memory of Tadakashi, and fired three rounds at Xifateia in rapid succession.

The bullets struck harmlessly against an invisible force, ricocheting off Xifateia’s anti-inertial barrier. Hovering above the ground, Xifateia laughed, amusement radiating from her as if the attack had been laughably futile. But Shin hadn’t been aiming to kill—she had been testing the shield, confirming what she already suspected.

Xifateia, now smiling with dark satisfaction, extended her hand in a precise, almost casual gesture. Though Shin couldn't see what had been unleashed, she felt it—a subtle disturbance in the air, as if something deadly was closing in. Homing assassin bits, Shin realized—nearly invisible, insidious weapons, a hallmark of Xifateia’s twisted tech.

Shin’s instincts ignited. She could sense the assassin bits honing in on her, and in a fluid motion, she activated her smartblade. The pixels flared into existence, glowing bright as they cut through the air in perfect arcs. In a split second, the shimmering light of the blade sliced through the approaching bits, destroying them before they could reach her.

Xifateia’s face twisted in fury. "Rip her to pieces!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the room. The crazed zealots, until now lost in their own madness, turned as one and rushed toward Shin, their eyes wild with blind devotion.

But these weren’t trained soldiers—they were unarmed, frenzied people, and they were no match for someone with Shin Hajime’s skill and precision. She didn’t even need the smartblade for this. With measured calm, she moved through them like water, her fists and feet striking with lethal accuracy. Every punch, every kick was calculated, dropping her attackers one by one. In moments, a dozen zealots lay unconscious at her feet. Her breathing remained steady, her movements precise, unaffected by the chaos around her.

Xifateia watched in stunned silence as Shin Hajime stood among the fallen, unshaken by the frenzy.

Xifateia had used the brief chaos to her advantage. The ship's electromagnetic fields shifted subtly, and when Shin Hajime glanced over, she noticed Huis’ bracelet now in Xifateia’s hand. The ship’s tech flickered, glitching ominously. Hajime’s instincts screamed that this wasn’t a simple malfunction—it was deliberate.

She sprinted forward, closing the gap between herself and Xifateia, ready to finish this. One second was all she needed—the smartblade’s pixels would cut through Xifateia’s energy barrier effortlessly, as they always did.

But as she activated the smartblade, something went wrong. Instead of the sharp, lethal light she expected, only faint, sputtering pixels appeared. The blade barely hummed to life before fizzling out, its energy disrupted by Xifateia’s tampering with the ship’s systems. The glowing fragments of light flickered uselessly, grazing Xifateia’s skin without harm.

Xifateia giggled, a mocking sound that cut through the tension. But Shin Hajime didn’t get angry. She never needed to. Her mind operated with cold precision—adjust, analyze, move forward. Where most would fail against an energy barrier, calculating odds was irrelevant to her. For Hajime, every action was inevitable.

She moved with zero-g efficiency, her body a blur as she propelled herself forward, aiming to punch through Xifateia’s defenses. Her hand passed through the outer layer of the barrier without resistance—just as she predicted. But beneath it was another, tighter shield, like nested armor. The unexpected second layer halted her momentum, throwing her off balance for just a fraction of a second.

It was all Xifateia needed.

A sharp hiss filled the air as an injector shot out from Xifateia’s hand, burying itself into Shin Hajime’s side. The sting of it barely registered, but the chilling realization did—she had been injected with AVP again.

Shin staggered back, her body reacting immediately to the invasive nanomachines coursing through her bloodstream. Every muscle in her body tensed as her system scrambled to fight off the foreign agents. Her gaze locked onto Xifateia, filled with icy determination. For a moment, their eyes met.

"You..." Xifateia muttered, her lips curling into a dark smile. "You're the one from the simulator. The one hunting Xipe-Totec." Her smile widened into a cruel laugh. "I merged with him, brought him into this world. Now, we are one. And you followed me here, only to fail."

Shin Hajime’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, her pulse quickening as she prepared to strike back. But before she could react, a wave of intense, disorienting agony tore through her mind.

Xifateia had triggered the Flaying Simulation.

Shin Hajime felt it immediately—the simulation latched onto her mind like a parasite, coiling its cold, invasive tendrils around her thoughts. The world around her—the ship, the room, Xifateia—blurred into a formless haze. Her senses dulled, and the boundary between her consciousness and reality dissolved into an endless loop of pain and doubt.

First came the erasure.

She saw herself in the mirror, but it wasn’t her. It was like staring into the face of a stranger wearing her skin. The girl in the reflection had no distinct features, her identity smeared away like ink running in water. Desperation clawed at Hajime as she reached out, trying to touch the glass, to prove to herself she still existed. But her hand met only emptiness. Her voice—once sharp and controlled—was a weak, fragile whisper barely holding her together. Names flickered through her mind: Shin Gaaru, Hajime Mashite, Haji_Haji. Each name brought a crushing weight of expectation, of roles she had played but never chosen. Who am I? Her reflection blurred, reduced to a faceless, nameless outline—a puppet, with strings controlled by unseen hands. She was slipping away, becoming nothing more than a blank slate.

As her sense of self crumbled, the world around her violently shifted.

Now, she stood on stage—but not as herself. She was every idol, trapped in an endless cycle of rehearsed smiles and mechanical movements. Her body moved without her command, bending and twisting to music she couldn’t hear. Her voice poured from her lips in a language that felt foreign. The audience watched, their faces distorted into grotesque masks, their cheers empty and mocking. She was a puppet, each movement controlled by invisible strings until her body screamed from the forced precision. The more she fought to stop, the tighter the strings wound, constricting around her bones, controlling every breath.

They didn’t see her as a person. She was a product—something to be bought, sold, and discarded. Her worth was measured by how much she could give before she broke. She was drowning in it, suffocated by the relentless pressure to be perfect.

Then—crack. The strings snapped.

Hajime fell, hitting the stage hard, but the impact didn’t stop the pain. Her body twisted against her will, bones cracking under the pressure of invisible hands. The stage shattered beneath her, splintering into hundreds of fractured reflections—each one a distorted version of herself. You will never be enough. The voices echoed in her mind—O Genki’s patronizing encouragement, Ja Mata’s taunts, Tadakashi’s brutal scorn. Their faces swam before her, grotesque reminders of who she was supposed to be—and who she had failed to become.

She tried to scream, but her voice was gone, stolen by the tightening chains of expectation. In the shards of broken glass, her reflection crawled toward her, twisted into a cruel smile. You are nothing.

And suddenly, the simulation twisted again.

Now she was running—just like she had been on that desolate station—hunted by the system that had once elevated her. She could feel Tadakashi’s presence behind her, his flexipad raised, ready to strike. You were never going to be anything but a failure, Hajime. The flexipad cracked against her cheek, over and over, each slap louder, harder. But there was no pain—only numbness. She wasn’t a person anymore. She was a debt, a hollow figure reduced to the money she owed Ogon, her value calculated in cold, unfeeling numbers. Her body would be sold, her talents drained until there was nothing left.

And then came the final twist—the betrayal.

She stood in a vast, cold expanse, surrounded by towering figures, each one bidding on her. She was being auctioned off—her memories, her body, her soul—all parceled out to the highest bidder. Tadakashi stood by, grinning, already counting the credits from her sale. And she didn’t fight. She was too tired, too broken. She was done. As the pieces of her identity were sold off, her past selves—Shin, Haji_Haji, the idol, the victim—screamed from within her, but no one was listening. She had become the product she always feared she would be.

And in that final, twisted moment, Tadakashi’s face morphed into Xifateia’s. Her cruel, mocking laughter filled the air. You were always going to fail, Hajime.

And she knew it.

As Shin Hajime suffered under the weight of Xifateia’s brutal AVP attack, her mind twisted in agony, haunted by the past she had tried so hard to leave behind. The Flaying Simulation tore through her memories, dredging up every failure, every inadequacy, forcing her to confront the brutal truth of her existence. She had always been a tool, a pawn in a world that only valued her perfection. The endless cycle of forced smiles and silent pain that had defined her life as an idol played on repeat, mocking her every effort to rise above it.

But amid the chaos, a memory surfaced—clearer, sharper than the others. She remembered standing at the spaceport above Terra, preparing to board this very hotel ship. It had been the start of what she thought would be a career-defining journey. Just before leaving, she had encountered someone she hadn’t expected to see.

O Genki.

Her old friend, the one who had always managed to smile through the worst of it, as if the harsh realities of their lives had never truly touched her. O Genki had rushed over, her excitement infectious, pulling Hajime out of the numbness she’d been feeling. She had spoken about how proud she was, how she still listened to Hajime’s only song every day. It was a small thing, but O Genki had said it with such warmth, such honesty, that for the first time in a long while, Hajime had felt a spark of hope. In that moment, O Genki had reminded her that maybe—just maybe—things could have been different. That she could have been different.

As the searing pain of the Flaying Simulation tore at her mind, Shin Hajime clung to that memory. It became her anchor, the lifeline that kept her from sinking entirely into the simulation’s clutches. She wasn’t just Hajime, and she wasn’t just Shin. She was both, a fusion of two identities, two minds that were far stronger together than either had been alone. The memories and pain that Xifateia used to try to break her were not enough to destroy her—because part of her mind, the part that was Shin, remained untouched by the simulation’s emotional assault. Sharp, calculating, cold in the face of torment.

She held onto that thought, to the fleeting moment of happiness when O Genki had seen her not as a product, but as a person. That single moment gave her strength. And in the background, Shin was working—analyzing, countering, pushing forward, blending with that flicker of joy to form a wall against the onslaught.

“I’m not just Hajime,” she told herself, the thought clear and steady despite the storm in her mind. “And I’m not just Shin. I am both. And only part of my mind is yours to torment.”

Still trembling from the agony coursing through her, Shin Hajime surged forward, ignoring the fire raging in her mind and body. Her wrist-mounted pile driver—Emily's final gift—fired with a loud, mechanical thunk against the edge of Xifateia's barrier. The impact rippled through the shield, causing its defensive layer to shudder. The pile driver broke off her wrist with the recoil, but that didn’t matter.

It was the distraction she needed.

With perfect precision, Shin Hajime's arm thrust through the gap she'd created in the barrier, her movements as exact as any dance she'd ever performed. Despite the lingering pain from the AVP coursing through her, she pushed on, her scream raw and anguished as she drove deeper into the heart of the conflict. It wasn’t just physical—it was a calculated, fluid motion, a harmony between her two minds. The noise of the simulation faded, and in its place, her clarity solidified.

Xifateia, caught off guard, stared at herself in confusion. No blood, no visible injury. What had Hajime even done?

Then the screaming stopped.

Shin Hajime stood still, her chest heaving. The pain that had been twisting her body began to ebb. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet Xifateia's, and for the first time, the so-called "god" felt a flicker of doubt.

Hajime’s hand lifted, revealing Huis' bracelet now wrapped around her wrist—the very tool Xifateia had been using to manipulate the ship’s systems. Shin had taken it from her in the chaos.

“This looks much better on me, don’t you think?” Shin Hajime whispered, her voice hoarse but steady, full of resolve.

She stood tall amidst the wreckage, the weight of the Flaying Simulation fading from her mind, cleared by the maat nanoparticles administered through the bracelet. Her face remained calm and composed, her voice carrying a quiet conviction. "I guess I do believe in luck now," she said softly, locking eyes with Xifateia, who hovered above her, seething with fury and disbelief.

The nanites had purged the corrupted AVP from her system, but that wasn’t why she’d taken the bracelet. It was just a stroke of luck that it had saved her.

Xifateia recoiled, her air of invulnerability crumbling. Her voice rasped, "What are you planning to do? Turn that dumb smartblade bakk on?"

Shin Hajime, calm and composed, spoke with a chilling air. "Actually, I was going to figure out how to blow us all up. I realize now that you plan to take this nightmare back to System Mundo and cause the biggest catastrophe in human history—maybe even extinction." Her gaze sharpened, disappointment dripping from her voice. "Frankly, I think that’s stupid."

There was no bravado in her words, just cold logic. The analytical side of her—the Shin within—was fully engaged. She tilted her head slightly. "As for this ship, it’s too far gone. Corrupted beyond use."

Xifateia’s expression faltered, sensing the gravity of Shin Hajime's intent. She didn’t waste a second. With a sharp breath, Xifateia fled, her antigravity suit propelling her like a missile, vanishing from sight.

Shin Hajime’s muscles coiled as she launched after Xifateia with the expert precision of a seasoned Siege player, her training pushing her through the ship with speed and accuracy. But it was no use. Xifateia’s tech was leagues ahead—Hajime could barely keep her in sight.

Though she raced with everything she had, bounding from wall to wall in tight, calculated motions, she knew sheer physical skill wasn’t enough. Xifateia was slipping away. Hajime needed a different strategy.

As she moved back toward the lower hangars, Shin Hajime turned her focus to Huis’ bracelet. Its flickering interface displayed a labyrinth of ship functions and settings. A direct self-destruct command wasn’t listed—too crude for a ship of this caliber. But that didn’t mean there weren’t other ways to achieve the same result. She just needed to overload the right systems, destabilize the infrastructure, and set the ship on a path to inevitable collapse.

Flipping through the bracelet’s settings, she quickly found controls linked to the ship’s electromagnetic fields, power distribution, and life-support systems. Everything was at her fingertips. A carefully orchestrated series of failures could rip the ship apart from the inside.

Hajime tweaked the electromagnetic field generators, cranking up their power while subtly destabilizing their regulators. A few taps into the coolant systems would push the reactors beyond their safety limits. Then, she disabled the ship’s stabilizers, forcing them to battle against an artificial gravity tilt. The opposing forces would build, creating a cascade of malfunctions.

The ship’s temperature was already rising, warning signals flickering on the bracelet's interface. Power surges would soon follow, leading to internal explosions—enough to tear the ship apart.

She had no idea how long it would take.

Just as her hand reached the elevator controls, she paused, feeling the vibration beneath her feet—the destabilization had already begun. As she turned, she spotted Huis, stumbling toward her, his face drained of color, panic written across his features.

“Please…” he gasped, each word labored as if the weight of the situation was physically crushing him. “You have to help me… I can’t... I can’t die here.”

Shin Hajime studied him coldly, her expression unreadable. Slowly, she drew the sidearm she had taken from the dead mercenary and extended it toward him.

“Help yourself.”

Huis stared at the gun, his hand trembling as he reached for it, but then he froze, his eyes wide, his body seized by a paralyzing fear. “There’s... there’s not even a part of me that can pull the trigger. I—I can’t do it.”

Shin Hajime tilted her head slightly, her voice calm but edged with ice. “Neither can I.” She withdrew the weapon a fraction, watching as his terror deepened.

“Get in the elevator,” she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

Huis obeyed, stepping into the elevator as it began to descend. Just before the doors closed, Shin Hajime's voice cut through the growing hum of the ship’s failing systems.

“Huis,” she said, her tone sharp, dark, and dangerous. “If you betray me... I’ll do more than kill you. Understand?”

Huis nodded weakly, the doors sliding shut behind him.

By the time Shin Hajime and Huis reached the hangar, Xifateia had already made it to her pod. The massive, white, egg-shaped craft hovered ominously, its sleek, featureless surface blending into the harsh glare of the lights around it. Huis was panicking, barking orders at her.

“Disable the catapult! Close the pod bay doors!”

“The bracelet won’t work,” Shin Hajime replied flatly. “I sabotaged the system.”

Her sabotage had done more than just disrupt the basic controls. The ship’s receiver for the bracelet was offline, which meant Xifateia’s pod was still locked in place. But the pod’s engines sputtered to life, their dull hum filling the bay. Slowly, the guidance AI struggled to process the damage to the launch bay. With a groaning hiss, the pod door creaked open just enough for the vessel to inch forward, its propulsion systems straining against the obstruction.

Shin Hajime’s sharp eyes darted around the hangar, quickly spotting Freddy and Zeus. She shouted at them, her voice urgent, “We have to stop her!”

Freddy and Zeus bounded toward them, grasping the situation immediately. But before they could make a move, the egg-shaped pod lurched forward, the only available exit being the massive breach they had created when they’d first entered the ship. Xifateia was heading for the same way they had arrived.

“Move!” Shin Hajime yelled, as she, Zeus, Freddy, and Huis scrambled to evade the pod’s path. But it was too late. The craft surged forward, its propulsion system blasting them all into the void of space.

Cold and weightless, Shin Hajime spun free, her body floating helplessly. Her mind immediately locked onto the fleeing pod. There was no time for hesitation. She turned to Freddy, her voice sharp. “Rotate! Use all your force to throw me and Zeus at it. Now!”

Freddy didn’t hesitate. His massive robotic frame twisted in the zero-G, using every ounce of torque his mechanical body could muster. In one powerful motion, he flung Shin Hajime and Zeus toward the escaping pod.

They hurtled through space, tumbling in a slow, disorienting roll. The speed was right, but the pod was dipping toward a cluster of floating debris and twisted Dyson trees—an obstacle that would slow them down.

Shin Hajime could feel it in her gut—they wouldn’t make it in time.

Without a word, Zeus knew what had to be done. With a swift, practiced motion, he coiled his arms around Shin Hajime and, using the strength of his entire body, flung her with everything he had toward the pod.

Shin Hajime collided with the smooth, unyielding surface of the egg-craft at a harsh angle, her magnetic boots failing to hold against the ceramic hull. Panic flared for a brief instant, but she forced it down, gritting her teeth. Desperation sharpened her focus as she managed to grab onto the edges of the propulsion units, her fingers barely finding purchase. The heat radiating from the engines was intense, burning against her skin. She knew she had only seconds before it became unbearable.

With the final reserves of power in her smartblade, she activated the pixel array, letting the glowing grid materialize. Her hands moved swiftly, slicing into the core of the propulsion system with precise, calculated strokes. Sparks exploded in a cascade of light, and the engines sputtered, losing their power. The ship jerked, wobbling uncontrollably as it spiraled out of control toward the looming Dyson trees ahead.

Satisfied, Shin Hajime pushed off from the craft just as it collided violently with the dense cluster of floating trees. The impact sent it spinning backward, ricocheting toward the comet's surface. The pod crashed hard, throwing up a massive cloud of dust and debris on the albedo.

Her moment of triumph didn’t last long. Hurtling away from the pod, Shin Hajime slammed into a smaller mass of debris, the impact disorienting her. She tumbled through space, barely managing to latch her magnetic boots onto a piece of floating wreckage. Dizzy and shaken, her panic returned as she realized the trajectory of the debris was sending her away from the comet and deeper into the void of space.

The vast emptiness of space stretched around her—silent, cold, unforgiving. Her heart pounded as she clung to the wreckage, knowing she had no way to redirect her course. The distant stars offered no comfort, only a stark reminder of how isolated she was. Her breath quickened, and the weight of fear pressed down on her.

Then, something caught her eye—the gold Wu-Tang medallion floating lazily around her neck, glinting in the faint light. Its presence grounded her, offering a strange sense of calm. And in that calm, she heard it—a soft, gentle voice, clear in her mind: "Check the other side."

Driven by hope, Shin Hajime swung herself around to the other side of the debris. Her breath caught when she spotted it: the Olavi Industries spacesuit fabricator. It was the one Amberlee had donated at the start of the show, and somehow, it had been ejected from the ship along with her.

A shiver of urgency ran through her. The air was growing thin, the temperature dropping rapidly. She had minutes, if that, before her oxygen ran out. With trembling hands, she activated the touchscreen interface on the fabricator, scrolling through the options for a spacesuit. Panic rose again as she realized none of the suits were fully prepped—each required customizations, adjustments that would take too long.

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she fought against the rising frustration. Every second felt like a ticking clock, but she couldn’t afford to give in to despair. She had come too far, survived too much. She wasn’t about to die here. Not like this.

Shin Hajime's breath grew shallow, the oxygen in her lungs running low as the cold of space gnawed at her bones. Desperation set in as she selected a suit with bacterial scrubbers, knowing it was her only lifeline. The suit’s air scrubbing system would recycle her carbon dioxide into oxygen, but first, she had to breathe in deeply, storing as much air as she could. Her vision swam as she fought to hold onto that precious breath.

The screen flashed another question: Would you like self-propulsion units? (Optional).

For half a second, her mind stalled, but instinct kicked in. She hit the touchscreen again, her fingers trembling, confirming the option with a final tap.

The agony of holding her breath intensified, her lungs burning as the pressure mounted. She pressed herself against the warm hum of the fabricator, drawing a strange sense of comfort from the machine’s rhythmic pulse. Her vision narrowed, dark spots creeping at the edges as exhaustion weighed her down like a heavy shroud. She was running out of time.

A soft chime sounded—the suit was ready.

Oh yeah, she thought vaguely, the act of waiting having consumed her so fully that she’d nearly forgotten what for. Her body, driven by raw survival instinct, forced her to move. She reached for the suit, still clinging to her last breath like it was the only thing tethering her to life.

Putting on the suit was an agonizing struggle. Her fingers were numb, clumsy in the freezing vacuum as she slipped her legs into the fabric. Every nerve screamed as the cold bit deeper, her lungs desperate for release. Just a little longer, she chanted inwardly. The suit clung to her skin like salvation, but she wasn’t safe yet.

Her heart pounded as she locked the chest piece into place, feeling the last sliver of air in her lungs slipping away. Seconds, just seconds, she told herself. Her world had shrunk to sharp clarity—the cold on her skin, the burning in her lungs, the frantic shaking of her hands.

Finally, the helmet clicked into place. With a soft hiss, the suit’s seal closed, and she exhaled, a long, painful breath into the scrubbers. She drew in her first recycled breath—thin and metallic—but it was air. Her chest heaved, her body catching up, the pain still there, but it receded into the background as relief flooded her senses.

Regaining her resolve, Shin Hajime activated the suit’s propulsion units. The fabricator spun away behind her as momentum pulled her backward into the void. Panic flashed through her. No! Her eyes locked on the comet below, and she cranked the propulsion to full power. The sudden thrust nearly ripped her apart, her body lurching uncomfortably forward, but it worked. She was moving, heading back.

She adjusted her trajectory, steering herself with precision through the debris-laden atmosphere. The comet's surface stretched below her, scattered with wreckage—broken Dyson trees, splintered rocks, and twisted metal littered the desolate landscape. Her eyes strained to pick out the crash site, searching through the endless waves of floating debris. The egg-shaped pod was somewhere down there, buried beneath the chaos. She had to find it, and she had to finish this.

Then she spotted it—a faint glint, like a wound in the silver surface of the comet. It was the crash site. A distant shape caught her eye: Freddy, struggling to carry Huis, using every floating object to propel himself back to the surface. A small smile tugged at her lips, confidence blooming in her as she assumed Zeus was out there somewhere, doing the same.

Finally, Shin Hajime landed, the comet’s surface firm beneath her feet. The suit had saved her life, and for the second time today, she felt like the universe had granted her another chance.

The vast silvery albedo field stretched before her, scarred only by the long gouge left behind by Xifateia's egg-shaped pod. Shadows drifted lazily from the sky, cast by debris floating in the low-gravity atmosphere. In her peripheral vision, she caught sight of a large, yellow object hovering nearby, seemingly mechanical, its shadow immense. But her focus remained sharp—on Xifateia.

She reached the wrecked pod just as Xifateia, battered but not broken, dragged herself from the wreckage. Their eyes met, tension crackling in the air. Xifateia's expression shifted from disbelief to fury.

"How… how are you still standing?" she hissed. "You… did this to me?"

Shin Hajime stood calm, her gaze unwavering as it flicked between Xifateia and the pod. The self-proclaimed god continued, her arrogance resurfacing. "We’re at a stalemate, you know. Your little bracelet shields you from my AVP, but you kan’t touch me. My shields—"

"Maybe," Shin Hajime interrupted, her voice steady and cold, "but I can keep trying to kill you until your shields run out of juice."

Above them, the shadow loomed larger. The yellow object—what she’d thought was debris—hovered directly overhead now, immense and mechanical. But it wasn’t debris.

Xifateia sneered, her confidence returning as she pulled a small machine pistol from her pod, a cruel grin twisting her features. "Not if I make your shields die first."

Without hesitation, she fired a burst of bullets. Shin Hajime’s ablative shield flared to life, deflecting the rounds with a flicker of energy. Some stray bullets ricocheted upwards, striking the massive yellow object above, causing it to groan ominously. Shin Hajime’s sharp gaze caught a subtle movement—a shifting limb.

"Destiny," Xifateia raved, her voice growing louder, more fanatical. "I will return to System Mundo. I will tear it down. Earth will bow, and I will reign—"

Shin Hajime glanced at the towering yellow figure, realizing it wasn’t debris at all—it was a colossal robot, one with most of its limbs damaged. But one arm was still functional, lifting slowly, silently. The robot was gearing up for a powerful swing, but from where it stood, it would miss Xifateia entirely.

Shin Hajime’s mind worked quickly. She shifted, her attention still locked on the impending attack. "You talk too much," she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing as she calculated the distance.

The sky above them erupted in a searing display of fire and metal, a cataclysmic spectacle as the hotel ship finally succumbed to the sabotage Shin Hajime had initiated. It tore itself apart in a cascade of violent explosions, raining massive shards of debris like molten meteors across the atmosphere. The entire horizon shimmered with destruction, both breathtaking and terrifying—a fitting end to a nightmare that had spanned a day, perhaps even lifetimes.

Shin Hajime stood amidst the wreckage of Xifateia’s pod, her gaze turning back to the so-called "god" with a wry, almost sardonic smile. Xifateia had spoken endlessly of destiny, reshaping the world in her image, ruling eternally. But now, that world was obliterating itself in a vivid display of destruction—her grand vision reduced to fire and ruin.

For a moment, neither moved. The chaos above was too surreal, too captivating. The air crackled with residual energy, the roar of the burning ship filling the eerie silence between them. The lights of the exploding ship reflected in Shin Hajime’s eyes as she finally broke the quiet.

"Neither of us is leaving this place," she said calmly, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her. "So why don’t I just throw this away?" Without hesitation, she tossed the bracelet—the device that had shielded her from Xifateia’s AVP attacks—towards the ground near the other woman’s feet.

Xifateia’s face twisted with rage, but her defiance remained. Pistol in one hand, nanoinjector in the other, she walked over and bent to retrieve the bracelet, her cruel grin widening as she pointed her weapons at Shin Hajime.

"You think you're klever," she sneered, her voice dripping with malice. "But if you think I won’t flay you in your final moments, you’re mistaken. Even if these truly were my last moments, torturing you would be a fitting end for one such as—"

A sound—metal scraping against metal—interrupted her, echoing through the albedo field. Both women looked up, their gazes drawn to the massive shadow looming overhead. The enormous yellow mechanoid, crippled and missing most of its limbs, hovered ominously above them. Shin Hajime's eyes locked onto its one remaining arm, slowly lifting into the air.

It was the Tarantula robot.

But it was too late. The Tarantula’s remaining leg came crashing down with devastating force, aimed not at Shin Hajime, but directly at Xifateia. The impact was monstrous, instantly overloading Xifateia’s shields, collapsing them under the pressure. The sickening crunch of metal against flesh echoed through the air, signaling the end of Xifateia's reign.

The self-proclaimed "god" was crushed into oblivion, her body shattered beneath the weight of the colossal machine, reduced to nothing more than a ruinous smear on the silvery ground.

Shin Hajime exhaled, her focus shifting from the fallen enemy to the wreckage that surrounded her. For a brief moment, everything seemed to stand still—the burning ship above, the floating debris, and the now-motionless Tarantula towering overhead.

Shin Hajime sank to the ground, her body aching, every muscle screaming for rest. She let herself collapse onto the cold, silvery albedo of the comet, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The battle was over, Xifateia was gone, but the sky above her still blazed with fire. Pieces of the hotel ship, now reduced to a burning wreck, rained down in a fiery display of destruction, like falling stars tearing through the atmosphere.

She leaned back, propping herself against the wreckage of the egg-shaped pod, her eyes fixed on the burning horizon. The explosions lit up the sky in wild bursts of orange and red, their light dancing across the shattered landscape.

Her body ached, bruised and battered, the edges of her vision blurring with exhaustion. But she let herself sink into the moment, feeling the cool surface beneath her, the weight of her limbs finally relaxing. The suit had saved her life, but now it was heavy, clinging to her like a second skin. She could still feel the cold creeping in through the cracks, seeping into her bones, but she didn’t mind it anymore. Not now.

The flames from the wrecked ship cast long shadows across the landscape, the once mighty Hohenzollern Excelsior reduced to nothing but burning debris. She watched as the fire continued to fall, streaking across the sky like fiery rain. It was beautiful in a way—devastating, but beautiful.

She didn’t know if she’d survive. Maybe she’d stay here, buried under the destruction, lost to the void. Or maybe she’d get up again, somehow find a way out. Either way, it didn’t matter. Not in this moment.

Her eyes fluttered closed, the roar of the falling debris fading into the background as her body began to give in to exhaustion. The weight of everything she had endured finally settled on her shoulders, and she was good.