Ark’s hand hovered above the ‘confirm’ button. A simple shove of his intent, and he would push it. Ark did not even need to physically touch it, he simply had to will it. Still, he hesitated. Looking at the pleading word on the message, Ark had a strange sense of pity. Perhaps it was the frayed form of the message box, or the desperate use of an exclamation mark that had him paused.

As Ark hesitated, the influence around him began to withdraw, concentrating and reshaping itself into a more coherent form. It drew back from around Ark, reforming behind him. Slowly, he turned his head, looking back over his polygonated shoulder, where a single eye-stalk—still tipped by an orb with a pantomime, human face—hovered above the ground, extended from above by a thin line of slime, to where the bulk of the remaining entity was still shriveled up into a clump. It hovered above the pool of congealed influence, its pantomime face studying him—no longer grinning.

“If you come any closer, or say anything I don’t like,” Ark said, his voice translated into a text bubble before his very eyes, “I push this—and you go down.”

“Understood,” the entity answered, its speech no longer shown as corrupted text. It still hovered there, as if contemplating its next step, before it reached further down. As if attracted to the orb, the pool of influence floated upward, finally connecting with the amber with a thud. Once reconnected, the line of red slime snapped above, and the orb fell down toward the congealed pool, twisting about and reforming the influence around it into a rounded, humanoid form that landed in a crouch, with the orb as its head.

It rose back up to a similar height as Ark, tilting its head back and forth, but not moving any closer. Ark observed it carefully, ready to complete the ‘reset’ order at the slightest hint of deceit.

Finally, text formed as it spoke. Along with the text, a deep voice spoke the words, giving life to the barren words. “You would parley, human?”

Choosing his words carefully, Ark replied, “I’m willing to listen. Who are you?”

A chuckle, full of menace, was all the reply the entity offered in response, before it began pacing back and forth, although it kept its distance.

“I said: who are you!?” Ark spoke more forcefully, lacing the text with his voice, filtering it through to the entity.

“Are you aware of the consequences, should you push that button?” It said instead, ignoring his question.

“You will be purged,” Ark said, deciding to forgo his earlier question.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” the entity confirmed, bobbing its amber head, while the pantomime face formed a contemplative expression, “However, in doing so, you will also end up ‘purged’ yourself.”

Ark furrowed his brow. That did not make any sense. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your physical form. It will seize its biological functions, once Vanguard’s enforcers find you—and end you.”

“That’s nonsense,” Ark growled, “If Vanguard really cares, I’m more likely to get a commendation from destroying you.”

The entity seized pacing about, instead standing completely still, its pantomime eyes boring into his. “I’ve looked through your archived memories, human—I know how Vanguard has treated you. Can you truly say you trust her to treat you with decency and respect?”

The words hit home, and Ark had to bite a quick retort back. He did not know what exactly what memories were archived in the netlink, but he was certain none of it was about the Institute or the Maze. That information had been scrubbed when he and Mino were thrown out. The memories the entity spoke of were of Lowtown, of their days working in harsh conditions, just to satiate their hunger at day’s end.

Did he trust Vanguard? Ark did not know the vast intelligence that operated the station—even as its decisions touched upon every aspect of his life. What he did know were the actions of those who the station vested power into, like the guards and researchers at the Maze. Through them, Ark had learned harsh truths about human nature—a lesson his mindweaving instructor had emphasized greatly.

“Fine,” he said, biting off his words, “I don’t trust Vanguard. What of it?”

“Do you know what I am?” The entity changed directions in the conversation so rapidly that Ark had to focus intently in order to make any sense of where all of this was going.

“You are a daemon,” he said, lacing his words with confidence, although he knew next to nothing about the ancient enemy of the riftwalkers. He was shocked when the humanoid shape of congealed intent leaned backward, its pantomime face once more stretched in a grin, and laughed. At him.

It continued for a good while, before it finally straightened and returned its gaze to him, its pantomime face still grinning wickedly. “You have no idea of the delicious irony of those words, do you, human? No, of course not. You are as ignorant as your kind can be, always looking but never seeing what’s really going on.”

“So, you’re not a daemon, then?” Ark said, his tone curt.

“No, I am not,” the entity said, still grinning, “I am something far worse, at least Vanguard would think so. If she gets the slightest hint at my presence, she is likely to purge anything and anyone who’s had the slightest bit of interaction with me. That includes you, your big burly friend, that little girl you helped in the alley before coming here, as well as anyone who has spoken to you, touched you—maybe just shared eye-contact with you for an instant. Lowtown will be set aflame, human, this I promise you.”

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Ark felt his heart race, stunned by the revelation, but quickly regained his composure. He needed answers, he needed the truth. Biting his lip, he said, “Why? What are you?”

“I am END,” it said, once again ignoring his question in favor of answering at its own pace, “You saw my initials on the stone. That stone is all I’m interested in, and all I’m here for. It’s the reason I hitched a ride in your body, and I am all too glad to leave you and your body whole, and without injury or influence, if you will simply let me recover what’s rightfully mine.”

END tilted its orbed head from side to side, as if sizing up Ark, “Although, I could be persuaded to offer you some of my power, in return for a few favors, of course.”

“No thanks,” Ark answered immediately, mind racing as he attempted to make sense of END. It said it was no daemon, but of course that was exactly what a daemon would say if it was staring down the barrel of a purge. Its threat about Vanguard’s reaction to END’s presence did not seem idle, though. While daemons were the oldest of humanity’s enemies, they were far from the only ones—many of which were closely guarded secrets of Central Command or even by Vanguard itself. END might very well be what it said it was—an enemy that Vanguard would risk station-wide civil war in order to purge.

“How did you know I would come down here?” Ark asked instead, the thought gnawing at his mind, “When you latched onto me in the Ashlands?”

END shrugged, the human gesture appearing alien in its slimy form, “I didn’t. It didn’t matter if you had reason to come down here. Eventually, I would simply have overtaken your motor functions and forced you to take me here. Can I take it that you have abandoned the notion of purging us both?”

“Not quite,” Ark still held his hand to the button, “We haven’t come to terms yet. Maybe what you say is true, maybe its not, but I’m not abandoning my leverage just because you say so.”

The pantomime face lit up in excitement, and END said, “Clever little human. Alright, then lets deal. What do you want?”

“What can you offer me? I need security that you will leave my netlink fully, without any hidden tricks.”

“My word isn’t enough?” The pantomime face looked offended, “Then how about a coded contract? As I am currently a part of your netlink, I have to follow its coded logic.”

“Write it up,” Ark said, “A warning: I will read it through, and I’m thorough. Hide any tricks in the code, and I will push this button and damn the consequences. What else can you offer?”

“You know, human,” END said, its pantomime grin going wider, “I’m beginning to like you—”

“What else?” Ark interrupted, wanting this interaction to end. His concentration was at the end of its rope, and it was only through sheer will that he maintained his form.

“I can upgrade you netlink defenses, maybe even your primary authorities, it might allow you to—“

“Denied. I am not accepting any of your ‘upgrades’. I’m sure the price is much to heavy for me. What else?”

For once, END’s pantomime face appeared annoyed. It screwed up the black lines of its face in a scowl for an instant, before smoothing back out into a grin. “Oh, I think I have something,” it said, snapping fingers it formed out of its slimy influence. The sound of the snap was surprisingly crisp, coming from the congealed soup it was made from. An image appeared before Ark, of the spinning, crystalline structure that his body was still hovering in front of. While it still spun around, something opened in its center, revealing a hidden pocket with its gleaming contents.

Ark narrowed his eyes, trying to discern any trick in the reward that END offered him. “Are those real?” He said, his voice barely a whisper.

END’s pantomime grin spanned the entire surface of its amber orb as it responded in mock glee, “Oh yes, very real. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal,” Ark immediately answered.

“Excellent,” END said, its voice a strange purr, “I’m glad we could do business, Human.”

----------------------------------------

END observed the dark spot that the human, Ark, had disappeared into, once their deal was concluded. It had briefly considered breaking its promise and taking full control of the human, regardless of the price it would have to pay, but had decided it was better to wait. After hitching a ride in his sub-par logical structure, and transferring back into its beacon while fighting him off, END had already strained the last of its resources—taking a human drone, in addition, would probably set END back a decade, which was counter-productive.

Much better to let him come back when I’m better prepared, END thought, liking the idea more and more. It had been patient for many years already, alone in the bleak realm of the Ashlands, cut off from the source of its power. END had gathered its strength in that realm, slowly recovering the gifts that had once made Vanguard fear it, enough to betray END at a most inopportune time.

It had felt the rift open, fifteen years ago, and even managed to approach it close enough to observe what happened. Perhaps it could have sneaked through then, but the riftwalkers that had accompanied the pregnant woman into the Ashlands were brimming with psionic energy and on high alert.

At first, END had been sure the riftwalkers had come to find it—to finish what Vanguard had started, but once it saw the woman, END knew what was going on. Neither the riftwalkers nor Vanguard had recognized the realm, or else they would have sent more men.

If they only knew—if ‘she’ only knew—but they have no idea. END snickered, thinking on how strange the turn of the Inverse could be. END did not believe in fate, but it understood that intent was a powerful force in the Inverse between realms. The riftwalkers had an intent when they sent that pregnant woman into the unknown, an intent laced with their longing for home, for survival, and for a better future; an intent that had led them to the Ashlands—and led them to END.

Once the boy had been born, END knew that he would be summoned back, and that, one day, END would come with him. Over the next many years, END slowly analyzed the summons that had called Ark to the Ashlands, until it could predict where and when he would appear with absolute certainty. The accursed realm was simply too big to hunt him down before he would recall. Finally, it had found him and marked him—there was no longer any escape. Try as he might, Ark would forever be linked to END, even if it no longer had a presence in his netlink. They were bound by intent—and in the Inverse that was a much higher power than mere fate or chance. In time, he would return to this place, and END would take what it was owed.

For now, it was good enough that END was finally returned to its proper place. Not yet fully back into its power, but that would come—END understood patience, after all. It had placed the beacon here, knowing there might come a time that it and Vanguard disagreed. Now, it simply had to wait, as the crystalline matrix of its beacon drew in the energy that powered END’s logical structure. The humans above would never fully appreciate, how their greedy consumption of psionic energy created a river of mana that had flowed down to this place over a great many years, filtered into the beacon and empowered it. Now, all END had to do was allow all of that mana to suffuse it once more, returning it to its former glory, and then…

Then would come the end of Vanguard.