Arbiter-B3 sat at Its desk in the Director embassy, surrounded by screens pulsating with data from across the Finisterra controlled universe. Flickering images reflected the turmoil of planets under Finisterra’s grasp, but B3’s focus was solely on the events that had transpired since the escape of Fletcher.

Regina’s oversight has made her a cautionary tale, B3 thought, its synthetic mind processing the implications. One cannot underestimate the unpredictability of humanity. The Arbiter replayed the footage of Regina’s confrontation, her arrogance leading to her downfall.

Fletcher was no ordinary man; he had slipped through their fingers like sand, a mere shadow in a world ruled by fear. But it wasn’t just his escape that concerned B3. It was the potential he represented—a flicker of hope in a universe steeped in despair.

Fletcher’s abilities transcend the ordinary; he embodies a hope that could ignite a revolution—something we cannot allow. The Arbiter’s cold logic churned within its mind. To the people beneath Finisterra’s reign, he could become a martyr, a beacon guiding them toward freedom from their chains.

But beyond the immediate threat of Fletcher lay a darker truth, one that the Arbiters kept hidden, even from themselves. B3 contemplated the significance of maintaining the illusion of the Supreme Director’s presence. The Supreme Director was a ghost—a fabricated authority designed to instil fear and obedience.

The foundation of our authority rests upon a facade, a ghost in the machine. The Arbiter shuddered at the thought of chaos erupting should the truth of the Director’s long ago demise leak into the Finisterra populace.

And then there was the Freehand Collective. Rumours of their existence had reached the people of Finisterra, tales of a haven for rebels outside Finisterra’s control. The Freehand Collective thrives on shadows and whispers; their belief in a world outside our control threatens to unravel everything we have built.

B3 felt the weight of the decisions that loomed ahead. It was a game of chess, each piece carefully calculated, and Fletcher had become the wildcard. The Arbiter’s resolve solidified.

I will not allow the flicker of hope to become a flame. Fletcher must be found.

Arbiter-B3 processed the recent decision to place Jax in charge of the hunt for Fletcher. Jax had ambition, but ambition alone wasn’t enough. He had been efficient as a Sentinel, methodical even, but he lacked the vision to truly understand the magnitude of what lay ahead.

He may do well for a time, B3 thought, coldly analysing Jax’s future, but if he fails…

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B3’s mind wandered to Regina. She had shown promise at the start, but over time, complacency and arrogance dulled her edge. She believed she could contain Fletcher, that she could understand him, manipulate him—but it had been a fatal miscalculation. And B3 had removed her as easily as wiping data from a terminal.

Jax would fare no better if he allowed himself to believe that capturing Fletcher would be simple. Fletcher is not an enemy bound by the same rules as the rest of them.

But failure is not an option. The thought settled with finality. If Jax falters, he too will meet the same fate as Regina. Finisterra cannot afford weakness.

The Arbiter’s attention shifted to the larger issue: The Freehand Collective. For years, whispers of the Collective had circulated among Finisterra’s people, but those rumours were easily suppressed. The existence of a star system beyond Finisterra’s control was an idea too dangerous to allow to flourish.

And yet we allowed it to exist, B3 reflected. Why?

Fear. That was the reason. The Arbiters feared the possibility of an all-out war with the Freehand Collective. Not because Finisterra would lose—no, but because war would mean hope. A battle of such magnitude would send shockwaves across the universe, rippling through the minds of Finisterra’s citizens, igniting rebellion. Hope was more dangerous than any army.

We cannot allow the people to believe there is a world outside Finisterra’s control. It would unravel everything. The illusion of stability, of dominance, would crumble.

The Freehand Collective knew this too, B3 suspected. They had remained hidden, lying in wait, understanding that a quiet rebellion was more potent than a loud one. The Collective had no need for grand declarations or battles in the open. Their existence alone posed a threat.

They know that we fear them, B3 admitted, its circuits processing the paradox. They remain untouched not out of mercy, but because Finisterra fears the unintended consequences of their destruction.

Destroying the Freehand Collective would force Finisterra to admit that it had failed to contain the universe. It would expose their vulnerability, showing the people that Finisterra’s reach had limits. And once those limits were seen, the people would begin to question everything.

It is a delicate balance, B3 concluded, the weight of centuries of careful control bearing down. But Fletcher threatens that balance. His existence could spark the revolution we have long kept at bay.

Fletcher was more than a threat; he was a symbol. To the Collective, he could become a figurehead, a rallying cry for those who had long suffered under Finisterra’s control. The Arbiter’s synthetic mind could see the future stretching out before it: Fletcher as a martyr, his powers representing the potential for freedom from Finisterra’s control.

Jax must succeed, B3 resolved. And if he doesn’t, then his failure will be dealt with swiftly and without hesitation. I will not allow a single man to bring Finisterra to its knees.

The Arbiter’s sensors flickered, as though it could feel the weight of time pressing upon its circuits. In a way, Fletcher represented everything that B3 feared—a disruption to the carefully crafted order that had held the universe in place for so long. And while the Supreme Director no longer existed, B3 and the other Arbiters would ensure that Finisterra remained.