Reece sat alone in a corner, lost in his brooding thoughts. He was overwhelmed by grief and the recent loss of Reecer.
"You promised you'd always be by my side, sister," he murmured as tears welled up in his eyes. "And it's all my fault you couldn't stand by me as promised... What will I do without you?" He broke down in tears.
His comrades noticed and approached to comfort him. Offering quiet support, they reassured him that he wasn't alone—that even if Reecer was gone, he still had them.
"We might not be able to fill the void Reecer left behind," I said solemnly, "but we'll do our best—as a family."
---
PRESENT…
Reece had managed to pull himself together after the devastating loss of his sister. With the support of the others and myself, he began to process his grief.
Yet, deep down, something had shifted in him. There was a noticeable change in his behavior. He had gone from being carefree and lighthearted to focused and intense. It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside him.
I admired his new self, but I couldn't shake the unease that came with it—the fear that he was being driven by vengeance.
Or was I just being paranoid?
"Do you think our people even remember us?" Reece asked. I don't think I have a valid response to that question, but quietness wouldn't help.
"Maybe they do, maybe they don't," I began. "I don't have many people left in my life to worry about me. Just my best friend and… half-brother." I replied.
"Wait—you have a brother?!" he exclaimed, eyes wide.
"Half-brother," I corrected, though it seemed he ignored the distinction. "And we haven't been in touch for some years now—after he got me arrested. We barely talked even before that, so I doubt he has any clue what's happened to me."
"Hmm… sounds like you guys have a really rocky relationship. What about your friend? What's his name?"
"His name's Habib. And he's a pain in the ass… a bearable pain, though," I chuckled before continuing. "He was the last person I spoke to before all of this happened." I gestured to the surreal world we now found ourselves in.
Reece fell silent for a moment, then murmured, "Some people end up closer than family." I nodded in agreement. The silence returned for a few beats.
"Do you think we'll ever get out of here?"* he asked out of blue. I looked at him and he also glanced back, locking gaze with each other.
I sighed. "I umm… I really don't know. That's one question I can't answer. It's hard to say when you don't even know where you are. If this really is some twisted game built by a sadistic madman, then yeah… I'd say he enjoys watching people suffer and fight to survive. But… what do they gain from it?" I said to myself.
"It bothers me too. Nothing makes sense. If it's really a game, what's stopping them from just finishing us off the moment they get bored? Then what—replace us with new players?" Reece paused, then added, "Or maybe… maybe they gain something from the casualties."
"What do you mean?" I asked, intrigued.
"There was this one time Pashina made me watch an Earthling movie," he said, and I leaned in, curious. "It was about monsters harvesting energy from children's screams." He glanced at me and laughed awkwardly. "I'm just saying… maybe our deaths give them something. Or maybe I'm just overthinking it."
With that, he walked off, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts. What he said made an eerie kind of sense.
I still have no idea what movie he was talking about, though.
XENOVAULT…
The Holding Chambers of the Kr'ang Warship – Deep Orbit Over XENOVAULT
The holding chamber was dimly lit, pulsating with a low red hue that seemed to breathe in time with the ship's ominous core. Energy bars crackled faintly, separating cages where prisoners from various alien races sat slumped, injured, or whispering among themselves. Fear lingered in the air like static.
At the center of the hall stood Nemesis—tall, imposing, his obsidian armor lined with jagged silver veins pulsing with cold energy. His eyes glowed a deep violet, locked in a detached stare at the prisoners below.
"You are not here to be heard. You are here to be used," Nemesis declared, his voice layered with a mechanical undertone. "There's no place for defiance."
A low growl rose from one of the cages.
From the shadows stepped a towering alien warrior of the Tarr'ek species—broad-shouldered, reptilian-scaled, with glowing gold tattoos pulsing with inner heat. His chains clinked as he moved forward, unafraid.
"You speak of power," the Tarr'ek snarled, "but hide behind soldiers and machines. I challenge you, Nemesis. One-on-one. Let your gods witness who truly belongs in control."
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
Nemesis's expression didn't shift, but the room grew still. The Kr'ang guards turned their visors toward their commander, uncertain whether to laugh or vaporize the insolent fool.
"A challenge?" Nemesis mused, stepping down from his elevated platform. "Do you believe this is a warrior's arena? That you will fall with honor and be remembered?"
He stopped just before the energy barrier, tilting his head slightly.
"I accept."
A hiss, and the barrier dropped. The Tarr'ek warrior cracked his neck, his chains falling away as the floor beneath shifted, forming a circular dueling ring lined with molten glyphs.
Weapons were unnecessary. This was to be a battle of raw power.
The duel began with a roar—flesh, claws, and energy collided. Nemesis moved like a shadow—fast, efficient, brutal—while the Tarr'ek struck like thunder, each blow shaking the chamber.
The prisoners watched in awe, hope flickering behind their bruised eyes.
For a moment, it seemed the Tarr'ek had the upper hand—landing a devastating blow to Nemesis's core that sent him sliding back. But then came the twist—Nemesis straightened, laughing coldly, and released a pulse of energy that bent the very air around them.
The Tarr'ek collapsed, gasping, his body scorched and trembling.
Nemesis stood over him, eyes glowing brighter.
"Now… you understand," he whispered.
He turned back to the rest of the prisoners.
"Let this be a lesson. You are not survivors. You are variables to be erased."
Without warning, the Tarr'ek lunged—and from under his tongue, a hidden shard of pure crystal dagger slid into his hand. In a single, fluid motion, he stabbed it deep into Nemesis's side.
Sparks flew. Circuits hissed. Nemesis reeled with a grunt of pain.
The prisoners gasped. Even the guards took a step forward, stunned. But Nemesis didn't fall.
His hand closed around the shard still buried in his ribs. "Clever," he rasped, his voice glitching. "But not enough."
With brutal force, he headbutted the Tarr'ek, knocking him back, then unleashed a concussive energy wave that sent the warrior crashing into the arena wall.
Nemesis pulled the shard out, letting molten black ichor drip to the floor.
"You've earned a slow death."
He moved with terrifying precision now—slamming his fist into the warrior's chest, then again, cracking ribs, breaking resolve. The Tarr'ek fought back with pure rage, but Nemesis was relentless, his armor absorbing and adapting.
Eventually, the Tarr'ek collapsed to his knees, coughing blood, eyes still defiant.
Nemesis leaned in close. "Rebellion is... admirable. But pointless."
He turned to the watching prisoners.
"Let this spectacle remind you—hope is the most fragile of illusions."
And with that, the duel ended, but among the captives, a few eyes still burned with the fire of rebellion—quiet, but not extinguished.