Despite any hardships one may encounter, time will always press forward, unkind and indifferent. All anyone can do is move with it.

  Three days pass.

  For each of them, Jackson remains out of commission, confined to rest whether he likes it or not.

  Outside the tent, the Liquidators continue their work with quiet efficiency. They assist the townsfolk, erecting temporary shelters where homes once stood. Supplies are brought up from the bunkers, rations, tools, preserved seeds.

  Small plots of earth are turned and replanted. Basic gardens begin to take shape among the ash and scorched soil.

  Life, stubborn and fragile, begins again.

  Soon, the morning sun begins to rise on the fourth day.

  Jackson is finally capable of moving, his strength slowly returning, but he doesn’t leave the tent.

  He remains silent. Barely eating.

  He doesn’t speak to anyone.

  His eyes are darker now, distant. He lies on his cot facing away from the entrance, staring at the canvas wall as muted daylight filters through it.

  The soft sound of shifting fabric breaks the stillness.

  The tent flap parts gently as Aby Cross steps inside.

  She carries a small plate and sets a few pieces of bread down on the wooden crate beside Jackson’s cot.

  Aby Cross: Jackson… you haven’t eaten in four days. I understand how you’re feeling. But you can’t starve yourself. It won’t solve anything.

  She moves closer and gently takes his hand in both of hers, her grip soft but pleading.

  Jackson doesn’t make any gesture of moving.

  After a while, Aby slowly releases his hand. She stands and walks toward the exit of the tent, stopping just before stepping out. She turns slightly toward him, though not fully.

  Aby Cross: The Liquidators are leaving tonight. They’ve helped us a great deal. You should make amends while you can.

  She steps out of the tent, the flap falling closed behind her.

  The tent grows quiet again.

  Jackson remains still, staring at nothing.

  Slowly, tears gather at the corners of his eyes and slip down his temples, soaking into the rough fabric of the cot beneath him. The moisture seeps through, darkening the material before dripping down to the soil below.

  Each drop lands softly in the dirt.

  His breathing is shallow.

  All he can think about are Jane’s final moments.

  Her smile.

  Her lips moving.

  Three words.

  He replays it over and over in his mind, trying to hear them, trying to understand what she said.

  Slowly, time begins to slip away. Evening comes and goes, and soon the sun begins to fade beyond the horizon.

  Shadows stretch long across the camp, the light thinning into a dull amber before surrendering to gray.

  Rourke’s words echo in Jackson’s mind.

  Questions will not always be answered.

  But searching for them… that is where the truth often lies.

  He stares ahead in silence, the weight of those words settling deeper than the grief.

  For the first time in days, his thoughts are not only about loss.

  They are about direction.

  The scene slowly shifts to a ship. The arrival of this ship, unknown. It looks far too futuristic for the time.

  The ship appeared, sleek and angular, like a dark predator gliding over the asteroid. Its matte-gray hull reflected nothing, absorbing the light, while thin, orange warning stripes glimmered along the edges. Engines hummed low at first, a subtle vibration that seemed to resonate through the hull of the asteroid beneath them, and then, with a roar like a living thing, they flared, blue-white light streaking past the observation windows.

  Every curve of the ship was purposeful. No decoration, no wasted space, just armor, weapons, and systems designed to hunt. Plasma cannons bristled along its sides, and micro-thrusters along the hull hissed faintly, ready to twist and pivot through the narrow caverns of the asteroid.

  Many have come to see off the Liquidators. Children and adults alike line the ground, eyes wide as they stare in awe at the ship’s sleek, alien features. Fingers point, mouths gape, and small cheers ripple through the crowd, echoing faintly against the distant craters of the asteroid.

  Captain Rourke and the others stride forward with measured steps, pausing to wave at the townsfolk. Their helmets catch the last of the fading sunlight, glinting faintly, and in unison, the team raises their hands in a gesture of farewell and reassurance.

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  The crowd responds, waves growing bigger, shouts louder, as if trying to imprint the moment into memory. For a brief instant, the grim shadows of the past few days seem almost lifted, replaced by the quiet awe of witnessing something far beyond their ordinary world.

  Rourke steps forward to the steps of the ship's entrance

  Jackson Cross: Wait!

  Jackson yells, pleadingly

  Jackson throws a tiny rock at Rourke, only for the rock to crack and crumble against the back of his shifting armor

  The other Liquidators look ready to retaliate, but then Rourke steps past them walking towards Jackson, his steel armor boots, crushing the ground

  Captain Rourke stops right in front of Jackson, the difference in size obvious.

  Up close, the scale of him is overwhelming, steel plating layered over steel, shoulders broad enough to eclipse the fading light behind him. The matte-gray armor absorbs the sun’s last glow, casting Jackson in shadow. The faint whir of internal servos hums beneath the metal, and the heat from the suit radiates outward in slow waves.

  Jackson has to tilt his head back just to meet the dark visor. The height, the weight, the presence, it presses down on him, heavy and undeniable.

  Jackson does his best to hide his fear, though sweat beads along his brow and trails down the side of his face. The sharp metallic fumes in the air sting his eyes, making them water despite his effort to keep them steady. His legs wobble just a fraction, muscles still weak and worn from days of barely moving, barely eating.

  Rourke’s smile is no longer on his face as he stares down at Jackson, his expression unreadable behind the dark visor.

  The memories of the ones he has lost flood his mind. Faces. Voices. Moments that will never return. He grits his teeth hard enough for his jaw to ache, biting down on his lip until the copper taste of blood spreads across his tongue. A thin line of red slips past his teeth, but he says nothing.

  Rourke sees it and assumes he has nothing to say. He turns away.

  Then finally, Jackson steps forward.

  Rourke turns at the sound of his boots scraping against the dirt.

  Jackson makes a fist. His knuckles whiten. With a sharp breath, he drives his fist square into Rourke’s jaw. The impact sends a dull crack through the air, metal and bone meeting with a heavy thud. Rourke stumbles half a step, armor shifting with a mechanical hiss as he catches his jaw.

  The other Liquidators tense instantly, hands twitching toward their weapons, staring in shock.

  Rourke raises a single hand, stopping them once more.

  A few drops of blood slip from the corner of Rourke’s mouth, dark and thick, falling to the ground below. They soak into the dust with soft, muted taps.

  Rourke lowers his gaze, staring at the blood staining the earth.

  Rourke’s smile slowly returns as he straightens to his full height, towering once more as he looks down at Jackson. A faint streak of blood marks the corner of his mouth, but it does nothing to dull the sharpness in his expression.

  Cpt. Rourke: So then. You think you’re finally man enough to search for the answers you seek. Boy.

  His voice carries a daring edge, low and deliberate, the word lingering in the air between them like a challenge waiting to be answered.

  Jackson looks back toward the smoking city miles away, dark plumes still rising into the fading sky. The air carries the faint scent of ash even from this distance. His eyes drift to what remains of his burned-down home, blackened beams, collapsed walls, nothing but a skeleton against the horizon.

  Then his gaze finds his mother.

  The moment he sees her, he freezes. His breath catches in his chest as thoughts crash through his mind all at once.

  What if he’s needed here?

  Should he really leave?

  Is this selfish?

  She holds his gaze steadily. For a long second, neither of them moves.

  Then, ever so softly, she smiles, a small, kind smile, fragile but certain.

  Jackson’s breath catches ever so slightly. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles, a small, disbelieving smile, and lets out a quiet laugh to himself. He turns back toward Rourke, resolve settling into his expression.

  Jackson Cross: Yeah, I thin—

  Before he can finish, Rourke’s grin widens. In a sudden blur of motion, his armored fist swings forward and slams into Jackson with crushing force.

  The impact explodes across Jackson’s vision in white light. The sound is dull and heavy, metal striking flesh. His body lifts slightly from the ground before collapsing downward.

  The world tilts.

  Dust rises as he hits the earth. Sound drains away into a distant ringing.

  Then everything goes black.

  Ringing. Bright lights. A low, constant hum vibrating through bone and thought alike. Then motion.

  And then lift off.

  Jackson is awoken violently, his body jerking as he gasps for air. He thrashes for a moment before forcing himself upright, sitting on a narrow bed in an unfamiliar metal room. The walls are cold, seamless, industrial. The air smells faintly of ozone and heated steel.

  He swings his legs over the side and stands, but the ground shifts beneath him, a steady, powerful vibration running through the floor. His balance falters.

  Jackson stumbles forward, barely catching himself against the wall beside a narrow window. The metal is cool under his palm, humming with restrained energy.

  A blinding light blasts through the window, unforgiving in its glare, forcing his eyes shut as white floods his vision.

  Slowly… painfully… his eyes begin to adjust.

  The image before him is shocking.

  Below, through the window, he sees it, the same smoking town. The same burned-down barn, its frame nothing more than a blackened scar against the land. Thin trails of smoke still curl upward, fragile and distant.

  But now it is miles away.

  The ground is shrinking beneath him.

  Fields blur into patches of color. Roads turn into faint lines carved into the earth. The town that once felt so large, so consuming, now looks small… fragile.

  And it continues to fall away as he rises higher into the air.

  He stumbles out of the room, catching himself on a rail as the vibration of the vessel runs through the metal beneath his fingers. Ahead, at the front of the craft, the Liquidators sit strapped into reinforced chairs, their armor locked into place as the ship continues its ascent.

  Cpl. Ash (chuckling to himself): Look’s like the kid’s awake, Captain!

  Cpt. Rourke: Good. Good. Now then, kid, get up here. You’re about to get one of your answers.

  Jackson tightens his grip on the bars, steadying himself as the inertia presses against his body. He leans forward and pushes through it step by step, boots scraping against the vibrating floor as he forces himself toward them.

  Jackson slips, falling backward as the force presses against him, only for his arm to be caught by Mara. Her grip is firm, armored fingers locking around him as she pulls him forward. Rourke reaches out and catches him at the front, holding him in place as the ship begins picking up speed.

  The acceleration becomes unbearable. It feels as though his skin might peel away or stretch permanently against the invisible pressure. His teeth grit. His vision blurs. The hum of the engines roars through the vessel, and then… all movement ceases.

  Silence.

  When his eyes finally focus and take in the sight before him, it is something he never could have expected.

  Cpt. Rourke: That’s right, kid. Take it all in. Welcome… to Helios-9. Code name: Bright Fall.

  Helios-9 drifts through the void of space like a shard of rock crowned in glass. The asteroid’s surface is dark and jagged, but rising from it is a vast dome, smooth and luminous against the black. Beneath its curved shell lie rolling farmlands, patchwork fields of green and gold, burned silos and barns clustered along narrow, charred dirt roads, wind turbines turning lazily under a manufactured blue sky.

  From space, it looks like a small piece of rural Earth sealed inside crystal, warm and peaceful, impossibly alive in the cold emptiness surrounding it.