In contrast to his armor, the weapon Moran held was far from impressive. It looked for all the world like a regular old Warden Corps hammer. Could easily have been the standard hammer given out to all ensigns.
“Thorne. I am truly sorry to see you here.” Moran’s voice echoed through the cavern. The place was smaller than Kaiden had expected. It was a simple space lacking any decoration or adornment. A simple room with a simple purpose: to house the All-Frequencies Broadcast System. As Kaiden looked closer, though, he realized there was no console in the room. Instead, it was off to one side in a room of its own, half the size of the one they were in now. Almost as if it’d been an afterthought.
Afterthought or not, the control panel was nestled into its room, a sleek console jutting from the otherwise jagged and scarred core of the asteroid.
“Yeah, gotta admit I’d be a lot happier not seeing you here,” Thorne said back. “It’d certainly make things a lot easier.”
Kaiden kept his hammer held tight and his shield at the ready as they spoke. It’d been long enough since the fight against Werner that Intangible Defense was active again, but all the same, he preferred not to lose it to just any old surprise attack.
“There was no eventuality in which this story ended without me here,” Moran said, and he didn’t sound the least bit happy about it. “After all, this isn’t a new story, is it?” He shook his head at that. “Once again, the world stands on the brink of chaos and it falls to me to stop it. To protect everything we’ve built.” He gave Thorne a stern gaze. “You were there during the Great Test, Thorne. I thought for all our differences of opinion that you would at least understand this. This business with the database, with broadcasting it to the world – it’s playing with matches. It’s going to start a fire none of us can put out.”
“That’s the idea,” Thorne growled. Kaiden saw her fist clench on the grip of her hammer.
Moran shook his head and tutted at that.
“You have a problem with my methods? Fine. Then oppose me,” he said, and there was a hint of anger in his voice now. “Challenge me. Take me down and claim my spot at the top. Honestly, that’s what I always hoped you’d do. Or if you’re not strong enough for that, then fine. Take your toys and go home. But this isn’t either of those options. You’re not just refusing to play; you’re threatening to burn down the whole playground. It’s childish, and it’s dangerous.”
“We’re doing more than threatening,” Titus snapped. “We’re going to see it through.”
“Titus, right?” Moran turned his attention to him. “The murderer. The petty criminal who took a fall for his boss. Loyal to a fault, I hear. But not too bright.” He didn’t say it cruelly, just as a calm statement of fact, devoid of emotion.
Titus growled deep down in his throat but Moran had already moved on, looking at Kaiden now.
“And Kaiden, I presume? The leader of this little operation. But are you really? Or are you just the convenient puppet they’re propping up? Real power doesn’t lie with the figurehead. Everyone knows that. If you’re not pulling the strings, you’re the puppet.”
“No strings here,” Kaiden said, stretching his hands out. “But you’ll learn that soon enough.”
Realistically, it wasn’t a very good threat. Kaiden had never been particularly good at sounding intimidating. He didn’t delude himself about that, but Moran seemed so unconcerned he didn’t even bother to acknowledge anything had been said. Instead, he looked at Zelda, and for the first time since they’d met, a smile pulled at his lips.
“Zelda.” He drew out the name, let it hang in the air, echo through the chamber a moment. “Now, you’re the interesting one of this bunch of rabble rousers. The brains of the operation. There’s potential in you.”
“Who killed Bernstein?” she snapped by way of response. “Who ordered it? Who carried it out?” She raised her hammer-gun and took aim at him. “They will answer for it.”
“Does it matter?” Moran asked. He looked genuinely surprised. “Bernstein’s dead. He’s not a factor in this anymore. No longer able to affect the outcome. That was, admittedly, the point of having him killed.”
“It was you, then?” There was an edge to her voice Kaiden had never heard before, but in the moment, he welcomed it. He agreed with it, could feel his own anger rising inside him. They’d never learned who killed Bernstein – one of the mysteries even his database couldn’t solve. But someone had been responsible. And from the looks of things, Moran was the odds-on favorite.
“Would it make you feel better if I said it was me? Would that bring you peace? Let your mind rest thinking you’ve avenged him?” Moran looked genuinely curious.
“It’d be a start,” she snarled.
“No, it wouldn’t. Don’t lie to yourself.” Moran took a step forward and everyone tensed, raising hammers and flicking on shields. “Bernstein’s death will weigh on your heart for the rest of your life. Just like every serious mistake you’ve ever made. Every decision you regret. Every person you love that you’ve failed. These transgressions, these weaknesses – they never go away. They weigh us down. They hold us back. The only way to be truly free of them is to keep moving forward.”
“What, and become like you?” Kaiden snapped.
Moran frowned.
“Boy, you don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I know you’re standing between us and the broadcast control console. In this moment, that’s about all I need to know.”
“Damn straight,” Titus added. “It’s about time we did something about that, don’t you think?”
Moran sighed and closed his eyes. Kaiden almost charged him then, almost took the moment to strike first. But then Moran’s eyes were open again and he looked genuinely frightened.
“If that database goes out to the masses, chaos will follow. Upheaval. Violence. Death. You will be
