The drone spun a full circle around its axis—
like a salute—
then shot out of the ship like a bullet,
dropping down like a meteor
that decided to become a cameraman.
It hovered above Zeros and Blindy—
a little behind,
a little higher—
a five hundred feet above the island,
keeping distance so it wouldn’t expose itself,
while filming everything like it was cutting a trailer for:
“Death of Space Idiots Vol. 6.”
Below them—
a mountain of scrap:
rusted containers, ancient ship hulls,
fragments of orbital stations,
fused together by time into one massive metallic scar.
Dick’s voice cut through the comms from the ship:
“Round idiot! Boost the audio! We can’t hear their bullshit!”
The drone blinked its lens,
cranked microphone sensitivity up to “I hear cockroaches thinking”—
and the sound flooded the stream.
Blindy scratched the back of his head, already spiraling—like he was blaming fate personally:
“B-buddy—what the fuck are we even DOIN’ here—?!
WHY—why the HELL did you drag me here—?!
Is this—this some kinda sick joke—?!
Like—like you woke up and thought—
‘Yeah—today I’m gonna RUIN Blindy’s whole damn life’—?!”
He shook his head hard, dragging a dirty hand over his face—like he could wipe the whole situation off.
“I was vibin’—I was HAVIN’ a good day—!
Concert—music—people—
EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT—!”
His arm snapped out in frustration, foot slamming the ground.
“But no—NO—!
You just HAD to come in—
kick the door open—
and take a big ol’ shit right on my plate—!WHAT—THE FUCK—IS THIS PLACE—?!”
Zeros stood motionless—
like a steel statue storing rage. His eyes scanned the horizon,
his voice low—but it made you want to lie down and die.
“Oh, you rotten piece of meat…
you want fun?
Trust me—you’re about to get the kind of fun
you’ll never forget…
JUST SHUT UP.
FOR ONE MINUTE.
SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.”
And then—
in the distance, on a hill made of scrap—
something moved.
Dick immediately barked into the comms:
“ROUND IDIOT! Something’s happening! GET OVER THERE!”
The drone launched forward instantly,
accelerating like it had finally found a plot.
On screen—the rapid approach. A hill. Rusted beams. Filthy metal.
And a figure, standing in a full-on hero pose.
Height—roughly human, around 70 inches.
Build—lean, flexible, almost acrobatic.
Movements—way too energetic,
like he was auditioning for a low-budget Power Rangers knockoff
where the director kept yelling:
"More poses! MORE POSES!
We're blowing the budget on poses!"He kept switching stances,
throwing his arms around,
shouting something dramatic—
but the sound got swallowed by the waves crashing against the shore.
The drone closed in,
kicked on its spotlight—
and the figure revealed himself in all his absurd, glowing glory.
Before them stood… a superhero.
Wearing the most ridiculous—and somehow perfectly engineered—suit imaginable.
White. Gold. Bright blue.
Smooth armor with energy lines flowing across it.
On his chest—a massive glowing emblem:
“e”
Shining proudly,
like he actually believed he was the hero.
The helmet—a mix of Power Ranger and Kamen Rider—
too aerodynamic,
too perfect for this garbage world.
The dark mirrored visor flickered with numbers:
2.718
Behind him, a long white cape with gold lining whipped in the wind—
and the wind, for fuck’s sake, felt like it was blowing just for him.
He struck a pose.
Then another.
Then a third.
Each time, the cape flared dramatically—
like it had its own dedicated budget fan.
Noticing the drone, he:
- squared his shoulders;
- adjusted his cape;
- straightened up;
- struck the most over-the-top pose of his life,
and screamed like this was the season finale of a superhero show:
“ZEROTH!
I AM THE HERO OF EXPONENTS!
YOUR REIGN OF STAGNATION IS OVER!”
Blindy squinted,
trying to make out the figure—
out there in the distance,
waving its arms, striking poses like an idiot.
He could see the guy was saying something…
but the sound drowned in the roar of the waves.
“B-buddy… you seein’ this—?
You know this clown or what—?
I don’t remember havin’ any costumed freaks like that—!
What the hell’s he even yellin’—?!
Fuck—can’t hear SHIT over these damn waves—!”
Then Phoenix’s voice burst into their comms—urgent:
“CAPTAIN! FIRST OFFICER!
THIS IS ALSO A REAPER.
MODEL 2718.
BE CAREFUL!”
Blindy blinked, not understanding a single word.
“The fuck is a Reaper—?!
Wait—hold on—
‘Model’? MODEL—?!
What is this, a damn catalog now—?!
Rusty—EXPLAIN—before that thing explains US—!”
Phoenix exhaled like he was already exhausted with existence itself.
“Captain… he’s like Zeros.
Well… almost.
Different model.
Also… very, very dangerous.”
Then Phoenix added—quiet, tired, but honest:
“Your survival probability, Captain… is less than zero.
I strongly advise you NOT to approach.”
Then, switching tone slightly:
“And First Officer… please be careful.”
But the drone—like a fearless idiot—
kept drifting closer to the X2718,
switching angles so fast
like it was trying to win an award for:
“Best Cameraman Who Almost Died.”
The costumed freak, noticing the attention,
straightened up even more
and doubled down on the theatrical nonsense:
“I AM THE EXPONENT!
THE CURVE THAT NEVER FALLS!
AS LONG AS THERE IS GROWTH—
HOPE WILL NEVER DISAPPEAR!”
Every sentence came with a pose:
- arm up;
- arm to the side;
- hand to the chest;
- hand to the ass—
…and the drone instantly adjusted angles.
It felt like the two of them had entered some kind of
symbiotic state of theatrical stupidity.
Exponent continued:
“I AM THE IMPULSE OF PROGRESS!”
New pose.
Drone switched angle.
“I AM THE WILL OF THE UNIVERSE TO GROW!”
Cape flared. The drone circled him, lighting his silhouette like a damn movie trailer.