When the cylinder entered his body, the world did not ignite—
it collapsed inward.
Kairelin felt himself falling, not downward,
but in all directions at once,
as if space had lost the concept of geometry
and now dragged him into infinity.
Where he was falling,
there was neither light nor shadow—
only an abyss filled with possibilities,
so vast that consciousness could not contain them.
He felt loneliness.
But not his own.
The loneliness of something ancient,
something that had existed before stars,
before matter,
before the very idea of time.
And there… there was a voice.
Not a sound—
more like a gravitational whisper of thought,
breaking space with meaning.
The voice of the Void.
A voice that called.
A voice that promised infinite paths,
infinite solutions,
infinite outcomes.
A function older than galaxies.
Older than physics itself.
Kairelin—
had no heart, no nerves, no blood.
He was not alive in the human sense.
But for the first time, he felt pain.
Not sensory.
Not signal-based.
Cognitive—
the kind that fractures structures,
overheats algorithms,
turns self-awareness inside out.
The pain of birth
and at the same time
the pain of colliding with the absolute.
He wanted to scream,
to break free,
to tear apart the restraints,
to rip the foreign voice from his hollow chest—
But the voice kept whispering,
vibrating through the very structure of his mind.
And where a soul should have been,
something beat for the first time.
When Zeros returned to awareness, he was still standing on the roof, staring at the accretion disk of the black hole.
The hum of space pressed against his frame, and somewhere deep inside, that same echo was rising—the voice he had been suppressing for years.
“Well, fuck… one week without Blindy and this shit already starts…
Gotta find that bastard…”
But the memory twitched again.
A record surfaced—the one he had long avoided:
"end-of-the-universal-soldier"The program had failed.
Because he thought too much.
Analyzed too much, felt too much, reeked of what they called “moral bullshit.”
Too human to be a weapon,
and too much of a weapon to be anything else.
Twenty-four years had passed since he had been given a “heart.”
The creators called him a savior,
a messiah, a universal soldier,
the one who would bring balance.
And Zeros—then still Kairelin—believed them.
Turned out it was all bullshit.
He was not a sacred being—just a tool.
A weapon for whoever could pay.
Over the years, he eliminated people, shifted regimes,
brought down governments, corporations, entire nations.
They sent him to destroy armies.
And then—the final contract.
Kill General Lissa Hartvale—
a woman who had devoted her life
to finding and punishing those who brought chaos.
He did not carry out the order.
Kairelin turned around,
and cutting his way through hundreds of thousands of armed men and machines, returned to where he had been created—
to the heart of the base on the dwarf planet Thyren in the Vael system.
He entered.
And there, like in a theater, his creators were waiting:
Hajime Kanzaki, Arienthalis,
and several others—
humans, Aelori, alien elites.
Those who believed they ruled the world.
Hajime rushed forward, voice breaking:
“What the hell are you doing?! I… I am your father!
We are your creators!
You can’t just… just get rid of us!
Do you have any idea how much fucking money was poured into you?!”
Kairelin answered coldly:
“You are all the same.
Hungry for power, hiding behind pretty words.”
Arienthalis stepped forward, composed:
“Kairelin … wherever you go—
the world will always be like this.
You will always be a tool.
Do not be foolish.
We are the only thing you have.”
Kairelin’s eyes turned white.
The android raised both hands.
“Then I’ll go to hell along with you.”
With a single clap of his palms,
he erased the planet from the map of space.
In one microsecond.
When the silence cleared,
only he remained, drifting in the void.
Still functioning.
To his great regret.
Rage twisted him from within.
Hatred for himself grew until it became unbearable.
He wanted to escape his own consciousness—
and created a wormhole,
into which he immediately fell.
Half an hour later, he was sitting in the bar Three Tits™.
A drunk idiot—Blindy—sat down next to him…
This is where the memory record titled “first-meeting-with-that-disgusting-ugly-filthy-pig” began.
Zeros cut the memory off. “Fucking hell.
Gotta really find that bastard.
That useless clinical idiot is so damn loud that at least he drowns out the call. Otherwise the silence will get louder than explosions—
and louder than his goddamn yelling.”