As they made their way back to the ship,
Blindy’s gaze drifted sideways—through the transparent corridor wall—
and he saw the conveyor lines come alive.
Behind the glass, massive mechanical arms activated the REBOOT protocol.
Hundreds of micro-vials containing the new virus were being injected:
- into drinks,
- into burgers,
- into clothing,
- into toys,
- into packaging,
- into condoms,
- into women’s and children’s hygiene products,
- into household goods under every imaginable brand.
One at a time.
Two at a time.
Thousands at a time.
Lokstey’s automated systems continued his work
with the same obsessive precision as the man himself—
even though the man himself was now
a conveniently contained blobe of biological fluid.
Blindy shivered. Didn’t show it.
Z-P-N-E-S greeted them with the silence
of something that had already seen too much.
They undocked.
Drifted away from the station.
Slowly.
Blindy, still boiling like bad burrito regret, exhaled:
“Dick-droid… quit killin clients…
at this rate we ain’t gonna have no jobs left,
for fuck’s sake…”
Zeros sat in the co-pilot seat, arms crossed,
wearing the expression of someone
who had just heard a particularly good piece of music.
“I don’t tolerate hypocrites.
He was a killer. Like you. Like me.If he had admitted it honestly,
I might have even helped him.But he started talking nonsense—
‘reboot,’ ‘evolution,’ ‘nature,’ blah blah.A psychopath justifying himself.
Coward.”
Blindy jumped to his feet, waving his arms.
“I don’t give a shit ’bout YOUR morals!
We’re losin clients like this!
We got a reputation, damn it!”
Zeros nodded.
And started clapping.
CLAP—CLAP—CLAP
Slow. Even. Rhythmic.
Like he was applauding
the performance of the idiot of the year.
“You’re just… a cosmic dumbass, Blindy.”
“Yeah yeah—go fuck yourself, psycho!” Blindy snapped.
“Soon we ain’t even got money for fuel, you metal freak…
and nobody’s gonna hire us ’cause of you.
Yeah—keep clappin…
you can do it broke.”
Zeros didn’t stop.
CLAP—CLAP—CLAP
His eyes changed.
The usual hateful red drained away—
replaced by a clean, lifeless white.
Blindy smirked at first…
…but then something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
With every clap:
- space trembled,
- the lights flickered,
- the audio cracked with static,
- and the dim, dying star outside grew two percent brighter… and bluer.
Blindy went pale.
Grabbed the nearest support.
His stomach and brain seemed to be competing
over which one would give out first.
“Zeros… stop clappin…
this ain’t right, b-buddy…”
Zeros kept going.
CLAP—CLAP—CLAP
And on the final clap—
behind the ship’s rear view—
OBSIDIΛN-7… simply vanished!
No explosion.
No collapse.
No flash.
No distortion.
No implosion.
Nothing.
It was just—
cut out of reality.
Like it had been deleted from existence.
All that remained was a smooth, absurd emptiness.
Blindy froze.
Then slowly turned his head toward Zeros.
“Zeros…
stop.
that’s enough clappin…
…where the hell the station go…?”
Zeros finished the applause
like nothing had happened,
shrugged slightly,
and let out a small grunt.
“How should I know?
Probably hyper’d the fuck outta here.”
Blindy blinked.
Twice.
Made sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
“No—no no no… nah… nah…
somethin’s off…
WE LEAVIN.
NOW.”
He slammed “Mülldeponie” into the analog panel,
nearly snapping the switch—
and hit the hyperdrive.
The ship jumped out of the sector
so fast it looked like it was trying to run away…
from Zeros.