Mercury Orbit. Aboard the former tug Skiff—
in the command bridge, the entire crew is assembled.
Outside the windows, the solar corona rages—a blinding, divine flame dancing in the void.
Majestic and merciless, it feels like a god observing insignificant humans.
But inside the Skiff—warmth.
The hush of an old home.
As if the walls remember who suffered here.
Who dared to hope. Who survived.
Captain Manuel lays a hand over the control console,
as if stroking the shoulder of an old comrade.
"This ship… it's been our home for years," he says, voice dry yet echoing nostalgia.
His palm lingers on the panel—searching not for data, but for memory.
How many times have I escaped danger on this rusty beast?
How many times did I wish to die here?
And yet I live on.
"Pietro and I—we're among the few old‑models."
"So they never fitted us with control chips. Too expensive. Only the clean, obedient elite got them."
"We were built for work. For grit. For hardship."
He glances at Maria—subtle, nearly invisible.
But that look says more than words ever could.
"If you knew how many rocks we hauled on this tug," he smirks, full of worn-out pride,
"You could've built a world with them. A small one. Cozy. Yours."
A world made of trash, perhaps—but ours.
And no one would dare touch it.
His smile fades. His face turns heavy as metal.
Something stirs in his eyes: a storm held too long.
"You know, Captain," Pietro's voice emerges from years past,
"It feels like Maria's been with us since day one."
"She has," Maria replies, smile gentle but eyes sparkling with icy memory.
"Because this ship became yours only after we escaped. After we ran… from Marcus."
Silence crashes into the bridge like gravity.
His name cleaves the air, a poisoned spike.
Nobody moves. Even the solar glare outside stills.
"Can you believe it?" Maria tilts her head, voice taut yet soft.
"He became President of Mars.
Head of the Civilization Belt."
"And once was just a trawler captain—owner of this ship."
Worlds change.
People don't always change with them.
Sometimes—they simply become someone else.
"I remember how he locked me in that dark, stifling cabin.
Like a waste storage locker."
"All because I refused… to placate him."
Her tone is not hysterical. Not pleading.
Just steel forged in pain.
No shout. No protest.
Merely fact—etched like a brand.
Maria offers a thin smile, never reaching her eyes.
"But Pietro found me," she continues quietly.
"I remember that moment. He just looked into my eyes…"
"And I triggered the upgrade."
She holds Pietro's gaze—long and deep.
In that look: gratitude…and acknowledgment.
As though in that moment she saw him not just as a savior, but as the spark of a new life.
He didn't just give her freedom.
He reminded her that she deserved it.
Maria steps closer.
Words fade.
Silence pure and deep—like space beyond the glass.
And beneath that silence… the memory of a sun they once nearly forgot—
an inner sun. Alive. Real.
"You never knew you had that upgrade?"
She smiles—a sunbeam cutting through cosmic chill.
As if she remembers her former self: lost, yet never vanished.
Pietro smiles—a quiet, shy, almost childlike smile.
He averts his gaze, as though looking inside himself—
back to where it all began.
"Honestly… that first time,
you looked at me like you'd fallen from the Moon. Or Phobos."
"Completely disoriented."
"You find it funny," Pietro shakes his head, voice warm with tenderness.
"But that upgrade… it changed everything. I felt—for the first time—attachment. Affection. Care."
He falls silent—thoughts pressing on his chest like overload on an old launcher.
He seems to sift through his consciousness…
trying to find the exact pulse where everything veered from before.
"I found out Marcus was going to erase your consciousness."
"I couldn't let that happen."
His voice deepens, slows—
not from hesitation, but from the weight of memory.
"I freed you. Helped you sneak onboard. Risked everything I had."
He turns to look at Captain Manuel.
Pietro's eyes are open—clear as an unencrypted string of code.
In them: gratitude no algorithm could compute.
"And thank the algorithms the captain made the right call. Jumped into this madness. Saved both of us."
A pause follows.
Heavier than words.
All of them feel it—they're not just here by chance.
They chose this path.
Not out of fear, but out of faith in one another.
"You talk like I had a choice!" Manuel scoffs, mock-annoyed—
but his eyes are laughing.
"I remember your face, Captain!" Pietro grins. "You were yelling in panic, 'What are you doing, Pietro?! Why the hell did you bring her here?!'"
Manuel chuckles.
In that sound: age, weariness… and something like relief.
He shakes his head slowly.
"I resisted," he admits.
His voice quiets—as if touching something sacred.
"Until the moment Maria looked me in the eyes."
He pauses.
That moment surges back—raw, like a burn.
Everything solid inside him… wavered.
Melted. Shifted.
"I think she upgraded me too," he whispers.
"Because nothing else explains why I fired up the engines and fled from that bastard at solar wind speed."
Silence.
Not cold. Not heavy.
But human. Alive.
Maria steps forward.
Slow. Steady. Wordless.
Her movements speak louder than anything she could say.
She walks up to Manuel—and embraces him.
Not formally. Not mechanically.
But like a person. Truly.
The captain stiffens at first, as if trying to remember how to hold someone without calculation,
but from the heart.
And then—he returns the embrace.
Softly. Wearily. Gratefully.
Maria turns to Pietro.
Her motion carries the same quiet truth.
She draws closer and wraps him in a hug.
Pietro doesn't respond right away.
The reaction loads slowly.
His arms move awkwardly to her back…
But his eyes clear—no more doubt, only honesty.
This... this is mine. This is right. This is me.
None of them speak.
The silence becomes a cathedral—
where the past is remembered without needing to be named.
"You… you're my family," Maria says.
Her voice trembles—like an old radio signal straining through static.
But what it carries is the most important truth.
Not words. A vow.
"That day we ran… you became my real family."
She steps back, but doesn't break eye contact.
There's no plea in her gaze—just acceptance.
As if she's finally let go of fear.
"You saved my consciousness. And for that…"
"I'm forever grateful."
The command bridge hasn't changed.
But the air feels thicker now.
Thicker with bonds no longer needing to be defined.
They didn't just survive.
They became.
Together.
And that—no one can take away.