Leo woke up for the second time in as many days, a new personal record for activity he was not proud of. Something had changed. The incessant, grinding hum that had ruined his rest was gone. The silence was back, deep and profound.
He sat up, looking at the hexagonal grid that was still his sky. It felt different now. Less like a cage, more like… his own ceiling. He could feel it, a strange new sense in the back of his mind. He could feel the silent, colossal structure of the quarantine field. He could feel the crippled ship hanging in orbit above him. And most disturbingly, he could feel the faint, panicked heartbeats of the seventy-eight lifeforms aboard it.
It felt like his quiet, one-room apartment had suddenly developed a noisy, unwanted extension full of strangers. A deep, crawling sense of social anxiety, a feeling he'd died to escape, began to creep back into him. He didn't want neighbors. He wanted to be alone.
As if hearing his thoughts, the simple, elegant text panel shimmered into existence before him. This time, it felt less like a notification and more like a presence.
[Rectification complete,] the text scrolled. [Annoyance source neutralized.]
Leo stared at it, a knot forming in his stomach. "Neutralized? What did you do?" he thought, projecting the question at the panel.
[As per your directive to "make it quiet," the foreign assets impeding your "Unrestricted" status have been integrated. The vessel 'Stardust Drifter' and its accompanying 'Quarantine Field' are now under your direct authority.]
Leo's blood ran cold. "My authority? I don't want authority! I didn't ask for a ship! I asked for peace and quiet!"
[Acknowledged,] the System replied, its tone a perfect, unfeeling calm. [However, the vessel contains 78 sentient lifeforms who are now, as a direct consequence of your directive, your responsibility.]
The word "responsibility" hit Leo like a physical blow. It was the ugliest word in any language. It was the word that had killed him. He felt a hot flush of embarrassment and pressure. He had followers he didn't want, and now he had prisoners he didn't want.
"Who even are these people?" Leo demanded. "Are they dangerous?"
[Analysis: The crew are primarily non-combatants from a Tier 2 Stellar Federation. Lifeforms in this reality are often categorized by their ability to consciously manipulate cosmic energy. This is known as the Path of the Awakened.]
"Awakened?" The word was alien, but it sparked something in his mind.
[Correct,] the System explained patiently. [The power of an Awakened is measured in ranks. The most common are:]
> Rank 1: Spark - Individuals who can unconsciously influence luck or perform minor feats. The members of the 'Noodle Cult' are a chaotic example of this.
> Rank 2: Channeler - Trained warriors or mages who can consciously direct energy.
> Rank 3: Arbiter - Beings of immense power who can alter local reality.
> Rank 4: World Shaper - Entities capable of influencing entire planets.
> Rank 5: Nexus - A being whose existence is a fundamental pillar of reality itself.
>
[The individuals aboard your vessel are unawakened,] the System concluded. [They pose no physical threat.]
Leo processed this. So the noisy noodle fans were "Sparks." It figured. But this new information didn't calm him; it made things worse. He had accidentally enslaved a ship full of regular, unawakened people. The sheer, cosmic awkwardness of the situation was suffocating.
Aboard the Stardust Drifter, the terror had subsided into a dreadful, silent waiting. After the initial violent lurch, the ship had gone dead, only to have its internal lights and life support flicker back on a moment later. But everything was wrong. The complex Xylosian command interface was gone. Every console, every screen, now showed a single, stark message in a plain Terran font:
[AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS FROM ADMINISTRATOR.]
Captain Rostova stood frozen on the bridge, the authority she had carried her whole life stripped away in an instant. They were prisoners, adrift in their own ship, inside their own cage.
"It's watching us," Dr. Aris whispered, his usual scientific curiosity replaced by a primal fear. "We're rats in its maze now."
Back on the beach, Leo was having a minor existential crisis. "Instructions? What instructions? I don't want to instruct anyone!" he projected at the System. "Just make them go away! Send them home!"
There was a pause, the first hesitation Leo had ever felt from the System.
[Negative,] it finally replied. [The assets have been fully integrated into your core authority. Releasing them would require a conscious and complex act of will on your part. It would require effort.]
Leo stared at the final word, his face a mask of pure horror. Effort.
He had run from it his entire life. He had died to escape it. And now, to get back the peace he so desperately craved, he would have to work for it. It was the universe's cruelest, most ironic joke.