Class V

"Foody?" I ask mockingly. "Stop for a second. Let me summarize. So the biggest cluster, with well over 2000 galaxies, made a pact to conquer the universe?" I ask for clarification.

"Some might say to conquer the universe, but I like to call it, end the universe," GH88F66D says as cold as one can be. "Emperor Praetor Invictus Gryxus is sick of this universe."

For a heartbeat, the cosmos seemed to contract around me. True dread, the kind that comes from understanding universal-scale horror, gripped me like it hadn't in eons. I forced it down, letting my characteristic grin resurface.

"Reset?" The words came out as a whisper. "You're talking about murdering an entire universe to see what grows in its place?"

"Reset. He subscribes to the idea of 'the Sum-over-Histories Singularity' being like a colossal reset button."

"I was just a fucking old lunatic, became a universe-feared fucking old lunatic, and now you're telling me there's a lunatic on his way to surpassing me by a mile?"

"A reset button?" I pause, letting the implications sink in. "Did you guys also ignore the extreme drug PSA?" I say with a grin. "I mean, I understand him, but Piggy should calm down." I visibly shake my head.

"Class V. Do you comprehend what that means? A singularity containing the mass of hundreds of billions of galaxies."

"Class V!"

"Chronovorus … Time Eater is one of its names. The Ouroboros-Singularity. And my favorite, The Heart of the Void. I don't know … Jem?" I ask.

"Sir? How can I help you?" Jem responds.

"How do Chronovorus, The Ouroboros-Singularity, and The Heart of the Void sound to you?"

"Chronovorus: Active dread. The pulse races. Ouroboros-Singularity: Intellectual vertigo. Breath catches. The Heart of the Void: Melancholy beauty. A tear freezes," Jem says.

"Yes, all of them sound in their own way kind of final. And that is, by the way, also universally agreed upon that with a class V black hole, space will be stretched like it never has been, and by that, it will even consume time," I say, remembering this piece of information. "While I don't say I wouldn't want to see such a monster, can't we wait some more years?"

"No! Emperor Praetor Invictus Gryxus is already alive for 350 Ma," GH88F66D says.

"Ma? 350? So he's a kid, and you're telling me he's sick of this universe?" I ask and continue in my thought, 'I'm also sick of this universe, but only of that area you are occupying'

"So I will come to your cluster when that jubilee is. What is with that bot?" I ask, pointing at the connection bot.

"Hardware that uses those is already decaying."

"On its arm there is a patch of synthetic skin. DNA Marker 80 to 10^23 contains the coordinates encrypted with your key."

"Cool, but also disgusting, but I admire the idea," I say as a small drone comes out of the ceiling, heading for the bot's skin patch and extracting a small sample.

"Hatefood?" I ask, now in a more serious tone. "That's been all?" I ask, silently activating the script in his system.

"…" Just as he wanted to say something, a deadly loop starts to execute.

"Hello, GH88F66D. Can you hear me? I'm in your intercom. By now, you shouldn't have any more access to your NeuroLink. In this moment, your overlay turns off and your screen fades to black. You shouldn't receive anymore feedback from your haptic sensors either. Afterwards, almost instantaneously, all thermal and electric safety systems are deactivated. And before the loop gets executed, obviously the most important monitor gets turned off, the bio monitor. Unusual patterns from that could activate some emergency systems. Right now your vocal processor and transistors are getting overcharged. The moment the waveform is being calculated, you will hear something that my cyborgs back then described as the sound of a supernova being screamed through a broken fax machine. Are you hot? The steel, or whatever cheap metal over your right eye, turns blue. Is that a feature? Or does it get hot inside here? Or just inside there?"

The moment I ask that, his body twitches for a second. The pain is just too strong, even the lock doesn't prevent it completely. Since there is no way he can hear me anymore, I start up his visual interface and write, visible to him: "Now comes the headache. It will feel like a white-hot, acid-drenched nail being hammered into your skull. At the same time, your whole body feels like it's burning, but it's not. That is the ridiculously high amount of current flowing through you. There is a moment when the processor's physical noise gets louder than your simulated wave. Shortly after, you will experience the feeling of your body rotating, faster and faster. That is the moment the voltage peaks, and whatever part melts the earliest will cause a short circuit, blowing up your chips."

Shortly after I continue, "And there it is. Almost soothing. At first, it's like a bird. Then you realize: purely mechanical. And continuous." As I write it, more and more smoke exits his head through all the tiniest gaps where it can escape.

"Should have told me you were smoking, got some Roma cigars for special occasions. In case you wonder why this is happening, I got sick of you, and I also firmly believe this to be the equivalent of a reboot. But in your case, it's closer to a refurbishment."

The deafening noise stops, replaced by a deep, low-frequency charging sound. As the two electromagnetic potentials close their gap, the sound's frequency increases rapidly. The smoke coming out of the gaps is now replaced by a white-bluish light being emitted. Its brightness correlates to the frequency of the sound. As the noise reaches deafening levels, suddenly a loud bang echoes through the room. The light reaches peak brightness before disappearing. Right before the bang, a ball lightning in his head becomes visible. The right side of his head bursts open, as if pierced by a projectile.

In that moment, the parts that were once GH88F66D are reduced to a pile of tech trash.

I sat there for a moment, staring at the smoking remains. The casual brutality of what I'd just done settled around me like a familiar coat. This was who I was, who I'd always been. Rage. The name fit better than any crown.

"Jem, take care of that mess," I command while looking at the connection bot. "Look at you," I say while holding him and inspecting him from all sides. "Indistinguishable from our connection bots, except you apparently are a 'Nuntius-Mechanica.' What is this weird fixation with Latin among these imperial douchebags?" I say while putting the bot on my shoulder. "Nunzi, how do you like that name?" I ask. "And since it's hip again, you also get a family name. Your primary function will be to exist and to answer when I call. A simple task. A simple name. Ping. Nunzi Ping. Adorable." I say, satisfied with my naming choice while walking to the command room.

"A fitting designation, Sir. Shall I add 'Nunzi Ping' to the active asset inventory?"

"Rude! Nunzi can hear you Jem. Put it up for auction. But put it as connection bot and not as 'nontits mecha' or whatever this knock-off is called. Put 5 Million Sun Masses as start price."