Hal's POV
The space between Oa and its moons looks like a demolition derby between gods.
Chunks of asteroids drift past us, some still glowing from whatever the hell Atrocitus did to them five minutes ago. The void itself seems scarred, bent out of shape by forces that probably shouldn't exist.
Atrocitus comes at me again, and I barely get my constructs up in time. Three separate attacks. A crimson spear from the left, binding chains from above, explosive charges materializing right where I'm about to dodge. It's like fighting someone who's read the manual on every possible way to kill a Green Lantern.
But the universe has a way of interrupting philosophical breakthroughs with immediate tactical concerns.
A golden streak tears through the void between us. Carol Danvers hitting velocities that make my enhanced senses water. She decelerates hard, coming to a controlled hover between me and Atrocitus with the kind of precision that screams veteran pilot.
"Well," she announces, surveying the debris field that used to be three star systems, "this looks like fun. Sorry I'm late. Had to deal with your friend's pet monster."
Even in the middle of a cosmic existential crisis, I can't help but grin. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Danvers."
"Too late for that, Jordan. You've already dragged me into whatever this is." Her energy signature is incredible. Like staring into the heart of a star that's learned to think. "So what's the situation? And please tell me you have a plan beyond punching the embodiment of universal rage really hard."
Atrocitus recovers from his moment of vulnerability, the Butcher's influence reasserting itself with volcanic fury. "Another cosmic pretender. How delightful." His form expands, becoming more energy than matter as raw rage pours from him in waves. "Come then, children. Let me show you both what true power looks like."
The assault that follows is unlike anything I've ever experienced. Atrocitus doesn't just throw energy blasts at us. He creates constructs that look like burning children, screaming for help that never comes. Energy whips that carry the sound of mothers weeping over empty graves. A crimson spear that transforms mid-flight into my father's cockpit, complete with his voice calling my name as flames consume everything.
When one of his attacks grazes my shoulder, I don't just feel pain. I'm seven years old again, watching helplessly as Dad's plane burns. Every moment of fear, every nightmare that followed, every time I've failed someone who counted on me. It all crashes down at once.
Carol meets the first wave head-on, her photonic aura blazing as she creates barriers of solidified light. But I can see the toll it's taking. Her hands are shaking, tears streaming down her face as she deflects constructs that must be showing her own worst memories.
"Christ," she gasps, barely avoiding what looks like a Kree execution squad. "How do we fight someone who turns our own trauma into weapons?"
"You don't fight it," I realize, gritting my teeth as another wave of constructed horror washes over us. Ion's cosmic awareness helps, but it's still like being hit with a sledgehammer made of pure grief. "You accept it and move through it. The pain is real, but it doesn't control what we do next."
Working together, we manage to deflect the worst of his assault, but I can feel the strain building. Every moment of combat feeds more power into Atrocitus. Every spark of fear or anger from across the galaxy makes him stronger. We're not just fighting him. We're fighting the accumulated suffering of the universe itself.
"Jordan," Carol calls out, dodging a construct that looks like her old squadron getting vaporized, "we need a new approach. This isn't sustainable."
That's when it hits me. Carol's right. We can't beat him through direct confrontation. But there's one trick every test pilot learns: when you can't overpower something, you redirect it.
"Carol, what's the one thing that stops any force too dangerous to fight head-on?"
She catches on immediately, her pilot's brain already working the problem. "You redirect it somewhere it can't hurt anyone." Her eyes widen as she realizes what I'm thinking. "Hal, that's completely insane."
"Black hole. Artificial singularity." I start gathering energy, feeling Ion's vast knowledge flow through me. "We can't destroy him, but we can contain him. Remove him from the equation entirely."
The physics make my enhanced brain hurt just thinking about them. Creating a stable black hole requires energy equivalent to stellar collapse, precision that makes brain surgery look simple. One wrong calculation and this entire system becomes cosmic soup.
"That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard," Carol says. Then she grins. "I love it."
Atrocitus seems to sense our discussion. His attacks intensify, and now he's creating constructs specifically designed to break our concentration. Images of everyone we've ever failed. Sounds of loved ones calling for help we can't give. The raw emotional assault is devastating.
"Carol, I need you to keep him busy," I call out, green energy beginning to coalesce around me in patterns that make nearby asteroids start drifting toward us. "And whatever you do, don't let him figure out what I'm doing."
"How long do you need?" she asks, already building power for her most aggressive attack pattern yet.
"Couple minutes. Maybe three if the math gets ugly."
She launches herself at Atrocitus like a golden comet, her photonic aura blazing so bright it hurts to look at. "Come on, Red!" she taunts, weaving between his constructs with insane precision. "Is this really the best you've got? I've seen angrier toddlers!"
The psychological warfare works. Atrocitus pours everything into trying to break her, creating increasingly personal and vicious attacks. But Carol's been fighting impossible odds her entire career. Every dodge is calculated perfection, every taunt designed to keep his attention on her instead of me.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to convince reality to fold in on itself in very specific ways. The construct I'm building exists in dimensions I can barely comprehend, a framework that will create a controlled gravitational collapse. Ion's knowledge helps, but it's like trying to perform calculus while someone hits you with a baseball bat.
"Two minutes!" I call out, sweat beading on my forehead despite the cosmic enhancement.
Carol responds by flying straight through one of Atrocitus's most vicious constructs, a writhing mass of screaming faces that represents every civilian she's ever failed to save. The psychic backlash staggers her, but she uses the momentum to deliver a photonic blast that actually makes him stumble.
"Whatever you're doing, do it faster!" she yells. "This bastard's learning my moves!"
She's right. Atrocitus is adapting with the speed that comes from eons of experience. His attacks are getting more precise, more targeted. He's starting to predict her patterns.
"One minute!" The gravitational framework is taking shape now. Space itself is beginning to bend around us, reality warping in ways that make my enhanced senses scream warnings.
That's when Atrocitus finally realizes what we're doing.
"NO!" The Butcher's fury erupts through him with force that actually cracks vacuum. "I will not be contained again! I am eternal!"
"You're about to learn what happens when test pilots get creative!" I shout back, pouring everything into the construct as space-time reaches the breaking point.
The black hole that erupts into existence is both beautiful and terrifying. Not the chaotic destruction of a stellar collapse, but a precisely controlled gravitational anomaly held together by pure stubborn will. It's small, barely ten meters across, but its pull is unstoppable.
Atrocitus realizes his danger the moment the gravity well touches him. He tries to escape, pouring energy into constructs that should be able to move planets. But I've built the mathematics to account for that. The harder he struggles, the stronger the pull becomes.
"This is impossible!" he screams as the event horizon draws him in. "Physics cannot be bent to mortal will!"
"Tell that to my physics professor," I reply.
But something unexpected happens as the gravitational forces intensify. They're not just pulling at Atrocitus's physical form. They're pulling at something deeper. The connection between him and the Butcher entity starts to stretch, then strain, then tear.
The separation is violent and traumatic. Atrocitus screams as something fundamental is ripped away from his very being, his massive frame suddenly looking smaller, more fragile. The red glow that had made him seem like a walking supernova dims to barely a flicker. Without the Butcher's influence, he's just an alien in pain, gasping for breath as cosmic forces he'd become dependent on are forcibly severed.
The Butcher entity itself manifests as pure crimson energy, writhing and fighting against the pull. It's no longer hidden inside Atrocitus but exposed, vulnerable. A writhing mass of pure malevolent rage that seems to hate everything, even its own existence.
"Ion!" I call out. "Can you contain it?"
My cosmic partner responds by flowing partially out of my form, manifesting as streams of emerald energy that weave through the black hole's structure. Where Ion touches the singularity, it becomes more than just gravity. It becomes a prison designed specifically for beings of pure emotion.
"Brother," Ion's voice carries across dimensions, but there's sadness in it now. Not the formal tone of a cosmic judge, but something more personal. "Your corruption ends here."
The Butcher's response is pure fury and malice. "RAGE! HATRED! SUFFERING! I am eternal! I am—"
"You are a parasite," Ion replies firmly. "You feed on pain and create only more of it. That ends now."
"They destroyed everything!" Atrocitus suddenly cries out, his voice breaking as the entity is torn from him. "Our people, our worlds, our families! And you did nothing!"
"I did what I could," Ion says softly, addressing Atrocitus rather than the writhing Butcher. "But I can't undo the past. Neither can you. The only choice now is whether you let me help you find peace."
For a moment, just a moment, Atrocitus stops struggling against my restraints. "Peace?" The word comes out like a sob. "I don't remember what that feels like."
"I know," Ion whispers gently. "But I do. Let me show you."
Meanwhile, the Butcher entity writhes and screams as the gravitational prison tightens around it. Unlike the gentle treatment Ion offers Atrocitus, there's no mercy for the cosmic parasite. Layer after layer of crystallized will wraps around it like unbreakable chains, designed not to heal but to contain something that exists only to spread suffering.
"ETERNAL RAGE!" the Butcher shrieks as it's drawn into the controlled singularity. "I WILL RETURN! I WILL—"
Its voice cuts off as the final layer of containment activates, sealing the entity away from the universe it sought to corrupt.
When it's over, the silence is deafening. Atrocitus floats motionless outside the event horizon, his red ring still glowing with power, though significantly diminished from before. Without the Butcher's cosmic enhancement, he's still formidable, but the universe-shaking power is gone. The rage in his eyes burns just as hot, but now there's something else mixed with it: loss.
"Atrocitus of Sector 666," I say, my voice carrying Ion's authority. "You're under arrest. Your ring stays because removing it would probably kill you, but you're coming with us."
He looks up at us with eyes that still burn with fury, but there's frustration there too. The look of someone who's just lost his best weapon. "The Butcher," he says, his voice carrying both anger and something that might be grief. "You've stolen my power. The one force that could have made the Guardians pay."
"We stopped a cosmic parasite from destroying everything," I reply firmly.
"You stopped justice!" Atrocitus snarls, his red aura flaring with what power remains. "That entity gave me the strength to do what needed to be done. To make them suffer as my people suffered!" His voice drops to a deadly whisper. "Without it, I am diminished. But not defeated."
Carol floats nearby, reading the threat in his tone. "So you actually wanted that thing inside you?"
"I welcomed it," Atrocitus says without shame. "Every whisper of rage, every surge of power. It was the perfect instrument of vengeance. And you've taken it from me." His eyes narrow as he looks at me. "But do not think this changes anything, Jordan. My cause remains. The Guardians will answer for their crimes, with or without cosmic power."
"Yeah," I reply, creating stronger restraints of emerald energy. "Good luck with that from a prison cell. Come on. Let's get you back to Oa."
"A cell?" Atrocitus actually laughs, a sound like grinding stone. "You think walls can contain what I represent? The rage of Sector 666 lives beyond any single being, Jordan. Even without the Butcher, my people's suffering cries out for justice."
The trip back to Oa takes longer than expected. Atrocitus stays mostly silent during the journey, but I can feel his anger simmering, calculating.
"You think you've won something here, Jordan," his voice is quiet, almost reflective. "But rage is a fundamental force. It cannot be destroyed, only redirected. And when the universe shows you its true face, when those you've sworn to protect turn on you, when the innocent suffer while you follow proper procedures, you'll understand why I made the choices I did."
"Maybe," I reply honestly. "But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Right now, I'm focused on making sure there's still a universe worth protecting."
The descent through Oa's atmosphere reveals the scope of the devastation below, but also something I hadn't expected. Hope. Ancient spires that had been reduced to rubble are already showing signs of reconstruction, emerald energy flowing through damaged structures like healing light. The great plaza where justice had been administered for billions of years bears scars and craters, but Green Lanterns work tirelessly to restore it.
I touch down in the main plaza first, my feet hitting the crystalline surface with more confidence than I've felt in weeks. The merger with Ion has changed me in ways I'm still discovering, but the core of who I am remains intact. I'm still Hal Jordan, test pilot from Coast City, who believes the best way to handle any crisis is to fly straight at it.
Carol lands beside me, her photonic aura dimming as she surveys the damage. "Quite a homecoming," she observes, watching as Lanterns pause their reconstruction efforts to stare at us.
Atrocitus, bound in constructs of pure will that prevent any movement while still allowing him to breathe, looks around with something that might be grudging respect. "You rebuild quickly," he acknowledges. "But stone and crystal can be replaced. The scars I've left run deeper."
"We'll heal those too," I tell him, then raise my voice to address the gathered Lanterns. "The Red Lantern threat has been contained. Atrocitus is our prisoner and will face trial for his crimes."
Kilowog approaches first, his massive frame somehow managing to convey both relief and wariness. "Poozer," he says, using his usual nickname but with genuine affection, "when you decide to make an entrance, you don't mess around." His scarred face splits into what might be a grin. "That light show you put on could be seen from three sectors away."
"Had to make sure everyone knew the Corps was still standing," I reply, clasping his massive hand briefly. "Speaking of which, status report?"
"The Red Lanterns scattered like roaches when their boss went down," Kilowog reports. "Most of them surrendered once they realized their power source was cut off. Few tried to run, but they didn't get far."
Tomar-Re emerges from what used to be a medical station, looking exhausted but relieved. "Hal," he says, "what you did out there, we all felt it. Every ring in the Corps blazed brighter."
Before I can respond, the distinctive whine of Nova Corps propulsion systems fills the air above us. Three sleek fighters in the classic Nova Corps configuration descend toward the plaza, their pilots clearly experienced enough to land in the middle of a crowd without causing a panic.
The lead fighter touches down twenty feet from where we're standing, and its canopy slides back to reveal a young human face. The pilot can't be much older than I am, with sandy brown hair and the kind of determined expression that speaks to someone who's seen more action than his years should allow.
"Lantern Jordan," he says with a formal nod as he climbs out of the cockpit, his Nova Corps uniform bearing lieutenant's stripes and showing clear signs of recent combat. "Richard Rider, Nova Corps. I'm here representing Nova Prime Irani Rael with prisoner transport and testimony regarding recent events."
"We tracked several fleeing vessels after the main engagement," Rider explains, producing a data tablet from his utility belt. "Most Red Lantern forces either surrendered or were destroyed, but we secured one prisoner who turned the tide during the final battle."
He gestures toward his fighter, where I can now see a specialized containment unit in what would normally be the cargo bay. Through the transparent aluminum viewing port, I catch a glimpse of blue skin marked with distinctive tribal patterns.
"Razer," I say, feeling a mix of relief and satisfaction. The Red Lantern who had listened when I talked to him, who had shown there was still something decent underneath all that rage. "So he kept his word."
"More than that," Rider replies, consulting his data pad. "This individual actively engaged hostile Red Lantern forces when they continued attacking civilian areas after Atrocitus went down. When Bleez, Zilius Zox, and others tried to massacre refugee centers, Razer's constructs stopped them cold."
That brings back the memory more clearly. In the chaos of my merger with Ion and the cosmic confrontation that followed, I'd seen flashes of the battle continuing around us. Razer, fighting alongside our forces against his former comrades. His red constructs targeting the most violent Red Lanterns who were still trying to kill innocents.
"His intervention prevented at least three separate massacres," Rider adds. "He helped guide our evacuation ships to safety, then surrendered himself for trial. Said he'd spent years running from the hardest fight, and it was time to stop running."
Ganthet approaches, his ancient features showing obvious interest. "A Red Lantern turning against his own Corps is unprecedented. Such beings are typically incapable of overriding the rage that drives them."
"This one found something stronger than rage," Rider observes. "Fought like someone who'd remembered what he was really fighting for."
I study the containment unit, watching Razer sit calmly inside. His red ring is dim on his finger, his tribal markings showing none of the violent pulsing that typically characterizes Red Lantern physiology. There's something different about him, something that suggests the cosmic screaming of rage has been replaced by genuine choice.
"The implications are huge," Tomar-Re murmurs. "If rage can be overcome through choice, if the red light can be rejected to protect innocent lives..."
"It means redemption might be possible even for the worst of them," I finish. The idea gives me hope, but also raises complicated questions about justice and accountability.
"Which brings us to the matter of trials," Sayd observes, her voice carrying cosmic authority as she approaches with the other Guardians. "His actions during the final battle will be considered, but he must still answer for his crimes as a member of the Red Lantern Corps."
"Understood," Rider replies. "Nova Prime made it clear that cooperation doesn't mean immunity. But she wanted to ensure his case receives appropriate consideration given the circumstances."
"The trials must proceed immediately," Ganthet declares. "Both for galactic stability and to demonstrate that the Corps remains committed to the rule of law."
Before anyone can respond, Atrocitus speaks up from his restraints. "Trials," he says, his voice carrying bitter amusement. "How fitting. The same Guardians who failed to provide justice for Sector 666 will now sit in judgment of those who sought it elsewhere."
"Justice delayed isn't justice denied," I tell him firmly. "And what you did wasn't justice. It was revenge."
"Was it?" Atrocitus asks, his red eyes fixing on mine. "When the innocent suffer while bureaucrats debate proper procedures, when entire civilizations burn while committees argue jurisdiction, tell me the difference."
The question hangs in the air, uncomfortable in its implications. But before anyone can respond, Carol suddenly looks upward, her expression shifting to alert concern.
"Hal," she says, pointing toward the sky. "We still have company."
I follow her gaze to see the distant shapes of massive galactic fleets maintaining positions around Oa. Kree dreadnoughts, Skrull battleships, Thanagarian cruisers, and others. They pulled back when Galactus arrived to investigate the cosmic disturbance from my merger with Ion, but they're still here. Still watching. Still waiting to see if the Green Lantern Corps is truly finished or if this is just a temporary setback.
"Those bastards are still circling like vultures," Kilowog growls, his ring already beginning to form combat constructs. "Think they can wait us out and pick our bones clean when we're weak."
"Not happening," I say firmly, rising into the air. "Time to send a message."
I accelerate upward, Carol keeping pace beside me as we streak toward the fleet formations. Behind us, emerald trails mark the ascent of dozens of Green Lanterns, their rings burning brighter than they have in years. The merger with Ion hasn't just restored the Corps—it's evolved us.
As we break atmosphere, the lead Kree dreadnought begins to turn its weapons toward us, but stops when I appear directly in front of its bridge, my green aura blazing like a miniature star.
"This is Green Lantern 2814.1," I broadcast on all frequencies, my voice carrying the authority of both my human determination and Ion's cosmic presence. "You are in violation of Oa territorial boundaries. I'm giving you one chance to withdraw peacefully."
The response comes from the Kree commander, his voice coldly clinical. "Green Lantern Corps authority is disputed. Recent events have demonstrated your organization's inability to maintain galactic stability."
"Recent events," I reply, my voice hardening, "demonstrated that the universe's oldest peacekeeping force isn't going anywhere. The Corps stands. Oa remains under our protection. And you're trespassing."
To emphasize the point, I create a massive shield that encompasses the entire planet. The emerald barrier shimmers into existence, beautiful and implacable, a demonstration of power that sends visible ripples through the assembled fleets.
"The Green Lantern Corps numbers thirty-six hundred active members across the known universe," I continue. "Each one assigned to a sector, sworn to protect life and maintain justice. You came here thinking to scavenge the remains of a broken organization. What you found instead is proof that some things are too important to die."
The longest silence yet follows this declaration. Finally, the Thanagarian admiral speaks. "Green Lantern Corps authority is acknowledged. Thanagar withdraws all territorial claims."
One by one, the other fleets follow suit. Within minutes, the space around Oa is clear of hostile vessels.
"Well," Carol says as we watch the last ships disappear into hyperspace, "that was easier than expected."
"Bullies always back down when they realize you can hit back," I reply, allowing the planetary shield to fade. "Besides, they came here looking for weakness. We showed them strength."
As we descend back to Oa's surface, the cheers begin. Not just from the Green Lanterns who had fought alongside us in space, but from the civilian populations that call Oa home. Beings from across the galaxy who work in support roles, maintaining the infrastructure that allows the Corps to function. They line the damaged streets, pointing upward as we pass, their voices raised in celebration.
"Jordan! Jordan! Jordan!" The chant starts somewhere in the crowd and spreads like wildfire through the crystalline canyons of Oa's central district. By the time we touch down in the main plaza, what feels like half the planet's population has gathered. The emerald glow from thousands of power rings creates an aurora that puts Earth's northern lights to shame.
"Well," Kilowog says, grinning as we land, "that's one way to make an entrance. Think you scared those fleet commanders enough?"
"They got the message," I reply. "Sometimes you have to speak a language bullies understand."
Tomar-Re shakes his head in amazement. "In all my years with the Corps, I've never seen a rookie accomplish what you just did. Single-handedly facing down multiple galactic fleets? That takes either incredible courage or incredible stupidity."
"Little bit of both," Carol observes with a smile.
"Definitely both," I admit. "But it worked."
The Guardians approach, their ancient faces showing expressions I've rarely seen. Ganthet leads them, his blue features carrying something that might actually be approval.
"Hal Jordan of Earth," he says formally, "in the span of a single day, you have merged with Ion, defeated the Butcher, and demonstrated to the galaxy that the Green Lantern Corps remains a force to be respected. No rookie in our history has accomplished so much so quickly."
"Most rookies don't get thrown into cosmic-level crises on their first week," I point out.
"True," Sayd acknowledges, stepping forward. "But most rookies would not have survived what you endured, let alone emerged victorious. Your actions today will be remembered for millennia."
Before anyone can respond, I reach into the construct I've been maintaining and pull out what looks like a swirling mass of red energy, contained within an emerald sphere. The crowd steps back instinctively as the malevolent presence radiates hatred even through my containment.
"Speaking of memorable," I say, holding out the sphere to Ganthet, "I believe this belongs to you now. The Butcher. What's left of it after Ion and I tore it apart."
Ganthet accepts the containment sphere with obvious reverence and no small amount of caution. "The entity of Rage itself. We had hoped it could be separated from Atrocitus, but we never dared assume it could be captured intact."
"It's not intact," I correct him. "More like cosmic fragments held together by really good containment protocols. But it should be enough for you to study, maybe figure out how to prevent something like this from happening again."
"This is invaluable," Sayd breathes, examining the roiling energy within. "The knowledge we could gain from studying a captured emotional entity..."
"Just make sure it stays captured," Carol interjects. "The last thing the universe needs is that thing getting loose again."
Appa Ali Apsa, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, finally speaks up. "Jordan, I owe you an apology. When you first arrived, I believed you were too inexperienced, too human, to handle the responsibilities of the ring. I was wrong. What you've accomplished today proves that perhaps humanity's greatest strength is not knowing when something is supposed to be impossible."
"Thanks," I say, genuinely surprised by the admission. "That... actually means a lot."
"The trials must proceed immediately," Sayd declares, her voice carrying the weight of cosmic authority. "We need to demonstrate that the Corps remains committed to the rule of law. Sinestro, Atrocitus, and their followers must face justice without delay."
I look around at the damaged plaza, the exhausted Lanterns, the celebrating but weary crowds. "You know what? Maybe we should take a day off first. I mean, we just saved the universe and all. Even cosmic peacekeepers deserve a victory lap before getting back to the paperwork."
A few Lanterns chuckle at that, and I catch Kilowog grinning. Even some of the Guardians seem amused by my suggestion.
Ganthet considers this, looking around at the damaged buildings and exhausted faces. "The human has a point," he says thoughtfully. "We all need time to rest and begin the work of rebuilding. Sinestro's treachery and Atrocitus's assault have left Oa scarred. Before we can dispense justice, we must tend to our wounds."
"Good call," Kilowog says, his voice carrying the weariness that comes after battle. "Half the Corps is running on fumes, and there's a lot of rubble that needs clearing."
Tomar-Re nods in agreement. "The reconstruction efforts will require significant coordination. Many of our most crucial facilities were damaged in the fighting."
"And we need time to process what we've learned," I add, glancing toward Razer's containment unit. "About redemption, about the emotional spectrum, about what it means to choose justice over revenge."
Carol looks around at the celebrating crowd, then at the damaged buildings and scarred streets. "Plus, the people here deserve a chance to celebrate what they've survived before we dive into trials and justice. They've been through hell."
"Agreed," Sayd says. "Tomorrow, we convene the tribunals. Tonight, we remember that we're still here to remember."
"Speaking of cooperation," I interject, looking toward the containment unit where Razer waits patiently, "what happens to him during all this? He risked everything to fight alongside us when it mattered most. That has to count for something."
"It will," Sayd assures me. "But he must still face trial for his actions as a Red Lantern before any consideration of leniency can be applied. Justice requires that all actions be weighed, both good and evil."
As the crowd begins to disperse and the Guardians retreat to prepare for tomorrow's proceedings, I find myself standing in the shadow of the Central Power Battery with the core group that's become something like family over the past few weeks. Kilowog, Tomar-Re, K'rok, even the usually taciturn Gladiator have gathered to process what we've just experienced.
"So," Kilowog says eventually, "tomorrow we put the bastards on trial. Today we rebuild and try to figure out how everything went sideways so fast."