The last grain of rice vanished from the synthetic plate. Helen chewed slowly, registering the texture of the conditioned meat and the steady warmth spreading from her stomach. It wasn't a king's banquet—but it carried the weight of reality. There was pepper. There was salt. There was that fibrous resistance no neural feed could ever perfectly replicate.
Her apartment lay in absolute silence, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioner. For a long moment, she remained seated at the small table, staring out at the dark courtyard. Life in the real world was cold. Heavy. Unforgiving.
But after thirty forced days away, her mind had never been sharper.
Never more dangerously lucid.
She pushed the plate aside and walked to the bed. The neuro-connector rested on the mattress.
She didn't attach it.
Instead, she picked up the neural visor and interface glove, linking not to the central server—but to a peripheral channel. Dark. Encrypted.
The transition was immediate.
The small kitchen dissolved, replaced by an infinite digital void sliced through with fluorescent-green code. At the center, Khepri's avatar writhed—a vibrant amalgamation of broken textures and asymmetrical eyes.
"Thirty days," Khepri's voice echoed, metallic and distorted. "The galaxy bought it. The news about your 'fatal pod malfunction' was a hit. Welcome back from the grave."
"It was a necessary spiritual retreat," Helen replied, her voice calm and crystalline within the dark interface. "I hear I'm dead."
Khepri emitted a sound like coins fed into a meat grinder—his laughter. He raised a warped hand, and dozens of holographic windows burst open around her.
The galactic feed.
THE RAPID RISE AND FALL OF THE BLACK LADYBUG.
NINSUN CELEBRATES A TERRORIST-FREE FINITE SPACE.
THE END OF A MYTH.
"The Apex propaganda machine pulled double shifts," Khepri said, snapping the windows shut with a flick of coded fingers. "They spent a fortune making sure every influencer nailed your obituary to the wall. Ninsun needed an ending. Investors like closure."
Helen studied the void before her.
Months ago, watching the universe celebrate her erasure would have shattered her. She would have logged in furious. Reckless.
But that Helen—the betrayed girl who moved on emotion—had been left behind.
"Ninsun made her first systemic error," Helen said, her voice cold as vacuum. The interface glove sliced through the air, opening a blank tactical console. "She locked her own narrative in place. If the 'Black Ladybug' is officially dead, then anything bearing our signature from now on isn't a rogue player problem."
Her fingers tightened. The console populated with a star map of Finite Space.
"It's a system problem."
Khepri stilled. His multiple eyes aligned.
"You don't want me to refute it. You're not going to appear."
"Exactly. Ishtar didn't come back, Khepri." She clenched her fist, and the map shifted. "People can be hunted. Surrounded. Eliminated. But we're not a person anymore. Ishtar is now an operational myth. A concept. The Ladybug won't bite their cannons—she'll bite their veins."
The hacker hissed, electrified. With a sweep of his arms, military overlays vanished, replaced by the game's pulsing arteries—economic hubs, ore routes, auction banks.
"Ninsun is a financial architect," Helen continued, drawing lethal circles across the map. "She won by buying my allies—not by blowing up ships. Here. Orix Commercial Sector. Zylos-9 Conversion Depot. The Mercantile Bank. All Apex-controlled. We hit her wallet until shareholders cry in the real world."
Khepri dove into the data—then abruptly froze.
A single orange light pulsed in the corner of his display.
"Strange…" His static thinned, confusion bleeding through. "It's the main game treasury. Odyssey Bank. Millions of siclos are being taxed and cycled into a blind 'Retention Sector.' No logs. No guild tags. Just… pure corporate."
"Where is Odyssey Corp redirecting that money?" Helen narrowed her eyes.
"Probably internal liquidity maintenance. Bureaucratic sludge. I'll ignore it. No need to wake the developer watchdogs today."
"Put it in the background. Ninsun stays priority."
"Speaking of priority…" Khepri's avatar shifted into irritated urgency. He shoved a new window in front of her face. "We have an immediate problem. Remember when I mentioned people using your symbol on their own?"
"Yes. The spark."
"Right. The internet is full of emotional idiots, Ishtar."
The window expanded into a live feed.
Twenty salvaged ships, the ladybug hand-painted across their hulls, flying in crude attack formation.
"For Ishtar! For the Black Ladybug! We'll rip open Apex's chest!" their leader shouted.
Helen felt her stomach drop.
"Khepri. Where are they going?"
The map zoomed in.
Destination: Krios Fortress. An Apex stronghold bristling with heavy artillery.
"They're heading straight into Krios," Khepri said flatly. "No armor. No jammers. Broadcasting their position on open channels. They're going to die. And the problem isn't their deaths. It's the narrative. If the first public group to wear your symbol gets crushed like insects… the idea dies with them. The mantle becomes a joke."
Thirty-seven seconds to enter the annihilation zone.
Helen didn't hesitate. The numbness in her limbs evaporated.
"What are you going to do?" Khepri whispered. "Let them burn?"
Helen reached back—into the real world—and seized the neuro-connector.
"No," she answered, her voice dropping, shifting—becoming the lethal cadence of Ishtar once more. "If we're going to become a symbol, Khepri… the universe needs to understand one thing."
She locked the connector into place with brutal precision.
"No one uses my name to die for nothing."
Full immersion took her.
The apartment vanished. The void shattered into the tight cockpit of her old Star-Mite, hidden within an asteroid field.
Nineteen seconds.
The turbines roared alive. Ishtar's hands danced across the panel, activating stealth thrusters and long-range firing systems.
"Khepri," she said, eyes narrowing on the targeting grid. "Give me the leader's coordinates."
A pause.
"I need to interrupt a suicide."