Zarados stood on the rocky outcrop which overlooked the station, a cold wind blowing at his feet. The icy surface of Azios-2 allowed for very little to survive, there was nothing that grew here. The only inhabitants being the slaver-colonies and various minor war-lord fiefdoms which eked out a living by stealing and killing. The very idea of this planet had been the antithesis of morality. A completely artificial planet, created eons ago, meant to serve as a testament to the power of the grey ones, who and wherever they were, now lay in ruin, serving as nothing more than a source of shoddy raw materials which fuelled the last battles for supremacy in this section of the galaxy. The skies had long since been turned grey with the thick smog being pumped out of the mines where thousands toiled away. Freedom was a foreign concept to many, not just here on Azios-2 but to the entire galaxy it seemed. Zarados began to make his way down the rocky slope, towards the station. What he was looking for here could not be known by anyone else. Ever since the end of the golden age and the disasters which had spelled the doom of many great civilizations and the two super states, the universe had gone quiet it seemed. The engines of progress, and discovery had run silent while the drums of war and the flutes of misery played on. It seemed that nowhere he turned, ignorance, enslavement, and depression dominated the lives of all. 

The icy ground cracked under his feet as Zarados approached the great doors which sealed this bleak station off to the rest of reality. Zarados reached into his hemp rucksack and produced a small rod which was no longer than his hand. He twisted the rod and set it near the lock which held the doors closed. Small arms extended out of the rod and inserted themselves into the lock. They began their work, manipulating and studying the lock's mechanism. After a brief moment of humming there was a click. The lock was open. Zarados put the rod back into his rucksack and gave the doors handle a hard but steady tug. The doors opened with a creak, Zarados looked around him to make sure he was not followed before he slipped inside and closed the doors gently. 

Inside, Zarados turned on a small plasma torch illuminating the room which he found himself in. The room was made from various metals and measured around ten paces long, and eight across. The ceiling was around three times as high as Zarados was tall. A few loose cables lay neatly rolled up, and crates full of panels and screw dotted the room. Zarados walked forwards, his footsteps echoing as he approached it. Infront of him was an enormous cube, with a single line of blue text in a neat row at his eyelevel. The cube appeared to have been constructed after the station had been built. There were a few missing panels by the visible wires which hung out like vines would. There was an unsettling feeling one got when looking at this cube, it seemed almost natural yet so artificial, much like Azios-2. A small terminal stood, approximately three paces in front of Zarados. Zarados stepped up to it, a small panel lit up as he ran his hand across its surface. The text which appeared read "Welcome to #120182, enter user." Zarados typed in his alternate name, "Ergo", before pressing the return key. There was a small beeping noise before a monotone voice said,

"Protocol Alpha-Centurion active, how may I be of assistance today?"

"I've been looking for you," Zarados said as he took a step back,

"You have? Why?" The voice answered back,

"To ask you questions," Zarados said, "You will co-operate,"

"Of course," said the voice, "What is it you want to know?"

Zarados said, "What are you,"

"I am #120182," the voice replied,

"I meant, what is your purpose and what are you,"

"I am #120182, I am the computer which operates this vessel," the voice said,

"Vessel? There is not vessel," Zarados thought to himself,

"By vessel I mean the boosters and retro-thrusters which guide the celestial body on which you stand," said the voice,

"You mean the obelisks of course," Zarados though again before he asked, "When is it?"

"The date you mean?" the voice said,

"Yes," Zarados confirmed, drawing in a breath sure that this cube could not answer,

There was a brief humming, before the voice announced, "The current date is 01/04/1,120,491 according to my atomic clock,"

Zarados considered this information carefully, nobody knew the date anymore, time had become irrelevant in the struggle to survive. Days and nights were a blur without consequence to anybody. Zarados found another question which irked him. 
"Are there more of you?"

"According to my network, yes. However, 98.97% of my associated networkers are offline, in hard numbers there are approximately 140 of my network left," the voice answered,

Zarados said, "Where are they?"

"Question unanswerable," the voice said, "Response 404,"

"Where are they?" Zarados asked again, louder this time,

"Question unanswerable," the voice said, "Response 404,"

"Where the hell are they!? What is 404!?" Zarados shouted, getting visibly angry and slamming his fist onto the terminal,

"Question unanswerable," the voice said, "Response 404,"

The cube did not answer, and the display flicked off. Leaving Zarados in the dark, unsure of what had just happened. He tried to get a response, but frustration prevailed and the cube remained silent. Knowing that there were more worlds like Azios-2, confirmed by this cube, brewed a nasty feeling within Zarados. More worlds like Azios-2 meant that there were thousands or even millions, of beings who were enslaved and living in utter misery. With Azios-2 being run by this apparently dead cube, and the fact that there were up to 140 more of these worlds, meant that the grey ones had created many more worlds. Perhaps they had done more than just create worlds. Azios-2 served as a reminder that time was a strange thing. Walking out of the station before emerging onto the icy plains, wrapping his cloak around himself tighter and extinguishing his lantern. He made his way back up the rocky slope, towards the small settlement of Holl.