EGGHEAD ISLAND
The Maker stood at the helm, the chill of the sea air doing little to cool the thoughts racing through his mind. Egghead Island was close now, its silhouette growing sharper against the horizon. This place—so shrouded in mystery, so fiercely guarded—was unlike anything he’d encountered before. He had traveled through many islands, had seen countless wonders and horrors alike, but this island was different. It held something he couldn’t yet grasp, and that made it all the more compelling.
As the island’s defenses came into view, he found himself at a crossroads. The question had been direct, devoid of emotion: " State your purpose." The truth was simple enough, but truth was rarely simple to convey, especially here. Revealing his connection to the World Government felt like a risk, one that could unravel the delicate balance he needed to maintain. It was too soon for that. Too soon to lay all his cards on the table.
But what then? ... he wondered, his mind sifting through the possibilities. He wasn’t here to provoke a confrontation, nor was he here to assert dominance. Not yet, at least. He wanted something far more valuable—knowledge. And for that, he needed to be seen as an ally, or at least as someone with no ill intent.
He took a breath, steadying himself. Words had always been his most potent tool, and now they would have to be enough.
“
I’ve come to learn,” he said, his voice carrying over the waves. “
Your island is renowned for its advancements, and I wish to understand them. I seek no conflict, only knowledge.”
The words were true, but would they be believed? Sincerity was a fragile thing, easily shattered by suspicion, and he doubted the entity on the other end of the line was programmed to understand such subtleties. Still, it was the best he could offer. The Maker knew when to push and when to hold back, and this was a time for restraint.
Seconds ticked by, stretching into minutes.
Too long, ... he thought, his mind beginning to churn with doubts. Was this silence a calculation, a decision being weighed? Or was it something else—a glitch, a test of his patience? The island was a place of logic, of science, and yet there was something almost human in the way it hesitated, as if grappling with his request.
Finally, the voice returned. “YOU MAY PROCEED.”
The relief was subtle, a mere loosening of the tension that had wound itself around his chest. But with it came a new thought, unbidden but persistent:
Why the delay? ... The entity’s response should have been instantaneous, yet it had taken its time, as if something more complex was at work. He filed the thought away, another mystery for another time.
As the ship moved toward the port, the island’s weapons remained locked onto him, their cold, mechanical precision a reminder of where he was.
They don’t trust me, ... he realized, and that was to be expected. Trust was earned, not given, and he had yet to prove himself here.
It wasn’t until the ship was too close for the weapons to maintain their lock that they finally swiveled away, their threat diminished but not gone. The Maker’s eyes swept over the dock, taking in the cyborgs that awaited him. There was something almost familiar about them—their design, their purpose. He recognized the Pacifista models, clad in white with “POLICE” stamped across their chests, but it was the others that intrigued him. Sleeker, more refined, they moved with a fluidity that suggested they were something new, something not yet tested on the wider stage.
Interesting, ... he thought, a small spark of curiosity igniting within him. Very interesting.
He stepped off the ship, his feet touching the ground of Egghead Island for the first time. Two of the Pacifista Police approached him, their movements synchronized, purposeful. When one of them spoke, the voice that emerged was both familiar and unsettling—Kuma’s voice, though clearer, more direct.
“PLEASE FOLLOW ME.”
He nodded, falling into step behind them. He knew better than to resist, and besides, he was eager to see what lay beyond the port. These cyborgs were more than just escorts; they were a message. He was being watched, his every move monitored, evaluated. The Maker was accustomed to being the one in control, the one observing, and this reversal of roles, while unsettling, was also intriguing. What could he learn from these people, from this island?
As they moved through the Fabriophase, the island’s ground level, he couldn’t help but be impressed. The architecture was sleek, the technology integrated seamlessly into the environment. It was a glimpse of what the future could be, a future shaped by minds as brilliant as his own. Above them, the Labophase floated, an ethereal presence that seemed almost otherworldly.
His musings were interrupted by a flash of movement—a dragon, blue and translucent, made of light, weaving through the sky. It was a marvel, a construct of pure innovation, but its sudden shift in direction sent a jolt through him. It was coming toward him, fast, too fast for him to react.
What now? ... he thought, his mind racing through the possibilities. Was this an attack? A test? Or something else entirely? The Pacifistas beside him tensed, ready to intervene if necessary.
The Maker stood his ground, his eyes locked on the approaching dragon. Whatever this was, whatever came next, he would face it head-on. He was here to learn, and nothing—no weapon, no creature, no machine—would deter him from that goal.
