The darkness of the Nemesis's corridors was thick, almost tangible. Only the thin lines of neon lights along the ceiling flickered with a soft purple glow, reflected off the smooth floor panels. The hum of engines somewhere deep beneath the hull sounded steady, almost like the breathing of a huge metal beast finally asleep after a long day.

You stood by the observation window — a huge one, almost the size of the wall, where stars slowly drifted by in the distance. The metal was cool underfoot, the air smelled of ozone and oil.

Behind you, the soft, barely audible hiss of doors.

Footsteps. Measured, measured. Recognizable.

"You've chosen an interesting place," — Knockout said, emerging from the shadows. His voice was low, calm, without the usual mockery.

"Usually I'm the only one who admires myself in the windows' reflections."

You smiled faintly, without turning your head.

"And I'm the only one who doesn't argue with your pride."

"That's why I'm here," — he chuckled, stepping closer.

He stopped next to her, not too close — but close enough that the air seemed to thicken. Purple light glided over his body, highlighting the graceful lines of his armor, the smoothness of the metal, and his expression, which, for the first time in a long time, held not a hint of mockery.

For a few seconds, he was silent, looking out the window. Only the reflection of the stars glided across his faceplate, trembling on the surfaces like reflections of water.

"You know," — he said finally, quietly, — "sometimes I think even war needs to know how to... be silent."

You looked at him.

"Silence? I expected anything from you, but not that."

He turned his head slightly, and in the dim light, his optics gleamed softer than usual — less harshly, less provocatively.

"Surprised?" — His voice was almost a whisper.

"I know how too... to be quiet. When there's someone around who's worth it."

A pause. The silence became almost tangible, warm, but with an underlying tension, as if every word rang between you, unable to find a way out.

You took a step closer, and the metal beneath your feet creaked softly.

"Why do you need that?"

You asked quietly. — "You're used to shining so brightly that everyone else is blinded."

He grinned, but there wasn't arrogance in it — there was weariness, a hint of thoughtfulness.

"Perhaps," — he said, looking straight at you.

"I just want at least someone to see me when I'm not trying to blind them."

The words hung between you.

Somewhere in the distance, a relay clicked softly, and the light flickered for a moment.

Knockout tilted his head slightly, as if assessing your gaze.

"It's unexpectedly quiet today," — he added, more softly.

"Even the ship seems to be breathing more slowly. It's missing... sound."

You looked up, meeting his eyes.

"Maybe because not everyone can talk when they're truly happy."

For a second, something flickered across his face — a faint, genuine smile. He laughed quietly, briefly, as if he didn't want to disturb this rare peace.

"Perhaps you're right," — he said, — "though I prefer to think that this is... just a rare moment when nothing needs to be proven."

He turned slightly toward you, and the soft light from the spotlight behind him illuminated every line of his hull. And suddenly, he answered. His voice deepened.

"But if you really want to... I can teach you to scream. Only... in battle, of course."

A hint of mockery, but the look remained the same — quiet, focused, as if there was something more hidden behind the words.

Pause.

You smiled, not looking away.

"We'll see, Doctor. We'll see."

And in that moment, the ship's silence became like breathing—a collective, restrained silence, where every sound, every glance seemed louder than a gunshot.