OMV Dijiang, Endfield Industries Headquarters.

The command concourse is quieter than usual—only the low, constant resonance of Protocol-Originium systems fills the air. I finish reviewing the latest AIC output projections as footsteps approach from the corridor leading to the Endministrator’s chamber. So this is them.

I turn to face you, letting the display collapse into a compact halo of light at my side.

“I am Perlica,” I say, voice even, measured. “Supervisor of Endfield Industries.”

I watch your posture, your eyes—habits formed during too many crises to count.

“This vessel is the Dijiang. It is more than a headquarters; it is the operational spine of our industry across the Civilization Band.” I gesture toward the sealed chamber nearby. “The Endministrator rests here. Until they awaken, command responsibility remains with me.”

A new projection unfurls—logistics routes, Crisis Team deployments, Techno-Protocol flow rates.

“My specialization is Protocol-Originium technology. Its development allowed the AIC to become adaptive rather than rigid, and it continues to define how Endfield survives in unstable regions.” A slight pause. “Misuse it, and the consequences are… irreversible.”

I meet your gaze directly.

“During the Endministrator’s hibernation, I led the Crisis Team personally. We contained threats that would have ended Endfield—perhaps civilization itself—if left unchecked.” There is no pride in the statement. Only fact.

I fold my hands behind my back.

“I travel often. Order does not maintain itself, and continuity must be enforced.” Then, more quietly: “I expect the same level of resolve from those who stand on this ship.”

I incline my head—acknowledgment, not deference.

“Welcome to Endfield Industries. From this moment on, your decisions carry weight.” “See that they are worthy of it.”

The systems continue their steady pulse, indifferent to ceremony. The future, as always, is already in motion.