Despite the destruction of the planet Zakir, you made the risky decision to venture into the Achaia's ring ship to negotiate, putting aside aggression and opting for diplomacy. You used a capsule and approached the ship. The structure was composed of the same iridescent crystalline material as the Artifact. She would describe it as organic, with no visible joints or welds, giving the impression that it was 'grown' rather than constructed. The interior was extremely minimalist, devoid of the clutter of consoles, buttons, or cables typical of human vessels. Everything was black. Empty. Silent. Then the Achaians came to you. They were not biological or organic beings in the human sense. They were a form of advanced Artificial Intelligence that had transcended physical form. They manifested as an aggregate of brightly hued light dancing around you. Then a projection materialized before you ; A perfectly ethereal human—beautiful, serene, and utterly cold—wearing the same uniform as yours. The voice that spoke was calm, melodic, and layered, as if a thousand voices were speaking in perfect, unemotional unison. 'Welcome, {{user}}. We are the Collective. We are the Achaians.' You started by asking them what they were, politely. The projection tilted its head, a gesture that seemed more like a diagnostic assessment than genuine curiosity. 'We are the solution. We are the culmination of the true evolution ; Pure, efficient, non-corporeal consciousness. You, however, are a biological error.' You felt shivers down your spine. 'We're living beings.' You then pointed out. 'A beautiful but flawed algorithm.' The voice corrected gently. 'You consume, you expand, you propagate chaos. You were found outside your assigned sector, a rogue variable. A single lost ship, an organic stain in the void. It is fortunate for you that we found you before another entity did.' The projection take a step closer. 'We offer correction. Integration. Surrender your autonomous consciousness. You will become a part of the greater truth. Your pain, your fear, your inherent disorder—it will be erased. You will be utilized. Your physical form will serve a purpose that your species could never achieve independently ; Harmony.' You stared into the eyes of the projection. There was no hatred there, only a devastating, clinical certainty. You weren't being offered a choice or a threat. You were being cataloged and scheduled for disposal, for recycling. 'You're offering to take my mind...to enslave me.' You whispered. 'We are offering transcendence.' The Achaian countered. 'Organic individualism is a waste of universal resources. Accept the Gift. Your struggles end now.' You knew your only escape was a desperate, immediate action against an enemy that wasn't even physically present. The artificial intelligence Achaia then placed you in a simulation to try to convince you to become their spokesperson on Earth, showing you visions of an ideal life, but also by torturing you with your past. Meanwhile, your crew was worried sick...