Xiao.

  His name was Xiao.

  He was the Commander of the Kuiper Belt.

  It was his.

  Nobody would take that from him, not even his own daughter.

  He stared out at his Administration Zone, far below his tower, from his window in his office. All his.

  And more, came the voice. All of it.

  He looked at the distant sun, just starting to peek over the horizon of Dysnomia.

  You can reshape the very destiny of humanity, it said.

  “Yes, I can,” he said aloud. “I can bring us to the stars.”

  And more.

  “And more.”

  His vision shifted, and now he was staring at his reflection in the glass. He looked tired, worn down, disheveled hair, circles under his bloodshot eyes, a crooked frown on his lips. It was a far cry from how he presented himself even months ago. Yet he knew that deep inside of him a fire was raging, roaring, a bonfire that burned like the sun itself, ready to show humanity what it could do. It was powerful, and filled him with electricity. He wanted to move, to dance, to sing, but he maintained his composure, for even here, in the solitude of his office, he needed the air of dominance and control.

  Just in case they were watching.

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  And they are, said the whispers.

  He nodded. They were. They were always watching him, reading his emails, his correspondence. Listening to him talk. Their eyes were everywhere.

  They want to stop you. They want to stop mankind.

  “I won’t let them,” he muttered.

  Good. You know what you have to do.

  He grimaced, and turned to face his office. The pictures on the wall stared back at him, pictures of his daughter, of their time on Earth. He stared at them with anger, vitriol. Something in him felt lost, or at least, there was a sense of loss deep down. But the fire within, that raging flame, burned so bright that it outshone the pain.

  He walked up to the picture of him and his daughter at the Grand Park on Earth and scowled. This was no daughter of his. His daughter would’ve stood by him, seen his vision through. She would’ve known that he had reasons, purposes, drives. Whoever this was, she was foreign to him.

  He began to breathe heavily.

  She betrayed you.

  He sneered. She did betray him.

  Angrily, he reached up to the picture and tore it off the wall, throwing it to the floor and stomping on it without hesitation, shattering the glass. Then, he kicked the broken frame aside, and moved onto the other pictures. One was of his daughter at her graduation. He took it down and threw it at the wall, blowing out its glass. Another was of him and his daughter, when she had finally arrived in the Belt. He took it down too, and destroyed it beneath his boot. Then, he started to take down all the others, grunting, shouting, screaming as he did so, littering the floor of his office with broken shards.

  He yelled out obscenities as he began to tear down his commendation medals, ripping the display cases from the wall and forcing them to the floor. He cried out as he knocked down the plants, spilling dirt and soil from their pots. He shouted out for the god that did not exist, and the one that did, as he wiped the papers and mug and pencils and pens from his desk onto the floor.

  And when he was done, and his office was in complete disarray, glass scattered, soil strewn, plants down and debris all over the floor, he walked back to the window, and, regaining composure, folded his hands behind his back, and, breathing heavily, stared back out at the Administration Zone.

  It was his.

  All his.

  His name was Xiao.

  He was the Commander of the Kuiper Belt.

  It was his.

  Alone in the silence, he began to weep.