Previously on The Insiders

Bran Beta, once a proud Wave Messenger, now limps through the ALEx in exile, bruised, bandaged, and barely trusted. After a near-fatal mishap in L3 Station, he avoided permanent discharge thanks to TiGer’s relentless loyalty, Roxy’s quiet influence, and Miss Cripps’s unexpected intervention. Cropper’s vendetta still looms, and Nora’s motives are… unclear.

Armed with a yellow glove and a flicker of something like resolve, Bran faces new scrutiny from the bridge.

The ship’s systems are breaking. So is the story he’s told himself.

In This Episode

Ever wonder what happens when the world gives you a second chance you don't think you deserve?

In the depths of The ALEx, Bran stands at a crossroads. Reinstated but reeling, the newly re-appointed Beta Wave Leader finds himself drowning in doubt as destruction surrounds him.

How do you lead when you've spent so long learning to follow? How do you stand tall when your instinct is to hide? The patterns that once protected him now threaten to become his prison.

Sometimes the heaviest chains are the ones we forge ourselves.

Will Bran find refuge, or something more valuable - the courage to break free?

And someone—somewhere—is watching closely.

Bran's dendricals twitched beneath his yellow glove as the silence stretched. The soft hum of Meeting Room 4's environmental systems felt deafening. Captain Higgs studied her datapad, her expression carved from stone.

Across the polished table, Wave Leaders exchanged glances. Delta shifted uncomfortably in his chair while Albie's pen scratched across paper with mechanical precision. The sound made Bran's teeth ache.

A message tube whooshed past the window, its occupant a silver blur. The sight triggered memories of countless deliveries, of freedom in the tubes - before his exile, before everything changed.

Miss Cripps's cane tapped against the floor, each strike like a hammer blow. Her obsidian feathers caught the light as she leaned forward, eyes narrowed. Beside her, Cropper's beak curved in a barely concealed smirk.

TiGer's tiny form radiated support from two seats away, but even her presence couldn't ease the knot in Bran's stomach. He forced himself to breathe slowly, fighting the urge to fidget or bolt from the room.

The flexishell walls pulsed in sync with The ALEx's systems, their gentle rhythm at odds with the crackling tension that filled the space between heartbeats.

Captain Higgs set down her datapad with deliberate care. Bran's pulse quickened as her dark eyes met his across the gleaming table surface.

"There's wisdom in your observations, Bran." Her rich voice filled the room. "But as Scripture reminds us - 'There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end it leads to death.'"

The words settled like lead in Bran's stomach. He'd heard Proverbs 14:12 before, but never had it felt so personally directed. His dendricals twitched beneath the yellow glove.

"We must weigh all possibilities carefully." Higgs's gaze swept the room, commanding attention. "A hasty response could endanger The ALEx further. Yet inaction carries its own risks."

Bran watched her fingers drum once on the table's surface - the only outward sign of the weight of command she carried. The flexishell walls seemed to pulse in time with his racing thoughts as he waited for her verdict.

Bran's heart hammered as Captain Higgs rose from her chair, her presence commanding the room's attention.

"Beta Wave needs strong leadership during these challenging times," she said. "Bran's unique perspective from working across multiple stations has given him valuable insights we can't ignore."

His dendricals tingled beneath the yellow glove. Was she really saying what he thought she was saying?

"Barry, thank you for your service as Acting Beta Wave Leader. You'll continue as Second, reporting to Bran who is hereby reinstated to his former position."

Barry's face flushed red. "But Captain, with all due respect-"

"The decision is made." Higgs's tone brooked no argument. She turned back to Bran. "Your path forward won't be easy. You'll need to rebuild trust and prove yourself daily. Are you prepared for that responsibility?"

Bran managed a nod, his throat too tight for words.

Around the table, reactions rippled like waves through the flexishell decking. Walter's lip curled in obvious disapproval while Candi offered a slight smile. TiGer practically vibrated with excitement in her chair, giving him a thumbs up.

Barry slumped in his seat, refusing to meet Bran's eyes. Cropper's feathers bristled as he exchanged dark looks with Miss Cripps, whose cane tapped an agitated rhythm against the floor.

Deka, the Delta Wave Leader leaned over to whisper something to Albie, both of them studying Bran with calculating expressions. He recognized the weight of their scrutiny - they were wondering if he'd fail again, waiting to see if he'd prove Higgs's faith misplaced.

Bran's dendricals prickled beneath the yellow glove as the weight of every stare pressed against him. His spine tingled with the memory of countless missteps, each one a stone in the mountain of doubt threatening to crush him.

The flexishell decking rippled beneath his feet, its subtle patterns matching the spiraling of his thoughts. He'd dreamed of this moment during those long months in the basement - reinstatement, redemption. Now that it was here, terror and elation warred in his chest.

Job 5:7 echoed in his mind: "Yet man is born to trouble as surely as sparks fly upward." TiGer had shared those words during one of their maintenance rounds, her tiny form perched on a conduit as she explained how facing troubles was as natural as breathing. Back then, he'd dismissed it as her usual scripture-quoting habit. Now the truth of it settled into his bones.

The faces around the table blurred as memories of past failures surfaced - the incident with Sera in the throne room, the calcium storm debacle, countless small errors that had earned him Cropper's contempt. Each one whispered that he wasn't worthy of this second chance.

But beneath the doubt, something else stirred. The lessons learned in exile, the wisdom gained from each stumble. The quiet strength he'd found in the company of Emm and Gee, who saw worth in him when he couldn't see it himself.

His dendricals flexed, the yellow glove a reminder that change was possible. Perhaps trouble was inevitable, but so was the opportunity to rise above it.

Bran's dendricals tingled beneath the yellow glove as he made his way from Meeting Room 4 toward The Nexus. The Bridge loomed ahead, its partially constructed state a reminder of The ALEx's ongoing evolution.

"Well, if it isn't our newly reinstated Beta Leader." Candi's voice cut through his thoughts. She emerged from a side corridor, Walter's amphibian form close behind.

Bran's spine stiffened. He'd expected support from Candi, given her usual enthusiasm for Higgs's decisions. Instead, her yellow eyes held none of their typical warmth.

"Rather convenient timing, wouldn't you say?" She circled him slowly. "A crisis appears, and suddenly you're back in charge?"

"I-" Bran started, but Walter cut him off.

"Now Candi, perhaps we shouldn't be too hasty." Walter's gravelly voice carried an unusual note of consideration. "The lad did spot something none of us saw."

Bran blinked. Walter defending him? The same Walter who'd questioned every decision he'd ever made?

"Did he though?" Candi's tail lashed. "Or was it just lucky guessing?"

"The evidence suggests otherwise." Walter placed a webbed hand on Candi's shoulder. "His time in maintenance may have given him... unique perspectives."

Something felt off about their reversed positions. Bran's dendricals twitched as he studied their faces. Was this some kind of test? Or had something fundamental shifted during his exile?

"We'll be watching," Candi said, her usual 'can-do' attitude nowhere in sight. She turned sharply and stalked away.

Walter lingered, his bulbous eyes unblinking. "Indeed we will," he croaked, but his tone held more curiosity than threat.

Bran watched Candi disappear around a corner, her tail still twitching with agitation. His dendricals ached beneath the yellow glove - an old stress response he'd developed during his exile. Whenever confrontation loomed, they'd twitch and spasm, ready to defend or flee.

Walter's webbed fingers drummed against the flexishell wall. "You know, lad, I've observed something curious about you. When threatened, you retreat. When challenged, you shrink." His bulbous eyes fixed on Bran. "It's quite the survival mechanism."

The observation hit uncomfortably close. Bran's mind flashed to countless moments of backing down, of accepting blame, of hiding in maintenance tunnels rather than facing conflict. Always reacting, never choosing.

"Being 'at effect' rather than 'at cause,'" Walter continued, his gravelly voice thoughtful. "It's kept you alive, certainly. But at what cost?" A strange glint flickered in the toad-like officer's bulbous eyes, making Bran shift uncomfortably. This was decidedly odd - Walter typically championed reactive thinking, preaching caution and survival over bold action. Yet here he was, needling Bran about the very behaviours he usually endorsed. The contradiction made Bran's dendricals twitch even more beneath his gloves, an anxious energy building in his chest as he struggled to parse Walter's true meaning.

Proverbs 14:12 echoed in Bran's thoughts: 'There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end it leads to death.' How many times had his instinctive responses seemed right in the moment? Duck away, stay small, avoid notice - patterns carved deep by years of survival.

"I've watched you since your exile," Walter said. "You developed routines, habits. Some served you well. Others..." He left the thought hanging.

Bran's dendricals twitched again, and this time he consciously noted the response. Another pattern, another automatic reaction. He'd built his life around them, letting circumstances dictate his choices rather than choosing his path.

"The question is," Walter's throat sac pulsed as he spoke, "will you continue letting these patterns control you? Or will you choose differently?"

Bran's dendricals trembled as he approached the Nexus. The usual bustling hub lay in disarray - scattered papers, toppled furniture, and scorch marks marring the flexishell walls. His stomach lurched at the sight. He'd caused this.

"Bran! Oh, you're back!" Louise's slobbering enthusiasm cut through his dark thoughts. "We need to get you measured for your new uniform!"

"I can do it!" She bounced excitedly, drool flying. "I'm excellent with measurements!"

Thalma's hand shot out, catching her conjoined twin with a sharp slap. "Behave yourself, Louise. Control your drooling."

"But-"

"The uniform will take time," Thalma drawled in her characteristically bored tone. "Given the current... situation."

Bran's gaze swept across the destruction again. His chest tightened as the full impact of what he'd done hit him. The crash had rippled through the entire system. Messages delayed, routes disrupted, lives endangered - all because of him.

His heart began to race, each beat hammering against his ribs. The room seemed to shrink, walls pressing in as his breath came in short gasps. The confidence he'd felt in the meeting room evaporated like morning mist.

His dendricals spasmed beneath the yellow glove as stress flooded his system. The warning signals screamed danger, triggering cascading waves of panic through his neural pathways. His vision tunneled, the destroyed Nexus blurring at the edges.

He wasn't ready for this. Couldn't handle this responsibility. Every failure, every mistake, every disapproving look he'd ever received crashed over him like a tsunami. His legs wobbled, urging him to run, to hide in the familiar safety of maintenance tunnels where expectations couldn't touch him.

"Bran?" Louise's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Are you alright? You've gone quite pale."

Bran's dendricals twitched beneath the yellow glove as his mind raced through options. The Throne Room. Yes. That's where he needed to be. In the early days, when the Sandy was still around, he'd found such peace there. The golden throne, the magnificent trees - even the memory of that sacred space helped steady his breathing.

But he couldn't access it alone. Not since Sera's incident. He needed Emm and Gee, their presence required to unlock the doors. The dogs would know he was struggling - they always did. And if his old patterns held true, they'd be waiting at All Mounds Parks, his usual refuge during panic attacks.

His gaze swept the carnage of the Nexus. The main tubes to All Mounds would be packed with messenger traffic, every route a potential gauntlet of stares and whispers. His newly reinstated status felt like a target painted on his back. And anyway, without his uniform and proper gloves, he still couldn’t use the tubes.

Movement caught his eye - an automoton hovering near the tube nexus, maintenance gear in its arms. Bran approached, his dendricals tingling with desperate hope.

"Which tube are you working on?" he asked.

The auto grunted, gesturing toward a sealed entrance. A bright yellow and black striped sign declared: "Under maintenance. Sorry for any inconvenience. Please use the detour for All Mounds Parks."

Bran's heart leapt. A direct route, closed for maintenance. No traffic, no witnesses, no judgment. Someone seemed to be pointing him exactly where he needed to go. Louise's enthusiastic calls about uniform measurements faded into background noise as he studied the sealed tube entrance.

Bran's dendricals throbbed beneath the yellow glove as he approached All Mounds Park. The familiar sight of Fearful Fred's booth offered little comfort today. The tiny gatekeeper flinched at his approach, dropping his clipboard.

"P-purpose of visit?" Fred's voice quavered.

Before Bran could answer, a meaty hand clapped his shoulder. He staggered under the impact.

"Well, if it isn't our newly promoted Beta Leader!" Leo's booming voice made Fred shrink further into his booth. "Congratulations, man!"

Another enthusiastic slap sent Bran stumbling forward. His dendricals spasmed in protest.

"Look at you though - all skin and bones." Leo squeezed Bran's upper arm, shaking his head. "How do you expect to command respect when a light breeze could knock you over?"

Bran tried to step back, but Leo's grip remained firm. The fight instructor's eyes gleamed with an unsettling mix of amusement and challenge.

"You know, we've never seen you in Fight Club. Always scurrying off to the Cryo Chamber with that Ice Maiden instead." Leo's tone carried a hint of contempt. "Maybe it's time you learned to stand your ground, eh?"

The scripture TiGer had shared yesterday echoed in Bran's mind: "Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously." He'd always sown habits of avoidance, of hiding. What kind of harvest had that yielded?

Leo steered him toward the gym entrance. Through the clear panels, Bran could see Adreno Guards sparring with Corti Souls, their movements precise and powerful. As Leo pushed open the door, every head turned their way. The Adrenos' expressions shifted from surprise to anticipation, hungry grins spreading across their faces.

Bran's dendricals twitched violently. He recognized that look - they'd been waiting for this opportunity.

Bran's dendricals jolted at the sharp banging on the gym door. Runa Way's high-pitched voice cut through the testosterone-heavy atmosphere.

"Heard you were here. Shocked I was! Your dogs are causing absolute havoc, chasing my visitors away. Will you come and sort them please?"

Leo's meaty hand tightened on Bran's shoulder. "Hop it, flight attendant. We're busy here."

The Adrenos' sniggers died in their throats as arctic air swept through the gym. The Ice Maiden materialized in the doorway, her disapproving gaze boring into Bran. His stomach twisted - he'd always sought refuge in her Cryo Chamber when things got tough. Now here he was, about to train with the very people he usually hid from.

Past clashes flooded back, each recollection urging him to turn tail and flee. Yet the measured voice of reason in his mind whispered that things were different now. As Beta Wave Leader, he could no longer afford to hide away.

Still, the Throne Room called to him. That's why he'd come to All Mounds in the first place, before Leo's intervention.

"Thanks for the tour," Bran managed, shrugging off Leo's grip. "But I really must go."

He bolted for the door, his face burning as chicken clucks echoed behind him.

"Neanderthals!" Runa Way shouted back at them, her voice wavering as Leo appeared in the doorway. She squeaked and picked up speed, her smart red uniform a blur as she fled.

His entire being reacted as if some primal instinct had seized control - raw terror driving him to escape, each mortifying moment searing itself into permanent memory, while his rational mind fought desperately to regain its grip on the situation.

Bran whistled for Emm and Gee. The dogs obediently bounded over allowing Bran to make a fuss of them. Emm's excited barks contrasting with Gee's deeper, more measured woofs.

"I need to get to the Throne Room," Bran crouched down and whispered.

Emm's tail stopped wagging. She tilted her head, letting out a concerned whine.

Gee's protective growl rumbled through the air. The German Shepherd's stance shifted, positioning himself between Bran and potential threats.

"Please," Bran's voice cracked. "I just... I need to be there."

Gee nudged something with his nose, a crumbled biscuit, half-buried in the patch of Glione. Bran blinked, then smiled faintly. Emm had clearly brought provisions.

The dogs exchanged looks. Emm's border collie face scrunched in contemplation before she let out three sharp yips. Gee responded with a low bark, his ears flattening.

Their debate continued, a symphony of growls, whines, and woofs that made Fearful Fred duck further into his booth. Finally, Gee's tail gave a single, decisive wag. Emm's entire body wiggled with excitement as she pranced toward the exit.

They crossed the limbic gap together, Bran's heart pounding with each step. The central colosseum loomed ahead, its imposing architecture a stark reminder of past failures and present fears.

As they approached the corridor leading to the Throne Room, Bran's breath caught. Cropper's office door lay ahead. His dendricals spasmed at the memory of their recent confrontation.

Gee's reassuring presence pressed against his leg as they crept past stealthily. Emm took point, her paws silent against the flexishell decking. The office door remained mercifully closed as they scampered by, Bran's pulse thundering in his ears until they were safely past.

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