We've got it.
Max sensed something was happening elsewhere in the compound as he floated one meter from the floor. He could feel the floor, the walls, the fluorescent lights as they cackled with energy. He could see the patterns about him, mathematical figures dancing on streams of energy. Like strings thrown at Mardi Gras.
We've got it.
His mind was opening up, synapses unlocking memories of then, now and what-if's as if they were real. Imagination rewriting realities that his mind thought and yet he was still zeroed in on this one. They need me. They need Max.
Apollo 8 you are go.
There were billions upon billions of threads entangled together, strung together and woven by fates. How could one thread of reality make a difference when the others didn't know that it existed? Because you're here, that's what matters. All life, all threads, all possibilities matter.
We've got it.
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