In the recesses of space, there will always be ways to drift, regardless of whether such drifting was figurative or literal; such was the nature of the void. Matthew had been doing it his entire life, and there was nothing so comforting to him then letting his mind wander. The chrome alleyway served as a more than adequate safe haven for him to reconstruct his armor, which he felt almost naked without. It spoke volumes that he felt more comfortable in a suit of armor than he did with his own skin, more exposed when he wasn't in combat. He thought about what he had told August earlier, about there always being different paths, and he had meant what he said then... But he knew that there could only be one path, one fate, one destiny, for him. But the new recruits couldn't know that. Each one of them, whether they had joined in Axion, or Cyprus, or post-Phazon, they were the faces of the future, not his. The only duty that he had didn't belong to his home, or to the Empire, or even to the Galaxy. It was for the new generation of heroes: to ready them, to train them, and to prepare them... For when they stare their destiny in the face. (Open)