He returns to the empty Nemesis. No matter if it's been moved. He'll find it. Nothing and no one can hide from him forever.

[Updating . . . . . . ]

Once again, he returns to work. One must keep busy. However, he does pause to lift a finger to his visor, tracing over the rather prominent cracks. He should see where he can get it fixed.

[Now beginning scans . . . . . ]

[ . . . . . Scans complete . . . . Now beginning routine observation of all communications . . . . ]

<. . . . . . . . . .>

{Hrm . . . . Perhaps I should make another TFP account . . . . }

< . . . . . . . . . . . . . >

< . . . . . . . . . . > [ . . . . . Scanning . . . . . ]

He's been busy. The repairs on the Nemesis have been going well due to the influx of . . . donated parts.

[ . . . . . . Now observing . . . . ]

< . . . . . . . ? . . . . . . . >

The soft creak of metal first being bent, followed by the shrill screech of it being torn off. Again and again. He's been busy.

[. . . . . Updating . . . . .]

He scratches at his cracked faceplate. It hurts. But the pain has dulled.

[. . . . . Updating . . . .]

[. . . . . Signal found . . .]

<?>