Cubed smiles, head leaning sluggishly over to the left side, watching his cut intently; fixated on it. He sees the nanite self-fabricating spiders begin to crawl out from under his skin where the the large gash reveals his muscle tissue. The Athiel suit isn't something so superficial you wear it like a mask. Defense dust is merely sand in an hour glass next to this NZ-tech. The suit is a hollow place within a dead self, removed from the restriction of time into a black resounding cavity of no-space. Who the fuck would want to play the Skipper's GBA games anyway? Old hat. Like the one Agent Titan used to wear when partying in the Thantafaxith tunnel. Cubed had obviously let himself be captured. This was the moment he was anticipating. Deep at the heart of the black sun, ready to eat his way out with violent purifying tech. As the mechanical swarm starts oozing out of his wound he thinks "All your sparks still fucking belong to us;" and a sinister maddening laugh fills the corridors of the Black-Φ HiVE as the Athiel-Botswarms prepare to consume any living or half-living creatures they encounter to feed the void-like uncertainty server they network back to. In all Black-Φ monitoring stations the screen goes blank - no data.
