Previously on The Insiders
Exiled from his Beta Wave Messenger position, Bran repaired pipes in Engineering's depths. Despite slipping into old gossiping habits, the Chief sent him to question Sher Gar about calcium storms. At the Library, Bran received vital information about magnesium and Endo's Orfins, but an urgent message from Nora diverted him. Racing through abandoned tunnels, he collided with a spike at L3 Station, suffering critical injuries as chemicals seeped into his dendricals. Consciousness faded with a prayer for transformation.
Episode 2: Moonlight Awakening
Pain lanced through Bran's skull as consciousness crept back1. The familiar musty smell of his bunk in the Tenements filled his nostrils. His dendricals throbbed beneath fresh bandages, each pulse a reminder of his catastrophic journey through L3 Station.
The cramped space pressed in around him, Flexishell walls mere inches from his shoulders. Even lying perfectly still, his feet brushed against the end of the bunk - a daily reminder that he'd grown too tall for standard Wave Messenger quarters. The dim glow of the emergency lighting cast strange shadows across the ceiling, making the space feel even smaller.
He tried to shift position, but his body protested with sharp twinges. The thin mattress did little to cushion his bruised frame against the hard surface beneath. A dull ache radiated from everywhere the spike and wall had made contact.
Through blurred vision, Bran spotted TiGer's small form perched cross-legged on the floor. Her orange and black striped hair caught the dim light as she swayed gently, lost in meditation.
"Some seeds fell on rocky ground," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "No depth of soil... no root system... withered away." She paused, dendricals clasped together in her lap. "But good soil... that's where transformation happens. Deep roots. Strong growth."2
The words stirred something in Bran's foggy mind. He'd heard this parable before, but TiGer's soft interpretation touched a raw nerve. His own 'soil' felt rocky and shallow - filled with bitterness over his exile, self-pity about his circumstances.
"The seed is truth," TiGer continued, seemingly unaware of his consciousness. "But the soil... that's our hearts, our minds. Have to prepare the ground." Her voice took on a sing-song quality. "Clear out the rocks of pride, pull up thorns of resentment. Then... then real change can take root."
Bran lay still, letting her words wash over him3. For once, he didn't feel the urge to dismiss her spiritual musings.
TiGer's eyes snapped open, fixing on Bran with that uncanny intensity she possessed. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
Bran grunted, not trusting his voice. His throat felt like he'd swallowed sand.
"You know," TiGer unfolded her tiny frame and padded closer, "there's this brilliant bit in Philippians that says 'I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.' Not some things. Not the easy things. ALL things."
Bran turned his head away, studying a particularly interesting patch of Flexishell. The surface rippled slightly, responding to his discomfort.
"Look at me, Beta-Boy." TiGer's voice carried that mix of affection and exasperation she reserved just for him. "You're not defined by that mess with Sera in the Throne Room. Or this exile. Or even that spectacular crash at L3."
"Feels like I am," Bran muttered.
"That's because you're stuck looking backward." She perched on the edge of his bunk, her weight barely registering. "Scripture talks about becoming a new creation - the old gone, the new come. It's not just pretty words, it's neuroscience too. Minds can literally rewire themselves."
Bran shifted uncomfortably, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder. "Easy for you to say. You didn't lose everything."
"No," TiGer agreed, her striped hair catching the dim light as she tilted her head. "But I see someone who could gain everything if he'd stop wallowing in what he lost."
The truth in her words stung worse than his injuries. Bran closed his eyes, but couldn't shut out the gentle wisdom in her voice. Part of him wanted to believe in this transformation she spoke of, but years of bitter experience had taught him to expect the worst.
"Just... think about it," TiGer said softly. "That's all I'm asking."
The memory hit Bran like a physical blow. TiGer’s reminder of that business with Sera dragged him back to that day in the Throne Room, the once-magnificent chamber now dulled by Sera's prolonged occupation. The Tree of Life's branches had drooped4, its leaves withering before his eyes while she lounged upon the sacred seat, radiating smug satisfaction.
Beside it, the Tree of Knowledge had flourished, its branches stretching toward the ceiling, leaves glossy with unnatural vitality. The sight had turned his stomach - wrong on a level he couldn't articulate. He'd stood there, frozen, as the golden throne lost its lustre, tarnishing beneath Sera's presence.
"Someone needs to do something," he'd whispered to himself, but his dendricals had trembled at his sides, gloves feeling too tight, too restrictive. The other Wave Messengers had backed away, leaving him alone to witness the Tree of Life's decline.
The memory of Sera's zen-like smile haunted him still - her complete conviction that she belonged there, that her presence was right and proper. Even as systems throughout The ALEx had begun to malfunction, she'd remained unmoved, serene in her usurpation.
Bran had never felt smaller than in that moment, watching helplessly as everything sacred seemed to decay. His inability to act, to prevent what was happening, had carved a hollow space inside him that exile had only deepened.
Through the haze of that painful memory, Bran recalled Sher Gar's arrival in the Throne Room, his hooves clicking against the deteriorating floor. The magnificent chestnut stallion had surveyed the scene, his white blaze stark against his dark coat.
"The soil must be prepared," Sher Gar had announced, his deep voice cutting through the panicked whispers. "Just as a farmer doesn't simply cast seed onto hard ground, we cannot expect wisdom to take root in unprepared hearts."
Bran remembered shifting uncomfortably as Sher Gar's knowing gaze swept over the assembled crew. The Chief Librarian's words had struck him as oddly relevant, even then.
"Our minds," Sher Gar continued, punctuating his words with a gentle snort, "are like gardens. Each experience, each relationship, each moment shapes the pathways within. When we allow pride to harden the soil of our hearts, nothing good can grow."
The horse's words had drawn Bran's attention back to Sera, still lounging on the throne. The Tree of Life's leaves had continued their slow descent, each one that touched the floor sending ripples through the Flexishell decking.
"But here's the wonder of it all," Sher Gar had added, his voice warming with enthusiasm. "Our minds can change. New pathways can form. Old patterns can be broken." He'd stamped one hoof for emphasis. "The question isn't whether transformation is possible - it's whether we're willing to prepare the soil."5
Looking back now, Bran realised how prophetic those words had been. His own exile had started that very moncycle, though he hadn't known it then. Perhaps his soil had been too hard, too resistant to change.
A gentle warmth pulled Bran from his memories. His eyes snapped open to find Roxy standing in his cramped quarters, her flowing white dress somehow unmarred by the grimy surroundings. The auburn waves of her hair caught the dim light, creating a soft halo effect that made his heart skip.
"Your thoughts were so loud, I could hear them from Love Island," Roxy said, her melodic voice filling the small space. The Flexishell walls seemed to pulse in response to her presence, their usual dull surface taking on a pearl-like sheen.
TiGer quietly slipped out, leaving them alone. Bran tried to sit up straighter, painfully aware of his disheveled appearance.
"The past doesn't define who you can become," Roxy continued, gracefully settling onto the edge of his bunk. Her proximity sent waves of comfort through him, easing the ache in his muscles. "Every moment is a chance to write a new story."
"Even for someone like me?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.6
"Especially for you." Roxy's smile radiated pure acceptance. "You know, there's profound truth in what the ancients wrote - 'Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here.' Your neural pathways aren't set in stone, Bran. They can be rewired, reshaped."
Her hand brushed his bandaged dendricals, sending a tingling sensation up his arm. "You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you. That includes changing old patterns, breaking free from the stories you've been telling yourself."
The warmth of her presence seemed to seep into his very being7, making him feel truly safe for the first time since his exile began. In that moment, transformation didn't seem like such an impossible concept.
Bran's legs trembled as Roxy and TiGer helped him up from the bunk. Pain shot through his bandaged dendricals, making him wince. The Flexishell floor seemed to swim beneath his feet, and he stumbled.
"Easy there, Beta-Boy," TiGer steadied him with surprising strength for her tiny frame. "One step at a time."
Roxy's presence on his other side radiated comfort, but even that couldn't fully quell the dread building in his chest. Captain Higgs wanted to see him. His stomach churned at the thought.
They made their way through the dim corridors of the Tenements, each step sending fresh waves of pain through his battered body. The Flexishell decking rippled subtly beneath them, adjusting its texture to provide better grip.
"Your brain's like a garden," TiGer said, breaking the tense silence. "Right now, you've got these well-worn paths of negative thinking. But we can create new paths."
"It's called cognitive restructuring," Roxy added, her melodic voice somehow making the clinical term sound beautiful. "Every time you challenge a negative thought, you're carving out a new neural pathway."
Bran kept his eyes fixed on the floor, watching his feet shuffle forward. "Feels more like I'm stumbling down the same old paths."
"That's because those paths are familiar," Roxy said. "But just like we're helping you walk right now, you can lean on others while you build new mental pathways."
The mention of 'others' made Bran's chest tighten. Everyone who'd ever helped him had ended up disappointed. Now here he was, heading to face Captain Higgs, probably to receive another punishment, another exile, another confirmation of his worthlessness.
"Your thoughts are spiraling again," TiGer observed. "I can see it in your face. Remember what we discussed about taking every thought captive?"
Bran nodded mechanically, but his mind was already racing ahead to the Nexus, imagining Cripps's accusatory stare, Cropper's smug satisfaction at his failure.
The tramp of boots echoed down the corridor, growing louder with each passing moment. Bran's heart rate spiked as six Adreno Guards rounded the corner, their red and silver uniforms gleaming under the harsh lighting. The Flexishell beneath their feet darkened to a deep crimson, reflecting their aggressive energy.
"HALT!" The lead guard's voice boomed through the narrow space. "The prisoner will come with us immediately."
"Prisoner?" Bran, TiGer, and Roxy spoke in unison, their voices bouncing off the walls.
"We have orders from AOC Cropper." The guard's hand rested on his stun baton. "The prisoner is to be escorted to his office now."
"There must be some mistake." Roxy's usual melodic tones carried an edge of steel. "We're taking him to Captain Higgs under her direct orders."
"NO MISTAKE!" Another guard stepped forward, vibrating with intensity. "AOC Cropper's orders supersede all others in matters of internal security."
Bran felt TiGer's tiny frame tense beside him. His dendricals throbbed beneath their bandages as the guards closed ranks around them, their faces set in identical masks of grim determination.
"Since when does Cropper outrank the Captain?" TiGer's voice dripped with barely contained fury.
"ENOUGH TALK! MOVE NOW!" The lead guard reached for Bran's arm.
The Flexishell beneath them pulsed an angry red, matching the mounting tension in the corridor. Bran's legs trembled, partly from pain, partly from fear. He'd seen that look in the Adrenos' eyes before - they weren't leaving without him.
Bran's dendricals twitched beneath their bandages as he studied the Adreno Guards' rigid faces. His usual instinct screamed at him to shrink away, to let them drag him off to whatever fate Cropper had planned. The familiar weight of defeat pressed against his chest.
But something felt different this time. TiGer's words about taking thoughts captive echoed in his mind. The verse she'd quoted earlier surfaced: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
The Flexishell beneath his feet steadied, its angry red pulse settling into a more determined glow. His legs still trembled from injury, but his spine straightened ever so slightly.
"I'll go," Bran said, surprising himself with the steadiness in his voice. "But I'm walking there on my own."
The lead guard's hand dropped from his stun baton, clearly thrown by this unexpected cooperation. Bran felt Roxy's warmth fade as she stepped back, though her presence remained like a supportive beacon behind him.
Years of letting others push him around, of accepting exile and punishment without question - it all seemed to crystallize in this moment. The path ahead still terrified him, but for once, he was choosing to walk it rather than being dragged along.
"Let's get this over with," Bran said, taking a shaky step forward. His injuries protested, but something stronger than physical pain propelled him. Each step felt like breaking new ground, forging those new neural pathways TiGer had mentioned.
The guards fell into formation around him, their boots clicking against the Flexishell in perfect rhythm. But this time, Bran wasn't their prisoner. He was walking to face Cropper on his own terms, supported by a strength he hadn't known he possessed.
Bran shuffled between the Adreno Guards, their rhythmic boots echoing through the corridor. The Flexishell beneath rippled with each step, its surface reflecting his turbulent thoughts.
He'd spent so long believing he was nothing but a failure, a disappointment - the Beta Wave messenger who couldn't even deliver messages properly. That story had become his reality, shaping every decision, every reaction. Even now, part of him whispered that Cropper was right to summon him, right to end his career.
His dendricals throbbed beneath their bandages. The pain triggered a memory of Sher Gar's words from earlier: "The mind forms paths like water carves channels. Each thought deepens the groove until it becomes the only way we know how to flow."
The guards marched him past Love Island. Through the viewport, he caught a glimpse of Roxy's domain, where she worked tirelessly to build trust and community. He'd always avoided it, convinced he didn't deserve that kind of connection.
"KEEP MOVING!" An Adreno guard prodded him forward.
Bran stumbled slightly but kept his footing. The old him would have mumbled an apology, shrunk into himself. Instead, he straightened his spine, ignored the guard's growl.
TiGer's voice echoed in his mind: "Taking thoughts captive means choosing which stories to believe." Well, his current story was about to end anyway - Cropper would see to that. But maybe, just maybe, that didn't have to mean accepting the role of victim one last time.
The party approached Cropper's office, its entrance gleaming with that excessive polish he insisted upon. Bran's heart hammered against his ribs. Permanent discharge seemed inevitable, but for once, he didn't feel like curling up and accepting whatever Cropper dished out.
Even if this was the end, he could choose how to face it.
Discover how Ed, much like Bran from "Moonlight Awakening," transformed his challenges into opportunities by shifting his perspective. Ed's journey mirrors Bran's, where embracing change led to profound personal and professional growth. To start your own transformation, try the MAD Steps: Mindful reflection, Active listening, and Determined action. For full details on implementing these strategies in your leadership journey, become a paid subscriber today.
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Sometimes resurrection begins not with light but with pain - just proof you’re not dead yet.
The world claps for fruit, but heaven looks for roots.
He didn’t believe her yet. But something in his bones wanted to.
Not every impressive thing is alive. Not every dying thing is dead.
And the maddening thing? No one can do that part for you.
We always think grace is for people slightly better than us.
If Bran had been paying attention, he might’ve noticed something soft tucked beneath the bunk. A half-crumbled biscuit. Probably cheese-flavoured. Definitely undeserved.
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