Intermission 2

The cheers still echoed behind him as Dr. Kotton stepped out of the laboratory, the weight of the moment pressing against his chest. He had done it. He had defied impossibility, turned theory into reality, held the future in the palm of his hand. The miniature fusion arc reactor—it pulsed like a heartbeat, radiating the promise of survival, of renewal.

And yet, even with the celebration ringing in the air, something unsettled him.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was exhaustion warping his perception. But as he walked down the corridor, his pulse quickened, his breath shallower.

Then he saw them.

Men in uniforms—not scientists, not engineers—standing by his workstation, rifling through stacks of notes, skimming through years of research with a casual ease that made his stomach churn.

His stride faltered before sharpening into something deliberate, controlled. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was firm, but not loud—not yet.

The men didn’t look up. That was the first sign something was deeply wrong.

Then, a familiar figure leaned against the far wall, the dim glow of the overhead lights outlining his sharp frame. Diego—the fortress’s head of security—exhaled slowly, fingers loosely holding a cigarette between them, the scent faint but unmistakable.

Kotton’s brows furrowed. “Smoking is forbidden on the ship,” he muttered, more out of reflex than concern.

Diego smirked, tilting his head as he flicked the ashes onto the pristine floor. “Yeah, well,” he mused, his voice edged with something dangerously indifferent, “I miss it. What else is a man supposed to do after living in a floating castle this long?”

The response was so casual it sent a cold ripple down Kotton’s spine.

Then one of the men—security, undoubtedly—lifted something from the desk. Small. Compact. Glowing with eerie precision.

The mini nuclear reactor prototype.

Dr. Kotton’s heart slammed against his ribcage. “That is not for you,” he snapped, stepping forward without thinking.

Diego exhaled another slow stream of smoke, watching him with something close to amusement. “Relax, Doctor,” he said, voice as smooth as the curl of his cigarette. “We’re just assessing the value of your invention.”

“My invention?” Kotton’s voice was sharper now, his control fraying at the edges. “That device is supposed to recreate the sun. It’s meant to restart life, not—” He paused, eyes flicking between the men’s unreadable expressions, realization pooling in the pit of his stomach. “What are you planning to do with it?”

A voice answered, but it wasn’t Diego’s.

“You shouldn’t have seen this.”

Chancellor Volkov.

The man strode into view with an unsettling calm, his presence shifting the air like gravity itself. The disappointment in his gaze wasn’t theatrical—it was genuine, as though Kotton had inconvenienced him, not caught him in an act of treachery.

Kotton took a step back.

“You need to leave,” Volkov said, his tone too even, too practiced.

Kotton’s hands clenched into fists. “Leave?” His breath was uneven. “I built that technology! I spent months—years—preparing for this moment! You don’t just get to—”

His words were cut off as rough hands grabbed him.

Kotton stumbled, pain shooting through his arm as one of the security officers twisted it behind his back, forcing him down just enough to remind him who had control.

“Stop—” He struggled, his pulse hammering in his ears. “I demand an explanation!”

Volkov sighed, shaking his head. “You were supposed to create the device,” he said, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine coat. “Not concern yourself with what happens next.”

“What happens next?” Kotton’s breathing was shallow now, his instincts screaming. “The sun is gone. You need this to—"

“To what?” Volkov interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “To save humanity? To restore what was lost?” His voice was almost mocking, like the idea itself was laughable.

Kotton felt his blood run cold.

Volkov stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that only Kotton could hear. “The artificial sun is a concept for hope, Doctor,” he murmured. “But hope is far more useful as a weapon than a reality.”

The words hit like impact wounds.

Kotton’s heartbeat pounded against his skull as he twisted against the hands gripping him, his breath ragged. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who doesn’t,” he spat.

Volkov chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t I?”

Kotton lunged forward, but the security tightened their grip, forcing him down again, his body straining against their hold.

Then Diego stepped in, flicking away his cigarette with a measured flick of his fingers before crouching slightly, bringing himself eye level with Kotton.

“You know, Doc,” he said conversationally, “I’d really advise against making this harder on yourself.”

Kotton glared at him, his anger burning hot and unyielding.

Diego’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Because I know how much you care about your daughters.”

Something inside Kotton snapped.

His breath hitched, chest constricting, His daughters faces flashing in his mind before he could stop it.

Diego tilted his head slightly. “Accidents happen in places like this,” he murmured, his voice light but laced with warning. “Wouldn’t want your girls to end up in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

Everything else faded.

The struggle, the voices, the tension.

All that remained was the sickening weight of the threat.

Kotton went still.

Diego nodded, as if satisfied with his compliance, before standing upright again. “Smart choice,” he commented, patting Kotton lightly on the shoulder before turning to Volkov. “What do you want to do with him?”

Volkov didn’t look at Kotton. He only straightened his coat again, adjusting it neatly as though the whole thing was beneath him.

“Take him to Zone C.”

Kotton didn’t move.

Not when the guards tightened their grip.

Not when Diego sighed, stepping back.

And not when the realization fully settled.