Chapter 42: Countdown. [Part 2]

-24h

“That’s quite a problem.” Hank frowned as he stood next to the open Omega body.

“Yeah. I’ve been stuck on the energy overload for two solid years now,” Nick said. “The crystal’s output is unimaginable. Simply put, we can’t—”

“I’m not talking about that, idiot!” Hank yelled.

“What? Why are you angry?” Nick asked, confused.

“Because you are the biggest idiot genius dumb intelligent human I know!”

“Are you having a stroke?” Nick snapped, starting to get angry.

“Yes! And you are causing it!” Hank shouted. “Why are you trying to contain every bit of energy? If you can’t contain it, vent it! This isn’t a normal E-UNIT body where every unit of battery must be used efficiently. This is an energy source that doesn’t even exist on the periodic table! Where did you even find this crystal?!”

Nick took a breath and replied calmly. “The government found it in the southern desert while searching for oil. The prospectors didn’t think much of it since it looked like a plastic toy. They handed it to a local metal expert, who was completely confused. After that, they contacted multiple scientists—”

“Why are you telling me the whole story?!” Hank exploded again. “I only need the useful part! How is it that you haven’t changed in four years? Your papers were a nightmare to correct. You overexplained every tiny detail!”

“Because you keep complaining that I don’t explain enough!” Nick shot back. “You said I had to prove where I applied Schrödinger’s law, even though even he doesn’t fully understand it!”

“He does!” Hank replied, his voice rising. “And you know it too! You just refuse to commit to proven laws that work in every situation!”

“If they work, why don’t we use them?!” Nick shouted.

“Because I decide what you use!” Hank snapped. “And I know where you should use it. Look at this mess you call Omega! If you had used the law I told you to use and actually listened during my lectures, I wouldn’t be here fixing a first-year student problem!”

Nick dropped into a nearby chair and exhaled. “You’re right. When I get excited, I skip the boring parts and take shortcuts. With Omega, even with all my knowledge and experience from building the E-UNITs, I couldn’t find a simple solution to a simple problem.”

Hank softened. “I get it, son. I get excited too. I make mistakes just like you, maybe even more…” He sat beside him, then suddenly started yelling again. “BUT THIS IS NOT EVEN A PROBLEM!”

“How can you change your mood that easily?!” Nick yelled back.

Hank stared him straight in the eyes, then chuckled. “Because when I look at you, I see great potential. I see a genius who can change this world. I see a dreamer who can turn dreams into reality. I see your vision, Nick.”

“Hank, thanks—”

“But I LOSE ALL HOPE WHEN I SEE YOU STUCK ON AN EASY TEST QUESTION!” Hank roared.

Nick’s jaw tightened. “Because that’s how power works!”7

“No.” Hank’s voice dropped into that teacher tone that used to scare classrooms into silence. “That’s how human power works. This thing isn’t running on your neat little battery assumptions. This is an energy source that shouldn’t exist.”

Nick exhaled slowly. “It’s not in the periodic table. I know.”

“Then act like you know,” Hank barked. “Why are you trying to contain every unit of energy? Why is your first instinct always ‘control’?”

Nick turned away. “Because uncontrolled energy destroys the host.”

Hank leaned in. “And controlled energy destroys the host too, because you’re controlling it the wrong way.”

Nick stared at him.

The engineers and E-Medics stared in silence.

Hank exhaled and dragged Nick toward the Omega body. “Look closely. You have one problem. Too much electrical overflow. Your current android body doesn’t offer enough resistance to counter that energy. And the funny part? You named it Omega.”

He walked to the drawing board, grabbed a pen, and turned back. “Listen carefully. This is no longer a theorem lesson.”

Nick, the engineers, and the E-Medics gathered around.

“I thought I retired from teaching,” Hank said, turning to the board. “But seeing my best student stuck on a microscopic problem like this…”

He began drawing.

“Electricity is like water. Water can’t move without proper infrastructure. You need pipes, storage, and exits, like faucets.”

He drew fast: a huge reservoir, pressure lines, a narrow pipe.

“Every part matters. You need storage, like dams. You need pipes. And most importantly, you need consumers. Without consumers, water doesn’t flow.”

Hank drew a large dam. “The problem with a dam is control. If consumption is higher than rainfall, the dam dries up. If there aren’t enough consumers, the dam overflows or collapses under pressure.”

He glanced at Nick. “This genius here can’t connect those two situations.”

He drew a battery. “The E-UNIT relies on batteries. Human technology. Easy to control. You regulate consumption and stored energy. It’s like a water tower.”

Hank continued. “But a water tower can’t supply many consumers. A dam can. This crystal is a massive dam, capable of powering an entire country. Giving it only a few faucets is a disaster. The pressure overwhelms the pipes, and the faucets can’t release energy fast enough, especially since they open and close.”

He stepped back. “So, what do dam workers do in this situation?”

An engineer near the table spoke carefully. “A vent system?”

“EXACTLY!” Hank shouted, shaking the engineer’s head violently.

Hank finally smiled. “That’s what I call an energy dam. We apply it to Omega. Increasing body resistance alone will never be enough for an energy source that can power a country for ten years.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed as the idea clicked into place. “So instead of increasing resistance… we give it a back door.”

“I swear to God,” Hank muttered, slapping his forehead, “you are either the smartest or the dumbest person I know.”

Then Hank leaned closer to Nick, lowering his voice.

“You don’t need to keep Omega quiet,” he said. “You need to keep her alive. Let her bleed power safely. Give the energy somewhere to go, something shaped, controlled… something that turns overflow into a weapon instead of a failure.”

Nick’s breathing slowed.

He nodded once. “Wings.”

Hank’s smile widened. “Now you’re thinking like my student again.”

Nick muttered under his breath. “You could’ve said it without screaming.”

Hank snapped back instantly. “And you could’ve solved it without wasting two years.”

Nick looked up at the Omega chassis again, but this time his expression wasn’t dread.

It was purpose.

“Alright,” he said. “We build the spillway.”

Hank clapped the marker onto the table. “Good. Because in twenty-four hours you won’t be fixing a theory problem anymore.”

He pointed toward the wall where the countdown map glowed.
“You’ll be building something that decides whether Metromania still exists.”

-12h

The elevator climbed without sound.
Mikael Wilson watched the numbers rise like a heartbeat trying to stay calm. He held the folder under his arm with the kind of grip that didn’t need strength, only certainty.

CLASSIFIED.

Heavy paper. Heavy names.
Tonight, Henry Vegas fell. Not by rumor. Not by “public pressure.” Not by a speech. By law.

The elevator chimed. Mikael stepped out.

Two officers at the far end of the corridor snapped into a salute.
Half a second too late.

It was small. Almost nothing.
But Mikael’s entire life had been built on noticing almost nothing. He continued walking.

More officers passed him, clipboards in hand, comms in their ears. No one greeted him.
No jokes. No “sir.” No nervous smiles. Not even that fake respect people put on like perfume when they’re in front of the camera.
Only straight backs and forward-facing eyes, like a funeral procession.

Conference Room 9 sat at the end of the corridor behind a door Mikael had entered a thousand times.
This time the guard outside didn’t open it for him. The guard simply stepped aside and tapped a code. That was the second “almost nothing.”
Mikael pushed the door open. The room was full. Full like a verdict.

Department heads. Senior investigators. Internal Affairs observers. A handful of IB agents with their hands resting near their jackets, posture too calm to be normal. And at the head of the table,

Jacob Marine. Sitting in Mikael’s chair.

His hands were folded. A tablet lay in front of him. A cup of coffee steamed at his right side, untouched.
Jacob’s face was calm.

Mikael didn’t sit. He didn’t blink. “Jacob,” he said, voice steady. “Stand up.”

Jacob didn’t move. A few people shifted in their seats. Someone cleared their throat and immediately regretted it.
Jacob spoke softly, like he was trying not to wake a sleeping animal. “Close the door.”

The guard did. The click sounded louder than it should have.

Mikael looked around the room. He didn’t need to count heads. He already felt the weight. “Interesting,” Mikael said. “A meeting with this many eyes and not a single notice on my calendar.”

Jacob nodded once. “It wasn’t scheduled.”

Mikael agreed. “It was staged.”

Jacob’s eyes flicked to the folder under Mikael’s arm. “Is that for Vegas?” Jacob asked.

Mikael smiled faintly. “Still sharp.”

“I try,” Jacob said. Then his tone flattened. “Put it on the table.”

Mikael didn’t move. “You want to see it?” he asked. “Or you want to bury it?”

Jacob’s jaw tightened, just for a frame, then returned to calm. “It’s not about burying anything,” Jacob said. “It’s about timing. It’s about stability.”

Mikael laughed, quiet, humorless. “Stability,” he repeated, tasting the word like something rotten. “You’re using that word like it’s holy.”

Jacob leaned forward slightly. “We are hours away from a national emergency,” he said. “New Mer is marching. Thirty thousand war units. You knew.”

“And I’m still here,” Mikael replied. “So the country still has a spine.”

A few faces in the room twitched. Jacob didn’t flinch.
“Your spine is breaking,” Jacob said. “You are about to start a civil war inside our own government. Again. And this time, the country will not survive it.”

Mikael stared at him.
For one second, he saw the man he’d known for years, the loyal friend, the veteran, the guy who always stood half a step behind him and kept the room from collapsing.

Then that image slid away. Like a skin being peeled.
“You,” Mikael said slowly, “have decided to be the one holding the knife.”

Jacob exhaled. “I’m tired, Mikael.”

Mikael’s brows lifted. “Tired?”

Jacob nodded. “Tired of the speeches. Tired of the theatrics. Tired of you turning every crisis into a stage where you get to be the hero who ‘saves the people’, while everyone else cleans the mess.”

The room stayed dead silent. Jacob continued, voice still calm.
“You built a weapon and called it justice,” he said. “You threw robots into the streets and watched bodies stack up. You turned crime into a performance metric. You trained the public to clap at violence because it made them feel safe.”

Mikael’s smile faded. “That’s the point,” Mikael said. “Safety.”

Jacob shook his head slightly. “No,” he said. “Control.”

Mikael’s eyes narrowed. “You’re parroting Vegas.”

Jacob’s gaze didn’t shift. “I’m stating what I see,” Jacob said. “You call it ‘results.’ But what you built is a machine that bleeds the city clean and makes the public addicted to the idea that blood equals peace.”

Mikael’s voice stayed even. “We removed corruption.”

“And replaced it with fear,” Jacob said.

Mikael stepped forward. The folder tapped against his forearm with a dull sound. “You never agreed with the E‑UNIT,” Mikael said. “From day one.”

Jacob didn’t deny it. “I didn’t,” he said. “Because I knew what would happen.”

Mikael’s eyes scanned the room again. Faces avoided him. Some looked ashamed. Some looked relieved. Some looked hungry. “So this is it,” Mikael said quietly. “You all chose him.”

Jacob’s mouth twitched. “We chose the country,” he corrected.

Mikael gave a soft breath of a laugh. “The country,” he repeated. “No. You chose your careers. You chose the side that will let you keep your chairs when the storm hits.”

One of the department heads spoke up, voice tight. “Mr. Wilson—”

Mikael lifted a hand without looking at him. “Don’t,” Mikael said. “Don’t pretend this is respectful.”

Jacob tapped his tablet.
A document appeared on the wall screen behind him. Large letters.

EMERGENCY STABILITY DIRECTIVE

Under it, a list of approvals, Defense, Internal Affairs, Intelligence Bureau. Signatures and seals stacked like bricks.
Mikael’s gaze locked onto one name.

Silver.
A general signature line. General Silver. Family of rot. Wearing a new uniform.

Mikael’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air did. “Cute,” Mikael said. “You got their signatures.”

Jacob nodded. “We got what we needed.”

Mikael lifted the CLASSIFIED folder slightly. “And what do you need from me?” he asked. “My blessing?”

Jacob stared at the folder again. Then looked back up. “I need you to stop,” he said.

He made a small gesture with his fingers. Like flicking a switch. The sound of metal shifted around the room. Soft. Controlled. A chorus of tiny clicks.
Mikael turned his head. IB agents had drawn pistols, clean, black, professional.

Mikael tilted his head. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked Jacob. “A gun line in a conference room? Congratulations. You’re officially worse than the men I spent fifteen years trying to remove.”

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “Put the folder down,” Jacob said.

“You’re not doing this for the country,” Mikael said. “You’re doing this because you want my chair.”

A pause. Jacob’s eyes finally showed it. A flicker. Resentment. “Yes,” Jacob said quietly. “I do.”

Jacob stood up. He walked around the table like he was crossing a stage. He stopped in front of Mikael at a respectful distance.
“The bloodlust ends here, friend,” Jacob said.

Mikael replied, voice cold now. “You mean the only thing that kept this country from drowning?”

Jacob didn’t blink. “I mean the machine worship,” Jacob said. “I mean the cult you built. I mean the future where one man’s creations can erase a city and the public cheers because they forgot what fear used to feel like.”

Mikael’s eyes narrowed.
“And Vegas?” Mikael asked. “You think he’ll stop at taking me out? You think he’ll stop at controlling E‑UNIT? He will take the whole system. He will take Nick. He will take everything.”

Jacob leaned in slightly, voice quiet. “That’s why I moved first,” he said.

Mikael exhaled once, slow.
Then he placed the folder on the table. Just set down like a weapon he’d chosen not to fire, yet.

He lifted his hands slightly, palms open. The pistols didn’t lower. Mikael looked around the room one last time. He memorized the faces, not for revenge.
For the lesson.

Then he looked back at Jacob. “You wanted the chair,” Mikael said. “You can have it.”
Jacob didn’t respond.
Mikael stepped back.

The IB agents moved in, hands-on arms, guiding him toward the door.
As they escorted him out, Mikael’s voice carried one last sentence into the room: “When the city burns, don’t call it bloodlust,” he said. “Call it your promotion.”

Jacob sat back down in Mikael’s chair. He stared at the CLASSIFIED folder on the table like it was a sleeping animal. Then he looked at the wall screen where red arrows bled toward Metromania.

For the first time, his calm face cracked, just slightly.

-0h

03 stood in front of her forty-eight sisters. Behind her, weapons were drawn, fingers tight on triggers, all of them waiting for the Black Medics to arrive. The tension in the air was so heavy it felt like it could bend metal.

03 turned to her team.

“Alright, team. This is it.” Her eyes moved slowly from one sister to another. “I am not 02. I am not the one who led us to victory after victory. I was a shadow behind an E-UNIT who proved that we could be better.” She paused. “The Captain, is proud of you.”

The girls felt her emotions resonate through the link.

“E-UNIT, this is a losing battle, So we don’t lose quietly.” Her voice remained calm. “I am not saying this to break your morale. I am saying this because it is the truth. I won’t hype you up. I won’t lie to my sisters.” She inhaled softly. “These past two years have been honest ones. We saw how the world treats those who stand up for what is right. And after living through it firsthand, I hope this is the last time we ever step on this asphalt.”

No one cried.
No one trembled.
They smiled.

03 turned back toward the horizon. The swarm of Black Medics had already reached the city border.

“E-UNIT,” she said quietly, raising her hand one final time.
“Code Red…”

Her voice hardened.
“INITIATED!”