At some point during the long stretch of experiments, when everyone else was too preoccupied with their own stations to notice, Zach let himself take a risk.

The lab’s precautionary measures were strict—hazard suits, and triple gloves.

It was dangerous. He knew it was dangerous. But curiosity gnawed at him.

Flexing his fingers against the thin membrane of his gloves. Carefully, he pinched the material, pulling the edge just enough to expose a sliver of his wrist. His skin prickled, instantly reacting to the lab’s sterilized air.

No one was looking.

He dipped his fingers into the edge of a compound—a thin, viscous fluid that shimmered faintly under the lights. The moment it touched his skin, he absorbed a tiny bit.

Then it hit him.

The weight came first, like an anchor dropped into his chest. It tugged at him, dragging every muscle toward the floor until his knees nearly buckled.

Zach clenched his jaw, forcing himself upright as sweat gathered under his chin.

What the hell was that?

His mind raced, scrambling to make sense of it. He’d absorbed materials before, but never like this. It felt heavier. More energy spent for far less result.

Why do some things take so much energy?

He stole a glance at the compound he’d touched, watching it swirl sluggishly in its container.

Zach’s fingers curled reflexively, his skin still tingling faintly.

He’d need to experiment later. In secret. When the risk was smaller.

The lab began to quiet, replaced by the soft clicks of switches and the scrape of chairs. Hanjo’s gruff voice broke the silence first.

“You’re still standing? Color me impressed.”

Zach rolled his shoulders and shot a grin over his shoulder. “Gotta keep up somehow.”

Hanjo snorted, the approval barely hidden. “Keep that up, and you might actually learn something.”

The irony. I probably know more than you.

Across the room, Ren’s tablet clattered onto his station. He didn’t speak, but his narrowed gaze lingered on Zach for a beat too long before he turned away.

“Day's over,” Hanjo called, waving the rest of the researchers out. Zach peeled off his hazmat suit carefully, following the proper disposal protocol.

First the outer gloves—pulled off and deposited into the designated biohazard bin—followed by the inner gloves, equally discarded. He stepped into the decontamination area, where a soft mist sterilized his suit. Once clear, Zach placed the hazmat gear in a designated return bin for cleaning.

The rest of the team filtered out soon after, leaving Zach to trail behind them. Ren lingered at his workstation, silent and still, his eyes flickering briefly toward Zach as if watching for mistakes.

By the time the lab was emptied, night had fallen. The narrow view through the building's thick windows revealed the glow of floating lamps that lit up the city.

Zach lingered near the exit, hands shoved into his pockets as Geroi approached from the hall.

“You don’t have a place to stay yet, do you?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Zach shook his head. "Need money for that. And I would probably need a city residence paper."

“We’ve got rooms here. Not much, but better than nothing. You’ll stay on-site until we decide otherwise.”

Zach hesitated, the words catching him off guard. “You’re forcing me to stay here?

“Let’s just call it easier for everyone. Remember, you're on heavy surveillance?”

Oh. Right.

Zach wondered if whoever was keeping an eye on him had noticed him touching the strange liquid. It didn’t matter much; he hadn’t collected it, just touched it. At worst, they’d think he was crazy.

But this felt like slavery. Of course, things went too easy. Why would they allow a suspicious random into a weapons development lab?

Zach replied, "I see. Let's go."

Zach followed Gerio down the hall, his footsteps echoing against the smooth floor. They passed a series of locked doors and dimly lit offices before stopping at a narrow room tucked into the corner of the building. Gerio pushed the door open, gesturing for Zach to step inside.

The room was unexpectedly spacious—larger than Zach had anticipated for on-site housing—but still sparse. A narrow cot sat against the far wall, flanked by a small table and a chair that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. A vent hummed faintly from the ceiling, and a thin sheet lay folded neatly on the bed. Beyond that, there was nothing. It felt functional, sterile, and devoid of personality.

“It’s no palace, but it’s quiet,” Geroi said, turning back toward the door. “Don’t wander tonight. These labs aren’t as empty as you think.”

Zach frowned the words lingering uneasily in his mind. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gervio paused, his hand resting on the doorknob. For a moment, Zach thought he wouldn’t answer. Then:

“It means you’ll sleep better if you don’t ask too many questions.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Zach alone.

"What the fuck?"

Zach left the building, slamming the door behind him.

Zach felt the cold air against his skin. He wanted to experiment with some waste materials he absorbed from the lab. a fire stone. It was discarded after one of the experiments earlier in the day. A small crack in its surface allowed it to react faintly with the air, its edges glowing a soft ember-red as though the stone itself breathed heat.

A thrill ran through him as he recalled the first time he saw one ignite. In the hands of the lab techs, it had been a strictly controlled process: crack the stone, apply oxygen carefully, and let the flame bloom with precision.

“Let’s see,” Zach murmured under his breath, tightly clasping his hands in his shirt to hide it from anyone else.

A thin line of warmth built between his palms. When he pulled his hands apart, a tiny flame hovered between his palms—no larger than a candle flicker—dancing between his fingers. Zach grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. The fire was his, bending to his will.

He blew harshly on it, extinguishing the flame with a soft pop. “Not bad.”

Zach leaned back against a wall, folding his arms behind his head, still grinning.

He turned to keep walking when a flicker of movement caught his attention.

Ren.

The man stood a few paces away, leaning against the wall, arms folded. His hair hung loosely around his face, and his expression was hard to read—something between disinterest and anger. Zach didn’t give him much thought, assuming Ren was just killing time, like him.

But then Ren stepped closer.

Zach arched an eyebrow. “Something you need?”

Ren didn’t reply immediately. He tilted his head slightly, studying Zach like he was trying to puzzle him out. The silence lingered long enough to feel uncomfortable, and Zach frowned. “Well? Spit it out.”

“I just know you’re full of shit.”

Zach blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” Ren pushed off the wall, stepping toward him. There was no mockery in his tone. “You walk in here pretending like you don’t know what you’re doing, like you don’t remember your education—but you act like someone who’s been doing this for years.”

“Yeah? That’s why I’m under heavy surveillance. I look suspicious. I’m sure they’ve got a nice little file on me already.”

Ren’s eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he closed the distance between them. He stopped just inches away. “You’re an enemy spy.”

“What? What the hell’s your deal?”

Ren didn’t back down. If anything, he leaned in closer, his words dropping like stones. “You hear me? Enemy spy. I don’t know whose side you’re on, but I’ll tell you this—when they catch you, I’ll be the first in line to see your head roll.”

Zach stared at him, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Are you that envious? Cause I don't get what's your damn deal. If you want to fight, then swing. I'll be glad to beat the shit out of you.”

“Envious? You want to know what my deal is?” His voice rose slightly, his words sharper with each syllable. “I worked my ass off to get here. I studied until my eyes bled. I begged for this position—because only the best get in. The best school, the best credentials, and the best effort. And then you come waltzing in here like you own the place.”

Zach opened his mouth to reply, but Ren wasn’t finished.

“The city’s desperate, sure. So desperate they’re letting obvious spies like you walk through the doors. You don’t deserve this job, and you sure as hell don’t deserve to be standing where I am.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked off, disappearing around the corner.

Zach exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. I think I hate everything here. When I was fighting for my life, things were less stressful.