Agent Marcus Heller sat across from his superior, Director Grant Thatcher, in a dimly lit office deep within the labyrinth of the SID headquarters. The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the ventilation system and the soft clinking of glass as Heller poured a dark, amber-colored liquor into two crystal tumblers. The liquid swirled around the ice, catching the light from the single lamp on the desk.

Thatcher took the offered glass with a nod, his eyes fixed on the data pad before him. "So, this Kovacs kid... What's the story?"

Heller took a sip of his drink before responding, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. "It's quite a file, sir. Kovacs was the only survivor of a jump-ship accident years ago. At the time, he was just a kid, not even old enough to remember his name. Three men running a mining skimmer in the Capricorn belt found him—Neil Kowal, Ephram Zeidis, and James Kovacs. They were among the many who responded to the distress call. They managed to pull him out of the wreckage, but nothing else could be done. Everyone else on that ship died."

Thatcher frowned, taking a slow sip from his glass. "And what happened to him after that?"

"Made a ward of the state," Heller replied, scrolling through the report. "Lived in seven different foster homes. Not the best upbringing. He's shy, avoids people, and hates crowds. His first foster home—well, let's say it wasn't a good situation. He was abused, and the injury from that time left him with a permanent limp. The state didn’t provide the necessary surgery, so he’s had to live with it."

Thatcher leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on the report. "And the undiagnosed condition?"

"Yeah, that’s an interesting part," Heller said, setting his glass down. "Turns out he was born with some neurological condition. It makes it difficult for him to establish a neural link with equipment. We’re unsure how much it affects him, but it’s a factor. Despite that, his college costs were covered by a fund set up when he was recovered. The state probably felt guilty or something, so they made sure he had the chance for an education."

Thatcher nodded, considering the information. "So, this kid, Kowal Zeidis Kovacs, grows up bouncing from home to home, dealing with a limp, a neurological condition, and a life that’s anything but stable. And now he’s in college, of all places. What’s the connection to R&D?"

"That’s where it gets interesting," Heller said, his voice dropping slightly. "He’s been doing impressive work—nearly on par with his professors. But what caught our eye were his designs for the Epona and the Devil's Mantis. Those designs are... well, they’re not what you’d expect from a student. They’re damn near professional."

Thatcher raised an eyebrow. "And he’s managed this with his condition?"

Heller nodded. "Seems like it. But there’s more. He’s been flying under the radar, keeping his head down. Until recently, when the military started sniffing around. We think they’re interested in recruiting him."

Thatcher took another sip, mulling over the implications. "Recruiting him? For what?"

"R&D division," Heller replied. "They’re always looking for talent, especially someone who can think outside the box like Kovacs. But they don’t know about his past. They see the potential."

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Thatcher set his glass down, his expression hardening. "This kid’s been through hell and back. We need to tread carefully here. If the military gets their hands on him without knowing the full story, it could end badly for everyone involved."

"Agreed," Heller said, leaning forward. "That’s why we’re bringing this to you. We need to figure out our next steps. Do we let R&D have him? Or do we intervene?"

Thatcher stared at the data pad for a long moment before finally nodding. "Keep an eye on him. Monitor his interactions, his work, everything. I want to know if there’s any sign of trouble—anything that suggests he’s not up for what they might ask of him. And if it comes to it, we’ll step in. But for now, we watch."

Heller nodded, finishing his drink. "Understood, sir. We’ll keep you updated."

Thatcher leaned forward, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of his desk as he processed the new information. "So, we’ve got a young man with exceptional talent, a tragic backstory, and the military interested in him. But now you're telling me there’s more? The mob is blackmailing him, and his professors are trying to steal his work?"

Agent Heller nodded, his expression grim. "Yes, sir. We’ve been digging deeper into Kovacs' situation, and it’s worse than we initially thought. A local crime lord, Don Johnson, has his hooks in him. Kovacs is under pressure to rebuild a batch of old mechas—thirty in total—for Johnson’s operations. And it’s not just some side job. The mob's using leverage to keep Kovacs in line, possibly threatening his life if he doesn’t comply."

Thatcher’s grip tightened around his glass, the dark liquor reflecting the dim light in the room. "Damn. And the professors?"

Heller took a breath, his eyes narrowing as he continued. "Professor Thornton, one of Kovacs' material sciences instructors, is the primary suspect. He’s shown much interest in Kovacs' armor formulation, which Kovacs has been working on as part of his coursework. We’ve intercepted some communications between Thornton and another professor, Angstrom. They’re discussing how they might profit from Kovacs' work by stealing the formula and patenting it under Thornton’s name."

Thatcher lowered his glass with a heavy thud, echoing in the quiet room. "They’re planning to steal the kid’s invention, all while the mob is blackmailing him. This is turning into a real mess."

Heller nodded. "It certainly is, sir. Kovacs is trapped between the mob and his professors, and he likely doesn’t even realize how deep he’s in."

Thatcher frowned, his mind racing through the possible outcomes. "And the military? They’ve got no idea what’s going on behind the scenes?"

"No, sir," Heller confirmed. "They’re only seeing what he’s producing—those two designs, the Epona and the Devils Mantis. They see potential, but they’re not looking at the whole picture. They’re unaware of the blackmail, the academic theft, or Kovacs’ struggles. All they care about is that he’s producing results."

Thatcher leaned back, exhaling slowly. "We need to tread very carefully here. If we intervene too directly, we could push Kovacs over the edge. But if we do nothing, these pressures could crush him, or worse, the military could unwittingly pull him into a situation he’s not ready for."

Heller picked up his glass, swirling the liquor thoughtfully. "We have a few options, sir. We could quietly support him and provide him with the resources he needs to navigate this minefield. Or we could bring the whole situation to light—expose the professors, the mob connection, everything—but that could have unpredictable consequences."

Thatcher nodded, his gaze fixed on the dark liquid in his glass. "If we expose everything, we risk destroying his trust in the system. He might retreat further into himself, or he could react unpredictably. But if we don’t act, those vultures will pick him clean. The kid deserves better than that."

Heller agreed, setting his glass down with a decisive clink. "We need to act, but subtly. I suggest we start by shadowing Kovacs more closely, gathering intel on the mob’s exact leverage, and maybe even planting a few breadcrumbs to lead him toward help without making it too obvious. We can also start building a case against Thornton and Angstrom, but we’ll need solid evidence before we move in."

Thatcher met Heller’s eyes, a determined look in his own. "Do it. Keep me updated on every development. And if Kovacs is reaching a breaking point, we step in immediately. This kid’s been through hell; I’m not about to let him get burned by the people who should be helping him."

Heller nodded sharply. "Understood, sir. We’ll keep him safe, and we’ll make sure those trying to take advantage of him get what’s coming to them."

As Heller stood to leave, Thatcher finished his drink, the warmth of the liquor doing little to ease the tension in the room. "We need to protect him, Heller. This could be bigger than any of us realize."

With that, Heller left the office, his mind already working on the plan's logistics. Thatcher remained seated, staring at the empty glass in his hand, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “We can see if he can dig himself out,” he sighed.