Kovacs sat hunched over his workstation, his tablet awash with schematics and research notes that felt as alien as they were intimidating. The CID had handed him the data earlier that day, a grim-faced Agent Lorne delivering the encrypted file with curt instructions: “Study it. Use it if you can.”
The pressure had been relentless since the contest began. Balancing the intricacies of building a mech from mismatched parts was already challenging enough. But now, Kovacs had to decipher stolen research and incorporate it into his design—all while staying under the radar. He rubbed his temples, the faint hum of the Resolute’s systems doing little to calm his nerves.
The data itself was maddeningly complex, filled with incomplete schematics and fragmented notes. What little he understood hinted at experimental technologies tied to the rare elements on Prescott. Energy amplifiers, advanced targeting systems, material-reactive weaponry—it was cutting-edge, but the language was dense and technical, riddled with abbreviations and acronyms he didn’t recognize.
“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” he muttered.
Earlier, in the cramped confines of the operations room, Lorne had laid out the stakes with her usual bluntness.
“This contest isn’t just about your reputation anymore,” she had said, fixing Kovacs with a steely glare. “It’s about exposing the Consortium’s ties to the Institute. The stolen data we intercepted includes schematics for weapons that are supposed to be banned under interstellar law. If you can integrate even a fragment of this tech into your mech design, it could force the judges to acknowledge the connection.”
Kovacs had stared at her, incredulous. “You’re asking me to commit espionage in the middle of a competition?”
“I’m asking you to do your job,” Lorne snapped. “You’re here because you’re the best chance we have to get eyes on their operations. They’ll dismiss anything we bring forward without corroboration. But if you demonstrate their tech in a public forum—”
“They’ll know,” Kovacs interrupted. “They’ll know someone’s feeding you information.”
“That’s a risk we have to take,” Lorne had said coldly. “And so do you.”
Back in his quarters, Kovacs leaned over the tablet again, his fingers tapping nervously against the edge of the screen. The more he studied the schematics, the more uneasy he felt. The designs were ingenious, no doubt, but there was something unsettling about them. The weapon systems seemed to rely on radiation-emitting materials, amplifying their destructive power to horrifying levels. It was the kind of technology that could win wars—or obliterate entire cities.
One fragment of the notes caught his eye: “Radiation containment remains unstable. Yield exponentially increases beyond 30% core integrity.”
Kovacs frowned. “Unstable” was putting it mildly. From what he could piece together, these weapons weren’t just deadly—they were uncontrollable. The rare elements from Prescott, prized for their unique properties, were being weaponized in ways that violated every ethical guideline he’d ever studied.
“This isn’t engineering,” he muttered. “It’s madness.”
But the CID’s directive was clear. He was supposed to adapt these designs—however incomplete or dangerous—into his mech. Kovacs felt a knot of frustration tighten in his chest. He wasn’t a spy. He wasn’t a soldier. He was a builder, a creator. And now they wanted him to turn his work into a weapon?
***
The next day, Kovacs returned to the competition venue, his exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes. The warehouse was as chaotic as ever, filled with the clang of tools and the hum of power saws. Contestants bustled between their workstations and the parts library, each engrossed in their own designs.
Kovacs activated his mech, its mismatched frame shuddering to life. The loader claw opened and closed with a faint hiss, while the grapple arm rotated smoothly. It was functional, but functional wasn’t enough—not with the CID’s demands hanging over his head.
He glanced at his tablet, where a simplified schematic of the stolen tech glowed faintly. If he integrated the radiation amplifier into the power core, it would boost the mech’s energy output significantly. Theoretically, it could make his design more efficient and give him an edge in the contest. But the risks were staggering. One mistake, and the core could overload, unleashing lethal radiation.
“You look like you’re about to set something on fire,” a voice said, breaking his concentration.
Kovacs turned to see Jackie leaning against the edge of his workstation, her sharp eyes scanning his setup. “Something on your mind?”
“Just… trying to keep up,” he said, forcing a weak smile.
Jackie raised an eyebrow. “Kovacs, I’ve seen you work. You’re not just trying to keep up. What’s going on?”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Lorne wants me to use the stolen data in my design.”
Jackie’s expression darkened. “Are you serious? That’s insane. What kind of data?”
Kovacs hesitated again before showing her the schematic. Jackie leaned closer, her frown deepening as she studied the diagram.
“This isn’t mech tech,” she said, her voice low. “This is a damn weapon.”
“Yeah,” Kovacs said grimly. “And they want me to put it in my mech.”
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Jackie straightened, her jaw tight. “That’s not just dangerous—it’s reckless. You screw this up, and they’ll know you’re working with the CID. Hell, they might figure it out even if you get it right.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Kovacs said, frustration creeping into his voice. “If I don’t do this, the CID loses their leverage. And if I back out, they’ll just find someone else who’s willing to take the risk.”
Jackie stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. “You’re walking a tightrope, Kovacs. Just… be careful. And don’t let them push you too far.”
***
As the competition clock ticked down, Kovacs felt the weight of his decision pressing on him like never before. The other contestants worked tirelessly on their designs, oblivious to the storm brewing around him. His own mech stood partially dismantled, its torso open as he installed the modified power core.
The amplifier fit into place with a satisfying click, its delicate circuitry glinting under the workshop lights. Kovacs connected the last of the conduits, then powered up the system. The core hummed faintly, its glow brighter than before.
Kovacs ran a diagnostic, watching as the readouts scrolled across his screen. The energy output had increased significantly, just as the schematics had promised. But the warnings were still there: “Containment unstable beyond critical threshold.”
He leaned back, his chest tight. The mech was functional—powerful, even—but it was also a ticking time bomb. One misstep, and it could fail catastrophically.
While Kovacs wrestled with the technical challenges, Jackie was busy following her own instincts. The attack on the CID had left too many questions unanswered, and the stolen data raised even more. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone on Ivara Prime was protecting the Consortium—or worse, working with them.
During a brief break, she cornered Agent Lorne in the operations room. “We need to talk.”
Lorne looked up from her console, her expression guarded. “What is it?”
“You’re pushing Kovacs too hard,” Jackie said bluntly. “This isn’t just a contest anymore. You’ve got him working with tech that could kill him if he screws up.”
“He knew what he was getting into,” Lorne replied, her tone sharp.
“Did he?” Jackie shot back. “Because I’m starting to think you didn’t give him a choice.”
Lorne’s gaze hardened. “We’re fighting a war, Sergeant. Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made.”
Jackie took a step closer, her voice low but fierce. “If you push him too far and he breaks, what then? What’s your backup plan?”
Lorne didn’t answer, her silence speaking volumes.
***
As the day drew to a close, Kovacs stood in front of his mech, the modified power core glowing faintly in the dim light. He felt the weight of his choices pressing down on him, each decision carrying more risk than the last.
The contest was supposed to be a test of skill, a chance to prove himself. But now it felt like a battlefield, every move fraught with danger and uncertainty.
Kovacs exhaled slowly, his determination hardening. He didn’t know what the future held, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t afford to fail. Not for the CID, not for Prescott, and not for himself.
The shadows around him felt heavier than ever, but Kovacs pushed them aside. The contest wasn’t over yet—and neither was he.
Back in his quarters, Kovacs stared at his tablet, the stolen schematics on the hologram. The core modification had worked, but the risks were undeniable. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there had to be a safer way to harness the technology. If the CID wasn’t going to give him answers, he’d find them himself.
He accessed the system’s marketplace, a sprawling network of resources where engineers and researchers across the galaxy traded designs, materials, and knowledge. This trove of information was valuable, but it came at a cost—both in credits and credibility. Kovacs filtered his search, inputting keywords from the stolen data: radiation amplifier, rare element containment, and Prescott isotopes.
The results were immediate but chilling. The first few entries were technical manuals on containment procedures, their descriptions riddled with warnings. One document caught his eye: "On the Ethics and Applications of High-Yield Radiation Weaponry." Kovacs hesitated, then opened it.
The document was dense, and its language was clinical and detached. It detailed the origins of radiation-based weapons, describing their unparalleled destructive potential. As Kovacs read on, his stomach churned. The weapons didn’t just kill—they contaminated. Entire planets were rendered uninhabitable, ecosystems wiped out, and populations condemned to slow, agonizing deaths.
His eyes locked on a highlighted section:
“Due to their indiscriminate lethality and long-term environmental consequences, radiation amplifiers are classified as prohibited weapons under the Galactic Accord of Civilized Species. Their use is considered a war crime by most interstellar governments.”
Kovacs leaned back, his chest tightening. The words hit him like a blow. War crime. Galactic Accord. Civilized species. The implications were staggering. Humanity wasn’t alone—far from it. There were other civilizations out there advanced enough to establish interstellar laws. And they had judged this technology to be too monstrous to use.
The system chimed softly, offering a supplemental file: “Case Studies in Radiological Warfare.”
Against his better judgment, Kovacs opened it. The first case was chilling: a planet designated N-54, a lush world transformed into a wasteland after a rogue faction deployed radiation weapons. The accompanying images showed twisted forests, poisoned rivers, and skeletal remains fused into the ground. The radiation levels were so high that even automated drones failed after minutes of exposure.
Kovacs closed the file, bile rising in his throat. The technology he had been asked to use wasn’t just dangerous—it was a weapon of annihilation.
As if sensing his unease, the system’s interface displayed a warning in bold red letters:
“WARNING: Usage of radiation amplifiers violates interstellar law. Any individual found deploying such technologies will face prosecution by the Accord. Penalties include life imprisonment, planetary exile, or execution.”
Kovacs stared at the words, his hands trembling. The stolen data had seemed dangerous before, but this revelation pushed it into a realm he couldn’t ignore. The CID hadn’t told him the full story—either because they didn’t know or because they didn’t care. They saw this as leverage, a tool to expose the Consortium. But Kovacs couldn’t shake the feeling that using this tech would make him complicit in something far worse.
He closed the marketplace, the holograms flickering away. The room was silent for a moment, save for the faint hum of the ship’s systems.
Kovacs rubbed his face, his mind racing. He thought of Prescott, of the people he was trying to protect. Would using this technology make him any different from the factions that had attacked his home? Could he justify the risk, knowing what these weapons could do?
He thought of the judges at the competition and the other contestants. They were engineers like him, passionate about creation and innovation. What message would it send if he unveiled a design incorporating this technology? What seeds would it plant in their minds?
Kovacs exhaled sharply, pushing the tablet away. The contest was no longer just about winning or proving himself. It was about drawing a line—deciding what kind of engineer, what kind of person, he wanted to be.