Simon's heart pounded as he stood up from the cot, his body weak, but his voice sharp with urgency. "You have to believe me!" he shouted, his desperation echoing through the cold stone walls of the prison cell.
The room, though spacious, felt oppressive, the single cot and basic amenities doing little to calm his nerves.
Fletcher, leaning casually against the bars of the cell, glanced down at Simon with a skeptical expression.
"Relax, kid," he said, his tone dismissive. "We know it was a break-in, but that doesn't explain the explosion. There were a lot of restricted items in your place, and I didn't see any permits. How'd you get them?"
Simon's mind raced, but before he could respond, the sound of a page flipping filled the silence.
Beside Fletcher, a man in a wheelchair turned the pages of a thick book. Simon's eyes widened at the sight of the book, panic creeping into his chest.
"Hello! Please, be careful with that!" Simon pleaded, his voice cracking with fear.
The man in the wheelchair looked up slowly, his gaze piercing.
"I believe someone should have handled this earlier," he said coolly. "More than twenty dead, countless injured—all because of your carelessness."
Simon's legs buckled, and he collapsed back onto the cot, his body exhausted.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean for any of that to happen."
His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all, but words failed him. "I—I assume the TNT exploded when a heavy object fell on it," he stammered.
"And that might've caused a reaction… maybe triggering the detonation…"
Before Simon could continue, Fletcher cut him off.
"What is TNT? What do you mean, 'reaction'? How did it detonate?"
Simon opened his mouth to explain, but the words caught in his throat. The truth felt impossible to convey.
"Since when did physics become dangerous?" Fletcher scoffed, his frustration evident.
"Last time I checked, studying physics didn't require illegal equipment or handling such deadly materials."
Before Simon could respond, the man in the wheelchair spoke again, his voice cutting through the tension.
"Mr. Fletcher, if you would step outside for a moment, I believe I have an idea of what he's referring to."
Fletcher gave an annoyed grunt but complied, stepping out of the cell without further protest. The door clanged shut behind him, leaving Simon alone with the man in the wheelchair.
The man turned to face Simon, his expression hard.
"I assume this was your final year project, but I also assume it was never approved by the academy. So, who authorized your research?"
Simon's shoulders slumped as a heavy silence settled over him. He spoke in a soft, defeated voice. "It was a self study."
He gazed up at the man in the wheelchair, a mixture of fear and curiosity in his eyes. "Who are you, anyway?"
The man in the wheelchair exhaled slowly, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile.
"I am Jonathan," he said simply, his voice dripping with authority. "Assistant to the dean of the university, who, you may want to remember, is also the head of the Board of Directors."
Simon's heart skipped a beat as Jonathan's words sank in. "The dean... sent you?" he whispered in disbelief.
Jonathan's gaze hardened, his eyes no longer containing any trace of kindness. "He sent me here to confirm whether you are truly dangerous. And now, Simon... I can confirm that you are."
Simon's mind reeled. "What? How... how am I dangerous?" His voice shook with confusion and fear.
Jonathan didn't answer. Instead, he turned his chair and began rolling toward the door.
"You'll learn soon enough," he said coldly, his voice distant. The door clicked open, and the sound of his wheelchair wheels faded into the distance.
He sank back onto the cot, his head spinning with the magnitude of what had just occurred.
'What am I supposed to do now?'
'I have never wanted any of this to happen.'
'But how had things gone so wrong?'
...
The cold, oppressive silence of the prison cell was shattered at midnight when the heavy door creaked open. Simon stirred from his uneasy sleep, blinking in the darkness as he turned his gaze toward the sound.
Thud… thud… thud…
The rhythmic footsteps echoed down the hall, their steady pace drawing closer. Simon's heart quickened as a shadow fell across the door. The figure in the doorway was tall, imposing, and yet, as it came into view, the shape of it seemed to grow smaller, more defined.
The newcomer wore a deep purple shirt and matching pants tailored to fit his unique form. Short, thick feet supported a stocky frame. A broad shell covered his back, its edges peeking out from the folds of his clothing, while his greenish-brown skin shimmered faintly under the sparse light. His face bore deep lines of age, shades of green tracing his sharp cheekbones and blending with the earthy brown tones of his jaw and his gleaming yellow eyes. In one hand, he held a silver staff crowned with a radiant white gem that pulsed faintly, as if alive with energy.
Simon, startled yet instinctively respectful, stood quickly. He had seen this person before, though only from afar, he is also the Dean of the university and also the head of the directors.
"Professor Magnus," he said softly, his voice edged with awe.
Magnus stepped fully into the cell as he surveyed the room briefly before fixing his glowing yellow eyes on Simon.
"I remember the first time I saw you at the university, Simon," he said. "You reminded me of someone."
Simon stood still, his breath shallow, unsure of what to say.
"She was like you," Magnus continued, "Brilliant. Ambitious. Ready to chart new frontiers in the name of experimentation." He paused, gripping his staff tightly as his gaze grew distant.
"But she ventured too far."