The silver-gray pulse pistol gleamed coldly on the tabletop, the energy slots along its frame flickering with a ghostly blue light.
Lyons stared at the weapon as if it were a key to an abyss unknown.
Her fingertips trembled, only ten centimeters from the grip, yet separated by a chasm.
"You have thirty seconds." Leon's voice came from behind the cigar smoke, calm to the point of cruelty. "Twenty-nine, twenty-eight—"
Lyons' gaze left the pistol and settled on her own palm—
There were a few fine scars there, traces left by acidic reagents in the lab.
She remembered the first time she stepped into the UED Advanced Research Institute…
In a hall glistening with gold, well-dressed councilors lifted champagne flutes, laughing and chatting, while she, a scientist from the lower classes, had to pass three security checkpoints just to reach a shabby laboratory.
"…twenty-one, twenty…"
The count continued.
A flood of images flashed through Lyons' mind.
The UED capital's shantytowns carved into checkerboards by maglev lanes; the unwritten rule that military committee members' children could enter top academies directly; and the old man who died in a hospital corridor last week because he couldn't afford treatment.
"…fifteen, fourteen…"
Unbidden, she recalled the scene just now—the hologram of Homelander lifting a battleship.
A terrifying contrast took shape in her heart—
UED generals would rather nuke a city, causing massive civilian casualties, than lose more elite troops, while the Human Empire's bioweapon was saving enemy civilians.
"…nine, eight—"
Lyons suddenly noticed a line of tiny characters engraved on the pistol's grip—Chinese characters reading "For Humanity."
The cuts were fresh, glinting faintly gold in the blue glow.
As a top scholar from Earth, she naturally understood the inscription's meaning. Then she jerked her head up and noticed a ring on Leon's left ring finger, bearing the same words.
"…three, two—"
"Enough!"
Lyons' palm smacked the table hard, deliberately avoiding the gun.
Her chest rose and fell violently, and in her agitation the top two buttons of her uniform popped, revealing a small birthmark below the collarbone.
"The core of the Purification Protocol is a quantum-state virus." Her words came like a machine gun, as if a second's delay would make her backtrack. "It spreads via special frequencies of a warp engine and can infect all carbon-based life in an entire star system within seventy-two hours."
Leon's cigar hung in midair, ash threatening to fall.
"Keep talking."
"Hu—"
Lyons drew a deep breath, her fingers unconsciously sketching complex mathematical models on the table. "But there's a fatal flaw: the virus goes dormant at minus 120 degrees. The Antarctic base's sealed system is designed to regulate that threshold."
As she spoke, Lyons' voice grew uncommonly firm. "What do you need me to do?"
She reached up and tucked loose hair behind her ear, the motion making her look unexpectedly young. "For the record, I won't participate in anything targeting civilians—"
"Relax. We will never harm civilians."
Leon cut her off, the cigar rolling slowly between his fingers, a thin layer of ash forming in the tray.
He held her gaze as the panic bled out of her eyes, his mouth curving with layered meaning.
"Doctor, perhaps you don't know." Leon's voice was low and steady. "We belong to the Special Action Group of the Imperial Investigation Department."
Lyons' fingertip rubbed the table's edge without thinking, her nail scraping faintly over metal.
"The solar system of Universe 18—what you call the Earth Federation (UED) dominion—was originally just one of many parallel systems on our routine surveys."
Leon pulled a micro-projector from his coat, blooming a star map. "Until not long ago, we intercepted intel that the UED was preparing a fresh expedition into the Koprulu Sector."
On the map, dozens of red arrows thrust from Earth toward the Koprulu Sector, each tagged with terrifying force estimates.
Lyons noticed one dashed line specially marked "Purification Protocol · Final Measure."
"On my task list—or rather, my assassination list—are many names." Leon shut down the projection, his eyes sharp as blades. "Including three military committee members, five fleet commanders… and you, Dr. Lyons."
!!
Lyons' breath stopped dead.
Her back pressed hard into the chair as if that could distance her from the awful truth.
"But now…" Leon gave a brief laugh, smoke softening his fierce outline. "Thanks to a string of accidents—and Homelander's improv performance—the plan has changed."
He stood. His tactical boots thudded dully on the floor.
When his shadow swallowed her whole, the always-composed scientist felt, for the first time, an indescribable pressure.
"We need you to take us into the Antarctic base." Leon's voice went suddenly light, but each word weighed a ton. "Secure a virus sample. Destroy all the research data. Strip the UED of its last trump card."
The ventilation kept whirring, but the room felt preternaturally quiet, as if only Lyons' ragged breathing remained.
Her eyes fell to her hands—
The same hands that had once designed the quantum warp engine, hands that had indirectly enabled the UED's purification virus, were now to destroy her own masterpiece.
"Why me?" She lifted her head, voice hoarse. "You could just force—"
"Because we need the full data." Leon cut in again. "I assume the warp function contains a backdoor you wrote with your own hand, doesn't it?"
!
Lyons' pupils snapped tight.
A secret even the UED higher-ups didn't know…
"How did you…"
"There's an old saying in the Investigation Department." Leon bent to pick up the pulse pistol and slid it back into a holster, continuing, "Every scientist leaves a signature in their work."
Boom. Boom.
Just then, the area around the safehouse shook under the engines of a large vehicle, and powerful searchlights began sweeping the neighborhood.
Leon moved like lightning, killing every light source. In the sudden dark, Lyons heard his breath close enough to touch.
"Choose, Doctor." His whisper brushed her ear. "Remain a prisoner of the UED—or become the salvation of tens of billions, even hundreds of billions."
The silence lasted a full minute.
"I have three conditions," Lyons said suddenly, her voice wearing a scientist's particular calm. "First, ensure my research assistants are evacuated safely. Second, all nonessential personnel must be cleared out in advance. Third—"
She drew a breath. "I want to meet your Human Emperor with my own eyes."
"Heh."
Leon's quiet chuckle was striking in the dark. "The first two, granted right now. The third is nearly impossible. Even I need applications and approvals to see the Emperor—unless you render immense service to humanity.
As I just said—if you become the salvation of hundreds of billions, I doubt you'll need to ask. The Emperor will invite you himself."
"In that case…"
At that, Lyons stopped hesitating and nodded. "I agree to work with you."
"A wise choice, Doctor."
No sooner had they sealed the deal than the large vehicle outside rumbled away, and the safehouse's surroundings settled back into calm.
The door swung open, light sketching Chris's broad outline. "Assault craft is in position. We have a twelve-hour window."
"Good."
Leon nodded to Chris, then held a hand out to Lyons. "Welcome aboard the Human Empire's great ship, Doctor. We'll have plenty of time to discuss your… career path."
When Lyons took that callused hand, she was surprised to find her trembling had stopped somewhere along the way.
In the distance, UED patrol boats howled past, yet her steps had never felt steadier.
The coffee on the table had long gone cold, mirroring on its surface the slowly turning projection of the Imperial crest on the ceiling—a soaring dragon clutching broken chains in its talons.
－－－－－－－
Imperial Year 0050, November 22. The UED capital's alleys were like the shadows before dawn.
At four in the morning, the streets lay under a pale blue mist. Abandoned holo-billboards flickered now and then, throwing up mangled promo images.
Leon led the way, the plush collar of his pilot jacket turned up to hide his chiseled jawline.
Chris brought up the rear, right hand resting on the pulse pistol at his waist, knuckles rising with each footfall.
Lyons walked protected in the middle.
She wore the gray hoodie Mike had scrounged up, too big by a size or two, making her look like a college kid in borrowed clothes. Old experiment scars still showed faintly at her wrists where the sleeves gaped.
"Left." Leon's voice was barely above a whisper. "Avoid the main road cams."
They slipped into a narrow side alley.
Behind a stack of dumpsters, a gaunt old man was curled in a thermal blanket.
As Lyons passed, the old man's cloudy eyes snapped open, his cracked lips working. "Spare something… three days…"
Chris flicked a high-energy ration bar from his pocket. It landed squarely on the man's knees.
The papery rip of the wrapper made Lyons stop without thinking.
"Move." Leon tugged her sleeve lightly. "A patrol will be here in five minutes."
At the alley's end, neon spill from the overpass leaked down, stretching their shadows long, then stamping them short.
Lyons looked up—
Above, the nobles' district blazed with lights. Trails from luxury hovercars streaked like meteors. Below, sewage ran over the ground, and a few children huddled around a rusty oil drum for warmth.
"Don't look." Chris's voice sounded at her ear. "Every op, we see the same thing."
Lyons' fingers bit deep into her palm.
She thought of herself twenty years ago—
That girl curled inside a slum ventilation duct, studying by city lights.
What had the dream been then? To change the world? Or just to escape this hell?
"Heads up." Leon raised his left hand. The team froze on cue.
At the next intersection, two drunk young nobles were pissing against a wall.
Their expensive bespoke coats were soaked with liquor. The holo-terminals on their wrists showed tonight's spending—enough to feed a slum family for half a year.
"Detour." Leon signaled.
They slipped soundlessly back into the shadows.
The last thing Lyons saw was one of the youths smashing a half-empty bottle into a stray cat, laughing so hard he folded over.
Soon, they reached the fifth safehouse and began final prep.
Hidden in an abandoned sewage plant, this safehouse was even barer than the last.
Rusty pipes crisscrossed the ceiling, drips ticking like a countdown. Mike emerged from the dark, the camo layer of his nanosuit sloughing off like water.
"Perimeter is clean." He flipped up his visor, bloodshot eyes showing. "But the UED Antarctic base just bumped alert level."
A holo sprung up in the center, displaying the Antarctic base in 3D. Lyons spotted a red-marked sector—that was the quantum virus vault she'd designed with her own hands.
"Homelander is on station." Chris pulled up the live feed; the red-caped figure hovered over the Antarctic ice sheet. "Ready to make noise anytime."
Leon drew three prismatic crystals from an equipment case. "New containment canisters. Built for quantum storage systems."
He handed one to Lyons. "We'll need your bio-auth to enter the core sector."
Lyons took the crystal. Its coldness reminded her of the low-temp sample lockers in the lab.
Her gaze swept the room—
Leon checked weapons. Chris tuned his comms. Mike squeezed a sachet of energy gel into his mouth.
Not one of them showed the slightest oddity at her inclusion.
"Why trust me?" she asked suddenly. "Just because of a backdoor routine?"
Leon's hands paused.
When he looked up, for the first time Lyons noticed tiny golden flecks in his irises—not contact lenses, but traces of some genetic modification.
"Because when you wrote the sleep command, you used your mother's birthday as the key." He tapped his gauntlet, projecting an encrypted log:
\[Maria Kane, deceased 11.21]
Lyons stopped breathing.
A detail not even in the UED database…
"You investigate the dead, too?"
"We investigate everything," Chris cut in, voice cold as the Antarctic wind. "Especially the instinct to be kind."
Mike tossed Lyons a cold-weather suit. "Suit up, Doctor. We're about to ride a roller coaster."
He grinned, showing a canine. "Hope you don't get seasick."
As Lyons pulled on the suit, she noticed a tiny embroidered line inside as well: \[For Humanity]. The fabric brushed the old acid-scor burns on her wrist, and, oddly, warmth bloomed there.
Leon pushed open the safehouse's back door. The howl of wind seeped in from outside. He glanced back at Lyons, his outstretched hand steady as bedrock in the gale.
"Are you ready, Doctor?"
Far away, in Antarctica, the sun of polar day dyed Homelander's red cape the color of blood.
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