Chen Hao pushed the mop across the white tiles. Back and forth. The same hallway, the same stains, the same chemical smell that burned his nose. He'd cleaned this floor a thousand times.
His hands were rough. Cracked. The soap they used was cheap.
"You!"
Chen Hao looked up. Dr. Zhang stood in the doorway of Lab 3, his white coat crisp and spotless. Everything about Dr. Zhang was crisp and spotless.
"What is this?" Dr. Zhang pointed at the floor near his feet.
Chen Hao walked over. A smudge. Barely visible.
"I... I just cleaned—"
"You just cleaned?" Dr. Zhang's face turned red. "This is a nuclear facility, not some street corner. One particle of contamination could compromise months of research. Do you understand that? Or is your brain as dirty as this floor?"
Chen Hao gripped the mop handle. Said nothing.
"Clean it again. Properly this time." Dr. Zhang turned on his heel and disappeared into the lab. The door hissed shut behind him.
Chen Hao dunked the mop in the bucket. The water was gray now. He wrung it out and started over.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The lab door opened again. More voices poured out—laughter, the clink of glass.
Chen Hao kept his head down. Kept mopping.
"Zhang, you've outdone yourself," a woman's voice said. Dr. Li Mei, Deputy Director of Research. Chen Hao had emptied her trash bins for three years. "The reaction stability is beyond what we projected."
"Ten times the output of conventional reactors," another voice chimed in. Dr. Wang Feng, Head of Reactor Engineering. He always left coffee rings on his desk. "With a fraction of the waste."
"This isn't just a breakthrough." That was Professor Xu Ming, the facility director himself. Chen Hao had only seen him from a distance. "If we can scale this—China will never worry about energy again. Coal, oil, gas—obsolete."
"To Dr. Zhang," someone said.
Glass clinked together.
Chen Hao pushed the mop into the corner. The water sloshed in the bucket.
"The applications alone—" Dr. Li Mei started.
The alarm cut her off.
Red lights flashed along the ceiling. A piercing wail that made Chen Hao's teeth ache. He froze, mop in hand.
The lab door slammed open. A young man in a monitoring station uniform stumbled out, his face sheet-white. His ID badge read Jin Wei, Reactor Monitoring Team.
"Dr. Zhang!" Jin Wei gasped. "Cooling system—primary loop—it's failing."
The laughter died.
"What?" Dr. Zhang grabbed Jin Wei by the shoulders. "How long?"
"Minutes. Maybe less." Jin Wei's hands shook. "The reaction is accelerating. If the core reaches critical temperature—"
"Speak plainly," Professor Xu snapped.
Jin Wei looked at all of them. At Chen Hao standing there with his mop.
"The radius of total annihilation would be—" His voice cracked. "One billion people. Minimum."
Silence. Even the alarm seemed quieter.
"There has to be a solution," Dr. Wang said. "Manual override. Emergency protocols."
"Someone would need to enter the reactor chamber," Dr. Li Mei said quietly. "Manually engage the backup coolant system."
"The radiation levels—" Jin Wei started.
"How long would they survive?" Professor Xu asked.
Dr. Li Mei closed her eyes. "Long enough to complete the procedure. Not much longer."
Chen Hao looked at the mop in his hands. At the dirty water in the bucket. At Dr. Zhang's face, pale beneath the red flashing lights.
One billion people.
His mother lived in Shenzhen. His sister in Guangzhou. His nephew was five years old and loved toy cars.
"I'll do it."
They all turned. Stared at him like they'd forgotten he existed.
"What?" Dr. Zhang blinked.
Chen Hao set down the mop. "I'll go. Into the reactor."
"You're a cleaner," Dr. Zhang said. "You don't have clearance. You don't have training—"
"I can follow instructions." Chen Hao's voice was steady. Strange how steady it was. "Tell me what to do."
Professor Xu studied him. "You understand what this means?"
Chen Hao nodded.
"Someone get him a suit," Professor Xu said. "Zhang—brief him. Fast."
Dr. Zhang opened his mouth. Closed it. For the first time since Chen Hao had known him, the scientist looked lost.
"The backup panel," Dr. Zhang said finally. "East wall of the chamber. Red lever. Pull it down. Turn the valve beneath it clockwise—all the way. Then activate the emergency flush."
"Red lever. Valve clockwise. Emergency flush." Chen Hao repeated.
The alarm screamed on.
The suit didn't help.
Chen Hao's skin burned the moment he stepped through the chamber door. Heat pressed against him like a living thing. His lungs filled with fire each time he breathed.
The red lever. East wall.
He stumbled forward. The reactor core glowed white-hot in the center of the chamber. The light hurt his eyes. Everything hurt.
His hands blistered inside the gloves. The skin split. He smelled it—his own flesh cooking. His legs shook. Each step took everything he had.
The lever. There. Through the waves of heat that made the air shimmer.
Chen Hao reached for it. His palm sizzled against the metal. He screamed and pulled down.
The lever moved.
Blood ran from his nose. Hot and wet. His vision blurred. The valve—where was the valve?
Below. There.
He dropped to his knees. The floor burned through the suit. His kneecaps felt like they were melting. He grabbed the valve with both hands.
Clockwise. All the way.
His mother's face floated in his mind. She'd be making dumplings now. She always made dumplings on Thursdays. His sister would call later to check on her. His nephew would ask about Uncle Hao and when he'd visit again.
Never.
Chen Hao's tears evaporated before they fell. The valve turned. Slow. So slow. His hands left pieces of skin on the metal.
He wouldn't see them again. Wouldn't watch his nephew grow up. Wouldn't taste his mother's cooking or hear his sister laugh.
The valve locked into place.
Emergency flush. The button. Red. Next to the valve.
Chen Hao's hand trembled. His whole body trembled. Blood dripped from his ears now. His teeth felt loose.
But they'd remember him. Not as a cleaner. Not as the man Dr. Zhang yelled at. As the hero who saved a billion people.
His mother would be proud.
His finger found the button.
He pressed it.
The chamber filled with steam. Cool water rushed through the pipes. The reactor's glow dimmed.
Chen Hao collapsed. The floor felt almost cold now. Almost comfortable.