We both stood there, frozen for several seconds, before I finally found my courage. "S-sir... was that—?"
James cut me off. "Yes. That was Asset-01. Goliath." He paused, his gaze lingering on the empty steel box, then turned on his heel to exit the room. "Over 1,982 confirmed kills. Thousands unconfirmed."
The numbers were staggering — the kind of record that shouldn't be possible for one man. I wanted to ask more, but James looked like he didn't even want his thoughts to linger on that beast. I decided to shift the conversation.
"How is the study of the metal going?"
We stepped out of the hidden walkway and back into the cafeteria, making our way toward the U.N.'s personal laboratory. Even from the hallway, the chaos inside was audible — a frantic symphony of shouting scientists and clattering equipment.
"As well as you'd expect," James sighed, rubbing his temples. "No one can get a grasp on it."
Stepping inside looked just as I imagined: a fire here, an explosion there, a couple of scientists on the verge of tears.
But in the middle of all of it, completely still, stood her. Doctor Palesa Modimo. Deep dark skin that seemed to glow even under the lab's flickering lights, green eyes scanning readouts as they flew across her screens, a coat drenched with soot that would've been excessive on a chimney sweeper. She was holding a chunk of the alien metal like a stress toy.
Palesa Modimo. Age 28. A beauty of a woman with the brain of a supercomputer, currently fascinated that she can't quite crack the problem that might doom humanity.
James clearly wasn't seeing what I was seeing as he approached her. "Ms. Modimo, any updates?"
She turned. When she spoke, her voice had the particular quality of something that could pull a married man's attention clean off his wife. "I've managed to get a grasp of it," she said, squishing the chunk in her hands then flicking it out — it hardened mid-air into a fine point that stopped exactly between James's eyes.
He fumbled backward, nearly tripping over himself. I could've sworn I caught a flicker of a smile cross the doctor's lips as she retracted it.
"The only problem is—"
Before she could finish, an explosion rocked the far end of the lab. A scientist flew past her and skidded across the floor.
She didn't flinch.
I leaned over and looked. Several industrial grade machines were in ruins, each with a small piece of the metal placed exactly where it was supposed to be — cut, melted, sanded. All failed.
"We have no way to form it," Dr. Modimo continued, turning back to her screens. "We're only fortunate to have these pieces at all. They broke off during the impact when the mountain landed."
She paused, then turned back. "Onto a more pressing matter."
What could be more pressing than this? was my first thought.
"We've found a way to utilize its unique properties." She gestured toward a display case against the far wall.
Inside sat a pair of gauntlets — crude by any professional standard, hydraulic mechanisms running along the knuckles and forearm. Where the fist would make contact, a chunk of the alien metal sat encased beneath two thick plates of glass. Even at rest it moved — slow, lazy shifts, like a stress toy being squeezed by an invisible hand.
"At rest or under minimal pressure it behaves like this," Palesa said, pressing a finger gently against the glass. The metal dimpled softly around it. "But under rapid movement—" she snapped her fingers "—it hardens. Instantaneously. Beyond anything we can currently measure."
She straightened. "The gauntlets use hydraulics to generate that movement at the moment of impact. We don't fully understand the mechanism yet. We're simply utilizing what it does."
She said it like an admission of personal failure.
Following James to the case I looked the gauntlets over properly. Every component was made with surgical precision — the hydraulic lines, the glass plating, the housing around the metal. It wouldn't be a stretch to call this someone's masterwork. Crude in concept, immaculate in execution.
"Are they ready for testing?" James asked.
"They've been ready for a day. Now leave — there is still so much we don't know."
That stopped me cold. Did she just talk to the President like that?
I looked at James, expecting something — irritation, at minimum.
He was calm. Almost deferential. Like he was the employee and she was the one running things.
"Ethan. The gauntlets."
He opened the case. I reached in and lifted them — shockingly light for something that looked so substantial.
"Come on. He's waiting." James walked out and I followed.
"Sir — I know it's not my place, but are you really going to let her talk to you like that?"
James let out a short, dry laugh. "That's Dr. Modimo, you fool. What takes a full team a month to understand takes her seconds."
"She could tell me to bark and I woul—"
He cut himself off as we stepped into the office.
Three figures stood in the middle of the room.
The first was Goliath. Still. Silent. The same cold nothing behind his eyes as before.
Directly in front of him — close enough that most men would've already stepped back — was an Anthorian. Medium height. Almost unremarkable until you noticed the eyes. Three of them. Left: a cold silver blue. Right: pale gold. Center, sitting where a third eye had no business being: deep violet. He wore the same garb as Moe, slightly ill fitted, like someone had dressed him and he hadn't bothered to adjust it. On his face sat that same smile Rama had worn.
Except on this one it felt different. Quieter. More deliberate.
The last figure was Gio, standing slightly apart from the two with that same easy old man smile when he saw us that somehow made the tension in the room feel manageable.
Nobody was speaking. The space between Goliath and the Anthorian had stopped being space and started being something else entirely — the kind of quiet that only exists right before something breaks.