{When Dec entered the lab, its empty. Everything was exactly as he had left it the day before—computers, lab work, chemicals—all in their proper places. It seemed Mark hadn't touched anything, "that's strange". What Dec couldn't understand, how Mark always came up with such creative ideas, things Dec couldn't even imagine.He had always tried to hold Mark back in every task, hoping it would make him quit—but the more he pushed him away, the harder Mark worked.}
Clenching his fists, Dec muttered under his breath, "No... He won't succeed this time either."without me".
Saying this, he walked toward the room where the body was kept. Dec had already tried opening the door, but it locked. That surprised him—Mark had never hidden anything from Dec before, and this research room belonged to both of them.
Even after trying again, the door didn't open. Without a word, Dec left him there, exited the lab, and stepped into the lift across the hall. He pressed the button for the fifth floor, clearly furious—his anger was written all over his face.
When the lift doors opened on the fifth floor, there only one door in sight. Dec approached it and stepped inside. It looked like an office—a lab researcher's office. Right in front, behind the desk, sat a man. The head researcher looked up and saw Dec walking toward him.
There was curiosity on the Head's face as he watched Dec enter the room with visible anger.
"Why had Dec come here in such a state?
Without wasting time, Dec spoke.
"I've lost the key to my research room. I need a duplicate copy—right now."
The Head looked up from his desk.
"Did you ask Mark? Maybe he has it?"
"I did," Dec replied shortly. "He doesn't have it."
The Head opened a drawer and began searching for the spare key. As he looked, he asked, "So, what kind of research are you and Mark doing these days?"
"We're not exactly researching," Dec answered flatly. "We're just trying to improve the heart samples so they can be made usable."
After rummaging for a while, the Head stopped. "It's not here," he said with a thoughtful look. Then he took a deep breath and added, "Maybe Mark took it."
That single line made Dec's blood boil again. His fists clenched, and he burst out,
"How could Mark just take it?"
The Head replied calmly, "The key is missing. Neither of you has it. Who else could've taken it?"
Dec had no response. Anything else he said now would have sounded like a lie—and he knew it. So instead of arguing further, he chose to leave.
"I'll be going now," Dec said, forcing his voice to stay steady.
"Alright," the Head nodded. "I'll wait for both of your samples."
Without another word, Dec left the office and returned to the lab.Dec saw that the door of the room opened. Maybe Mark had already arrived.
He walked toward it and looked inside. Mark was sitting at the table, studying the file of heart samples. Dec tried to stay calm and hide his anger as he spoke.
"Mark, did you lock this door? I tried to open it before, but it was shut. Are you hiding something from me?"
Mark looked at Dec for a moment and said, "Look around. Everything is in front of you. I'm not hiding anything."
"Then why did you lock the room?" Dec asked. "I just want to help you with your project."
Mark looked at him again. This time, he gave a small smile. "Thank you, Dec. But this time, I want to do it alone. And I believe I can."
"If we do it together, we can do it even better."
"If I need help, I'll let you know," Mark said clearly.
Yet Dec stood firm, unwilling to back down. As always, his goal was clear: to somehow figure out what was going on inside Mark's mind — and, if possible, to uncover more about his mysterious project.
After a long, heavy silence, Dec finally broke it, his voice laced with controlled curiosity.
"So… you've tested the heart sample? Is it viable? Will it work for your project?"
Mark didn't even flinch. His reply was short and blunt, his eyes fixed on the papers before him.
"I'm not working on the heart sample right now."
Dec frowned. The answer was too simple — too dismissive.
"Then what are you working on?" he pressed, trying not to let his frustration show.
This time, Mark glanced up at him, his dark eyes calm and unreadable.
"What do you think I should be working on?"
The words lingered in the air like a quiet challenge, and Dec couldn't tell — was Mark mocking him? Or was he actually asking for an opinion? For a fleeting second, Dec almost believed the latter.
He chuckled, forcing a casual tone.
"Oh, come on, Mark… it's your project. I'm just asking because clearly you're up to something. You are working on something, aren't you? That can't seriously be your answer."
Even as he spoke, a small voice in his head scoffed. Is that even an answer? Really?
Mark's response was colder this time, his patience thinning.
"Whatever I'm working on, Dec… let me work on it. And stop asking what I'm doing. Just stop."
That was it — the final straw. Dec felt a hot wave of anger rising in his chest, but he swallowed it. He couldn't afford to lose his temper, not when he still needed to pry the truth out of Mark somehow. Clenching his fists behind his back, he turned sharply on his feet and walked out of the room, leaving Mark to his silence.
But his thoughts were anything but quiet.
Why is he doing this? Why shut me out like this? What is it about him that feels… off? Could it be— no… no, it couldn't. Could that man really mean something to him? Someone close?
....
The half-burnt debris from that night flashed in his memory — the pieces Mark had been so quick to collect and hide.
What use could that kind of trash possibly have for him?
Question after question swirled in Dec's mind, each one heavier than the last — but Mark's silence only made them sink deeper.
"Mark? You're here? Is everything okay?"
The voice came from behind, carried softly by the cool night breeze. Mark didn't turn at first. He sat on the edge of the building's rooftop, right on the boundary wall, staring into the silent, starless sky. His face was clouded with thought, his eyes fixed on the vast darkness above, where a gaping black hole hovered—below it, the ground… though he knew the truth. That hole was no natural wonder. It was a trash portal, built to collect waste hurled from other dimensions. Machines, broken weapons, discarded parts—they all fell through, landing here.
The rooftop was quiet, almost eerily so, and he felt the weight of it pressing in from all sides.
Slowly, he turned his head at the sound of footsteps. It was the Head. Without a word, the man sat down beside him, following Mark's gaze into the dark.
After a long silence, the Head finally asked, his tone gentle, "You worried about something?"
Mark shook his head faintly, still watching the hole above. "No. Just thinking."
"Thinking about what?"
Dec hesitated. His voice was low when he spoke again. "That… you don't like me either, do you? I mean—" he gave a bitter little laugh. "I've always failed. I've never been a good scientist. Never made anything that worked. My work… My experiments… they're trash."
The Head heard the hurt in his voice, saw it in his eyes. He understood. Mark had been made to feel small, inadequate—people loved to drag others down. It was easy to criticize, to convince someone they couldn't do it. But that wasn't the truth. If you could dream it, you could make it real.
After a moment, the Head finally spoke.
"Mark… do you even realize? That woman from our dimension—the one you gave machine-legs to? Everyone said it would never work. Yet even now, she walks. Strong. And this trash hole? That was your idea. Look how much we're building out of it today."
Mark shook his head again. "But my ideas always flop. And Dec… he succeeds because he works harder than me."
"No, Mark."
The Head's voice was firm this time. "You work hard. But your mistake is giving your hard work away. You let others take credit. An idea fails? Fine. But don't abandon it. Work harder. Fail again. Eventually it works. But you… you give up halfway. Then Dec picks it up and takes all the glory. Stop handing your ideas away, Mark. Own your work. You'll succeed."
Mark glanced at the man sitting next to him. Maybe he was talking about something Mark had lost long ago—his courage. His faith.
Slowly, he said, "I… brought a man out of the trash. He has no skin. He's dead. But his organs are intact. I think he could live if given a heart. But Dec says it's my worst creation yet. Says it's pointless."
The Head was quiet for a moment, thinking it over. Mark felt certain he'd hear the same thing again—useless, hopeless.
But instead, the Head finally spoke, calm and measured.
"Mark… first, repair his skin. If his veins are intact, they can carry blood. Then give him a heart so it can pump. If the skin holds, the rest might just work. And take care with the skin. Don't rush."
Mark looked at him, startled. "You really think… he could live?"
The Head gave him a faint smile. "It's worth trying. If his life is still somewhere in him, we can bring it back. If not… we can use his brain to build a whole cybernetic body—a human mind in a mechanical frame. That is possible."
Mark's eyes brightened, a spark returning to them. "If that's possible… then maybe just a heart is enough to bring him back," he said, almost breathless with sudden hope.
The Head saw that spark in his eyes, the fire he'd been trying to rekindle all along.
He nodded. "I believe in you, Mark."
Mark's lips curved into a small, determined smile. "I believe in myself too," he said quietly.