Neo's triumph with Bastion's transmission had spread through Prism like ripples from a stone striking still water.
In the corridors, technicians whispered his name. Young engineers began seeking him out in private, asking him to solve puzzles that had stymied them for months. Some even called him "teacher."
Dr. Dane visited him almost daily now, using any excuse to draw him into conversation. Bit by bit, his discussions drifted deeper—from mechanical principles to subtler theories. He dangled threads of the so-called Fireseed Project, each one laced with promises, each one meant to tempt Neo closer.
But beneath the surface of admiration, darker currents swelled.
Leighton—the hulking industrial chief, face scarred by burn marks, eyes like a hawk's—was not a man to watch silently while a dangerous unknown fell into his rival's hands. His counterattack came quickly, and from the shadows.
The first strike was subtle. Neo's rations, recently upgraded to technician standard, suddenly fell short. Deliveries delayed, portions cut. What he did receive was often near expiration. When he questioned logistics officers, their answer was polite but cold: "Field supply has been disrupted. Resources are tight. Please endure."
The second strike was sharper. During live-fire drills, Neo's assigned pulse rifle suffered a catastrophic energy backflow. The chamber nearly exploded. Only his reflexes—dropping the weapon the instant he sensed the surge—saved him from ruin. Even so, his arm carried burns.
The investigation revealed the buffer regulator had been adjusted to the edge of failure. Too subtle to be accident. Too clean to be oversight.
The third attempt nearly killed him.
Called to assist at a water filtration pump in the lower tunnels, Neo was inspecting a motor when he heard the faintest scrape above. Instinct screamed. He dove forward.
A maintenance catwalk panel—massive, steel, deadly—slammed down where he had stood a heartbeat before. The bolts showed fresh tool marks, loosened deliberately.
No coincidence. No mistake.
Evelyn Kane was at his side within hours. Her expression was carved from stone, her voice colder than steel. Together, they confronted Leighton in the industrial sector, where he loomed over rows of workers and weapon forges.
"Supervisor Leighton," she said flatly, "these accidents targeting Neo demand explanation."
Leighton lowered the parts report in his hands. His scarred face shifted into theatrical indignation.
"Commander Kane, what exactly are you implying? Prism is not a paradise. Accidents happen. Supplies are scarce. And you think I would waste resources sabotaging some stray?"
His thick finger jabbed the desk. "I've always acted openly. If I dislike someone, I tell them to their face. I don't deal in shadows. Don't insult me with baseless suspicion."
His performance was flawless—denial framed in righteous anger, accusations turned back as her paranoia threatening Prism's unity.
Without evidence, Evelyn could do nothing. Her glare was ice.
"See that it remains so. Neo is an asset. His safety is bound to Prism's future. If such 'accidents' repeat, I will launch a full internal security probe. And no faction will shield you from it."
She turned, pulling Neo with her, leaving Leighton in his forge, his face an unbroken mask.
On the walk back, Evelyn's voice softened only slightly.
"He won't stop. He'll only be more careful now. Stay alert. But defense isn't enough. You need to prove your value in a way that even Leighton's people won't dare undermine. Something tied directly to their survival."
Neo said nothing. But he understood. Repairing mechs wasn't enough. He had to anchor his worth into Prism's lifeblood.
The chance came quickly.
Prism's main power came from a geothermal well near the base. Lately, its output wavered, causing outages that crippled weapon forges and darkened homes.
Leighton's engineers had torn it apart repeatedly, swapping parts and cursing the system. The problem persisted. Production slowed. For a man who worshipped efficiency, it was a bleeding wound.
Neo stepped forward. "I know something of geothermal systems. Let me try."
Dr. Dane leapt to support him, seizing the opportunity. Evelyn gave no argument. Together they walked to Leighton's office.
"Supervisor," Evelyn said, her voice hard, "your generator issues persist. Neo will attempt a repair."
Leighton's eyes narrowed, face darkening. "What? My engineers failed, and you think this nameless stray will succeed? This is just more Research meddling!"
"Leighton," Dane tried, "Neo has unique insights in mechanics—"
"Insights?" Leighton barked a laugh. "I call it theatrics. The geothermal plant is volatile. If he makes it worse, who bears the cost?"
Neo stepped forward, gaze steady as stone. "If I succeed, Prism's power stabilizes. If I fail, I accept any punishment—even exile. I'll sign it."
The words stunned the room. Evelyn's eyes flicked to him with surprise. Dane's mouth twitched with unease.
But Leighton froze. It was a trap. If he refused, he looked petty, obstructing a solution Prism desperately needed. If he agreed and Neo succeeded… his own authority would fracture.
After a long silence, he spat: "Fine. Try. But remember—failure here isn't a bruise in training. It'll kill you."
…
The geothermal cavern stank of sulfur, its air wet and scorching. The great turbines thundered, power readings jagged on every display.
Neo ignored the consoles at first. He combed through logs, walked the length of the pipes, stood at the mouth of the well itself where superheated steam roared skyward. He closed his eyes, counting bursts, tracing chemical residue with his nose, piecing together the system's rhythm.
Hours passed. Then he saw it.
Not the generator. Not the mains. The flaw was subtle, hidden: silica crystals had built up inside the pressure regulators. Microscopic deposits, invisible at a glance, but enough to distort fluid flow. The regulators, no longer perfectly synchronized, now fought each other, creating pressure pulses. These pulses fed back into the turbines—making them stagger, falter, oscillate.
"The regulators aren't failing," Neo explained to the stunned engineers. "They're out of tune."
The fix was simple brilliance. He recalibrated their curves, reprogramming the control units by hand. Then he built a crude but effective damper from scrap metal and discarded parts, tuned precisely to the pulse frequency.
When the turbines spun again, their output graph smoothed like silk. Stable. Clean. Strong.
In the monitoring chamber, Leighton stared at the screens. His jaw worked. His fists tightened. Around him, his engineers gaped, awe-struck.
Neo had done in hours what Leighton's division had failed to in weeks.
When Neo stepped back into the cavern mouth, the air erupted with applause. Not from scientists. From workers. Miners. Machinists. Leighton's own people.
Respect. Real, raw, and undeniable.
Even Evelyn and Dane were caught off-guard. Evelyn's lips curved, the barest ghost of pride. Dane's eyes gleamed like a man glimpsing treasure.
Leighton alone remained silent. As he turned to leave, his gaze stabbed Neo like a blade—rage, yes, but beneath it, something deeper. Fear.
Neo had beaten back one wolf. But he knew—the hunt was far from over.