Kim's hands stopped their violent knocking on the gate, freezing in mid-air. He didn't stop out of exhaustion, but because of the massive metallic screech that pierced the island's silence—a screech heard even by those who had run back to the camp, disbelieving the one who called them, thinking him delusional.
A crack opened in the gate, beginning to widen slowly and heavily.
A faint light spilled from that crack, falling onto Kim's stunned face. It was a light he had never seen since his feet touched the black sands of the island, neither he nor the crowds now rushing toward the gate like moths to a flame.
Would this be the end of hell on this earth?
That was all that roamed through their minds, damaged and void of any happy memories. Even a simple light, hanging like a thin thread, was enough to revive a hope they thought dead and buried under the ash.
In the control room behind the gate, the situation was completely different.
The third worker rushed toward the mechanical lever to close the gate and stop the disaster. But he froze suddenly, his hand hanging in the air only inches from the handle. He didn't dare take another step.
Poggles didn't run.
Instead, the mechanical lemur crouched atop the central control panel. He curled his metal body in a strange mechanical fashion, tucking his limbs and tail until he became a solid copper ball, with sharp protrusions sticking out and small gears moving inside with an audible, accelerating tick-tock.
The blue of his glass eyes intensified until they pulsed with a bright phosphorescent light, mimicking the rhythm of a ticking time bomb.
And from the core of this metal entity came a voice—not a scream, but a monotonous, cold, lifeless mechanical tone, uttering a single word that echoed through the narrow room:
"Explosion... Explosion... Explosion..."
The three workers recoiled at once, their backs hitting the cold wall, eyes bulging with terror.
"He... He's going to blow himself up!" one of them screamed, his voice cracking, covering his face with his arms.
Instead of rushing to close the gate or protect the factory, the instinct for survival took over. They all rushed toward the rear exit of the room, scrambling to save their lives.
Poggles remained alone on the panel, slowly uncurling, watching them with his blue eyes as they fled like panicked rats.
There was no explosion, no bomb. It was just a brilliant trick Poggles used to exploit their primal fear of the machines they served but did not understand.
And while the workers fled, the gate outside continued its metallic roar, opening its arms wide to welcome those coming from the fog.
In those moments, in front of the storage hall inside the factory.
Moros had arrived and stood before the broken entrance, but he didn't enter immediately. He stood rooted to the spot; even he, with his experience and cunning, had not expected what he was surprised by.
In the years he had spent as Supervisor of this factory, nothing like today had ever happened. Two disasters at once: the first was seeing the canisters of "Blue Fuel"—the substance worth the value of the factory itself—threatened with destruction. The second, and more terrifying, was that screech coming from the main gate as it opened.
Moros turned toward the large crowd of workers who had gathered in the corridor, rushing to contain the disaster Silas and the others might cause.
"Go, all of you!" Moros shouted in a booming voice, the veins in his neck bulging. "Don't let anyone enter! Close the gate at any cost! Call the rest from the wards!"
As soon as they heard the voice, they turned to him in total obedience. None of them had ever seen the face screaming at them. They could have ignored him, or mocked him, but that tone of voice... that commanding, metallic tone was unmistakable to their ears. They knew immediately who he was.
They obeyed instantly like foot soldiers, leaving the hall and running toward the main gate, leaving the Supervisor behind, alone.
Moros entered the hall with heavy steps.
Now, only the three of them remained: the man with the cane (Silas), the traitorous young worker, and the Supervisor.
"You see?" Moros spread his palms as if showcasing the fate of the factory and the noise coming from outside. "All this chaos is because of you. Am I at fault for underestimating you? Or was all this destined to happen the moment you set foot on this island?"
Silas realized what was happening. The gate is opening... who else? It must be Poggles.
He knew in that moment they held partial control of the situation, though he didn't know how the confrontation here would end. Maybe they would leave in peace, or maybe blood would be spilled right now.
"You caused this," Silas said firmly, tightening his grip on the fuel canister. "None of this would have happened if you had let us leave in peace."
Moros interrupted him sharply, taking a step forward: "And it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't come here in the first place! Do you remember when I met you at the beach? I advised you..."
Silas cut him off, not letting him finish, his voice rising in anger: "The lives of those miserable people! Do you enjoy making yourself one of them? Playing the role of false hope they cling to, while you are their jailer?"
Moros paused, looking at Silas with a strange gaze, a mix of pity and contempt.
"You understand nothing... and I won't bother discussing the philosophy of survival with you."
Then he narrowed his eyes, continuing with sharp intelligence: "I see you remember... I didn't know what was wrong. Are you lucky? Or special in some way? The gas mask was supposed to turn your memories into a stark white blank."
He then shifted his gaze to the trembling young worker and continued: "And since he also remembers and is helping you... the problem is the gas, then. A bad batch."
The young worker was still holding the canisters in his hands, trembling. He wanted to stay in a neutral zone and play both sides to survive, but he was exposed now by mere guesses from the Supervisor.
The Supervisor approached them with calm steps. Although he hadn't drawn his dagger yet, it was prominent in his belt, clearly visible to the two young men. One was unarmed save for glass, the other had a cane, but the fuel canisters were more of a deterrent to them than any weapon.
"Why do you want us so badly?" Silas spoke, referring to himself and Elyra. "We have nothing to offer you... we are just ordinary people."
"I agree with you," Moros said coldly. "You have nothing to offer as people. We don't want you... we want your minds. The minds that saw everything inside this factory. You weren't supposed to come to this place, and although I believed you don't work for anyone, I cannot allow you to leave with intact memories. This matter is above my pay grade."
He continued his steps toward them slowly, like a predator cornering its prey, indifferent to Silas's threat of opening the canister.
"Back off, Moros!" Silas shouted, his hand trembling over the canister's lid. "I'm warning you... you don't want me to do this!"
Moros smiled a sarcastic smile: "Go on... do it. Do you think by doing this you'll hit a nerve? Even if you smash all the canisters... this island will be crowded with the miserable to gather more. The fuel doesn't run out as long as humans exist."
Silas tilted the canister. The fuel began to pour out slowly like a glowing blue waterfall, hitting the floor and hissing.
The young worker backed away, trying to disappear into the shadows, while Silas saw Moros getting very close, and with every step, the danger tightened around his neck.
Moros didn't stop. He reached out to grab Silas.
There was no room for threats anymore.
With a desperate, quick movement, Silas raised the open canister, and instead of throwing it on the ground...
He splashed the glowing, viscous blue liquid directly into Moros's face.
The fuel hit the Supervisor's open eyes with deadly precision.