"Let’s see... no, not this one... definitely not that... ah, and this would probably kill you before it helps you..."

Dr. Dan Zarkov muttered to himself while digging through what he proudly called a laboratory, though to Tyler it looked more like a mechanical disaster that had somehow survived several explosions and then decided to continue existing out of stubbornness.

Metal shelves leaned unevenly against walls packed with cables, loose circuits, cracked monitors, robotic limbs, and half-assembled devices whose purpose Tyler could not immediately guess. Some machines hummed softly, others clicked at random intervals, and one corner contained what looked suspiciously like a mechanical arm attempting to tighten screws into another mechanical arm without much success.

The old man moved through the chaos with complete confidence, pushing aside piles of equipment as though he alone understood where everything belonged.

One object flew past Tyler’s shoulder and landed on a nearby table.

It was an umbrella.

Dr. Dan did not even look back.

"Not that one," he said. "That sends concentrated sound waves strong enough to rupture eardrums within ten meters. Useful indoors. Very annoying outdoors."

A second object came next—a miniature electric fan no larger than a hand mirror.

"That one?"

He picked it up, stared at it, then immediately tossed it aside as well.

"Too unstable. Press the wrong button and it produces wind pressure strong enough to launch a person through a wall. Broke three windows last month."

Another item followed.

This time it was a narrow metal handle with a folded cable attached to it.

He pressed a switch, and the cable extended instantly into a long whip engulfed in controlled fire.

Tyler’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Dr. Dan admired it for a second.

"No, not this either. Fire leaves evidence."

The whip folded again and disappeared into its handle before being dropped onto a pile of unfinished machines.

Tyler remained silent while the old man continued searching deeper into the clutter, muttering numbers, formulas, and occasional insults directed at objects that apparently displeased him.

At last, after moving aside a small metal box and opening a drawer hidden beneath it, Dr. Dan froze.

Then slowly smiled.

"Ah."

He reached inside and lifted something carefully between two fingers.

A coin.

He brought it toward Tyler.

At first glance it looked completely ordinary—a polished 1 Solaris coin, circular, metallic, and stamped with the official Capital insignia on one side.

Tyler recognized it immediately.

Solaris.

The currency of the Capital.

Sector people almost never touched one directly.

In the lower sectors, everything valuable moved through controlled rations, labor credits, or sector-issued exchange systems. Solaris belonged to the upper world. A single coin could buy things unavailable to entire sector families.

Dr. Dan placed it into Tyler’s palm.

"This," he declared proudly, "is perfect."

Tyler turned the coin slightly under the light.

It looked ordinary enough.

"A coin?" he asked.

Dr. Dan pushed his goggles upward and stared at him as though insulted.

"Yes, a coin. But not a useless coin."

He leaned one hand against the worktable and continued.

"I know what you gave the Embers—the Carbonyx refining process. Genius work. Absolute genius. We spent years sneaking people into Sector 2, stealing fragments of data, observing extraction methods, bribing workers, losing good people, and still failed to uncover what you understood in one move."

His voice sharpened with genuine irritation.

"Do you know how offensive that is to someone with my qualifications?"

Tyler said nothing.

The old man waved it away.

"Anyway, because of that, they asked me to arm you. Not heavily. Not enough to start a war. Just enough to survive cheating inside the Capital Games if things go wrong."

He tapped the coin.

"So this is what you get."

Tyler studied it again.

"I still don’t understand how this is a weapon."

Dr. Dan’s grin widened.

"Oh, right. Registration first."

Before Tyler could react, the old man snatched the coin back and pressed it directly against Tyler’s forehead.

A faint vibration passed through his skin.

Nothing painful.

Only a strange pulse, like static briefly moving beneath the surface.

After two seconds, Dr. Dan removed it and nodded with satisfaction.

"Done."

Tyler frowned slightly.

"What did you just do?"

"Linked initial command response to your brainwave pattern."

Dr. Dan placed the coin on a nearby table and activated a monitor.

A holographic display appeared.

"Now watch carefully."

The coin on the screen began to shift.

Its metallic surface broke apart—not into pieces, but into microscopic movement so fine it resembled liquid obeying invisible commands.

In seconds it transformed.

First into a thin blade no longer than a hand.

Then into a wire whip.

Then into a needle-like spike.

Then into a lockpick small enough to slide inside the narrowest mechanism.

Tyler watched without blinking.

"This," Dr. Dan said with clear satisfaction, "is nano technology."

The screen shifted again.

Now the nanobots spread over artificial skin tissue displayed beneath magnification.

The damaged area repaired itself almost immediately.

Small tears closed.

Surface layers rebuilt.

Internal tissue stabilized.

Dr. Dan folded his arms.

"It can also handle emergency tissue repair. Small injuries, cuts, punctures, limited bleeding control. Not miracles. Don’t expect it to rebuild missing limbs."

Then he added:

"It can keep you alive long enough to avoid dying stupidly."

Tyler looked from the screen back to the coin.

That changed things.

A hidden weapon was useful.

A hidden medical tool was far more valuable.

Dr. Dan continued his explanation.

"Because nanobots are limited, the system has restrictions. Battery capacity is limited. Shape duration is limited. Physical damage reduces total unit count permanently. Every time you force a complex transformation, some units burn out."

He pointed directly at Tyler.

"And listen carefully—every transformation consumes units permanently."

Tyler nodded once.

So this was not infinite.

That made sense.

Dr. Dan lifted the coin and handed it back.

"Try."

Tyler focused.

At first nothing happened.

Then the coin vibrated faintly in his hand.

Its edges softened, surface loosening as though metal had forgotten it was solid.

A moment later it compressed into a small metallic sphere.

Tyler shifted thought again.

The sphere flattened and returned to coin shape.

The response was immediate.

His expression changed slightly.

Not surprise.

But clear approval.

"It obeys thought?"

"Yes. Simple command pathways only. Shape intent. Size intent. Extension intent. No poetry. Be clear with your brain."

Dr. Dan took the coin back once more and placed it onto a charging pad built into the table.

Thin light spread beneath it.

"These little monsters consume absurd electricity. Charge whenever possible."

He glanced sideways.

"You won’t get a charging station inside the Games."

The coin pulsed faintly while recharging.

Tyler watched the process.

Dr. Dan lowered his voice slightly.

"One more thing. You can transfer ownership."

Tyler looked at him.

"Transfer?"

"Thought-linked command release. If you willingly hand control to someone else, the coin accepts their pattern."

He adjusted his goggles again.

"But think carefully before doing that. Once transferred, you lose authority completely."

Tyler absorbed that without comment.

After a short charge cycle, Dr. Dan removed the coin and handed it back one final time.

"But I only have this one."

The old man’s tone lost some humor there.

"So use it properly. It can become anything scientifically possible—but only if you understand what you want it to form."

Tyler slid the coin carefully into his sleeve.

It rested near the copper pot.

A strange pairing.

One object beyond logic.

One object built from stolen advanced science.

Dr. Dan turned away already returning to his machines.

"Try not to die, boy."

Then, almost casually:

"Capital always prefers dramatic deaths when cameras are involved."

Tyler began walking toward the exit.

Behind him, machinery resumed its endless clicking.

Dr. Dan adjusted his goggles, stared at another half-built device, and muttered:

"Still can’t believe a Sector boy solved Carbonyx refinement before trained engineers..."

The robot near the door rolled aside to let Tyler pass.

He climbed back through the hidden staircase, crossed the underground parking floor, and returned toward the mall transit lanes.

The Capital remained beautiful under false moonlight.

Which only made it feel colder.

He boarded the tram again using the servant card, returned to the secured district, and re-entered through service access without attracting attention.

The kitchen remained active.

This time no one stopped him.

He collected a food tray from the preparation counter, adjusted his servant posture, and entered the participant floor exactly as expected of any ordinary staff member.

By the time he reached his own room, surveillance had already accepted him as routine.

He entered, locked the door, changed quickly, and placed the servant uniform back into the hidden tray compartment.

A minute later, another servant left Tyler’s room carrying the empty tray.

The surveillance guards saw nothing unusual.

Inside, Tyler sat by the window once more.

The coin rested in his fingers under moonlight.

Outside, the false stars still shone in perfect obedience above the impossible Capital.

Tyler studied the coin for a moment before taking out the copper pot. The refined Carbonyx was still inside, resting quietly at the bottom.

"Big," he muttered.

At once, the small copper pot expanded, its size increasing until there was enough space to work comfortably.

Tyler placed the original coin beside the Carbonyx and reached in.

A moment later, he pulled out another coin.

Then another.

Then another.

By the time he stopped, five identical Solaris coins rested in his palm.

He examined them briefly, then focused.

The coins trembled at once. Their metallic surfaces loosened, melted, and merged together like liquid silver spreading across his fingers before climbing over both hands. Within seconds, the swarm reshaped itself into a pair of fitted gloves that clung tightly to his skin.

Tyler took out a piece of refined Carbonyx and pressed it against the surface.

The nanobots reacted immediately.

The crystal was devoured in seconds, absorbed into the structure as faint purple lines spread across the gloves like veins beneath metal.

Then Tyler slowly clenched his fist.

A sharp current snapped through the air.

Thin arcs of electricity whistled around his knuckles before fading.

Tyler’s lips curved into a quiet smirk.