Rewind to the moments before Vivian broke.

  Leo had just navigated the labyrinth back to the Third Sanctum when the alarms shredded the silence. The air reeked of a sharp, metallic tang—ozone fried by high voltage.

  Radiation leak? Here? How?

  Beneath the wailing siren, the Sanctum was dead silent.

  Catastrophe.

  Instinctively, he clutched the black box against his chest, ready to double back.

  Then he thought of Vivian. He froze.

  She has Mora. She has Crow. But what if...

  He spat a curse, ripped a hazmat suit from an emergency locker, and sprinted toward the source of the leak, chasing the flashing red strobes.

  I swore I wouldn't be a rat. I have my Coffin Fund. I have a Hope-V ship waiting. I am not dying here.

  He threw open the doors to the cultivation room.

  It was a scene from a reactor meltdown.

  The gravity field had inverted. Vivian hung suspended in mid-air, ghost-blue currents arcing across her skin. She flickered like a human strobe light short-circuiting in the void.

  Mora and Crow floated in the corners, unconscious.

  Leo killed the gravity simulator. The three of them crashed to the floor.

  His Geiger counter screamed—radiation levels were critical. No wonder the room was slick with vomit. He cracked open his black box and prepped a radiation suppressant, but the nanites inside Vivian were in a frenzy; the needle couldn't pierce her skin. Her jaw was locked tight, an iron trap.

  He had to save Crow and Mora first. The military-grade stims from Earth worked fast.

  Crow’s gray eyes snapped open, but his vocal unit was fried; he opened his mouth, and only static came out. His metal chassis had absorbed a peak burst, slagging his circuits.

  Mora woke with a grimace of pure agony. With every ounce of will she possessed, she squeezed out a command:

  "Fated Covenant... Kiss her..."

  Then her head lolled, and she went under again.

  Fated Covenant? Kiss her?

  Mora is a scientist. Why is she giving a theological order?

  Does she want me to act as Vivian’s radiation filter?

  The alarms screamed higher. The edges of Leo's hazmat suit began to carbonize and flake away like ash.

  He looked at Vivian.

  In his trembling vision, her pale face was flushed a violent crimson, brows knit in torture. Her hands clawed at her chest, as if trying to rip her own heart out.

  Pain. She is enduring absolute, nuclear pain.

  His own Xeno-Limb Pain slammed into him in sympathy.

  He clutched his head. He was thrown back to a time before the cynicism, before he understood the world or himself, when life was just laughter.

  No. Those are lies.

  Disassemble. Strip it down. Fix it.

  In an instant, the "Fated Covenant," the "Kiss," the theology—it all flew out of his mind and rearranged itself into an anatomical schematic.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Yes. Our contract isn't blood. It isn't love.

  It is Pain.

  I cannot watch you suffer.

  He kicked off the ground, ripped off his protective mask, grabbed Vivian's scalding face with a madness bordering on self-destruction, and crushed his lips against hers.

  It was the first time he had initiated the kiss.

  Vivian’s jaw loosened. Her tongue tangled with his.

  He explored, he sucked, and then—he bit her hard.

  Blood rushed down his throat, singing.

  There was no pleasure of redemption. Only the resolve of a sacrifice.

  When the blue light finally receded, he held Vivian tightly in his arms.

  As a staunch materialist, in this moment, he had to admit: He felt a "Miracle."

  The poets call this "Love."

  Leo, naturally, diagnosed it as a dopamine disorder.

  ...

  Three days passed.

  For three days, Leo locked himself in Mora’s lab, dissecting the truth like a motherboard.

  He drew blood from Mora, running cross-comparisons with his own and Vivian’s. Crow refused to cooperate, but the data was already clear.

  No Miracles. Only Mechanics.

  These nanites were radiation sinks. They stored and consumed nuclear energy.

  Ambient radiation is normal... Leo stared at the screen, Sherlock Holmes’ famous axiom surfacing in his mind: "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

  Correct. Vivian is not a Noah's Ark. She is a Human Nuclear Bomb.

  He stormed into Mora’s office.

  Mora sat in her wheelchair, sighing as she looked at the data Leo slammed onto her desk.

  "You are partially right," she said, her voice flat. "But you miss the nuance."

  "She is a miniature reactor. The nanites convert energy and regulate temperature; the lead-lined skin shields the radiation. It protects not her, but us."

  "But the system is delicate. Her fluid exchange with you caused a nanite deficit. The lag in replication led to a temporary critical mass. The 'Fated Covenant' is simply a Rebalancing Protocol. But fear not. The process is convergent, not divergent."

  "Don't bullshit me!" Leo slammed the table, leaning into her face. "If it's convergent, why did she almost glass the Tycho Crater?"

  "Don't exaggerate. That was... unexpected. But she isn't a bomb. The radioactive material inside her is minimal. Worst case scenario? She vaporizes the few of us in this room."

  "Is that all?" Leo cut her off. "Why turn her into a walking reactor?"

  Mora wheeled herself to the window.

  "She is a Fire Keeper. And a Fire Keeper must have her Miracle."

  Leo thought of Miranda’s peelable face. Isabella’s botanical collarbone.

  "You charlatans. To deceive the flock, to keep your power, you treat human life with such contempt?"

  Mora turned back, eyes cold as deep space.

  "None of this concerns you. And spare me the moral high ground. You help her win; I give you a ship. It's a transaction."

  "Transaction? I become her Cooling Tower. That’s the deal?"

  "You're a doctor. You know your nanite count is low. Without an energy source, they deactivate and flush out." Mora paused, pinning him with a look. "Once Vivian reaches a steady state, she won't need to reclaim your nanites. Relax."

  Won't need. The phrase pricked Leo like a needle.

  He forced himself to cool down.

  "It's that simple?"

  "Do you have a better explanation?" Mora stared into his eyes.

  Leo paused. Why is there a trace of bitterness in her gaze? Is there an unknown biochemical variable? Like "Love"?

  "Fine. Does she know she’s a reactor?"

  "She cannot know. If she realizes she is a deep-modification subject rather than Sacred Flesh, her psyche will collapse." Mora’s expression was grim. "She must believe she is a Fire Keeper. She must believe in the 'Trial.' She must believe in 'Endurance.' Only that belief allows her brain to subconsciously suppress the core fluctuations."

  "Placebo Effect via self-deception?"

  "If you like. Doctor Leo, you understand the power of the mind over the body. I prefer to call it a Miracle. We have one month left. Your preparations are flawless. Are you really going to walk away from the Hope-V now?"

  Leo turned, looking toward Vivian’s bedchamber. He closed his eyes.

  "Is her... pain intense?"

  "Yes. Excruciating. That is why her Miracle is Endurance. She needs the guidance of a 'Guardian.' That was supposed to be me and Crow. But now... it is you."

  Leo left the office, walked down the endless corridor, and arrived at the "Garden of Contemplation."

  He sat on a cold bench under the great oak tree dominating the dome.

  He picked up a fallen leaf.

  Perfect green. Perfect veins.

  Artificial. Just like the dogma. Just like the reactor named Vivian. Just like the tranquility he felt now.

  Everything is code. Illusions to deceive the senses.

  He looked up at the radiation-shielding dome.

  The lunar night was pitch black. No atmosphere to soften the view. The stars didn't twinkle; they were silver nails driven into a coffin lid. And in the center of that void hung the giant blue gem.

  Before, Leo saw Home. Gravity. Atmosphere. The Cure.

  Now, he saw a giant eyeball.

  Staring at him.

  Waiting for his sacrifice.

  "...Heh."

  Leo fished a synthetic cigarette from his pocket. The lighter flame danced in the dark. He took a deep drag, letting the acrid smoke swirl in his radiation-scorched lungs, then exhaled slowly toward the fake stars.

  He revised the plan.

  He was Vivian's Guardian. And the Control Rod for her core.

  He could stabilize her. Or he could activate her.

  Nanites allowed her to use radiation energy... maybe he could too. He could hijack her. Make her his exclusive Battery Pack.

  Forget Earth. He could go to Neptune.

  As for Love? Fuck dopamine.

  If you treat me as a plugin, then I will be a Fatal Plugin.

  System Alert.

  Protocol "Protect Her Highness" Engaged.