Conflict of interest

"Before I see what?" a voice interrupted, deep and commanding yet tinged with warmth.

Elias turned toward the source, and his breath caught for a moment. Warden Commander Geras stood in the doorway, his uniform pristine and his posture unwavering. His silver hair gleamed under the lights, hinting at age, but his sharp features and broad frame exuded strength and vitality.

"Whoa, this guy doesn't look a day over 50… maybe," Dot's voice whispered in Elias's mind, almost awed. "Must be all that military discipline."

Geras stepped into the room, his presence filling it effortlessly. "Let's not waste time. Bring him in."

Elias stepped into the office, the door clicking shut behind him. The room was surprisingly understated, the desk functional and the walls lined with shelves displaying plaques, medals, and framed photos. Dot's floated beside him, her tiny figure gliding curiously around the room.

"Wow, this place is… plain. I was expecting something more dramatic for a guy with such a title," Dot's muttered, inspecting a picture of a much younger Geras flanked by soldiers.

Elias ignored her, focusing instead on the man seated at the desk. Warden Commander Geras leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes fixed on Elias.

"It's good to finally meet you, Elias Kael," Geras began, his tone warm yet firm. "Though I never imagined it would be in such a polished setting. I must say, you're the spitting image of your father."

Elias froze for a moment, gripping the fabric of his pants as memories of his father surfaced unbidden. He forced himself to respond, his voice steady. "Mourning his loss was tough. Especially since we never got his body back. And with the public all but forgetting about Cradle Planet, it made his death feel... pointless."

Geras slapped his desk, the sound echoing through the room. "No. Not at all. Your father's sacrifice wasn't meaningless. Dorian Kael fought for what he believed in, and though Cradle is as good as gone, his spirit shone brightly. Whenever he was around, nothing seemed impossible. He'd find a way through the worst and come back smiling."

Elias looked away briefly, swallowing the lump in his throat as Geras continued.

"His death was hard on all of us. But that's not why we're here today." Geras leaned back, his expression softening slightly. "It does warm my heart, though, to know that his son has been chosen for something extraordinary."

Elias frowned. "Extraordinary? What do you mean? Do you know what's happening to me and the others?"

Geras shook his head. "Not much, unfortunately. That cube was studied for ten years. Its explosion wasn't anticipated. Some earlier files noted it would glow in patterns at random, almost as if it were charging and shutting down. But the real truth?" He shrugged. "The scientists abandoned it when they couldn't make progress."

Elias leaned forward. "So, you have no idea why it happened?"

"I have my theories," Geras admitted. "But it's not my job to speculate. My job is to prepare people to protect this world, our nation, and our way of life. Things have been hard since the alien attacks, but we've managed to stabilize under military governance."

Elias nodded, his mind drifting. "Yeah, I know. Covaign was one of the first places hit. Three years ago, the aliens tore through everything. My home was spared, but the city is still rebuilding."

His voice trailed off, and his gaze unfocused. Images flashed in his mind—massive alien creatures descending from colossal ships, wreaking havoc. Their claws tore through steel as if it were paper, their roars drowning out the screams of the people.

"Elias?" Geras's voice brought him back.

"Sorry," Elias muttered, shaking his head. "Just... remembering the damage."

Geras studied him for a moment before continuing. "Your father's blood runs through your veins, and I trust you because of that. I plan to weaponize every shard-bearer, turning you into specialized attack forces. When the aliens come again—and they will—they won't expect an offensive counterstrike."

Elias's brow furrowed, his thoughts racing. "That sounds ambitious, but aren't we rushing into this? The shards are unpredictable. We don't know the long-term effects or if these abilities can even be controlled on a large scale."

Geras folded his hands. "Your concerns are valid. But we don't have time to wait. The aliens won't give us the luxury of preparation."

Elias leaned back, exhaling sharply. "And what about ethics? If we're using these shards as weapons, what happens if someone loses control? What happens if we're wrong?"

Geras smirked faintly, as if he had anticipated the question. "That's why people like you, with your father's resolve, are needed. We'll make mistakes, sure. But it's better to make mistakes while fighting back than to sit idle and wait for extinction."

"I understand the logic and planning; but you do know there are others out there with shards not in the military control that very much likely opposes at least the military." Elias stated before a small pause.

"Had Elara not stepped in, I'd likely be dead right now," Elias admitted, his voice steady but laced with lingering unease. "That man wanted the shard inside me."

"That's the person who attacked your convoy, right?" Geras asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Yes," Elias confirmed. "He definitely had his own Ikona helping him out. He transformed into something… odd. Some kind of creature, almost animalistic."

Geras's gaze hardened. "And what if people don't want to use their Ikonas to fight? Or if they simply aren't the type to fight?"

Elias hesitated, surprised by the question's bluntness. "I imagine some wouldn't. Not everyone is built for combat."

"Good question," Geras said, his tone sharpened by conviction. "Something I'd expect from the Kael line. But we're in brutal times, and we have to be equally brutal in our solutions. Personal desires have no place when the survival of humanity is at stake." He exhaled heavily, tapping a finger against his desk. "I'm still investigating how that man knew the location of a non-communicated bus route. It's troubling."

Geras continued, his voice lowering. "But if people refuse to use their shards for the benefit of the country—if they choose to squander the chance to protect life—they will be removed from the program. Their shards will be transferred to someone who is ready to shoulder the responsibility."

Elias's stomach tightened at the implication. "Removed?" he asked cautiously.

"We haven't attempted it yet," Geras clarified. "But after the initial breakout, when people started mentioning this so-called doctor, we had no choice but to separate and quarantine everyone with shards."

"That must've been… difficult," Elias said, imagining the chaos.

"It was," Geras admitted. "Some shard-bearers had families. Kids. Others were no older than fifteen or sixteen. And then there were the ones with criminal records—murderers, thieves. I'm still not sure what these shards are looking for when they choose someone. The tests are ongoing." He slid a file across the desk, opening it to reveal a sheet of scribbled statistics. "Some shard-bearers mentioned a kind of scorecard. Is this what you saw yesterday?"

Elias leaned in and scanned the sheet:

Strength: 15/100

Speed: 15/100

Intelligence: 5/100

Endurance: 10/100

Perception: 12/100

Instinct: 18/100

"Yes," Elias replied, reaching into his bag. "It's exactly what I saw. I wrote it down before I left my apartment, just in case."

He pulled out his notebook and turned it to the page where his own readings were listed:

Strength: 5/100

Speed: 3/100

Intelligence: 25/100

Endurance: 25/100

Perception: 2/100

Instinct: 50/100

"These were my numbers," Elias said. "I don't know how it judged them or what they mean, but I thought it was important to document."

Geras studied the figures, his expression unreadable. "Fascinating. So these shards even share linked events through memory… Whatever this alien technology is, it's beyond anything we've ever seen." He leaned back, a faint smile crossing his face. "Frankly, it almost puts our latest bioelectricity suits to shame."