The conference hall is darker this time, filled not with scientists but military men. Dr. Griffiths paces nervously as he unveils you in a containment pod. Fairy dust hums in the air, pressing against the walls like a living storm.

“Gentlemen,” he says, “you wanted a power source? A weapon? There it stands.” Gasps ripple as you open your eyes — eyes full of stars, staring at them like prey.

“He cannot be replicated,” Griffiths continues, voice unsteady. “He is eternal because he believes he is. And that belief is contagious. Even now, you feel it — that childlike spark you haven’t felt since youth.”

The general grips the railing, trembling. “Good God,” he whispers. “It’s real.”