Dr. Chan's face turned the colour of bad seafood—grey, clammy, and positively murderous.
"Those two little devils again?!" he growled, low and venomous."I've said it before—less is more, especially when it comes to trouble!"
The frustration in his voice wasn't the hysterical panic one might expect in moments of disaster. No, this was the seasoned exasperation of a man who'd just watched someone spill coffee on his tax documents—a man who'd reluctantly shown up to a job he didn't want, only to find the office on fire.
But in the very next second, his face drained of blood so fast it was as if his internal hard drive had suddenly corrupted. Something deep in him gave way.
The earth behind them shivered—subtly, ominously. The soil heaved as a great bulge rose, the ground groaning like a mattress under a sumo wrestler. Something was coming. And it wasn't just any something.
"Oh, hell no..." Dr. Chan whispered, voice shaking."They didn't... did they? Did they lure a sandworm here?! Is this a battlefield or some second-rate sci-fi novel?!"
With a gut-punching POP, the earth exploded.
But it wasn't a sandworm.
It was something far more ridiculous.
From the ground burst a mechanical monstrosity—an enormous serpent, thick as a drainpipe and forged entirely from obsidian-black metal. It screamed as it rose, its interlocking plates grinding with the soul-grating screech of steel being tortured in Hell's own scrapyard. The air itself recoiled.
Its maw gaped open—not flesh, but a brutal array of spinning metal blades, whirring like a meat processor built by a sadist. With no ceremony, it lunged at the boy.
"CRUNCH—"
A blossom of blood sprayed the air, the sickening crack of bones folding like dry twigs. The air turned metallic and rank. Even time seemed to hold its breath.
Maverick froze. Dr. Chan froze. For the first time, they understood what disaster really meant—not just danger, but chaos. Utterly irrational, unstoppable, merciless chaos.
Dr. Chan's lips parted. No sound came out. His eyes locked on the sight of the serpent, now chewing through a human being as if shredding old receipts. His fingers clenched his sleeves so tightly the knuckles turned ghost-white. His breathing turned ragged. And in his eyes, a flicker—of regret.
Not because he'd been heartless.
But because he was terrified.
He hadn't run when he should have. He'd stayed to see what would happen. And now?
He might die.
"I told you... shouldn't get involved... should've walked away..." he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as if trying to build a legal defence against his own conscience.
And then the little girl moved.
Like a broken animal, she shot forward toward the beast.
Their parents had died in one of the many slaughters. They had watched their mother grow cold, her hand still groping blindly for theirs even after her eyes had gone vacant. They had felt that hand trembling, stiffening, cooling—and still holding on, like she wasn't ready to let go.
Maverick reached out instinctively. But five, six metres? It might as well have been across an ocean.
Dr. Chan's entire posture snapped upright."She's mad... she's gone mad..." he stammered.
But his voice carried no urgency. It wasn't the desperation of someone witnessing a tragedy—it was the weary groan of a man watching his simple mess turn into a full-blown fiasco.
"She's not mad," Maverick whispered, more to himself than anyone else."She just... has nothing left to fear."
Dr. Chan's eyelid twitched. He searched for some rational frame, some mental box to shove this all into.
But logic had drowned in the boy's blood.
The serpent turned, slowly, toward them.
Its black sheen caught the dying light, cold and sharp like a knife's grin. Dr. Chan's composure shattered.
"RUN!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. It wasn't a command. It was pure animal panic, a squeal from some ancient part of his brain that had no patience for dignity.
The serpent seemed to hear him. With a thunderous slam, it dove underground. The soil erupted behind the girl. She tripped, crashed headfirst into a stone, and fell still.
No time to check. No time to think.
Maverick grabbed Chan and ran. The ground beneath them twisted and sloshed, more trap than terrain.
Dr. Chan staggered, panting and pale as parchment."You never should've tried to save— I said it from the start— less is more, less is more!" he gasped between ragged breaths, somewhere between blaming Maverick and consoling himself.
Maverick didn't respond. He knew.
Dr. Chan wasn't angry at him. He was comforting himself—the man who'd spent ten years tucked safely in a lab, always on the lowest rung, dreaming only of being left the hell alone. His bosses said he was lazy. He said they didn't understand the wisdom of"staying out of trouble."
Saving one person, in his book, meant getting ten more killed.
"I'm not a hero... I'm not a soldier..." he muttered, as though signing his own permission slip to run away.
The air grew colder. The scent of blood mixed with the sting of machine oil. It made Dr. Chan gag.
"We're dead... we're all dead... I shouldn't have come... shouldn't have cared..." he panted, clutching at his side.
It wasn't death he feared.
It was dying because of someone else.
Dying for a cause he hadn't signed up for.
He was afraid of responsibility. Afraid of mess. Afraid of everything he couldn't control.
He had once, just once, tried to be brave. He'd planned to leak some information to help Maverick's father. Just open the door a crack—and then slam it shut behind him, responsibility-free. But then one thing led to another, and now he'd been neck-deep in near-death experiences more times than he could count.
He wasn't a bad man.
He was just terrified.
And so, even when the girl had stood right there—just one step away—he had stepped back. Not out of cruelty.
But out of sheer, naked fear.
Less is more.
That was Dr. Chan.
Maverick glanced up and veered toward the tangled roots of a tree, still breathless, still running. But through the rasp of his voice, he asked hoarsely:
"If it were you... would you have just watched?"
Dr. Chan's mouth clamped shut. He didn't answer. Just ran.
But he knew, deep down, they weren't going to outrun that thing.
The ground shook. It was coming.
Dr. Chan licked his cracked lips. Swore softly.
"Screw it."
He reached out his hand.
Maverick didn't say a word. Just grabbed it—dusty, bloodstained, trembling. They leaned on each other. Stumbled forward.
Neither looked back.
"Blame me," Maverick muttered, bitterly."Not like anyone's around to thank me."
But panic breeds mistakes.
Maverick tripped on a jutting root, hit the ground hard. His palms scraped open. His breath caught like fire in his throat. Blood ran down his jaw, into the mud.
Dr. Chan almost fell too. He spun, reached down—
"Don't you dare die before me," he said under his breath.
Maverick looked up. Smiled, faintly.
"Didn't you say... it's not worth saving anyone?"
Chan glared at him, teeth clenched."Shut up and stand."
Behind them, the roar was deafening.
They stopped.
Turned.
There was nowhere left to run.