Arcane Anew

The technician dropped to the ground, gasping for air while clutching his neck. His eyes were wide, pupils shaking with raw terror. Never before had he come so close to death.

Orion, who'd been observing from the sidelines, turned his head and felt unease entering his chest.

It was strange- he didn't know how to explain it. People normally wouldn't involve themselves in other people's business, even when violence erupted.

But here, nothing happened. Not a whisper of protest, nor a squeal for help. Just eerie silence. It was as if all compassion in the room had left.

Maybe it was his time in Ionia, the calm temples of empathy and understanding, but a bitter pit twisted in his stomach. It was so cold and heartless, not even a glance of concern in the technician's direction. The air was apparently too precious, too valuable to waste on sympathy.

'Agh...I've changed a little,' Orion thought bitterly as his gaze fell back to the shadowed technician. 'I wouldn't have cared as much before, would I?'

He exhaled sharply, then broke the silence.

"Do you need help?" Orion's gentle voice cut through the tension. He was doubtful if he could help, but wanted to make the offer at least. Zarkon's cold gaze snapped toward him, cold and mocking while he sneered before shifting back to the technician.

"I-I don't know what you could help with," the technician stammered, eyes darting between them. "Uh- We... don't know what's causing it exactly..."

'Ah, shit.' Orion resisted the urge to facepalm.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW?!"

Zarkon bellow shook the air as his enraged glare focused. His massive cybernetic frame hissed as steam vented from his augments, the pressure building as his fists clenched.

The technician recoiled in panic and fear. "I don't know! The readings don't indicate surface leaks- it's deeper, lower down in the mines!"

"That's impossible," Zarkon spat, taking a step closer to the technician. "Those vents are naturally occurring."

"Y-yes, but they can still be damaged! A partial cave-in, maybe... or- or someone siphoning air! Stealing it!"

Zarkon froze, his expression tightened. Clearly, the thoughts he was having were not easing his restrained fury.

"You're suggesting someone dares to steal from the Poingdestre Chembarons?" His voice was low, a dangerous whisper that felt louder than a shout.

The technician nodded weakly, "I-it's just a theory... but yes... it's p-possible-"

A violent burst of steam venting from Zarkon's augments occurred before, without warning, he drove his metallic fist into the nearby wall with a deafening bang, leaving a deep imprint.

The reaction was instant. A catalyst that finally sparked a reaction. Startled cries rippled through the station, with hushed gasps and sharp shrieks that broke the otherwise eerie silence surrounding them.

Even the Enforcer, who watched coldly before, shifted. His finger slid closer to the trigger but still, he didn't act.

Zarkon's breaths came slow and heavy as he tried to calm himself. When his steaming figure rose, the tubes along his augments violently shimmered before settling, his glare resting on the technician.

"It seems like you'll be taking a little trip down to the mines, won't you?" Zarkon growled, spittle flying from his mouth and dribbling down his chin. Then, with a sharp glance sideways, his lips curled back into a sneer. "And you'll have 'help'."