Emily rubbed her forehead.
"So let me get this straight."
She pointed at Ironhand.
"You want to break into a prison that doesn't exist."
Ironhand remained calm.
"Something like that."
"Charles."
Emily sighed.
"Wrong person, maybe. Wrong century, definitely."
She leaned back in her chair.
"No offense, Ironhand, but this one might be beyond even you."
Ironhand smiled faintly.
"Funny."
Emily raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Wasn't it you who always said we shouldn't decide something is impossible before we've tried?"
Emily immediately pointed at him.
"This is different."
"No, it's bigger."
"And bigger things tend to explode."
"Which is why I came to you."
Emily groaned.
"You're impossible."
But despite her complaints, Ironhand could already see it.
She had accepted.
Not with words.
But with her eyes.
Emily Corduroy hated impossible problems.
And she hated being told something couldn't be done even more.
Still, she wasn't finished arguing.
"Pandora isn't just some underground bunker."
She folded her arms.
"Thalos."
Ironhand nodded.
"The company that manufactures half the transition keys in Layers One and Two."
"And the company responsible for Pandora's security."
Ironhand raised an eyebrow.
"Didn't Brick steal their dimensional travel technology years ago?"
Emily laughed.
"Oh, he did."
"And I doubt they took that personally."
Her smile faded.
"They absolutely did."
She grew serious.
"They didn't just throw him into Pandora."
"They buried him."
"The deepest pit they had."
"And then they destroyed the key."
She shrugged.
"Not that anyone could reach him anyway."
Ironhand simply replied.
"We're talking about Brick."
Emily opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
Because despite everything—
she knew.
And Ironhand saw it.
The reluctant acceptance.
The tiny admission she refused to say out loud.
If anyone could somehow claw their way back from a place that officially didn't exist—
it would be Brick Birking.
And perhaps more importantly—
Emily wanted to see him again.
Ironhand knew that too.
He had known it for years.
His thoughts drifted backward.
Eight years.
Eight years ago.
Rain hammered against the roof of the abandoned warehouse.
Shouts echoed from inside.
Ironhand moved silently through the shadows until he reached a stack of old containers.
A young woman stood nearby.
Her fists were bloody.
And so was the man tied to the chair before her.
"What?"
She screamed through tears and rage.
"Don't recognize this face?"
Another punch.
"These eyes?"
Another.
"They're my mother's eyes!"
The man groaned.
She hit him again.
Beside her stood a boy around her age.
He tried to remain calm.
But even he looked uncomfortable with what he was seeing.
Ironhand stepped out from behind the crates.
"Don't take this the wrong way."
Both teenagers froze.
"But seeing a young lady covered in blood isn't exactly pleasant."
The two spun around.
Neither had sensed him.
The boy moved first.
Fast.
He rushed Ironhand.
Ironhand caught his arm.
Prepared to slam him into the floor with one clean throw—
But suddenly—
The boy vanished.
And an instant later
A fist struck the back of Ironhand's head.
Ironhand stumbled forward.
"What?"
He recovered immediately.
Three gunshots rang out.
The girl.
Ironhand twisted his body.
One bullet missed his cheek by centimeters.
Another struck a crate.
He rolled across the floor.
The girl's weapon clicked empty.
No time to reload.
Ironhand rushed forward—
But the boy appeared again.
As though space itself had folded.
He materialized directly between them.
Throwing a punch.
Ironhand tilted his head.
The fist missed.
His knee slammed into the boy's stomach.
Air left his lungs.
Before the boy could recover—
Ironhand's metal arm shot upward.
A brutal uppercut.
The boy crashed backward.
The girl finished reloading.
She aimed at Ironhand—
But before she could fire—
A pressure cable launched from Ironhand's mechanical arm.
The injured boy flew into his grasp.
Ironhand held him in front of himself.
"If I were you," he said calmly.
"I wouldn't."
The girl's expression changed instantly.
Gone was the rage.
Gone was the fury.
Only fear remained.
The fear of losing someone precious.
But before she could speak—
The boy grinned despite the blood running from his mouth.
"You know..."
He coughed.
"If I were you..."
His smile widened.
"I wouldn't choose a guy who can teleport as a human shield."
And suddenly—
He vanished.
Ironhand's eyes widened.
Too late.
A kick struck him from behind.
At the same moment—
Gunfire erupted again.
Neither teenager expected what happened next.
Because the man before them wasn't just another cop.
And he certainly wasn't ordinary.
"I didn't want to use this."
Ironhand sighed.
His eyes turned orange.
His body glowed.
Steam escaped from the gaps in his metal arm.
His entire frame resembled an ancient machine furnace brought to life.
In a blur—
He vanished.
Brick blinked.
The girl blinked.
And suddenly Ironhand stood behind her.
This time she was the hostage.
Ironhand smiled.
"Your little magic trick isn't so useful now, is it?"
The boy froze.
For the first time—
Fear.
Real fear.
"Please."
His voice shook.
"Leave her alone."
His eyes never left the gun pointed at her.
"She didn't do anything."
"Take me."
"I'm Brick Birking."
"The famous thief."
He forced a smile.
"That bounty's worth something, right?"
"But killing an angry girl won't get you anything."
He spread his arms.
"Come on, pal."
"Let's make a deal."
"Brick, no!"
The girl nearly screamed.
"Run!"
"Save yourself!"
Brick shook his head.
"No."
"You're worth more than that."
The girl began crying.
"No, Brick, please—"
"You matter to me!"
Ironhand stared.
Then stared harder.
Then rubbed his forehead.
The two had somehow turned a hostage situation into a tragic romance.
And they kept going.
Each insisting the other should live.
Each insisting the other should run.
Until finally—
"ENOUGH!"
Both froze.
Silence.
Ironhand released the girl.
She stumbled away.
Brick blinked.
The girl blinked.
Ironhand sighed.
"I'm not here to arrest anybody."
He paused.
"And I'm not a cop."
Back in the present, Emily returned carrying a small stack of books.
She dropped them onto the table with enough force to make Ironhand's tea ripple.
"If we're doing this," she declared, "we're doing it properly."
Ironhand smiled faintly.
There it was.
The excitement.
The spark in her eyes.
Emily had always loved explaining things.
And Ironhand had always enjoyed listening.
"Three kinds of transition keys exist," Emily began.
"The first type is the basic key. They're common in the Third Layer. Limited range, twenty meters at most. They're connected to fixed systems."
She grabbed a marker and began drawing diagrams on a nearby board.
"You can't jump wherever you want. Just between predetermined points."
She raised a second finger.
"Second-level keys are better. Long range. They allow you to travel from anywhere to a single fixed destination."
Ironhand nodded.
"The only requirement being a door."
"Exactly."
Emily grinned.
"Any door."
Then she raised a third finger.
"The third level."
Her voice dropped slightly.
"The rarest type."
"You can travel anywhere."
"No known range limit. At least not within Earth's boundaries."
She paused dramatically.
"As for how far outside Earth they can go…"
She shrugged.
"People are still arguing."
Ironhand chuckled.
"And the doors?"
Emily pointed at him.
"Still just doors."
She laughed.
"A pair of doors. That's all."
Then she grew serious.
"No one knows exactly how many third-level keys exist."
"But one thing is certain."
"There aren't more than ten."
She paused.
"But there's one key even rarer."
Ironhand remained silent.
"The Pandora Key."
Now she had his full attention.
"Arthur Thalos."
"The founder of Thalos."
"One of Connection City's founders."
"The designer of the inter-layer elevators."
"The father of modern transit."
"A complete genius."
Ironhand knew the story already.
Probably better than anyone.
But he stayed quiet.
Emily's enthusiasm made it worth hearing again.
"And during his greatest research project, he accomplished something impossible."
She spread her arms.
"He created a pocket dimension."
"How he did it remains a mystery."
"But we know what it became."
Her smile disappeared.
"Pandora."
"A place ordinary people were never meant to enter."
"The most dangerous individuals in the city are sent there."
"And once they're inside..."
"They never return."
Emily crossed her arms.
"That's always been the rule."
"Every year, exactly once, Thalos opens the gate."
"For thirty minutes."
"New guards enter."
"Supplies are delivered."
"And that's it."
"The gate closes."
Ironhand raised an eyebrow.
"I've heard that story."
"I never believed it."
Emily laughed.
"It's true."
"Those thirty minutes are everything."
"No openings for the rest of the year."
Ironhand frowned.
"Then how do they keep the place running?"
"They don't."
Emily shrugged.
"They prepare enough supplies to last an entire year."
Ironhand looked surprised.
"Why?"
Emily answered immediately.
"Cost."
"The thirty-minute opening consumes almost a quarter of Thalos' yearly expenditure."
Ironhand blinked.
"That much?"
Emily laughed.
"They open a gate to another dimension, Charles."
"Of course it's expensive."
She sat back.
"And that's what keeps prisoners from trying."
"Escape to where?"
"There's nowhere to go."
Silence settled over the laboratory.
Finally Emily tilted her head.
"So."
"Now that you know all this…"
"I assume you have some kind of plan?"
Ironhand nodded.
"Of course."
Emily blinked.
She hadn't expected an answer.
The question had been a joke.
Naturally, she assumed he was joking too.
"Oh really?"
She smirked.
"What, do you happen to have the Pandora Key lying around somewhere?"
Ironhand looked directly at her.
And answered in the same calm tone he used to discuss the weather.
"Yes."
Silence.
Emily stared.
Her smile froze.
Then her eyes widened.
The mug slipped from her hand.
Black coffee splashed across the floor.
The liquid was so concentrated it almost looked like it was eating through the tiles.
Ironhand calmly reached over and lifted Emily's hanging jaw shut.
"Yes," he said.
"It's an interesting story."
Emily simply stared at him.
And for the first time that day—
she had absolutely no idea whether she wanted him to explain immediately…
Or whether she was afraid of the answer.