On the screen, the man had already straightened up, biting the tip of one black glove with his teeth while taking off the other. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze slanting down from the corner of his eye to look at the camera, mumbling, “You really won’t even look at me, while I haven’t twisted the controller apart yet.”

Scott Harris raised an eyebrow. “No.”

With that, he pressed the power button on the console.

“Perimeter surveillance system shutting down, entering power-saving mode.” As the mechanical electronic voice finished, all the screens on the wall went black at once, the images vanishing.

“Shut down?! You just—” Mason twitched at the corner of his mouth, pointing at the screens. “You’re just going to leave him there like that?”

Scott Harris casually picked up the communicator from the console, tossing it into the pocket of his slacks as he said, “I’m just saving electricity.”

Mason: “…If I have to choose between supplying power and losing my life, I’ll pick supplying power.”

“Unfortunately, the house is mine.”

As Scott Harris spoke, he walked over to the cabinet by the wall, skillfully opening the two compartments at the lower right.

Mason was still a bit timid. He quietly touched his ankle and said, “Honestly, my legs feel a little weak. Are you really just going to ignore him? Someone who could blow up a planet just because you don’t reply to his messages—are you sure it’s okay to leave him hanging like this? I feel like we’re asking for trouble…”

Scott Harris seemed not to hear, rummaging in the cabinet for a while, pulling out some things and placing them on the cryo capsule beside him.

Mason was embarrassed to show too much curiosity about the cabinets in front of the owner, so he only glanced over a few times, trying to look casual—

What Scott Harris took out was a box of noise-canceling earplugs and a pair of gloves.

He put on the gloves and lifted a metal box from the corner. Judging by its size, it must have been quite heavy, but in his hand it seemed almost light.

“What’s that?” Mason blinked.

“An old, mostly useless—” Scott Harris ran his thumb along the edge of the lock, and with a click, the box opened automatically, revealing a row of silver tools inside. “Toolbox.”

“…” Mason sighed. “You’ve got a toolbox that looks like a high-precision instrument case. It’s nothing like the one I usually use.”

Scott Harris paused, glancing at him. “The one you usually use?”

Mason gave an “oh,” scratching his head. “That pile of junk from earlier—I didn’t get a chance to say, I’m an aircraft maintenance technician.”

Scott Harris nodded in understanding, decisively turning the box and pushing it in front of Mason. “That’s perfect, then.”

Mason was completely confused. “What do you want to do?”

Scott Harris jerked his chin at the cryo capsule beside him. “Take apart the base.”

“???”

Ever since meeting Scott Harris, Mason felt like he was confused more and more often.

“Why take apart the base? What did it do wrong?” Mason asked.

Scott Harris bit the tip of one glove to pull it off, then took off the other, explaining offhandedly, “Every capsule base has an air exchanger embedded in it. Three of them—just enough.”

Mason glanced at him. For a moment, he felt like Scott Harris’s movements looked familiar, but before he could think about it, Scott Harris’s idea distracted him.

“I’ve only ever taken apart aircraft, never touched one of these. If you know how, you’d better—”

He hadn’t finished when Scott Harris interrupted, “I don’t.”

Mason: “Then why’d you bring out the toolbox?”

“Just giving it a try. Maybe I’ll manage to take it apart.” Scott Harris answered calmly.

Mason: “…” He finally understood—the guy in front of him was a master at talking nonsense, and looked especially intimidating while doing it.

Luckily, after being frozen for 47 years and drifting for another 3, his skills hadn’t completely rusted. Although the cryo capsule was generally run by an intelligent system, there was still a manual maintenance port tucked away in the corner.

The whole disassembly went quickly. Mason figured out the trick after a few minutes, and soon had the base of the capsule taken apart into seven or eight pieces. The little Mason, who hadn’t made a sound from the start, sat quietly to the side, skillfully handing him tools and occasionally glancing at Scott Harris with big, dark eyes.

Scott Harris seemed perfectly at ease leaving the capsule to Mason to tinker with. He didn’t watch Mason, but instead pulled a black cylindrical bag from another cabinet he’d opened.

“All done,” Mason suddenly announced, opening his palm to reveal three black boxes the size of pebbles, each with a thin tube attached.

“Thanks for your work.” Scott Harris picked one up, very naturally hooking the tiny exchanger behind his ear. The curved tube fit snugly over his ear, extending along the side of his face.

Once powered, the exchanger gave off a faint buzzing at his ear, working tirelessly by his cheek.

Mason looked up at him, watching as he picked up the heavy-looking cylindrical bag and then took a pair of noise-canceling earplugs from the box set aside.

“What are you going to do?” Mason asked, bewildered.

Scott Harris, already heading for the door, replied without looking back, “Go calm down that terrorist.”

Mason: “…So what’s that you’re carrying? A care package?”