The city had always been a battleground, a place where dreams were crushed beneath the weight of ambition, where the desperate fought tooth and nail for a glimpse of power. It was a place where the rich got richer and the poor scrambled to get a taste of wealth. But for Robert James, the real fight had always been racing against the clock.
He wasn't a patient man, but science has taught him patience by slowly grinding his temper until it was smooth enough to withstand the bumps of life. However, even then, he found himself at a loss when it seemed like all he had worked for was about to fall apart.
He had a clear goal in mind and he knew that with the limited resources available to him, and his background, he had to put in more work than all his peers if he wanted to achieve even a tenth of what they had. However, he underestimated just what it would take from him. Whenever he was home, he felt the loss keenly, but he had come too far to just back away now. He kept telling himself that he would fix things once he had the time, but he couldn't help but wonder just how far he could push until things grew beyond fixing.
Years of sleepless nights and relentless experiments had led to this moment, yet none of his successes felt like triumph. The world applauded his accomplishments, but what did it matter when his family was slipping through his fingers? Every breakthrough in his lab was a step further from them, and every victory felt hollow, a temporary reprieve from the constant pressure.
He was on the verge of something monumental. His latest project was his greatest; an advancement so profound it would change the course of human history. But Robert couldn't shake the feeling that, in his pursuit of greatness, he was about to lose everything he held dear.
Then there was Derrick. Slick-talking, smooth, dangerous Derrick. Every time he saw Derrick, Robert knew that despite what he said, he did not deserve his family. If he did, he would never have let that man back into his life. He should have known better, no, he did know better. However, sometimes people close their eyes to what they know so they can get what they want.
The man had appeared out of nowhere, a reminder of Robert's past, one he'd tried to bury in the ashes of old wounds. Derrick was a wolf among sheep, only showing his soft side to his family. Derrick was the kind of person who thrived in the shadows, a master of manipulation who understood how to twist people's weaknesses into leverage. It was no surprise that he was involved in something sinister. But when he dropped the offer on Robert's doorstep, it was a proposition he couldn't ignore: money to fund his research, the kind of money that could push him further than he'd ever dreamed. Robert found himself at a crossroads.
Robert hesitated, and kept hesitating until he could hesitate no more. He made a choice, and he knew he would regret it but he made it anyway, and left thinking about the consequences
But it came at a cost. Robert knew too well that deals with men like Derrick were never clean, and were never simple. The strings attached would pull him into a world of crime, corruption, and darkness, things he swore he'd left behind when he escaped the streets.
And yet, here he was. Standing on the edge, ready to gamble everything for the promise of success, trapped between his ambition and the life he built for his family.
What would it cost him to succeed?
As Robert stared at the gleaming trophy in his hands, the recognition for his years of sacrifice, it brought him back to the night that started it all.
A year after he earned that trophy, as he looked at his distorted appearance on the trophy's golden surface, he couldn't help but wonder if it was all worth it. His family had supported him through it all, but at what point would they turn away, tired of the man he had become? And when the truth finally surfaced, when his son Gabriel found out what he had become, would it destroy everything?
The answers to his questions and the consequences of his actions were out there. And they were coming fast.
It started long ago, but events were put back in motion on an ordinary night. The only thing extraordinary about it was that instead of being at home or in the laboratory as usual, Robert was at am event, sitting on the edge of his seat.
The chandeliers sparkled like fireflies caught in small jars overhead, casting a warm, golden hue over the grand atrium of the Garnett Convention Center. Polished white marble floors echoed with the soft shuffle of tailored shoes, and the tapping of heels. Every table in the hall oozed elegance and wealth: silver cutlery, folded ivory napkins in the shape of swans, and centerpieces of blue orchids blooming above candlelit glass.
"This is a nice change from the lab, don't you think?" He heard someone say to another attendee. He wasn't the only one who had broken his usual routine for the night.
Dr. Robert James adjusted his tie for the third time in five minutes. His wife, Nicole held his hand, stopping him from ruining it.
"You've fixed that thing almost ten times now, by the time you're done, it'll be around your head, not your neck," she joked.
He sat at Table Nine, a circular table that was for special guests. And that night, he was a special guest. He sat there, surrounded by other nominees and esteemed guests, scientists, industry partners, university officials, and although he couldn't speak to the man, the governor was seated there too. This was, in essence, the important table. Some were mid-conversation, laughing lightly over the meal, but Robert wasn't talking. He was watching the stage. Not staring, because that would be too obvious, but glancing, over and over again, as if he could will the moment closer by sheer force of focus.
His name was in that envelope. He believed that with a conviction so fragile, it quivered every time someone at the table mentioned the award. He needed to believe it. The Showalter Prize for Research Excellence, or as it was called more simply; the Scientist of the Year award. It was one of the highest honors in the city's scientific community, and this year, Robert was one of three finalists.
His research, ten years of it, had culminated in a breakthrough: a new kind of polymer that was based on animals with fast healing times. It was supposed to act like an artificial skin, blending with the bodies of burn victims and essentially connecting with their nervous system enough to replace their skin altogether. With it, they would be able to heal completely, with no scars or trace of the former injuries. As an added bonus, it could be absorbed by the skin over time, meaning that after several years, once it had done its job, there would be no trace of it in the body again. It was science, but it was nothing short of a miracle. However, it was still theoretical. Robert knew he needed more time, and more funding to make it practical. He also knew that once he did, the possibilities would be endless.
It would be real. He just needed someone to believe in it and fund him. The first step to that, he believed, was winning that award.
And yet, as the evening pressed on, the weight of that hope sat heavy in his chest. He imagined what he would have to do without the award and the monetary grant that came with it. His stomach fluttered with each course served, with every shift of lighting, every tap of the microphone.
The governor was here, Governor Langley, standing in his expensive dark tailored suit, delivering a speech about the necessity of innovation and the city's commitment to funding bold, future-shaping research. Cameras flashed. Somewhere behind Robert, a CEO of a pharmaceutical company murmured something about potential partnerships to another scientist.
Robert resisted the urge to roll his eyes, the governor did not support their labs, he only remembered the sciences when it was time to act like he cared about funding anything other than the city's police force. Their city's police force was one of the most well-funded in the country, but in his lab, he had two scientists sharing one microscope. It just seemed to him that money was going everywhere but where it was actually needed.
Robert looked around, feeling uncomfortable in his suit. Every detail of this function seemed to ooze money. The decadence all around him sickened him, but he had to stay. The hall itself was decorated in white and gold, with shades of light blue popping up in a few places. The servers were very attentive, the moment his glass began to run low, it was refilled with champagne. A small orchestra played softly near the bar, with every single instrument player wearing a tux.
But to Robert, everything was distant. Blurred. As if he were looking through a lens that focused only on the envelope waiting onstage.
At one point, someone touched his arm. Dr. Eileen Tran, seated beside him, leaned in with a smile.
"Nervous?" She asked. Dr Eileen was also one of the nominees, nominated for her work on prosthetics. Robert got along with her the best among the current crop of nominees because their work was similar.
Robert laughed, but it came out dry. "Like a grad student defending his thesis."
She raised her glass. "Oh my, you must be really nervous if you're remembering your grad student days."
Robert laughed at her quip, and so did she.
"All jokes aside, you deserve to win. Your work is truly incredible," she finally said once the mirth had died down.
"So is yours," He nodded politely as he responded. He was grateful, but didn't say what he was thinking: Deserve had nothing to do with it. Deserve was subjective. Committees were unpredictable and sometimes they were just glorified popularity contests. Awards sometimes went to flashier research, to newer names, to safer choices. Or sometimes, just sometimes, to the right person at the right moment. Robert knew he would be the right person, and he prayed this would be the right time.
He wanted this. Desperately.
Not for the fame. Not even for the money, though that would help sustain his lab, which was already on the edge, for some months. He wanted it because it would mean the world had taken notice. That after all the sleepless nights, the funding battles, the failed prototypes and the heartbreaking patient setbacks, someone had seen what he had built and said: Yes. This matters. It would make all he had sacrificed worth it.
A bell chimed gently, signaling the final segment of the evening. The awards.
Robert felt his pulse jump as his heartbeat began to quicken.
The presenter, a polished man in a navy suit and perfect posture, walked onto the stage, smiling as he adjusted the microphone. His name was Dr David Summers, a scientist who Robert disliked due to the fact that he had dedicated his life to making weapons of war.
"It's not really science if you're just thinking up inventive ways to kill people," he often said to his family whenever DrSummers was in the news, which was often. Dr Summers' expertise in creating weapons had endeared him to the department of defense who poured money into his lab every year. Robert knew that meant Summers never had to face a lab with dwindling funding. He felt his anger rise at the thought and he tore open a bread roll with more force than necessary, causing his fork to hit the side of his plate with a loud clattering noise. Lucky for him, there was enough noise from the seated crowd that his little outburst went unnoticed by everyone but Nicole, who held his hand to calm him.
Despite Robert's feelings on the matter, Summers got a loud ovation from the audience as he began speaking.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "thank you for joining us for this remarkable evening celebrating progress, passion, and the power of scientific inquiry. In the years that have passed, we've honored some truly exceptional achievements. And this year, I am sure we will do the same, if anyone has been following, I'm sure they know that the competition is stiff."
The lights dimmed slightly. Conversation died down.
Robert sat up straighter. His palms were slick with sweat. He felt a rush of anxiety, which was making his hands tremble. He kept them under the table, pressing them to his knees. His throat was dry, but he didn't touch his water or champagne.
"The Arken Prize for Research Excellence," the emcee said, "is awarded annually to a researcher whose work demonstrates profound potential to reshape lives and transform understanding in their field."
A small velvet box was brought to the podium by a staff member. Then came the envelope.
Robert's chest tightened.
"This year, the selection committee faced a difficult task. We had many impressive submissions, but three stood out."
A screen behind the emcee came to life, displaying portraits.
"Dr. Renata Chen, for her pioneering gene-editing therapy with direct application in rare childhood diseases. Professor Ulrich Reinhardt, for his AI-based climate prediction system helping vulnerable nations prepare for environmental change. And Dr. Robert James, for his innovations in bio-tech, bridging the boundary between biology and machine."
The room burst into polite applause. Robert heard the clapping as if through water. He saw his face on the screen, his lab coat and the soft glow of his research lab behind him. He looked calm in the photo.
He was anything but calm now.
The emcee held up the envelope. "And the winner of the 2025 Scientist of the Year"
Robert held his breath.
His heart hammered against his ribs. Time seemed to slow. The emcee's fingers slid under the envelope flap. Paper crinkled. Somewhere in the hall, a fork clattered onto a plate.
In that single breathless second, Robert thought of his team. Of his lead engineer, who had given up weekends for this project. Of his lab assistants, grad students who had trusted him with their hope. He thought of the night he stayed up rewiring sensors for a trial the next morning, the quiet hum of equipment keeping him awake as the city slept. He thought of his family, who did not understand him but supported him anyway. He also thought of his mother, long passed, who once told him, Real work doesn't need applause, but you're not a bad person for wanting it.
With one agonizing slow motion of Summers' hand, the flap of the envelope lifted.
The card began to slide out.
Robert's hands felt like ice. His entire body leaned forward, just slightly, as if anything other than the answer he hoped for might break him.
And then the room went dead silent.
"And the prize for Scientist of the Year 2025 goes to..."
Every nominee froze. The anticipation was suffocating; their hearts were pounding like they had been in an hour long marathon as time seemed to stretch endlessly. And then…
"Robert James!"
For a second, Robert couldn't move. Time moved on but he remained frozen in that moment, the moment his name was mentioned kept replaying over and over in his mind. The room erupted into applause, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat. His vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. He turned to Nicole and their two kids, his voice cracking as he whispered, "I can't believe it... I really did it."
Nicole grinned and hugged him tight. "Damn right, you did. Now go. This is your moment."
Robert nodded, still in shock as he made his way to the stage. Memories of endless nights, setbacks, and sacrifices flooded his mind. Every doubt he'd ever had felt distant now. As he reached the stage, he felt like he was walking on clouds. This dreamlike state remained even as Summers pinned on him the lapel pin that symbolized his win and placed his trophy in his hands.
Once Robert held the trophy in his hands, reality hit him all at once. He had won. He held the trophy so tight that the corners dug into his hands, but he did not care. With his other hand he grabbed the microphone, taking a moment to steady his breathing.
"Wow... Scientist of the Year," he said, shaking his head like he still couldn't believe it. "This is... surreal."
The crowd gave a supportive cheer, but Robert wasn't there to ramble. He composed himself and continued.
"I have to start by thanking my wife and my two amazing kids. They have put up with me through... well, way too many nights of me obsessing over work. Too many times of me saying one more experiment, just give me another hour when I should have been with them. I know I wasn't always there, and honestly... without them, I would probably be something of a mad scientist who never leaves his lab. I would have probably gotten here an hour late wearing a dusty lab coat and even dustier shoes."
Laughter rippled through the crowd, but Robert's voice softened.
"Seriously, you're the reason I push forward, the reason I never gave up. And this right here? This award? It's the icing on the cake, but the truth is, my family has always been my reason why." He focused on his wife and son's faces as he spoke. His wife, Nicole looked happy while his sons were the picture of teenage nonchalance, Gabriel was tapping away at his phone while his younger son was more focused on his food than his surroundings.
He paused, scanning the faces in the room. They were his peers, his mentors, and his rivals. He saw himself reflected in them. He barely glanced at the financiers who were there to see what they could make money off.
"To all my fellow scientists, this award isn't just for me. There are so many of you here who could've been standing or have already stood in my place before. But I will say what every other scientist who has been up here before has said; don't stop. Don't get discouraged. Your moment is coming. I'm living proof that all the sleepless nights and sacrifices eventually pay off. You can only be denied for so long."
A chorus of cheers and applause followed. Robert let out a small laugh and grinned, a triumphant feeling came over him as he stood there.
"Alright, that's all I've got. I didn't mean to get all motivational. Thank you, everyone!"
He raised the trophy high, basking in the moment as the crowd roared. He never wanted the moment to end.