Breachers

Breachers – Path of Steel

22

I

A Promise in the Night

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Back in his hospital room, Marcus sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze lowering to his toes as he massaged his aching legs. He did his best to ignore the way his sweat stained t-shirt and sweatpants were clinging to his frame. He had been torturing his legs for the last hour with leg exercises, or rather what resembled them. He wiggled his toes, briefly flexing them as he exhaled slowly. "I'll be fine," he whispered, his voice more a self-assurance than a truth. Marcus didn’t care if he was uttering a lie or not. In that moment, he just wanted to hear them said out loud. “I’ll be back in time. Everything will be fine.” He still felt like himself, even now, but there just was a lot less of him.

Turning his attention to the window in front of him, he observed the dark night sky outside, dotted with the city’s lights. His own reflection caught his eye as well, revealing his slender frame and unkempt long hair. “I really do need a haircut,” Marcus said to himself. He knew had been stalling, conjuring up numerous excuses to avoid it. However, deep down, he hesitated because he didn’t want to further expose the black marks on his face—the telltale signs of what he had survived thirteen years ago.

“At least I’ve put on a bit of weight again,” he muttered, giving his stomach a few pats. He closed his eyes, reminiscing about how gaunt he had looked just two weeks ago compared to his once-athletic frame. “Quit stalling, Marcus. There’s work to be done,” he scolded himself. Raising his legs, he held the position for a moment before lowering them. He repeated the exercise several times, feeling the burn in his legs and the quiver of exhaustion. Finally, unable to muster another repetition, he slumped onto his bed backwards, his head sticking out over the edge upside-down. His gaze shifted towards the clock on the wall as he noted that ninety minutes had already passed since the other Marcus had left. “I’ll be fine.”

A sensation brewed within him, a slow and subtle buildup that signaled the regeneration of his Mana. Marcus was well aware of how sluggish the process was. After his younger brother had ‘cracked’ the code for him in mere seconds—while making Marcus feel as sharp as a marble in the process—he now knew that he had approximately 11 points of Mana. ‘It usually takes a day or so until it’s fully recovered,’ he thought as he recalled how he had poured every bit of Mana he had into the other Marcus before they left. ‘Ninety minutes later, and I doubt I’ve even recovered a single point of Mana,’ he mused, trying to estimate his reserves. He knew he could potentially use math to calculate the exact amount he’d recover per hour, or per minute. A part of him wondered if he could split off a part of his mind to automate it, like he could with the clock in his HUD. But the mere thought of figuring it out made his head hurt, so he paused the idea for now.

With a gentle creak, the door to his room swung open, revealing a nurse from the night shift. Marcus regarded the woman from his inverted vantage point. “Hello, Mr. Smit. I take it you’re having trouble falling asleep?”

Marcus forced a weary upside-down smile, brushing off the frustration caused by the sluggishness of his thoughts. It was moments like this when it became most noticeable that his mind had lessened so much. “What tipped you off?” he asked, his words slightly slurred.

“Pure female intuition,” the nurse remarked with a smile, then approached Marcus, helping him readjust into a comfortable position on his bed. She inquired about his well-being, whether he had taken his prescribed medication, or if he needed fresh clothes for the night. Marcus did his best to cooperate, but declined the medication and fresh clothes. His response seemed to spark something in the nurse, prompting her to excuse herself for a minute before returning, bearing a steaming mug of warm milk. “There, this should be a decent substitute.”

“Thanks for this,” Marcus replied, his fingers curling around the mug’s warmth as he drew it close to his chest for added support. Their conversation continued for a short while, but then the nurse mentioned that she needed to get back to work, afterwards leaving him alone in his room. Marcus took slow sips of the warm milk while his attention gradually returned to the clock on his wall, along with his mounting concerns. It didn’t take long until he began counting each passing minute and second. ‘Only a few more minutes left... Dammit! Hurry up.’

A sudden sensation washed over him, causing him to nearly drop his mug. It felt like something poured out of his body, like pulling the stop out of a drain. ‘My Mana!’ Marcus thought before he let out a slow exhale, the tension in his body dissipating with each breath. Setting the mug aside, he leaned back on his bed, his hands moving to massage his temples as he allowed himself to unwind. “Shit! Those were a horrible two hours,” he muttered, plagued by sudden sporadic flashes of memories, thoughts, and images. They were mere fragments of what he experienced when he was within a five-meter radius of his other self, but they were clear signs that his other self was still alive. The chaos of it all brought back memories of the night when he had vomited uncontrollably after being properly reunited with his other self and his traumatic memories.

Memories flickered through his mind like an erratic film reel that had minutes’ worth of gaps. He witnessed a split second of himself climbing the stairs, recall hearing his metal feet muffled by plastic shoe protectors, then a glimpse of him peering down the hallway, observing a nurse doing her rounds. Moments later, the door to Marcus’s room swung open, and the battered robot Marcus slipped into the room, extinguishing the lights. “Trying to set the mood and make it all romantic?” Marcus quirked a grin. He didn’t need the lights to know that his other self was giving him the middle finger. The robot inched closer, crossing the five-meter mark as their memories and sensory information flowed more evenly, synchronizing to a certain degree.

“Are you alright?” Marcus inquired, eyeing his robot’s disheveled appearance, the dirt and dried blood on his frame, and a large puncture hole now emanating a soft blue glow because of the exposed Orb inside. He observed as the steel Marcus came to a halt beside his bed before gently resting its steel hand on his shoulder. The instant they made contact, it flooded Marcus’s mind with vivid memories of monsters fought, the relentless struggle for survival, losing his pistol in the chaos and the arduous journey back home. His gaze refocused, and he became acutely aware of the seven pieces of Monster-Glass nestled inside his well-worn backpack, securely fastened to his metal hip. A grin crept across his face, and he clutched the bed’s edges. “Seven pieces down... Just thirteen more, and I’ll be able to find out if what happened two weeks ago was sheer luck or not. Piece of cake,” He muttered, fully aware that the gaping hole in the Robot’s appearance said otherwise.

Marcus sifted through his memories of the other Marcus, recalling how he’d scaled the wall on his way back, as well as the mad dash back to the hospital. “I only had nine minutes left. Dumping that point into Mental Stat was the right choice. Those extra 12 minutes made all the difference today,” he thought out loud while his mind focused on the image of two glasses of water again. He focused on it for a while as he transferred more of his consciousness back into his own body, leaving the robot with a mere quarter of his mind. “That should do for now,” he murmured as he felt the robot’s hand leave his shoulder, severing the connection. Afterwards he watched his other self nod in response before it inched toward the door, slowly pushing it open to peer outside. In a matter of moments, it departed from Marcus’s room while he continued to receive sporadic, fragmented impressions of what the robot saw and heard before the connection ultimately faded.

“I had nine minutes left to spare... a massive hole in the chassis... all to gain six Glass pieces,” Marcus mused as he reflected on his actions that night. “I was fixated on the Glass and didn’t think things through properly and took way too many risks. If I keep this up, the robot won’t last another night… two at most. And then what? I lose my chance at getting stronger and possibly lose a chunk of my mind, permanently.” He examined his right hand, the black marks etched into his skin serving as a grim reminder of all the hardships he had endured to reach this point. “I’ve always been like this... impatient... reckless... violent. I need a new plan... I need to change,” he acknowledged, recalling how his father had tried to temper his anger and correct his many flaws. The memory of him and his father in the car, minutes after leaving the police station, rushed back, tugging at his heart. “Just watch me, old man. I’ll show you what I’m born to do.”

He closed his hand into a tight fist, feeling the tension in his muscles and tendons, the dark marks on his skin creating a stark contrast. “Mom, dad... I promise,” Marcus whispered, a fragile, wistful smile gracing his lips as memories of his parents flooded his mind.

“Today is where it all begins.”

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Copyright: OsiriumWrites