Breachers

Breachers – Path of Steel

32

I

Self-Love

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Day 33

The next day, Marcus found himself back in the small home improvement store, surrounded by the familiar scent of fresh-cut wood, the subtle whiff of paint, and oil. His gaze was fixed on the garbage bag he had placed on the counter, filled with parts, with some of them spilling out on the worn-out counter. “Like I said, it’s for an art project. I want a copy of these, but mirrored. If that makes sense,” he explained to the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper gave an exaggerated eye roll. “Mirrored, huh?” He jotted down the next set of measurements, snapping a quick picture of the requested part before picking up the next one. “You do realize custom orders don’t come cheap, right? And they can take days or even weeks to make or get delivered.”

“Weeks?” Marcus’s face went a shade lighter. “Isn’t there, like, a faster way to get these parts?”

“You could,” the man finished snapping another picture, then fished the next item from Marcus’s garbage bag. He examined the small electrical motor, twisting it between his fingers. “Just hit up your local antique shop. Find an old lamp, polish it up real good and see if a genie will pop out,” he said with a satisfied grin, snagging the next item from Marcus’s trash.

"Real funny," Marcus muttered, his hand ruffling through his hair.

“Oh, it is,” the man said, gesturing to the items he’d already checked. “Most of these are plain ol’ steel. I could whip them up in my garage or order them for you in a day or so if the credits are good. But those,” he pointed at the motors and hydraulic pistons still in the garbage bag, “those will take a while. These electric motors seem like specialized high-torque models. Without the specifications, finding replacements is a challenge, if they even exist. After all, you said you couldn’t recall where you found them in the first place. Concerning the hydraulic pistons, the critical factor is understanding their PSI rating to guarantee they can manage the intended load, not to mention factoring in numerous other considerations. Without that info, it’s like shooting in the dark, drunk, with your dog peeing on your leg and your wife screaming in your ears. So, yeah. Better find that lamp.”

Marcus paused, his fingers rubbing tired eyes while a restless feeling made him pace the floor as if his plan began to unravel. “What if we switch them out for other parts? Something that is roughly similar and will do the same thing?” he suggested, grasping only the basics of the man’s explanation.

“I’d have to know what performance you’re gunning for, how exact these measurements need to be, your hydraulic system specs, and the power supply situation. I mean, you haven’t even shown me the wiring and cabling, not to mention the overall weight of it all,” the man pointed out, dropping the part on the counter and letting it roll over to Marcus.

“Listen, don’t worry about the wires, cables, and all that boring stuff,” Marcus said, peering at the man’s name tag. “Pete? I’m just focused on the important bits for now. You know, the steel, motors, and pistons,” Marcus grinned, sliding the motor toward Pete, his smile a mix of confidence and reassurance.

“For your art project?” the man asked, with Marcus nodding in response. "Well, it ain't gonna move without the other parts, that's a fact," the man said, scooping up a bunch of pieces and creating a heap before starting to shift the pieces around.

“I know it’s a different type of request than you usually might get—” Marcus started, then froze as he observed the shopkeeper arranging the parts on the table, gradually reconstructing Specter’s steel hand that he had taken apart just hours ago.

“Listen, kid, I don’t care what you’re building for your ‘art project.’ I’m too old to care, and you’re not all that interesting. But don’t treat me like I’m some clueless twit, alright?” the man said, staring at Marcus, who slowly nodded. The shopkeeper then placed the remaining parts on the table, trying to figure out what he was dealing with. “I think I’ve got a few pistons similar enough to this one in the back. And I’ll see what I can do about those motors. The end result will probably be different from what you had in mind, but it might come close to it. Alright?”

“Thanks,” Marcus said as he watched the man nod before continuing to make notes and take pictures of each of the parts. Marcus then moved away from the counter, snagged a basket, and wandered through the aisles. He gathered a small gas stove, a compact sleeping bag, a first aid kit, and several emergency flares. Heading back to the man, he plunked them down, prompting another raised eyebrow and a headshake. “I’d like these as well.”

"I know. I've got eyes, kid," Pete replied, his scribbling uninterrupted.

“But apparently allergic to chit-chat,” Marcus countered, sneaking a peek at the man’s notes before stepping away as their eyes met. He lingered awkwardly for a few moments until the old man finally put a stop to the note-taking and picture-snapping. Pete scooped up the pieces, stuffing them haphazardly into the garbage bag before he handed it over to Marcus.

“Half the credits before I even lay a finger on the steel, and the rest when you swing by in two days. And no moaning afterwards if it won’t fit or doesn’t work like a charm, got it?” the man stated, noting Marcus’s nod in response. Pete then spat in his hand and presented it for a shake. Marcus hesitated for a moment before copying the gesture, spitting in his own hand and shaking the man’s grubby hand, disregarding the way it made him feel. “Alright. Anything else?”

Marcus took a moment, then broke into a sudden smile. "Got any really thick plates of metal?" he asked. The shopkeeper shook nodded his head and pointed to the aisle on his right.

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Day 35

Yawning, Marcus could hardly shake off the exhaustion as he stood in his livingroom. He’d spent the last two days working non-stop with Felix, and it had taken a toll. The grind was relentless, but he had no choice. His credits were running low, and the cost of the ordered items had far exceeded his initial estimates. Despite the time, he was still tinkering with Specter's new right arm, carefully attaching the last few pieces. "I need the welder," Marcus requested, holding out his hand, but didn't feel something being shoved into his palm. "Hello?"

"I'm still using it," Specter replied. "Just be patient."

Turning around, Marcus saw the robot welding several thick steel plates together one-handed, nearly finishing the task, complete with a newly added handle. After a brief wait, the robot stood up, examining the shield before giving it a single nod, as if declaring it a flawless piece of art. “Happy with it, or are we going to recite some poetry to it first?” Marcus asked sarcastically. Ignoring the comment, Specter moved toward Marcus, giving his shoulder a brief touch to form an mental connection and grasp what Marcus wanted it to do. In sync, they finished the final touches on the robotic arm, with Marcus welding a few bits before tightening the last bolts. “Well, here goes nothing,” Marcus uttered, slowly installing the piece onto what remained of Specter’s right arm, which they had cleaned up and partly dismantled beforehand. Marcus connected the pieces, securing more bolts. A muttered curse hung in the air as the bolt slipped from his grasp, a minute ticking by as he frantically searched before finding it and finally securing the last piece.

He looked at the finished product, observing Specter’s new right arm. It wasn’t an exact copy of the original, and the shopkeeper had mentioned performance differences due to the different pistons and motors. Still, something was better than nothing. Specter wiggled the unresponsive arm with its shoulder, examining the new arm lacking plastic plating. “How long do you think it will take before I can move it?”

“Hell if I know,” Marcus answered as he dropped the rest of his tools and made his way over to the kitchen. “Longer than replacing a bit of plastic plating, that’s for sure,” he added, opening the fridge to snatch a carton of milk and a pre-made sandwich. “How long do you have left, battery wise?”

“About twenty minutes,” Specter remarked, joining Marcus. He observed the young man hop and sit on the counter, taking a few bites from his sandwich. “Seems like your guesswork yesterday was right. The single point in Vigor increased my operating time from 144 minutes to 264 minutes, give or take.”

“First off, it wasn’t a guess. I calculated it. Like a grown man,” Marcus stated, remembering how he had triple-checked it with a calculator. ‘The single point of Vigor increased my total Mana amount from 12 to 22,’ he thought, focusing on his own Mana, feeling it slowly trickle back. Before, it would have taken him nearly two hours to recover even a single point of Mana, or 12 points after a whole day. Now, he was regaining one almost every hour. “But the time increase should do wonders for you in the field. Nearly four and a half hours is a lot.” The robot simply nodded, encouraging Marcus to continue. “So, are you happy with your new shield?” Marcus inquired, eyeing the weighty object and pondering if he himself could use it without getting worn out in mere minutes.

“A bit. I guess it’s nearly done. I’m thinking of adding spikes on the outside, turning it into a shield and weapon combo,” Specter replied as Marcus finished his sandwich and took a swig from the milk carton, prompting Specter to comment, “We do have glasses, you know.”

“Yes, Mom,” Marcus quipped, tossing the empty carton into the sink. He hopped off the counter, approached Specter, and inspected his companion’s new arm. The blue veins that had previously cut off around the shoulder but were now gradually spreading through the upper arm. “It looks like it is working, but it’s slow. How about logging off for the night? And take that shield with you.” The robot poked at the strange blue veins on its right arm, lost in thought until Marcus reminded it about running out of power. Clutching the shield with its left hand, Specter moved slowly towards the bedroom, disappearing into its closet and securing the door.

Marcus glanced at the backpack near his workstation where he’d been tinkering with the robot’s right arm. He knew what was inside the backpack and his plan for each item. With a sigh, he shut off the lights in the living room, then proceeded to enter the bathroom for a quick pit stop and brush his teeth. Marcus then dragged himself to bed afterwards, aware that he had another shift with Felix in the morning. He collapsed onto the bed, headfirst, the weight of exhaustion settling in his bones. “God, this feels good,” he mumbled as his body sank into the comforting embrace of his bed. “I needed this.”

“Dude at least wait until my battery runs out before you start—”

“Go to sleep, Specter!” Marcus cut in, flinging a pillow towards the closet to quiet the robot. “Seriously, dude! What the hell?” Silence then draped over the room, interrupted only by distant car sounds and the rhythm of Marcus's heartbeat. He turned on his back, gazing at the ceiling, his right hand raised. The black marks on his skin and knuckles served as a permanent reminder of his past, proof of what he had become and what he had lost because of it. ‘Just a little more. I’ll get strong enough to never lose anyone else. To protect those that are left,’ he mused, forming a fist and a faint grin.

“Night, Marcus,” Specter chimed in softly, a hint of amusement in the chuckle that followed. “Love you.”

Shaking his head, Marcus sighed in response, fully aware how absurd his life had gotten these last few weeks. “Love you too, buddy.”

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Copyright: OsiriumWrites