CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Tipping Point

  Marcus woke up a while later, his body aching like he’d been hit by a truck. His head throbbed, each pulse sending sharp pain through his skull, and his nose felt crusty, as though it had dried out completely. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, and noticed his head now rested on a towel stained red with his blood. He pushed himself away from the desk, groaning, and adjusted himself in the chair, ignoring the dried streaks of blood smeared across his father’s desk.

  Specter sat beside him, a small plastic drone in its metal hands. It toyed with the four propellers, one steel finger flicking them like tiny spinning tops.

  “What did I miss?” Marcus asked, his voice rough as he rubbed at his aching temples.

  “Hey, sleepyhead. Not a whole lot,” Specter replied, flicking one of the blades again before setting the drone on the table. “Uncle Laurens called. Gave us an update on Felix’s case. How are you feeling?”

  “Shit,” Marcus muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “My head hurts like I’m hungover.”

  Without a word, Specter grabbed a bottle of water from a small stack on the floor and handed it over. Marcus took it, twisting off the cap with a shaky hand. He downed several long gulps, the cool water easing the dryness in his mouth. “Thanks,” he said, setting the bottle back on the desk. “Wait, you talked to him?”

  Specter nodded, its frame leaning casually against the nearby wall, as though it was enjoying itself. “What about it?” it asked, but this time its voice mimicked Marcus’s own tone perfectly. “Facetiming wasn’t an option, obviously, but I figured I could pull off pretending to be you during a simple phone call. After all—” It leaned forward, its voice shifting back to that deeper, gravelly tone that sounded like their father. “—I am you”

  Marcus just let out a painful sigh, sinking deeper into the chair. “Just tell me what happened.”

  Specter shrugged its metal and plastic shoulders in a smooth, fluid motion. Then it tapped a finger on Marcus’s phone, which sat on the desk next to the drone. “Not much to tell. He asked how Felix was doing now, and if you read his text earlier. Made some small talk about your siblings and asked when you were going to spruce up your apartment. He even talked about the tattoos on your arm, and when you were going to tell him about their meaning.”

  It leaned forward again, flicking the rotor of the drone Marcus recovered from the girl in the dead zone. “His tone was pleasant, but he sounded off. Like—”

  “He’s suspicious,” Marcus interjected, rubbing a hand through his short black hair, his fingers grazing the black Marks etched into the right side of his face.

  “Yeah, he was,” Specter said.

  Marcus pushed himself out of the chair, wobbling as he steadied himself. “Why did you have to break their right arms?” he asked, his tone carrying a mix of frustration and fatigue. “I mean, all of them?”

  “They deserved it,” Specter replied, its tone flat and unbothered.

  “Of course they did,” Marcus muttered, not in the mood to argue with his robot self. “But you could’ve gone for the occasional broken foot or a knee, or at least switched to the left arm. Felix broke his right arm, and now all of them suddenly have broken rights as well? Any cop worth his salt would see the pattern.”

  “You were the one who texted me," Specter countered, tapping the phone again with its steel finger. “Get even… remember?”

  “Yeah,” Marcus muttered, not liking where this was going. “I’m just annoyed, sorry. I mean, Pepper-spray-girl is probably figuring out something’s off about this dead zone and me. Uncle Laurens is suspicious of us. Old man Pete’s likely realized we’re using machines to clear Spheres. And Julien’s no doubt noticed we’re abnormal for a Bracher in every way. It’s all falling apart a bit.”

  Specter stayed silent for a moment, its glowing lenses fixed on Marcus, as if weighing its next words. “We’re at the tipping point now. It was going to happen eventually,” it said carefully. “You… we… made a decision to speed up our growth, to protect our family and save our sister from financial bondage. That growth also meant more risks, more exposure. We were bound to be discovered at one point. The only thing we can do now is to expedite that growth and be strong enough to endure whatever shitstorm will come when we’re exposed for who and what we really are.”

  The young man nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. “We can try some damage control in the meantime,” Specter added.

  “Like what?” Marcus asked, shifting his gaze towards the robot.

  “You deal with our uncle for now. Be present, hang out, convince him you’re not doing anything bad. I think Pete’s smart enough to not ask questions or make a scene. I’ll handle the pepper-spray-girl. See if we can’t convince her to throw her lot in with us,” it said calmly.

  “Wait, you want that brat to work for us?”

  “Why not?” Specter asked, tapping the drone on the table. “She looked resourceful and likely knows things we could benefit from. We have several of her belongings, so tracking her down shouldn’t be too difficult. She’s already committed a crime by loitering in dead zones and looting homes, so we’ve got leverage. Why not offer her employment, decent credits for Glass?”

  “You can’t be serious?” Marcus said, shaking his head as his steel self pitched the ridiculous plan. “The girl looked barely sixteen or seventeen.”

  “She’s probably been doing this longer than we’ve been out of our coma,” Specter said, its three lenses lingering on Marcus before continuing, “and she made this choice long before we ever ran into her. We’re not ruining some innocent maiden here. And besides, do you want her to continue to deal with shady collectors or greedy Breachers and potentially get hurt?”

  “What you’re doing is called emotional manipulation,” Marcus said, sighing as he sank back into his chair. “I hate this plan,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes again.

  “You’ve made that perfectly clear,” Specter said, a hint of amusement threading through its voice. Marcus pressed his fingers to his temples.

  “How long was I out?”

  “About three hours,” Specter replied casually, its lenses shifting to the side as if reading something only it could see.

  Marcus blinked, confusion knitting his brows when his HUD flickered to life, displaying a time stamp.

  ╔                  ╗

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Current time: 15:31

  Time passed since losing consciousness:

  3 hours, 12 minutes and 43 seconds.

  ╚                 ╝

  “What the...” he muttered, staring at the overlay. He hadn’t set his system to monitor time like this. The sudden activation felt invasive, almost like his own HUD was organically reporting back to him without permission. But then it hit him—he actually felt sharper, like the fog in his mind had lifted a bit.

  “Right,” he mumbled under his breath, realization dawning. “I increased the Mental Stat, guess a part of it went to my HUD.”

  Specter tilted its head. “You good?”

  “Yeah,” Marcus muttered, still scrolling through the changes on his HUD. “Just getting used to the Stat increase.” His smile widened a fraction as he spoke, preempting the question he knew Specter was about to ask. “Endurance, Mental, and Vigor went up. Mana’s at 71.”

  Specter let out a low whistle, a sound that almost felt human. “Endurance is smart. You got pretty banged up during that last run with the Salamanders.”

  “Yeah,” Marcus agreed, his gaze flicking back to the drone Specter had been fiddling with. “But I’m not planning on getting slammed through several walls again. So, what’s up with the drone?”

  “I’ve got a weird idea I want to run by you in the future,” Specter said, its tone shifting to something that almost sounded like excitement.

  “Oh, god,” Marcus groaned, already piecing together where this could lead.

  “Relax, it’s just an idea. We’ll talk about it later,” Specter said, grabbing the drone before heading for the door. “Come on, Bastion and I need to show you something, along with his own weird idea.”

  Marcus sighed and pushed himself out of the chair, following Specter out of the office. The gym lay quiet, the echoes of their footsteps bouncing off the old walls. Specter moved quickly, leading him toward the back of the gym, where the stairs connected to the old dojo in the basement.

  When they reached the top of the stairs leading down, Specter held out its hand, signaling Marcus to stop. The robot tapped a section of the wall beside them. “You finished, Bastion?” it called out, its voice carrying down into the darkness below.

  “Ready,” came Bastion’s deep, rumbling reply, the sound vibrating through the floorboards.

  Specter turned back to Marcus, nudging him in the ribs with an exaggerated motion. “You tell me this doesn’t look cool,” it said, sounding eager.

  Marcus frowned, listening closely. The first thing he noticed was the sound—a heavy, rhythmic clunking that echoed from the basement. Each step grew louder, the old wooden stairs creaking and groaning as if they might splinter under the immense weight. He knew Bastion’s frame was heavier than Specter’s, but the noise felt different this time, more ominous, each footfall resonating like the beat of a war drum.

  The noise grew louder, accompanied by the clank of metal on metal, until a massive silhouette emerged from the stairwell.

  Bastion came into view, fully clad in thick steel plating. The armor covered every inch of its towering frame, turning the already imposing robot into something out of a nightmare. It had painted each steel section matte black, absorbing the light, while dark green lines ran across its torso and limbs, highlighting the contours of its body in sharp angles. The paint job gave it a fierce, almost regal look, making the machine seem even wider than before.

  In its right hand, it gripped a thick steel spear, the tip sharpened to a deadly point. Despite its considerable length, the spear looked almost small in Bastion’s oversized grip.

  As it stepped onto the gym floor, the floor groaned in protest under its weight. With a deliberate motion, Bastion slammed its foot down, the sound echoing like a thunderclap. Two sharp metal spikes shot out from its foot, driving into the floor and anchoring it in place. A second later, the same thing happened to its other foot, with Marcus slowly realizing that it had essentially upgraded itself to root itself in place like a defensive wall.

  It then withdrew the spikes underneath its steel feet before positioning itself a few paces in front of Marcus. The young man stared up at the armored figure, a mixture of awe and disbelief on his face. Bastion’s lenses locked onto him, briefly glowing light blue.

  “Well?” Specter asked, leaning casually against the wall, its lenses flickering in that way Marcus was slowly coming to recognize as its version of a grin. “What do you think?”

  Marcus couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. “Okay, yeah… that’s impressive,” he admitted, still trying to wrap his mind around the transformation. “We turned Bastion into a damn tank.”

  Bastion tilted its head slightly, the movement surprisingly fluid for something so heavily armored. “The steel shell offers a lot of protection, but it’s harder to move because of its weight.”

  Specter pushed off the wall and strolled over to Bastion, tapping its chest twice in quick succession. “We even managed to get the Mana-battery slot in,” it said, its tone smug. “I’m sure Pete would have a stroke if he saw how we did it, but it’s in there. We only need to remove the bolts at the front, then lift the plate to pop out the batteries for an easy change.”

  “Easy, huh?” Marcus asked, scratching his chin as he studied the modifications.

  Bastion’s left hand wiggled, metal fingers flexing. “We literally have tools inside our fingers,” it said, sounding almost annoyed. “Trust me. It’s quick.”

  “Alright,” Marcus said, giving the towering robot a firm pat on its shoulder. “You guys did great. Let’s see the status on the other two.”

  They made their way back down the stairs into the dojo, the old wood creaking under their combined weight. As they descended, Bastion launched into an update. “The second robot is mostly done. All systems functional, except for the speaker, and it’s missing one camera since we cracked it during the installation. We also need more plastic plating to finish the exterior.”

  Marcus nodded, taking in the scene as they entered the dojo. Two robots stood lined up against the far wall. The nearly completed one had most of its plastic panels securely fastened, though its chest and the rear of its head remained exposed. He could see the open cavities where Orbs could be shoved inside.

  “Looks good,” he said, crouching down beside the unfinished unit. His fingers ran along the edges of the plastic plating that was installed, testing its durability. Like Bastion, the design covered nearly everything, making the bot resemble an armored Breacher, though clad in thick, rugged plastic instead of steel.

  “Though I’ve gotta say,” he added, glancing back at Bastion, “it looks a bit weird seeing at all this plastic now that we’ve got you all dressed to the nines in steel.”

  “Paint could help,” Specter suggested, making its way over to one of the tables. It grabbed a matte black spray can and returned to the unfinished robot, giving its arm a quick coat. The plastic turned a shade closer to Bastion’s dark armor, though its texture still betrayed it upon closer inspection.

  “Better-ish,” Bastion said, staring at the painted arm. “Now what?”

  “Marcus goes home to shower, purchase the missing pieces for the robots, then takes his uncle out for a bite to eat,” Specter replied smoothly. “You’ll stay here and fix up our two new brothers as best as you can, print out the missing plastic plating.” It moved towards a cluttered desk where a bag of personal items lay, including a shredded raincoat it usually wore during field missions. Instead, it pulled out a plain hoodie, a pair of jeans, and some boots before putting it on.

  “And what will you do?” Bastion asked, its tone curious, lenses tracking Specter’s every move.

  Specter’s three lenses flickered in rapid succession, like a blink of hesitation, before locking onto its steel-plated brother. “Scare the shit out of a young girl and offer her a job,” it said, voice dropping to an unsettling, almost gleeful tone. The words hung in the air, sending a chill down Marcus’s spine.

  With that, Specter grabbed the small drone from the corner of the table, tucked it under its arm, and started up the stairs. The echoes of its footsteps faded, leaving Marcus and Bastion standing in silence.

  Marcus exchanged a look with Bastion, both shaking their heads in unison. “I swear, you two are responsible for most of my nightmares,” Marcus muttered.

  “At least you can get them,” Bastion rumbled, its lenses dimming before it returned to its tasks.

  The large robot continued its work without missing a beat, its metal fingers moving with surprising dexterity as it tightened bolts and adjusted parts inside its half-finished kin. Marcus just stood there, listening to the rhythmic hum of the 3D printer spitting out a new part from the floor above. The sound mixed with the clanks and whirrs of Bastion’s efforts, creating a mechanical symphony that filled the dojo.

  Marcus took a deep breath, feeling a knot of tension in his chest. ‘Tipping point, huh?’ he thought, his gaze dropping to his right hand. The black Marks snaked along his skin like ink, dark against the pale of his knuckles. He turned his hand slowly, examining the way the light caught on the jagged patterns.

  With a slow exhale, he clenched his fist, feeling the Mana stir within him. A faint heat pulsed under his skin, like an ember waiting to ignite. He channeled a bit of Mana, letting it flow into his muscles, testing the way it strengthened his grip. It wasn’t much, just enough to remind himself of the power he held, the control he’d gained over the last few months.

  ‘Let’s see if the world is ready for us,’ he thought, a quiet resolve hardening in his eyes as he made his way upstairs to grab his things and contact his uncle.