CHAPTER FORTY
Planning for Fatigue
A week had passed since Marcus had cleared the Sphere and saved Pete’s grandson. Life had settled into something resembling a rhythm—at least for Kate. She had carved out a place for herself at the gym, using it as a base to do her work and get used to her new job. When she wasn’t out hunting for Glass in the dead zone or finding unclaimed Spheres, she was with Specter, taking it around town to teach it what she knew about finding Glass, provided the machine wasn’t out killing monsters or bringing back more Glass on its own.
Marcus, on the other hand, had kept his head down. He focused on helping Felix out with his food truck business while doing damage control with his uncle and sister, trying to smooth over the mess he’d gotten himself into. Neither of them had fully forgiven him yet for his recklessness, but at least the dagger staring had stopped. For now. The fact that he had asked his uncle to tattoo another notch on his right arm probably didn’t help either.
And now, a week later, Marcus sat behind his desk, gripping twenty Glass pieces between his fingers before stabbing them into his chest. The crystal disintegrated on impact, dissolving into nothing as he felt a surge of energy slam inside. He barely flinched, just let out a slow breath as he pulled his shirt back down and rubbed at the sore spot.
“And that’s basically how I grow in power,” he explained to the others in the room.
Across from him, Kate sat in a chair, casually sipping her coffee, her focus entirely on the drink. She didn’t even react, too used to the sight by now. Pete, however, looked significantly less comfortable, shifting in his seat as he watched. His eyes flicked to the small crate on Marcus’s desk, filled with more shards of Glass waiting to be used.
“I see,” the old man muttered, his voice uneasy.
Kate shot him an amused grin. “It’s disgusting, right?”
Pete didn’t answer. He just kept staring at Marcus, as if unsure whether to be impressed or concerned.
The door creaked open, and Bastion walked in, carrying a tray with cheap biscuits. It moved smoothly, a stark contrast to the days when bits of it had been a pile of scrap sitting in Pete’s workshop. It stopped beside the desk, extending the tray.
Marcus grabbed one. Kate swiped several, stuffing one into her mouth before leaning back in her chair. Pete, however, just shook his head, gaze locked on Bastion.
It was one thing to work on the robot’s parts in his shop, removing rust and replacing damaged plates. It was another thing entirely to see it walking and talking, let alone offer him a biscuit.
“I think this is nuts,” Pete finally said, setting his coffee down.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “What part?”
Pete let out a dry chuckle, gesturing vaguely. “Where do I even start? You’re barely out of the hospital, relying on non-Breacher gear. You keep taking risk after risk. You’ve got a growing fixation on hurting yourself, whether it’s with that damn Glass or ‘getting used to the feeling of dying.’ And don’t even get me started on this base of yours.”
Marcus opened his mouth, but Pete cut him off with a raised hand.
“The cable work is horrendous. From what one of those robotic monstrosities of yours told me, your power station is a ticking electrical bomb waiting to happen. And you’ve got no real way to scale up production beyond relying on 3D printers and an old man that’s bored.”
Silence hung in the air for a beat. Marcus chewed his biscuit slowly, staring at Pete, who just stared back, unimpressed. Kate, still munching on her snacks, smirked behind her cup.
“So…” Marcus asked, letting the word hang.
Pete closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, like a man weighing whether the headache was worth it. “So, this place needs some serious work, lad.” He opened his eyes again and focused on Marcus. “Scaling up robot production can work with more printers, yet from what you told me earlier, the amount of punishment you’re putting on these… things of yours—”
He pointed at Bastion.
“My name is Bastion,” the robot suggested.
Pete ignored it and stayed focused on Marcus. “You’ll need high-quality steel at the very least. And possibly better motors and pistons that can better handle the strain of combat. That means more credits, more time, and a lot more work. We can increase production by outsourcing some parts, but that also draws more attention. And from what I saw of your sister and uncle back then, you’re already on thin ice in that field.”
“So your suggestion is?”
“We do it in-house. I’ll order what parts and machines I can through my shop, and we’ll place it here. First, I’ll need to redesign the electrical system before it kills someone. If things move fast, we should be able to make what you need right here in the gym rather quickly. And I’ll see if I can get to work on another robot back in the shop. But I’m just an old man that knows a thing or two about metalworking, so don’t expect anything fancy.”
Marcus was just glad for the help. “Thanks for joining the guild, then.”
Pete held up a hand. “On three conditions.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow but nodded.
“First, I’m old, and my back is even worse. I’m not lifting anything heavy. So you or your army of tin cans do all the hard work. And I mean all of it.”
“Done,” Marcus agreed without hesitation.
“Second, if you retrieve any Orbs or Glass bits that need storing, you keep them here. Apparently, the Sphere that nearly took my grandson’s life, only formed because some idiot kept a piece of Glass as a souvenir in his apartment. The investigator I spoke with said it had probably been dormant for years. So, if I’m joining this ragtag club of yours, I want those objects away from cities and stored here—if we even need to store them at all.”
Marcus’s gaze hardened. His uncle had said something similar about the Sphere being an “accident,” just a forgotten piece of Glass sitting in someone’s drawer for years.
‘I’m no better,’ he mused, realizing how often he had brought Glass back to his apartment without a second thought.
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He exhaled sharply through his nose, then nodded. “Alright. I can agree with that. What’s the last one?”
Pete leaned back in his chair, a grim look settling over his face. “That you’ll protect my family if it comes to it. Be it another Sphere outbreak, monsters, or trouble with the authorities. My daughter-in-law and grandson stay out of this.”
Marcus didn’t answer right away. He let the words settle, respecting the weight behind them. Finally, he gave a firm nod. “You have my word.”
Upon hearing that, Pete pushed himself up with a groan.
“Welcome to the Steel Wolves,” Marcus said, standing and holding out his hand.
Pete grumbled under his breath but shook it. “That’s a shitty name.”
“Blame her,” Marcus said, jerking his thumb at Kate. “She coined it.”
Kate just shrugged, downed the rest of her coffee, and stood. Without a word, she walked out of the office, likely off to find Specter.
Marcus watched her go, then clapped his hands together. “Come on, let’s get to work.”
He led Bastion and Pete out of the office, heading into the gym to figure out what needed tackling first.
- - -
Several hours later, Marcus stepped into Old Alley, shoulders aching and fingers sore from hauling equipment, handling sharp Glass, and dragging power lines.
He waved at Sam, the bar’s old owner, who just stared at him, unimpressed. Without a word, Sam grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and set it down with a quiet tap on the bar.
Marcus muttered a thanks, took the glass, and downed it in one gulp. His muscles ached, and his fingers throbbed. ‘I’m not sure what’s worse—fighting off monsters or Pete’s constant nagging,’ he thought as he watched Sam refill his glass.
“Tough day?” the man asked.
Marcus just nodded, rubbing at his chest. The spot where he had constantly stabbed himself with Glass felt bruised and sore, a dull ache spreading through his ribs. ‘Maybe I should stab myself somewhere else for a change?’ The thought felt insane even to him. ‘Probably not the face.’
He opened his HUD and went over the last upgrades, yet before he could dwell on it, someone slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug. The cast pressing into his side was a dead giveaway. He didn’t even need to read the insults and crude doodles to know who it was.
“Felix,” Marcus muttered, but despite himself, his mood lifted.
His friend grinned, sliding onto the stool next to him. “You look like hell.”
“Feel like it too.”
Felix waved at Sam and ordered a beer with some chips. “Yesterday, you looked fine. What the hell did you do today? Another Breacher gig?”
Marcus shrugged, already crafting a bullshit excuse. “Nope, just working out, shopping, some DIY training.”
Felix snorted. “Uh-huh. And I’m the Pope.”
"Guess I must’ve missed all the white smoke,” Marcus countered. He wanted to stew in his discomfort, but when Felix flashed him a goofy smile, he couldn’t help but crack a little. “Honestly, just tired, nothing more.”
"Chips?” Felix asked when Sam had handed him his order, wiggling the bag in front of his best friend.
Marcus nodded, and Felix tore the bag open, grabbed a handful, then pushed it toward him. They ate in silence for a moment, the bar’s low hum of conversation filling the gaps between crunches.
Felix, ever restless, started talking about his day—mostly complaining about some Breacher at his food truck who’d haggled him down to practically nothing on a batch of ingredients. “Swear to God, she had no shame. Looked me right in the eye and called me ‘boy’ like I was some little punk she could swindle,” he complained, stuffing another chip in his mouth. “I mean, I’ve never met an honest Breacher in my life.”
Marcus snorted, popping a chip between his teeth.
“So, that was my day,” Felix said as he scratched at the edge of his cast, frowning. “This itchy thing is the worst.” He reached across the bar, snagging a pen from Sam’s counter without asking.
Sam barely looked up from cleaning a glass before his voice cut in like a whip. “If you stick that underneath your cast, I’m raising your rent.”
Felix hesitated, pen hovering over the edge. “I mean—”
“Give me that.” Sam yanked it from his grip, tossing it back on the counter.
Marcus chuckled, shaking his head as he heard his friend and Sam go at it. He opened his HUD again, eyes flicking over his latest improvements.
╔ ╗
[Mental] [+1]
[Vigor] [+1]
╚ ╝
Lately, he had been going heavy in the Mental and Vigor department. Each additional upgrade cost him more Glass, but it felt worth it. The extra mana from Vigor meant he could keep more of his future steel brethren in the fight, while a higher Mental stat made them far more capable.
Even now, with half his mental reserves split between Specter and Bastion, he felt surprisingly sharp, almost like he normally felt, before he had become a Breacher.
‘Makes me wonder how smart I’d be at full capacity now,’ he thought with a grin, but his ego quickly deflated. He knew better. It didn’t make him smarter—just more mentally aware.
“Any plans for tomorrow?” Felix asked, pulling him back to the present.
“Hmm?”
“Plans?” his friend asked again, throwing a chip in his direction.
“Sleep in, I guess?” Marcus said with a yawn before he grabbed the chip and slowly nibble on it. “Or do laundry and grocery shopping. You know, big boy stuff.”
Felix shot him a bored look. “Or, you join your best friend and tag along again.”
Marcus frowned, not really feeling like discussing work after today’s long day, although the promise of more credits did scratch a certain itch.
Felix, ever persistent, grinned. “I’ll throw in a gift as well.”
"Gift?" Marcus asked, annoyingly feeling his interest piqued.
“Not telling. But I need a yes or no.”
Marcus sighed, dragging out the silence while his friend just waited with a grin.
“Fine,” Marcus muttered.
Felix clapped him on the back, grinning. "Good. I’ll pick you up early." He finished his beer in one go, then slid off the stool. "Early, early, mate," he added, pointing at him before disappearing through the door leading up to his apartment.
Marcus let out a deep sigh before getting off the barstool, knowing full well he needed a decent night’s rest. He made his way to the same door, climbing the old wooden steps. The wood creaked under his weight, each step familiar enough that he barely paid attention.
Before he reached the top, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, swiped his thumb across the screen, and saw a text waiting for him.
┏ ┓
“Heard you were busy playing fireman.
Got another spot open for you soon if you’re interested.”
- Benedict
┗ ┛
Marcus stared at the message for a long moment, his brain too fried to bother thinking about it. Finally, he let out a quiet grumble, muttered something about being too damn tired for this, and powered the phone off.
Just as he went to shove it back into his pocket, it buzzed again.
He groaned, dragging it back up with a sigh. ‘Now what?’
┏ ┓
“Food tomorrow night. My place.
I’ll break your legs if you say no.”
- Joline
┗ ┛
Marcus exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. He knew it was wise to accept, not that he had much of a choice really. He knew it was time to come clean to his sister, yet he only needed a few more days, weeks at the most. ‘I’m Power Rating 31 now. Joline’s 35. As soon as I surpass that, I’ll tell everyone the truth.’ He was about to put the phone away when it vibrated again.
“Again? Really?” he muttered, thumb swiping over the screen.
┏ ┓
“Specter found an opportunity. Possible Orb.
We are going to check it out tonight..”
- Bastion
┗ ┛
Marcus stared at the message, slowly processing it all. He then texted back that they should be careful before he shoved the phone into his pocket for real this time. He trudged up the last few steps, too damn tired to care about making noise before he dragged himself into his apartment and threw himself into his bed.
