CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Mark of Power

Day 83

Marcus hunched against the downpour, red sneakers splashing in shallow puddles as he trudged on, a heavy bundle slung over his shoulders.

He glanced left, spotting the light blue Sphere in the distance, its surface gleaming with rain. The downpour slid off it like water on a balloon. In that moment, it felt like the Sphere mocked his hometown, a reminder of everything that went wrong. He shifted his gaze to the right and saw his father’s old gym, standing like a relic from another life.

He jogged towards it, splashing through more puddles. Just before he reached it, the door swung open, and Bastion came into view, towering over him.

“How’s the shower?” Bastion asked, dry humor lacing its voice.

Marcus handed over the package with a smirk, then rapped his knuckles against Bastion’s breastplate. “Funny guy. You should consider doing standup.” He shrugged off his raincoat, rubbing his wet hair as he took in the sight of his father’s gym. It still felt like home, even if everything else didn’t.

“So, you’ve got your alibi ready?” Bastion asked as they moved deeper into the gym, footsteps echoing off the worn floors.

“Yeah, did another food truck run with Felix, had a few beers afterward, and sent my sister a selfie of the two of us with beers in hand. I should be good for the next twenty-four hours,” Marcus replied as they headed down into the basement.

The walls and floors, once moldy, were now stripped and covered in plastic sheets stapled into place. “Looks like a future murder scene,” he commented as he ran a finger across the plastic.

“Fifty-fifty that it’s going to be that if this Chip thing goes horribly wrong and you kick the bucket,” Bastion said, dropping the bundle on the ground. “You really want to go through with it here?”

“I’ve never Chipped myself… why does that sounds so wrong? But I’m sure as hell not doing it at home. It’s better here. No people to hear me screaming like a little girl,” Marcus said as he suppressed the jolt of anxiety he felt at the idea of using the Chip on himself.

“Me and Specter are still not fully convinced we should let you do this, you know that right?” Bastion asked. Marcus only nodded in response. “We could just hold onto it, save up for the procedure and—”

“You’ve got a million credits that I don’t know about?” Marcus asked, interrupting his steel companion. “I know it’s a risk. A massive one. But I’m different… somehow. Rifters shouldn’t be able to use Glass the way I do, nor grow in power. I can. If this works, we’ll gain a huge advantage.”

“If…” Bastion countered, letting the word hang in the air for a moment. It then leaned closer towards the package and unwrapped it, revealing Marcus’s third robot. “It looks frail compared to me.”

Marcus smirked, glad for the change in topic. “Everyone looks frail compared to you, even Specter,” he said as he moved closer, studying the new design. It was made mostly out of plastic—a durable kind, but plastic nonetheless, save for the pistons and motors. The robot matched his size and build, with two cameras for eyes and a smooth plate where a face would be. Streamlined for combat, thick plastic plating covered every part of its body without sacrificing much mobility. A spot inside the back of its head was ready for an Orb, and the chest piece could be removed to access slots for Mana batteries and another Orb.

“We’re not all made equal,” Bastion said, mockingly arrogant, poking at the robot. “I’m still not convinced about all the plastic bits.”

“It’ll do for now,” Marcus said, helping the robot into a seated position against a nearby wall. At first glance, it looked more like a person fully encapsulated in cheap armor, rather than another robot. “It only needs to work as a prototype for now. As soon as we finish the design, we’ll make the old man make us a proper one. Lots of steel and other bits of metal. You’ll love it. Besides, this one isn’t full of holes and dents like you are.”

Bastion just let out a snort in response before staring at the unmoving plastic shell for a while longer. “Think you’ll manage?”

“Hmm?”

“Taking on another body? Splitting your mind again?” Bastion asked, leaning in to poke the plastic robot again.

“It should be fine, I think It might dampen our thoughts a little, but I’ve increased the Mental aspect these last few weeks,” Marcus replied, shifting his attention back to Bastion. “Why?”

“I’m not worried about the Stat portion, Marcus. I get the whole pouring water into more cups idea, with the Mental Stat able to make the water more potent. I’m more concerned about what splitting your mind over and over might do to you long-term. Psychologically, I mean,” Bastion said as it sat down next to the other robot, staring at its own hands. “All of this is pretty weird. What if it messes you up?”

Marcus sat down beside him, a soft smile tugging at his face, realizing his companion had really embodied several of his sister’s traits. “I’m regularly talking to several versions of myself and about to make another one, lying to my family nonstop, just got out of a coma three months ago, fighting monsters for Glass that I stab myself with, and I’m about to stab myself with a Chip in a few minutes,” Marcus said before pointing at his shoes. “And I’m wearing my dead friend’s sneakers. Yeah, I’m well aware that we’re… or rather I am pretty messed up.”

Marcus opened his mouth to say something else, but the faint sound of movement upstairs stopped him. Fragmented memories filtered in from Specter, signaling his return. “Specter’s back.”

A few seconds later, Specter entered the basement, its torn black raincoat clinging to its frame, streaked heavily with blood and mud.

“What did I miss?” it asked, pulling off its backpack and tossing it to the ground. The heavy thud echoed through the room, followed by the unmistakable clinking of Glass pieces rattling inside.

“Just having a heart-to-heart,” Marcus said.

“Talking about what we’ll do when Marcus kills himself Chipping,” Bastion added, its tone dry as ever.

Specter shrugged, not missing a beat. “My money’s on us performing in robot movies or joining the circus.”

“Funny,” Marcus muttered, getting up and heading toward the backpack. He unzipped it and began sorting through the Glass pieces, mentally calculating the total. Adding them to what he had left over from his last upgrade, he nodded to himself. “This should be enough to upgrade my Endurance again. Probably wise to do that before I ram in the Chip.”

“Seems smart,” Specter agreed, moving toward the plastic robot. With a practiced motion, it slid its metal hand through a small hole in its chassis and ripped out its second Orb. The robot shuddered slightly, watching the blue veins still clinging to the Orb and the liquid that sprayed out before evaporating.

“Might be best to try out our new friend first,” Specter said, tossing the Orb toward Marcus, who caught it midair. “Before you kick the bucket, that is.”

“Right,” Marcus said, turning back to the plastic robot. He nudged it forward, exposing the back of its head, where three socket cap bolts held a thick plastic panel in place. Bastion stepped in, twisting one of its steel fingertips and slowly pulling it off, revealing a small torx driver tip beneath. It pressed its digit against the back of the robot’s head, and the driver spun, smoothly removing the three bolts.

‘I really should thank the old man for the idea to install this in Bastion. Occam’s screwdriver and all,’ he thought, watching the last bolt leave the robot. Bastion held onto the bolts as Marcus carefully twisted the panel off, revealing the spherical cavity within.

“Moment of truth,” Marcus murmured, sliding the light blue Orb inside before sealing the compartment back up.

‘Echo’

Mana flowed through Marcus’s core, surging down his arm and into the plastic robot. He connected with the Orb within, feeling the energy stream through. He dumped a fair bit of Mana, ignoring the clinking sounds as Bastion reinserted the bolts. Marcus’s perspective expanded abruptly—he now also saw his own body through the robot’s view. The Orb had already sprouted veins throughout the chassis, weaving its influence through the robot’s system. Marcus felt confident it would work. The day before, he’d run a trial with Bastion’s Orb and consciousness, and although it had taken some getting used to, his companion had moved the frame with ease.

This time was different, seeing as he was essentially creating a new personality.

‘What to do with you?’ Marcus thought, focusing on feeding a constant stream of Mana into the robot. He let it trickle in slowly, careful to avoid any waste through Mana bleed. He could almost feel the robot slowly regaining more of its functions. A few minutes later, it could even stand with his support.

‘Should I specialize again, like I did with Bastion and Specter?’

The plastic robot stood straighter as Marcus maintained contact, enabling him to control both bodies simultaneously. He knew that if he let go, it would either stand there or collapse, as there was no consciousness behind the steering wheel yet. Bastion’s earlier warning about the risks of mind-splitting and the toll it might take on all three of them echoed in his mind.

‘Would a sliver even work?’ he wondered, recalling the horror of being trapped in his own body on a hospital bed for years, aware but not fully conscious.

“Let’s try a small portion,” Marcus muttered, splitting off a fraction of his mind, about the same he used to maintain his HUD. He felt that fragment slip away and settle into the robot.

Stepping back and releasing the connection, Marcus watched the robot wobble, half-expecting it to fall over. Specter stepped next to him, its three lenses focusing on the plastic form before speaking up, “What’s the plan?”

“Trying to figure out what’s the least required amount of my consciousness to make a functioning robot,” Marcus replied, observing as the plastic prototype stood a bit straighter. He wasn’t sure if it was his consciousness inside of the robot, or if the Orb had sprouted more veins, granting it better stability at that moment.

“Try to move your arms for me,” he asked.

The robot attempted to comply, but its movements were slow and uncoordinated, slowly moving its arms before flexing its plastic fingers. Marcus asked it to take a step, but it only managed one before toppling over, headfirst.

“Ouch,” Bastion commented, while Specter stepped forward to help its new sibling up.

“Guess we need a bit more Marcus-juice in there, huh?” Specter suggested.

“Juice?” Marcus repeated, shaking his head as he placed his hand back on the robot. “That just sounds wrong... like perversely wrong.” He split off another sliver of his mind, doubling the amount within the robot.

“Try to move again,” he instructed, letting go of the prototype. This time, the robot managed a few steps. It still moved clumsily, but it wasn’t falling over anymore.

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“It looks a bit better,” Bastion said as it approached the prototype and pressed a steel finger against it, pushing lightly to check out its stability. The robot wobbled, nearly falling again over as it struggled to maintain balance. “Emphasis on the looks bit,” Specter added dryly.

Marcus sighed, touching the prototype again, and doubled the amount of his own mind within it again. He then asked it to move around, even jog. The robot moved noticeably better, smoother, though still robotic. Then he tested more complex tasks.

“Can you say our names?” Marcus asked, only for the robot to nod, yet no sound came out. He then handed it one of Specter’s axes. It grasped the handle but with awkward stiffness,.

“Alright, drop the weapon and pick up seven Glass pieces from Specter’s backpack.”

The robot nodded again before moving towards the backpack and started digging through the pack, picking up Glass pieces one by one, clearly struggling to keep count.

‘It’s having a hard time with the complex stuff,’ Marcus thought as he grabbed the robot again, doubling the mental share once more. The improvement came almost immediately when he did so. It still couldn’t talk properly, but its movements sharpened. They repeated the process, each time Marcus feeding more of his mind into the robot, gradually refining its coordination and function.

“Try and tag Specter,” he ordered. The prototype nodded and charged straight at Specter. It moved with more confidence now, accelerating to full speed, but Specter still evaded it with ease. ‘It’s at least able to keep up,’ Marcus thought, watching Specter slowly pick up the pace and show off a bit.

“It’s not as awkward as before,” Bastion observed as Specter darted up the stairs, the prototype close behind.

“Yeah,” Marcus said, listening to the steady thuds echo from upstairs.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Bastion asked as the chase continued above them, with gym equipment crashing to the floor.

“I’m trying to establish a baseline for the least amount of my mind needed to make a decent fighter,” Marcus replied.

Moments later, Specter vaulted off the stairs, landing with a smooth roll and sprinting back towards them. The prototype followed, but its attempt at jumping down the stairs ended in a graceless fall.

“It might need a bit more work,” Marcus admitted, moving to the fallen robot and helping it to its feet. He added another sliver of his mind—this time, roughly two percent of his entire mental capacity.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

The robot straightened, its gaze locking onto him. “Fine,” it replied for the first time, its voice eerily similar to Marcus’s but flat, devoid of any emotion.

Satisfied with the progress, Marcus asked the robot a few more questions to gauge its intelligence. Then he decided to test it in a combat scenario.

“Try and punch me,” Marcus said, then quickly added, “Gently,” when he heard Bastion’s chuckle.

The prototype nodded, adopting a combat stance. ‘It’s moving better,’ he thought as the first jab flew toward him. ‘Way less waisted movements.’ He dodged the blow, watching the robot follow up with a series of basic, yet solid punches.

Marcus blocked a few, dodging most, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. The final blow—a straight punch—came at him with more force. He stepped in, blocking it with his right arm, and countered with a quick uppercut from his left. His fist stopped just shy of the robot’s faceplate.

“That’s enough for now,” Marcus said, before flicking his finger against the plate. “You did well.”

He then brushed away a bit of sweat, watching the prototype settle in a straight posture again, unnervingly still.

“It looks weird…” Specter said, joining him as Bastion began poking the prototype before it tossed it a piece of glass and asked it to catch it, essentially treating it as a dog playing fetch.

“All of you buggers look weird. I’m the only pretty one here,” Marcus countered with a grin.

“Keep dreaming. But about plastic boy—I mean, it can move and fight, sure, but it’s not really like us,” Specter continued. “It’s more like a—”

“A drone?” Marcus suggested, with Specter nodding in agreement. “I know you or Bastion could take down a few of them on skill and tactics alone. I’ve seen what you’re both capable of. But sometimes, quantity beats quality.”

“So, you’re dumbing them down?” Specter asked, with a hint of something in its voice—concern maybe. “All of us?”

“No, not you and Bastion,” Marcus said, shaking his head reassuringly. “We need good decisions out there, fighters who know what I’d do. You two are specialists, generals, the fingers on my hands… whatever title fits you best. But having a few drones under your command? That could be useful.” He eyed Bastion across the room. “Picture our big boy over there with a few drones, all armed with shields and spears. That time we went for the third Orb in that cavern would’ve been a lot easier.”

Specter nodded, thoughtful. “I guess that makes sense. Sometimes a mob of peasants with spears is more effective than a single skilled knight.”

“Exactly,” Marcus said, moving toward the prototype. He placed a hand on the machine, another on Specter, and braced his foot against Bastion’s.

Connecting with all three at once hit him like a wave, his mind straining to stretch across four bodies. The sensation nearly made him nauseous—a single person inhabiting four perspectives. He pushed through, mentally sectioning off parts of himself to Specter and Bastion.

He then released his steel brethren, focusing solely on the prototype. “I’m giving all three of you an equal share—25 each,” he said. He broke off another piece of himself and channeled it into the prototype, feeling it settle into the Orb inside.

“You’ll be all right with just a quarter?” Bastion asked, its voice uncharacteristically soft.

Marcus nodded, focusing on the part of himself within the prototype, experimenting with a new approach. He dulled certain aspects of himself while sharpening others. He didn’t know if it would even work, but he figured he’d give it a shot.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, closing his eyes to concentrate. He recalled fights he’d witnessed—ruthless boxers, martial artists who could win through sheer intimidation, and his own brutal clashes with monsters.

‘Bastion’s got defense handled, and Specter's gotten weirdly good at stealth and ambushes. What we need a damage dealer—shock-and-awe style to crush morale,’ he thought, pulling from memories of brutal knockouts and fighters pushing through pain for a single decisive blow. He even remembered his own reckless younger years. A few seconds later, he released his grip on the robot and stumbled back.

He immediately felt dulled. Only 25 percent of his mind remained within his body—enough to function, though everything felt muted. He felt like a weaker version of himself, as though the volume had turned down on every sense.

“You good?” Marcus asked, watching the plastic prototype flex its fingers and scan its surroundings.

“Yes,” the robot responded, its voice colder, sharper than before.

After watching the exchange, Bastion grabbed the bag and sorted the Glass into neat piles of twenty. “You’re up next. Want me to help?”

“Are you offering to stab me? That’s sweet,” Marcus said, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve got the stabbing part handled, but I could use some mental aid.” He lifted his shirt, bit down on the fabric, and grabbed the first twenty Glass pieces. Without hesitation, he stabbed them into his chest, aiming near the black Marks.

Bastion gripped his shoulder, and an immediate connection formed between them. Marcus felt the surge of energy as the Glass disintegrated. The power struck him hard, almost overwhelming. He pushed on, repeating the process until three charges of energy were coursing through him.

Teeth clenched, he focused on the one thing that mattered—increasing his Endurance.

╔ ╗

[Endurance] [+1]

╚ ╝

The energy suddenly shifted, striking Marcus like a storm and tearing through ligaments, bones, and sinew. Every organ in his body protested the strain, dropping him to his knees. He tasted blood, metallic and bitter, and his nails scraped at the plastic-covered floor. The chaos raged inside him until it settled, leaving him panting. Slowly, he stood, wobbling on shaky legs.

“That was… fun,” he muttered as Bastion removed its hand, dulling his senses. Part of him was grateful it did the same for his pain.

“The upgrades aren’t as damaging as before,” Bastion noted, stepping back as Specter handed Marcus a bottle of water.

Marcus gulped down several mouthfuls, swishing the liquid to clear the blood from his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, catching his breath. “I’d still rather be kicked in the nuts, but at least I’m not passing out in my own vomit anymore.”

“There’s still time for that,” a cold voice cut in. Marcus shifted his gaze, finding the prototype staring at him. The robot shrugged nonchalantly before heading to one of the backpacks, pulling out an axe and a knife.

“So… the new guy’s fun,” Specter muttered sarcastically. Its three cameras locked onto the robot, tracking as it flipped the knife and caught it effortlessly. “What did you was the inspiration for the design this time? A psychopath?”

Marcus opened his mouth to respond, but Bastion beat him to it. “A cunt.”

The three of them turned their eyes back to the prototype, watching it practice stabbing motions with the knife. It noticed them staring, paused for a moment, then returned to its drills, unconcerned.

“I was going for an offense-oriented style. Something that could work well with Bastion,” Marcus explained, watching the robot’s eerie precision with the knife. “I might’ve messed up on this one.”

“You think?” Bastion asked sarcastically, shaking its head.

Marcus sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out the Chip. He held it between his fingertips, feeling its weight. It was small, about the size of a thumb, jagged on one side and gleaming dark green.

“Moment of truth,” he said quietly, rolling up his sleeve and passing the Chip to Bastion.

“Still set on the location?” Bastion asked, gripping Marcus’s right arm and positioning the Chip’s jagged edge just above his elbow.

“No,” Marcus said, biting down on his clothes once again as Specter grabbed him under the armpits. His body tensed up as he closed his eyes. “Do it!”

Bastion suddenly shoved the Chip in with one violent press. The jagged edges tore through Marcus’s skin and flesh, sending a sharp burst of pain radiating up his arm. Blood flowed freely from the wound, dripping down as Marcus groaned, his teeth clenching around the fabric still in his mouth. Specter held him steady while Bastion lodged the Chip just shy of the bone, its smoother edge still sticking out a bit.

“Well?” Specter asked, watching Marcus spit out the fabric, sweat glistening on his face.

“I just feel pain,” Marcus muttered through gritted teeth, knees buckling. “Nothing else.”

Bastion and Specter helped him down, their hands steady, keeping him from collapsing completely.

“What now?” Bastion asked, glancing at Specter.

“No idea. Maybe it needs to be activated or something,” Specter replied, its three lenses zeroing in on Marcus. The young man muttered a curse, reaching up to touch the Chip in his arm, wincing as his fingers brushed it.

“I think we messed up here,” Specter said, its tone filled with an edge of uncertainty. “Let’s pull it out, tie off the wound, and you can head to the hospital. You can think of some bullshit excuse on the way to—”

Before Specter could finish, a spark of Mana shot from Marcus’s fingertip. The moment it connected with the Chip, it made the object shoot deeper into his arm, tearing through more tissue as it merged with him in one violent moment. The sudden surge of power exploded through Marcus like a shockwave, and before anyone could react, his fist flew forward at blinding speed.

Specter didn’t stand a chance.

The robot shot backward, body spinning through the air as if struck by a sledgehammer. It slammed into the far wall of the basement with a deafening crash, falling to a stop upside down, its three lenses flickering for a moment as it lay there motionless for a moment.

“What the?” Specter muttered, shaking off the disorientation from the impact. It turned its focus toward Marcus, who was groaning and clutching his right arm. A stream of wind pressure blasted out from his elbow, causing the plastic sheets on the floor to flap wildly while a dense, light blue mist bled out from his frame, swirling around him like a fog.

“He’s hurt,” Specter muttered, noticing Marcus's right hand, bruised and dripping blood onto the floor.

Specter glanced at its own chest, noting the massive dent in its chassis and broken plating where Marcus's punch had landed.

Marcus roared in pain as his right arm shot up suddenly, lifting his entire body off the ground for a brief second through sheer air pressure before he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Specter just stared, confused, then shifted its gaze to Bastion and the prototype, both of whom were frozen in place, staring at Marcus.

“Did he kick the bucket?” the prototype asked, almost nonchalant.

“Dude what the hell is wrong with you?” Specter replied, giving the prototype a look. Bastion rushed over to Marcus, crouching down and clumsily attempting to check his vitals with its metal fingers.

“He’s still breathing,” Bastion said after a moment. “He’s sweating, pale, and his hand looks a bit messed up, but he’s breathing.”

The other two robots gathered around him, peering down at their unconscious human companion.

“Mana drain,” Specter said, recognizing the symptoms from Marcus’s memories. “He should be fine in a while. Probably just burned through the last of his Mana. My god, that ability is powerful.”

Specter squatted beside Marcus, studying the Chip now fully fused to his right elbow. The jagged edges had disappeared, and the Chip was now seamlessly part of Marcus’s skin, no longer protruding.

“It’s turned black,” Specter remarked, tapping lightly on the Chip to draw the others’ attention. It matched the other dark Marks on Marcus’s arm, face, and chest. “If it wasn’t our body I was looking at, I’d assume it had always been like that.”

Specter tapped the Chip a few more times, but nothing changed; no new reaction occurred.

“So, what do we do now?” Bastion asked, its gaze shifting between Specter and the motionless Marcus.

“Leave him,” the prototype suggested.

Both Specter and Bastion immediately turned to stare at it.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bastion said, moving closer. It towered over the smaller robot. It didn’t have proper facial expressions, but everyone in the room could imagine Bastion's anger as it grabbed the prototype by the neck, lifting it with ease. The pressure of its steel fingers alone was enough to form cracks in the prototype’s protective plastic plating.

Without hesitation, the prototype swung its axe toward its opponent’s face. Bastion blocked it with its arm, the clash of metal ringing through the room.

“Stop it,” Specter said, stepping forward. “Stop acting like children.”

After a brief pause, Bastion dropped the prototype to the floor, then grabbed a set of spare clothes and carefully placed them under Marcus’s head to make him more comfortable.

“The two of us will cool down our tempers inside the Sphere and get some Glass while we’re there. Bastion, you’ll tend to Marcus, alright? We’ll stick near the edge of the Barrier so you can call if you need anything,” Specter suggested.

“Fine,” the prototype muttered, grabbing a few extra weapons from Bastion’s backpack.

“Fine,” Bastion replied, sitting down next to Marcus. “I’ve got plenty of battery left. Take care of yourself.”

Specter nodded, moving toward the stairs with the prototype while suggesting that they should come up with a proper name for it, to make things easier in the field and as a way to address each other.

“Piss off,” the prototype snapped. “I’ll pick one myself.”

Bastion sighed as their voices faded, muttering, “Let’s hope something goes wrong and plastic boy gets turned into scrap in the first minute.” It then shifted its gaze back to Marcus, focusing on the new Mark etched into his skin.