CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Psychopathic Honey Badger
Marcus woke up groggy and disoriented, his head pounding as he blinked at the familiar sight of the plastic-covered basement in his father’s old gym. ‘I passed out?’ he thought, vaguely remembering something went wrong with the Chip in his arm. He became aware of his sweaty frame, and how it made his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin. He pushed himself up into a seated position, wincing at the stiffness in his limbs and the pain in his right hand. The sound of heavy thuds echoed through the room as Bastion approached.
“How are you feeling?” his steel companion asked, its voice low and steady as it towered over him.
“Like I’m thirteen again.” Marcus muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion. He rubbed his right hand and noticed the makeshift bandage around it, torn from a spare shirt of his. “Like the day after Felix and Oscar dared me to drink that bottle of scotch Dad used to keep in the garage.” He looked down at the ragged fabric on his hand again, closing his eyes for a moment. “I liked that shirt.”
“Buy a new one,” Bastion replied firmly, sitting down next to him. “How’s the hand?” it asked, placing its own on Marcus’s shoulder.
Marcus felt a familiar rush as Bastion connected with him, carefully feeding him updates on everything he’d missed. It came in small, manageable waves, as not to overwhelm him. ‘It worked,’ he thought, the realization slowly settling in.
He reached toward the spot near his right elbow, fingers brushing over the strange black material that had fused with his skin. It felt oddly natural, like the other Marks that dotted his body. “It really worked,” Marcus muttered, still not entirely sure if he was surprised or relieved.
“Sure did,” Bastion said with a hint of amusement. “Good enough to pass out from Mana drain and almost punch a hole through Specter’s chest. But seriously, how’s the hand?”
Marcus flexed his fingers, testing his range of motion before making a tight fist. “It hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken. At least, not badly. Should be fine in a few days, I guess. Perks of being a Breacher.”
“More like your increased Endurance Stat,” Bastion corrected, its tone blunt as it stood up and extended a hand to help him to his feet. “You could’ve died, you know that, right?” The hesitation in its voice felt almost familiar, reminding Marcus of how his sister sounded after being mad at him—right before the worry kicked in.
“I know,” Marcus admitted, aware of just how reckless his decision had been and that he was making a habit of it. “But it paid off. I’ll be more careful in the future,” he added with a grin, brushing off Bastion’s muttered response that it didn’t believe him. He hesitantly extended his arm to the side, trying to use his Ability—but nothing happened. He then opened his HUD and checked his Mana, assuming he’d run out, but found he still had a fair bit left. “Wait, how long was I out?”
“Two hours,” Bastion said, studying the confusion on Marcus’s face before it suddenly understood. “Wait? You tried to use your Ability again?”
“Yeah?”
“You just promised you’d be more careful! The first time you used it, you almost sent Specter through the bloody wall!” Bastion replied, taking a cautious step to the side, away from Marcus’s right arm. “So, what’s wrong? Is it not working? Out of mojo?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus said, looking at his own hand. “Maybe it just takes some time to get used to, like learning to control a muscle?” He then shifted his gaze towards the stairs. “Are the others still inside the Sphere?”
Bastion nodded as Marcus reached for a compact backpack, rummaging through it until he found a knife. With a quick flick, he tested the blade’s edge, then passed the bag to Bastion. “Let’s go find the others first,” Marcus said, his voice still a bit hoarse from earlier.
Bastion nodded once more, catching the backpack and hooking it onto its waist with practiced ease. It turned, retrieving its shield and axe, slamming them against one another for good measure before they moved toward the exit, ready to regroup.
- - -
Bastion and Marcus moved silently through the Sphere, the familiar landscape now slightly more distorted by chaotic energy than the world outside. He could see some parts of houses covered in a thin layer of moss, the colors strangely vivid, twisting in intricate, unnatural patterns. Signs of battle were everywhere—fresh, bloodstained marks overlaying old battlegrounds. Some of the monsters they’d killed days earlier lay rotting on the ground, their bodies warping and decaying as though the Sphere itself were mutating the remains into something else. The air felt heavy with the sense that nothing here would ever stay still for long.
Marcus eyed the scene, taking in the mix of decay and growth. They passed the bodies of more slain monsters, with him recognizing some that Bastion had killed from its memories.
They turned onto another street when a blur of movement caught Marcus’s eye. A monster lunged at him from a nearby bush, all teeth and claws. Marcus barely reacted as Bastion’s axe cleaved the creature in two, its pieces hitting the ground with wet thuds. The robot bent down, gripping the monster’s head and crushing it into pulp with a sickening crunch, letting brain matter and fragments of skull drip from its fingers. All that remained was the Glass, wet with gore.
“Where are they?” Bastion growled, the frustration evident in its voice. “Specter said they’d stick around the barrier.”
“Maybe they ran into trouble,” Marcus offered, though even he doubted it, considering how capable Specter was on its own. “Could be a large group of monsters is near them, and they have to keep still for a while.”
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Bastion made an irritated sound, stuffing the Glass into its backpack before they continued forward. “For two hours? That thing… you made is trouble. Mark my words.”
“Preaching to the choir here, mate,” Marcus said as they just kept moving.
Not long after, they spotted Specter in the distance, sprinting toward them. The robot looked worse for wear—its body covered in blood, torn clothes hanging off in tatters, and its already battered black raincoat shredded even more, giving it an almost wraith-like appearance.
“Where’s that little plastic shit?” Bastion asked as Specter reached them, scanning the area.
“I lost it,” Specter replied, its three lenses shifting toward Marcus, momentarily shifting towards the man’s right arm. “We stuck together for a while, just farming Glass, but eventually, it sped off toward the Orb’s location. Said it was…” Specter made air quotes with its metallic fingers, “...in need of a real challenge. I tried to run after it, but it was surprisingly quick. Like a crossbreed between a racing dog and a pissed off honey badger”
“How can you just lose it?” Bastion asked, its annoyance palpable in its tone.
Marcus stepped between them and reached out, forming a connection with both companions. In an instant, he shared their memories, seeing through their cameras, acting as the nexus and balancing the amount of his consciousness across each body.
Marcus recalled Specter and the prototype moving through the Barrier two hours earlier, encountering their first group of monsters. They had fought differently—Specter, cautious and methodical, had suggested surprise tactics and setting up ambushes. The prototype had ignored the advice, constantly charging headlong into battle with reckless abandon. For an entire hour, they had slaughtered creatures in droves, collecting a decent supply of Glass. But while Specter had remained relatively unscathed, the prototype had grown more worn down during each skirmish, lacking the metal frame of its brethren. The next memory that bubbled up to the surface was the prototype sprinting off, claiming it needed a real challenge, leaving Specter clamoring behind it to keep up.
Marcus broke the connection, his expression hardening. “We need to find it.”
“It’s probably dead,” Bastion said bluntly. “Or about to be.”
“We won’t know for sure,” Marcus countered, glancing at Specter. “Let’s see if we can catch up.”
“Are you sure? You’re not wearing armor. We didn’t plan for this,” Specter said, concern staining its voice.
“I’m sure,” Marcus lied as he pressured his companion to start moving again.
The three of them pushed deeper into the Sphere, the ruined city around them as they moved toward the center, where the Orb waited. Marcus felt exposed without his armor, an unsettling sensation gnawing at him as they pressed on. He’d been in a lot of Spheres already, fought countless battles, but something about this time left him feeling uneasy. ‘I’m stronger now,’ he told himself, steadying the nerves creeping up his spine. ‘More durable… I should be fine.’ Yet, his grip tightened around the knife in his hand, the cold steel offering little comfort.
The night still hung heavy around them, thick and oppressive. A few hours remained until sunrise, but the darkness felt endless. It made Specter’s thermal and night vision invaluable. The robot darted ahead, scanning the area for threats with mechanical precision. Each time it returned, they’d launch a quick ambush, catching smaller monsters off guard, or Specter would guide them around larger groups, saving time, Mana, and bruises.
Marcus tuned out Bastion’s grumbling as they moved forward. The robot clearly wanted to turn back, rest up, and return when they were better prepared. Logically, it made sense—he didn’t have his armor, was low on Mana, and one of the Orbs they usually had at their disposal was missing, leaving them with less juice than usual. Even with Bastion’s internal batteries having some charge, it was a risk. But Marcus didn’t want to risk the chance of losing a part of his own mind.
Specter led them onward, following the prototype’s trail. Every so often, they’d come across signs of its passage—shards of broken plastic, surrounded by a few dead monsters. Bloody footprints marked the way forward, leading them deeper into the Sphere’s center.
Eventually, they reached the spot where the Orb was supposed to be. An old supermarket stood out in front of them, its structure barely recognizable beneath layers of moss and mutation. Dozens of scale-like patches covered the exterior, woven into the moss as if grown or placed there by the creatures that now inhabited the Sphere. Marcus squinted at the faded letters on the building, the familiar shape of the logo stirring memories from his childhood. He didn’t need Specter’s night vision to know what waited inside—death.
The stench of blood hung thick in the air, mingling with something far worse. Something rotten. Marcus swallowed hard as they moved closer towards the entrance.
“Should we go inside?” Specter asked, its voice low as it watched another group of monsters arrive, snarling and hissing at one another as they rushed into the building.
“Our plastic idiot is in there,” Bastion said, its steel fingers tightening around its shield and axe. “That place is a death trap.”
Marcus stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the old supermarket. Though it still had the rough, blocky shape he remembered from years ago, the building felt like something else entirely now—warped, transformed. The windows were gone, replaced by thick earthen walls, covered in scales and moss. The structure had become more like a bunker, fortified by the creatures that infested it. He spotted a faint pulsing light from the entrance. ‘Could be the exposed Orb, or maybe dozens of sacks holding freshly formed monsters, waiting to burst out and rip my face off,’ Marcus thought as he watched a few more monsters enter the building, drawn to something.
“Only one way in,” Marcus muttered, dreading the words even as he said them. He knew the danger, but they couldn’t afford to hesitate. “We have to go in. The risk of mental loss is too great. I’m not going to turn into a vegetable today.”
“Then it’s decided,” Specter said, though its tone held a note of hesitation.
Bastion moved forward, positioning itself protectively in front of Marcus. “I hate this plan with every bolt in my body. We’re risking more of us—maybe even you,” it grumbled, rolling its steel shoulders like Marcus himself used to do to loosen up before a fight. “But it’s two against one, so, what the hell… blood and iron.”
“Blood and iron, brother,” Specter echoed, tapping its fists twice against Bastion’s breastplate. “You and Marcus make the distraction. I’ll rush past the mob and grab our little plastic honey badger… or what’s left of it.”
Marcus and Bastion nodded before all three crept toward the entrance. The howls and screams within the building grew louder with each step they took. Over the chaos, Marcus could make out something else—laughter, broken and unhinged, echoing through the building.
Suddenly, a wounded monster burst from the entrance, missing its eyes and bleeding from a dozen wounds as it stumbled out into the open. Specter shot forward, burying a knife deep in the creature’s throat, cutting its scream short. Swift and precise, it stabbed the beast to death, scattering flesh and blood across the ground within seconds.
Another blood-soaked monster lurched out, missing an arm and with a snapped tusk sticking out of its torso like a jagged stump. Before it could react, Bastion slammed its shield through the creature’s chest and, in one brutal motion, brought its axe down, splitting its skull. The monster dropped lifeless, and Bastion kicked it free, flicking gore from his weapon.
“Ready?” Specter asked calmly, its three lenses focusing on Marcus and Bastion.
Bastion nodded, stepping in without hesitation. “Let’s get this over with while we still have Mana in our frames. This clown better be worth the trouble,” it muttered, moving in with its axe at the ready, while Specter followed close behind, silent and sticking to the shadows.
‘Time to get some more bruises,’ Marcus thought, stepping in, fully aware fresh horrors awaited him. He tightened his grip on the knife’s handle, the cold metal steadying him as the broken laughter echoed louder from deeper in the building. ‘I hate my life!’