Chapter 46: Fracture point (2)

A thin, mechanical rhythm pulsed through the room.

Markus woke into it...

His lungs burned first, it was not pain exactly, but resistance.

Every breath of his felt filtered, forced through something artificial. There was weight on his face....it was tght and suffocating.

He tried to move his body upward and a sharp sting ran through his arm.

His eyes snapped open and all he could see was the colour white.

It was a blinding white light that stretched across the ceiling, sterile and unforgiving.

Tubes ran past his vision, hanging like veins from machines he didn’t recognize. The air smelled wrong. It was cean in the way that erased everything human.

His chest rose sharply, "What... what happened?"

His voice came out thin, warped by the oxygen mask strapped over his face. The words barely sounded like his own.

Something shifted beside him as a screeching sound was heard.

A chair scraped softly, "...You tell me."

Markus turned his head and his father stood there.

Older than he remembered, not physically, but in the eyes. The kind of tired that didn’t come from sleep. It looked like mental exhaustion.

"Father...?" The word felt strange in his mouth. Like it belonged to someone else.

Victor Cain didn’t answer immediately. He stepped closer instead, stopping just beside the bed. His gaze dragged over Markus slowly, clinically, as if he were examining a failed experiment.

"What did you do?" he asked as the words came out low...controlled. But something underneath them cracked.

Markus blinked, "I... I don’t..."

"The Mark 8." Victor interrupted.

That did it, memories slammed into him of the lab, the instability and the reaction going critical.

His eyes widened, "It... exploded."

The machines around him stuttered slightly as his breathing spiked. A warning tone chirped once before stabilizing again.

Markus forced himself to slow down.

’Think.’

His hand twitched and slowly, with effort, he lifted it into view and froze mid-motion.

"...What?" his fingers were wrong.

They caught the light in a way flesh shouldn’t, faceted and translucent.

His entire hand had turned into something between glass and crystal, faint fractures running beneath the surface like frozen lightning.

"No..." He turned it around, staring at it from every angle.

"What happened to me?" he asked as his voice broke through the mask.

"Infected..." Victor said coldly.

Markus’s chest tightened, "Am I going to die?"

Silence settled over the room again and for once, his father didn’t have an immediate answer.

"We don’t know." Victor’s voice broke free.

That was worse for Markus.

Markus let his hand fall back onto the bed, staring at it like it might disappear if he stopped looking.

"It shouldn’t have done that," he whispered. "The Mark 8 wasn’t supposed to.."

"...rewrite structure at that level?"Victor Cain finished the sentence for him.

Markus swallowed hard, "...Yes."

Another brief pause as the machines kept breathing for him.

"You didn’t just fail, Markus," his father said quietly. "You crossed into something we don’t understand anymore."

Markus clenched his jaw tightly, "That was the point."

That got a reaction from Victor’s always serious expression.

A flicker of relief, it was brief, but real. "Not like this." Victor assured.

Markus turned his head away, staring up at the ceiling again.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then movement rose, it was something to his left.

Markus frowned slightly, his vision shifting past the edge of his bed and he saw another bed with another body on it.

"...Who’s—"He stopped for a second and recognition hit him slower this time.

"Ash...?"

The name felt incomplete...wrong even.

He squinted his eyes.

’No. Not just Ash.’ he thought.

"Ashell..." The full name settled into place. "Ashell Volkov."

The man lay motionless on the adjacent bed, his body tangled in tubes and wires. Unlike Markus, Ashell’s condition was visibly worse.

His chest rose unevenly, assisted heavily by machinery. Clear tubes ran in and out near his ribs, faint condensation forming with each strained breath.

"His skin."Markus leaned slightly, eyes narrowing.

Crystalline growths, not clean like his own. They were jagged and uneven. Spreading beneath the surface like something trying to break out.

"What’s going on with him?" Markus’s voice sharpened.

Mr Victor followed his gaze, "...Complications."

"That’s not an answer." Markus said.

"The structures forming inside his body are interfering with his lungs." Victor answered.

Markus felt something cold settle in his chest, "Dont tell me...Crystallization?"

"Yes."Victor replied.

The word landed like a verdict.

"He’s having difficulty breathing because of it. The formations aren’t stable. They’re... invasive."

Markus stared at Ashell again.

The man didn’t respond. Not even a twitch came from him.

Just that uneven, mechanical breathing.

"That doesn’t make sense," Markus said under his breath. "If it’s the same exposure, the same Mark 8 strain, then why is his condition..."

"Different?" Victor interjected.

Markus nodded slowly, Victor exhaled, "That’s what we’re trying to understand."

Markus’s fingers curled slightly against the sheets. The crystalline surface caught the light again, mocking him.

"...How many?"

His father didn’t pretend not to understand and flatly responded, "Most of your research division was affected."

Markus’s stomach dropped, "Infected?"

"Yes." Victor answered.

His throat tightened and asked, "Are the infected...Contagious?"

"No." Victor replied.

That made Markus pause for a little, "What?"

Victor exhaled "They’re not spreading it... There are no secondary infections and no transmission between individuals."

Markus blinked, "That’s... impossible."

"Apparently not." Victor added.

Markus turned his head again, staring at Ashell, "...And us?"

Victor hesitated, "You’re not showing the same symptoms."

Markus looked down at his hand again, "This doesn’t look normal."

"It isn’t." Victor assured.

"Then what are you saying?" Markus erupted.

His father met his gaze directly,"I think this... is something else."

A beat throbbed through him, "A variation."

Another beat, "A new strain."

The words settled slowly. Markus’s mind started moving again, dragging itself out of shock and back into analysis.

"A mutation within the Mark 8 framework..." he muttered. "Triggered by instability during detonation..."

He stopped.His eyes flickered, "...Or adaptation."

That hung in the air for a bit.. settling in.

Victor said nothing after that....he just grew quiet.

Markus’s breathing steadied slightly as it was the thing heard in that moment, "If it adapted," he continued his voice got much quieter now, "then that means it didn’t just fail. It changed."

His gaze sharpened, "Did...did It evolved."

Silence came forth.

Then a chair shifted, "You can stand right....I need time to think."

Victor stepped back from the bed.

Markus barely registered it.

"Never mind I’ll leave you." Victor said.

The words were directed at someone behind him.

Markus didn’t turn, as his father’s footsteps echoed.

The door opened and closed.

He was gone. The room felt larger without him, it was colder.

Markus lay there for a moment, staring at nothing.

Then he turned his head again.

"Ashell..."

No response came, "Ashell, can you hear me?"

The machines answered instead.

A slow inhale and a strained exhale followed each other.

Markus swallowed, "...You idiot," he muttered weakly. "You always pushed harder than you should’ve."

Still nothing.

Markus shifted slightly, wincing as something pulled at his side, "You better not die from this," he added, quieter now. "That’d be... inconvenient."

A pathetic attempt at humor....It died in the air.

The door opened again. Markus glanced over.

A man stepped in quickly, his movements tense, urgent.

He didn’t even look at Markus at first. He went straight to the other bed.

"Ashell..."His voice cracked.

He grabbed his son’s hand carefully, as if afraid it might break. "I’m here."

Markus watched in silence.

The man leaned closer, his forehead almost touching Ashell’s arm.

"My son... we’ll fix this. Do you hear me? We’ll fix this."

The machines continued their indifferent rhythm.

Markus shifted slightly, "...Mr. DeRouse."

The man didn’t respond immediately.

Markus forced his voice steadier, "Mr. DeRouse, please... what’s actually happening?"

That got his attention. Slowly, Ashell’s father looked up.

His eyes were red, not from anger but from fear.

"...Most of your research team was affected," he said quietly.

Markus tensed.

"But for some reason... you two..." He glanced between them, "...you’re different."

Markus waited.

"You’re not contagious."

Markus’s s heart beat throbbed in that moment.

"And you’re not showing the same progression."

Markus’s jaw tightened, "Then what does that mean?"

Mr. DeRouse’s grip on his son’s hand tightened slightly.

"I think..." He hesitated, "...this is a new strain of your Mark 8."

The words echoed.

Markus leaned back slightly into the bed, the oxygen mask fogging faintly with each breath.

’A new strain huh...Not failure well at least not entirely.’ he thought.

His gaze drifted to his crystallized hand again, "...Then it’s still working."

The realization slipped out before he could stop it

"If it’s evolving... if it’s adapting..." His voice dropped lower, "...then this isn’t the end point."

His fingers flexed slightly as the crystalline surface shifted almost imperceptibly under the light.

"...This is just the beginning."

The machines kept beeping at a steady pace.

Like they’d heard that kind of ambition before and knew exactly how it usually ended.