Sickness

Marcus leaned back against the cold medical bed, still feeling the slight ache in his skull from using the system. He took a deep breath, attempting to ground himself in his new reality.

"System," he muttered under his breath, "What are your other functions?"

As if on cue, text flashed before his eyes:

[Automation Design System: Main Functions]

[1. Knowledge & Skills]

[2. Automation Creation]

[3. Status]

[4. Quests]

Marcus's hazel eyes lit up with curiosity. Automation Creation? Status? He needed more details.

"What is Automation Creation?" he asked.

[Automation Creation: Allows the design of automations to perform tasks. Requires knowledge and materials.]

This was not surprising, but the utility was astounding. He needed to get materials. He needed to arm himself with knowledge. His body might be frail, but his mind was as sharp as ever.

"I must learn more," he mused aloud.

He focused on the Observation skill he had just gained. "System, how do I upgrade Observation to the next level?"

[To upgrade Observation I to Observation II, you need 50 AP.]

Marcus frowned. That was more AP than he had. "And how do I earn more AP?"

[AP is earned through achievements, completing tasks, and overcoming challenges. Additionally you can gain AP and other rewards from quests.]

Marcus exhaled. The system was clear and to the point. He didn't expect any less. "Did you say Quests?"

The text in front of him changed and a list of quests appeared but there was only one.

[Conquer the Galaxy - Progress 0% - Reward: ????]

[Notes: Cmon, entertain me!]

Marcus's next question was going to be where these quests came from but reading the text he had an idea.

Was it really God that he met when he died?

"Doesn't matter," he said shaking his head "don't plan on meeting them again anytime soon."

He nodded slowly. This could be useful. Very useful.

"And Status?" he inquired next.

[Status: An overview of your skills, physical traits and ailments.]

Marcus allowed a sly smile to creep onto his face. This system was more powerful than he initially thought. His ancient Roman mind swirled with possibilities.

"Show me my status," he commanded.

A small overlay appeared, revealing a nearly empty space save for a few basic items:

[Marcus Crassus]

[Strength: 3 (-15 Ailment)]

[Agility: 3 (-15 Ailment)]

[Endurance: 1 (-15 Ailment)]

[Intelligence: 8 (-2 Ailment)]

[???: ??]

[Skills : Observation I, Health Care I, Swordplay III (unavailable), Brawling II (unavailable) ]

[Knowledge: Tactics IV, Command IV]

[Buffs: None]

[Ailments: Space Plague (Stage 4)]

[Approximate Networth: -1,000,000 CC]

[Summary: A sick good for nothing bum.]

"What the hell!" Marcus groaned, his situation was worse than he thought. His physical traits were being damaged by something called the 'Space Plague' and even some skills from his past life were unusable. It made sense, his body was so weak even standing was difficult.

"What is the space plague?" he wondered and the system helped him out.

[Space Plague: A wide spread plague that often travels and incubates in the confined spaces of ships during space travel. It lives in the blood and attacks important organs. It is treatable in early stages but if left to fester becomes more difficult and fatal.]

[There are five stages. You are in stage four.]

"What does that mean?"

[In stage four only advanced procedures can cure the disease and patients will require routine blood cleansing to survive. Extreme negative impacts on the body.]

Marcus rolled his eyes, of course he had the plague. "And in stage 5?" he asked.

[In stage 5 the disease has incubated long enough and blood begins to leak from the ourfices and death is highly likely at 99.9%, at this stage the disease is incurable, recommended action: Euthanasian]

Marcus swallowed as he looked at all the medical equipment around him and he thought of this body's parents who he now knew were dead. He suspected he now knew the reason.

"How long until I reach stage four?" he asked calmly.

[Calculating…]

[Estimated stage five incubation in 7 Months, malnutrition, cheap treatments and equipment have expedited the process.]

[Recommended Action: Undergo life saving procedure to cure disease.]

"Of course," Marcus laughed bitterly, "nothing's ever easy."

Feeling the energy finally coursing through his body Marcus struggled to his feet, able to stand but having to walk while leaning on the wall. He made his way into the bathroom.

Marcus shuffled to a dusty corner of the room, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a grimy, cracked mirror hanging precariously on the wall. Each step was painful, his frail body protesting every movement, but he pressed on until he stood before the reflective glass.

The man staring back at him hardly seemed real. Gone was the formidable figure of ancient Rome. Instead, a shadow of a person met his gaze, a pale ghost.

Marcus leaned forward, his skeletal fingers gripping the edge of the mirror's frame. His white skin was stretched tight over his bones, giving an almost translucent appearance. He could see the faint blue map of veins running under the surface.

His eyes, though—a piercing hazel—were still sharp, still hungry. They scanned his own reflection, assessing the damage, noting every flaw.

His black hair was a tangled mess, coarse and disheveled. It seemed more like a wild bush than hair, desperately in need of combing and care. He reached up, attempting to smooth it down, but it only resisted.

He forced himself to crack his neck, a habit from his previous life. The series of pops brought a small measure of relief. His neck looked too thin, too weak to support his head.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he studied his form. His once powerful muscles had withered away, leaving him skinny and limp. His shoulders, once broad and commanding, now slumped in defeat.

He moved his lips, practicing a few commanding phrases in his old Roman tone. It had lost none of its edge, but the overall effect lacked the imposing figure it once had. "Damn this body," he spat out, dropping his hand to his side.

Patches of dirt clung to his cheeks and jawline, remnants of a recent struggle. His eyes traced down to his clothes—ragged, old, barely hanging onto a frame that could no longer fill them out.

Marcus sighed, but his gaze remained defiant. Despite the gaunt, almost pitiful appearance, he focused on the fire in his hazel eyes.

"This is just the beginning," he whispered to his reflection, his tone exuding a quiet authority. "First I will get these debtor dogs off of me and then I will cure this feeble body, then I can focus on building my power, conquering this new world."

He straightened up, forcing his weak body to stand tall. It was a struggle that left him breathless, but he managed, staring down his reflection one last time.

Marcus turned away from the mirror, each step back to the medical bed a reminder of his frailty. But his mind was resolute, a storm of plans and strategies forming, laying the groundwork for his comeback.

Frail as he was, the soul of Marcus Crassus was unyielding, burning brighter than any physical weakness. The mirror had shown him the harsh reality, but it also fueled his determination to overcome.

His thoughts turned to Brick and the Black Hoods. To pay off a million credits in three months, he would need to use every trick at his disposal. His mind raced with the strategies he used back in Rome not as a rebel general but as an orphan on the street.

The technology had changed but people had not, the sources for legal and illegal money were surely still the same broadly, he only had to find it.

In the bathroom he cleaned himself up as best he could, dawned new clothes of pants and a loose shirt which while still poor looking were not drenched with sweat. He attached a device around his wrist which lit up showing him his bank account and contacts (there were none), in his bank there were 115 credits.

It would have to do, he couldn't afford to sell the medical equipment he had, it was keeping him alive. 

In the corner of the bathroom he found a measly black cane with the letter 'A' engraved on it.

The memory of a man, a father handing it to Marcus flooded through his head, not a memory of his own but of the previous owner of this body, Alex. 

Marcus suspected Alex had died on that table, finally succumbed to his sickness and when his soul left he had come in.

It was a sad way to go, alone and in the dark.

"I won't waste it." Marcus swore. 

His immediate goal was clear: make money. He needed to make enough money to pay off this debt so he could have some room to breathe.

He stood up, his frail body protesting the movement. Ignoring the pain, he took his first steps toward the ajar door, his cane clacking sharply against the floor.

"Patience, efficiency, and ruthlessness," he muttered to himself, a mantra from his old life. "I will rise again."

His path to power had only just begun, and he had three months to conquer this debt or die trying.

Then he grinned. 

"Time to find a casino."