Next Steps

Marcus shuffled through The Library, his cane tapping softly against the metal floor. He found some old clothing which had most likely belonged to Junk and changed into them, they fit loosely. He left the metallic mask he wore on the ground and pulled a large coat tight around him. 

He kept his cane hidden well underneath the coat.

Time was against him.

[Warning: Police presence heightened. Probability of capture: 75%. Recommended action: Activate Disguise I.]

Marcus nodded to himself, feeling the System's words echo in his mind. He ran a hand over the coat, and shifted the fabric subtly, adjusting its texture and color to blend more seamlessly with the environment around him. Coupled with the cowl's shadow casting over his face, he looked like just another faceless figure in the city's underbelly.

He approached the exit cautiously.

"Steady now," he murmured to himself, sliding open the door and stepping out quickly.

The cold air outside cut into his exposed skin. The police were scattered about, keeping a watchful eye on the perimeter to The Library. Marcus tugged the cowl lower and hunched his shoulders, aiming to look as inconspicuous as possible. He drifted slowly towards a dark alleyway beside the building.

"Hey, you there!" A voice rang out.

Marcus froze, heart stopping. He turned very slowly, facing the voice. It was Detective Vega. She squinted at him from a distance.

"What's your business here?" she called.

Marcus shifted slightly, feeling the Disguise skill intensify. His appearance blurred at the edges. He cleared his throat and put on a raspy tone. "Just passing through, officer."

"Stay away from here. We've got an ongoing investigation," she warned.

He nodded mutely and continued his shuffle towards the alley. Once out of sight, he quickened his pace, trying to stifle the coughs that threatened to betray him.

Minutes felt like hours, but Marcus finally made it back to his apartment building. He entered through the side entrance, avoiding the usual stairs. His apartment was on the fifth floor, a long and arduous climb for someone in his condition, but he had no choice.

Each step was a struggle, the Space Plague weakening his limbs further. By the time he reached his door, he was wheezing and sweating profusely.

[Physical condition deteriorating. Recommend rest and medical attention.]

Marcus ignored the System's warnings and fumbled with his keys. He stumbled into his apartment, sagging against the door as it clicked shut behind him. He had barely caught his breath when a knock echoed through the small, grimy space.

"Marcus? You in there?"

Brick's voice. Marcus's heart raced. The enforcer had made better time than expected. 

He took off the coat and hat, letting them fall to the floor, he threw his cane underneath the pile as well. His fingers trembled as he tried to straighten his hair. He hobbled over to the medical table and leaned against it, trying to look less pathetic than he felt.

"It's open." he said.

The door creaked open, and Brick's massive frame filled the entryway.

"There you are," Brick said, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "I was just thinking about stopping by."

"Brick," Marcus said, forcing a smile. "Welcome. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Brick stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "Heard you've been having a bit of luck at the casinos, Marcus."

Marcus suppressed a groan. "Just trying to survive, Brick. You know how it is."

Brick's eyes gleamed with a predatory light. "Lucky for you, I've been sent to collect."

Marcus's smile faltered. "But you said three months, it's barely been a few days!"

Brick shook his head. "Boss doesn't care. He wants his money. Now."

Marcus's scrunched up his face in annoyance but deep inside he was amused, the fools had just given him 70,000! He then lifted up his wrist-holo with an exaggerated sight and pressed some numbers "There. 10,000 credits. It's all I've got at the moment."

Brick checked his wrist-holo, a smirk forming on his face. "Good start, Marcus. But remember, you owe us much more. Don't think about running. The Black Hoods don't forget."

Marcus felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. "Of course, Brick. I'll get the rest. Just need a little more time."

Brick nodded, satisfied for now. "You better. Boss isn't as patient as me."

As Brick turned to leave, he cast one last glance around the apartment, eyes lingering on the medical equipment, the reason for this huge debt in the first place, a smirk formed on his face "Stay healthy, Marcus. Wouldn't want you to keel over before you pay up."

The door closed behind Brick and Marcus collapsed into the medical bed, lungs burning and heart racing.

[Immediate treatment recommended. Physical condition critical.]

Marcus's vision blurred as exhaustion took over. He managed to drag himself to the medical bed, collapsing onto it, starting the dialysis. His mind was foggy, but one thought burned bright: survival.

He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. The ceiling lights had started to flicker just like his hope. But, deep down, a flame still flickered—an ambition that would not be extinguished.

"What's next?" he whispered, barely audible.

Marcus lay in the medical bed, the hum of the dialysis machine the only sound filling the small apartment. The day had been grueling, and his body was in shambles, but his mind was sharp, calculating, relentless. He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift:

Conquer the universe.

It seemed like a distant dream, almost absurd in his current state. But Marcus was nothing if not patient. Every small step would accumulate, leading him closer to his grand vision. He had built a rebellion in Rome; he could build an empire in this galaxy. 

First, though, he needed to tackle the all-too-pressing immediate threats.

First, to clear off debt to Black Hoods. The Black Hoods were a noose around his neck. Brick's visit today was a reminder of just how tight that noose was, he had roughly two and a half months left. He needed to deliver the twenty bots, obtain the remaining 500,000 credits, and then somehow come up with another 500,000 to cover the rest of his million-credit debt. 

Any delay or failure would mean being captured and put to work in the mines, a death sentence with his current condition.

Second, Marcus needed to cure his worsening condition of Space Plague.

The Space Plague was slowly killing him. Stage 4 meant he had less than seven months before it progressed to Stage 5, which would be irreversible and fatal. But the cure was light-years away, literally. Only the central planets had the technology, and a ticket alone was 1.5 million credits—plus the unknown cost of treatment. 

Marcus shook his head pushing aside the thoughts of his dying body, he had more pressing matters and needed several things to progress:

- **Components for the Bots:** He had to secure supplies to complete the robot order for the Black Hoods. Each day that passed without progress was wasted time, more potential for another visit from Brick or worse.

- **Defenses:** Dagger had already attempted to kill him once. The police presence wouldn't last forever, and he needed to ensure his own safety. To survive another attack, he needed defenses, weapons, and a plan.

- **Blackmail Potential:** He had information, leverage on multiple fronts. Mr. Black was a mysterious entity, but information about his dealings could be very valuable—if played correctly, Marcus could extract more funds. The police, too, might be a resource if leveraged properly.

Marcus nodded as the relief of his blood being cleansed began to set in, like a cool tingle in his veins.

First and foremost, Marcus needed to gather supplies. The black market held the components and defensive gear he required. It would be risky, but every moment counted.

Marcus exhaled deeply, feeling the weight of his plan settle in. He had no time to waste. Moving gingerly, he rose from the bed, unplugged the dialysis machine temporarily, and geared up for the trip to the market.

He put on his disguise once more. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. He grabbed his cane, pulling his coat tighter around himself to stave off the cold that seemed to seep into his bones.

With a last glance at the dismal apartment, Marcus stepped out, locking the door behind him. The climb down the five flights of stairs was slow and torturous, but he forced himself to endure it.

The streets outside were bustling with the usual chaos of Centari-IV. People pushed and shoved, lost in their own struggles and schemes. 

Marcus blended into the crowd, his Disguise I skill still active, making him just another face among many.