Chapter 4: Gravity Anomaly

Finn squeezed his eyes shut, exasperation clawing at him. Mark was at it again—flirting with anything in a skirt, age be damned. No surprise he dreamed of being a gossip journalist; the guy was a natural-born pest.

The nurse, though, wasn't biting. "Wait outside," she said curtly. "The doctor's coming soon." Her tone softened as she turned to Finn. "Finn, any discomfort?"

"Nope. Feel great, actually," Finn replied, flashing a grin. And he meant it—after that long nap, he wasn't groggy. He was buzzing with energy, though his stomach roared like a beast unleashed.

Mark leaned in, smirking. "Nurse, you're an angel in white. Check him good, alright? He's still a virgin—got a bright future to protect!"

Three black lines might as well have streaked across Finn's forehead. Mark would say anything to keep the chatter going. But the no-nonsense nurse didn't hesitate—she shoved the jabbering idiot out the door.

The doctors arrived soon after, running Finn through a battery of tests. Results came fast: he was fine. Better than fine, even. His only complaint was the hunger gnawing at his gut. With that, they discharged him.

Mark sulked as they left. "If you'd stayed longer, I could've worked that nurse some more," he muttered. Finn's glare could've melted steel, but since Mark was covering dinner, he let it slide.

Big mistake for Mark. Half an hour later, he watched in horror as Finn demolished plate after plate, his weekly allowance vanishing into that bottomless pit. Should've hit a food stall, Mark thought, bitter as hell. Is this karma biting me back?

Finn leaned back, finally full, stretching with a lazy, satisfied groan. "Man, I feel alive. Three days in bed, though? I'm like a mummy clawing out of a tomb."

Mark stared at his gutted credit card. "What kinda mummy eats like a starved wolf? Here, take the keys. Go burn that off. I need a girl to soothe my broken soul."

"Who broke it?" Finn asked, all mock innocence.

Mark groaned, collapsing in theatrical defeat.

Mark's folks were interstellar traders—loaded, but not monopoly-rich. Their house was a sprawling palace, mostly empty since they were rarely home. For Finn, it was a second skin. The real gem? The gravity chamber. Not every rich kid had one; Mark had conned his parents into buying it with some bullshit about "military training." His actual plan? Zero-G hookups. Spoiler: it didn't work out.

Finn, though, lived for that chamber. Next to Cosmic War, it was his obsession. The game was a marvel—open to civvies and soldiers alike. It synced your real-world stats, no cheating allowed. Want to pilot a Mobile Suit? You'd better be fit enough. Skills could level up in-game, but your body? That was on you. The realism hooked the military—mechs in Cosmic War mirrored real ones, give or take some fantasy upgrades.

The bottom-tier mech was the BS001, an Evantian relic. Slow, weak, clunky—pure torture to operate. Even Evantians ditched it in-game. In the real world, those junkers hauled ore or rotted in training yards.

Then came the basics: NUF's Knight TM and Beast TN, USE's Kanuo III and Normandy A.

The Knight TM was humanoid, a step up from the BS001. Faster reflexes, alpha alloy blade, laser rifle—solid in most terrains, just not quick.

The Beast TN mimicked wolves or tigers. Speed over power, it rammed with a forehead blade or fired a mouth laser. Unstable, but lethal when it moved.

The Kanuo III, USE's take on the Knight, was lighter, nimbler—built for human pilots. Less punch, but they swarmed the battlefield.

The Normandy A stood apart—an aerial mech, the only basic flier. It shredded ground targets like the Beast TN but crumpled under bombers. A prototype for all-terrain dreams.

Higher tiers got crazier—pure sci-fi madness. Real-world militaries probably hid some of that tech, but Cosmic War didn't care. It owned the planet's attention anyway.

Finn stripped to the waist and stepped into the gravity chamber. His frame wasn't bulky, but the lean muscle packed a punch. He'd mastered 2x gravity—mech pilot standard, they said. If only I could skip the damn exams, he mused.

After days of nothing, he was itching to move. He launched into a military workout—Mark's dad's routine. Mark himself? He'd rather chase tail than lift a finger.

Ten minutes in, Finn frowned. No sweat. Normally, he'd be drenched by now. Machine busted?

He checked the display. All green. Weirded out, he bumped it to 2.5x. Nothing. 3x—still nothing. What the hell?

He grabbed the manual, ran a diagnostic. Everything checked out.

Am I losing it? Did that meteor fry my brain?

The room hummed around him, gravity cranked high, yet Finn stood untouched—a mystery wrapped in steel and silence. Something was wrong. Or maybe, just maybe, something was very, very right.