I sat on the chipped concrete floor, leaning against a massive rack. Carefully, trying not to snarl, I unbuckled the leather straps and removed the prosthesis.
The iron construction hit the concrete with a thundering crash.
"Iron, soft tissue inflammation at the stump is forty percent above the norm," Zeno approached. His eyepiece glowed a dull orange. "You need disinfection and rest."
"I’m already resting," I said irritably, looking up at the shelves.
Zeno swept a beam of light across them, and I winced at the sudden flash. Before us stood containers, sealed with vacuum locks.
"Tungsten..." I whispered, running a finger over a cold ingot. "...and titanium."
"The path was short, almost too short... Whatever, no need to fill my head with pointless crap," I thought to myself.
"Ephraim, start a fire," I commanded without turning. "Zeno, activate industrial synthesis protocol. I need your precision."
Soon, a bluish chemical flame danced in the center of the warehouse.
I sat on the floor, laying out the tools in front of me.
[WARNING: Critical biomechanical imbalance detected.]
[Activating skill: Will to Live…]
Too heavy for the frame... no, if I make it hollow. The reinforcement ribs should run at forty-five degrees.
I took a piece of chalk and began to draw on the concrete floor.
"Zeno, forget the gears. They’re too sluggish. I need hydraulics. Based on pressure differentials."
"Iron, a micro-piston system of this level requires a five-micron seal," he countered. "My computational resources confirm: it is possible, but the price..."
"I know, I know. Let's just do it," I cut him off.
The work began.
Zeno worked with immense precision. His lasers hissed, slicing through titanium, carving out parts so tiny Ephraim could barely see them. I assembled the units myself. My left hand was slick with oil and blood—I’d cut myself several times on the sharp edges.
By midnight, the work reached its final stage—integration.
I looked at the "Second Iteration." The arm lay on the workbench, shimmering with matte metal.
"Ready for synchronization," Zeno said flatly. "Iron, I must warn you. Direct connection to nerve endings without anesthesia can cause fourth-degree shock."
"I have the skill, remember? It won’t let me pass out. So start."
He pressed the base of the prosthesis to my shoulder. The magnetic grippers he had designed himself slid into the ports. The system of the "Second Iteration" began to level the pressure. Thin capillaries filled with fluid.
[Synchronization: 10%… 40%… 85%…]
[Critical CNS load!]
"Hold on!" Ephraim jumped up, gripping my shoulders.
"Do not interfere. The process is irreversible," Zeno boomed.
After a while, I opened my eyes and tried to slowly lift my right arm.
"Light," I said, moving my fingers. The phalanges responded instantly, without the delay I’d had before. I picked up an old steel nut from the table and crushed it effortlessly.
"Super," I whispered.
"Response accuracy: 0.002 seconds," Zeno confirmed.
"Rest, kid," Ephraim said. "Back on the road tomorrow."
I nodded, sinking onto the straw. My consciousness was slowly fading.
"He has come..." he whispered. "The Master of Capillaries."
After an unknown amount of time, I woke to heavy breathing right against my ear.
I snapped my eyes open. The nausea hit first—a violent wave.
"He opened his eyes!" someone rasped, their voice shaking with excitement. "The Master is looking!"
I tried to sit up. Zeno was instantly there.
"Iron, thirty-two biological objects detected within a five-meter radius," he reported.
I forced my eyes to focus. Around us, kneeling, were people who looked like piles of junk. One of them stepped forward. On his head was a "crown" made of a bent copper tube.
"Oh, Voice of Steel..." the old man trembled, stretching bony hands toward me. "You repaired yourself. You breathed life into dead flesh. Save us too. Our flame... our god is dying."
"Has he completely lost his mind?"
"Ephraim. You okay?" I croaked, ignoring the old man.
"Fine," Ephraim grunted from a corner, gripping his staff tight. "Kid, they’ve been staring at you for an hour."
"An hour? And you didn't even wake me?" I said, forcing myself to stand. "Alright then. Lead on. Let’s see this "god of yours"."
The walk was long. Narrow passages. Pipes were everywhere: massive, tiny, freezing with condensation or glowing hot. Finally, we entered a massive hall.
In the center, rising from a rift in the floor, was a pillar of blue flame. Around it, hundreds of people swayed in time with a thin, piercing sound.
"There," the old man said—his name was Corvus—pointing to a burst pipe. "If it goes out, the Great Cold will come. We brought sacrifices... copper, oil..."
"You’re idiots," I muttered, taking a step toward the rift. "Zeno. Light."
Three meters down, the main valve was choked with soot and scale. The gas pressure had dropped. Worse—from a neighboring cracked pipe, superheated steam was blasting into the shaft.
"If the pressure drops another two units," I said, wiping my nose, "the flame goes out. And then the accumulated gas blows."
"Save him!" Corvus fell to his knees.
A memory flashed instantly...
If it weren't for her... I would never in my life help them.
[ACTIVATION: WILL TO LIVE]
"Zeno, hold the grate. Ephraim, stay back."
I jumped down. The skin on my face hissed. Boiling droplets ran through my hair, but my mind classified the pain as irrelevant noise.
I gripped the valve with my right hand. The titanium heated instantly, transferring the sear into the ports on my shoulder. Darkness swirled before my eyes.
"Thirty degrees. Four hundred Newtons. More. More," a dispassionate inner voice whispered.
The valve groaned. Rust showered down. One more second and the titanium tendons would snap. With a heavy thud, the valve turned. Gas surged upward.
Above, the flame transformed from a sickly flicker into a five-meter pillar of blue fire.
I climbed out, staggering. My face was red from burns, my clothes smoking. As soon as my feet touched the floor, the skill deactivated. Instantly, the vessels in my eyes burst, staining the world pink.
"Kid!" Ephraim jumped to me, grabbing my shoulders. "Do you hear me?!"
The crowd erupted into a chant. Foreheads slammed against the floor. Corvus crawled toward me, holding out a bundle wrapped in dirty suede.
"You brought the God back... Take this. The memory of those who built the Bridges."
I took the bundle with trembling fingers.
"The Paths," Corvus whispered. "Secret trails beneath the Bridge. Follow them. But beware. The Black Man with glass eyes... he is dangerous."
“Yeah, I already know without you.” — “Let’s go, Zeno, Ephraim.”
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