Chapter 202

The M.G.S.

Alexander dragged the trimmer along his jawline, watching the reflection work in careful, methodical strokes. The bathroom mirror was still fogged at the edges from the shower, but had cleared enough to confirm what Julia had pointed out a few days ago.

He looked like a man who’d stopped caring about his face sometime before the heist and never started again.

In his defense, two weeks in the workshop followed by a week in the desert hadn’t exactly encouraged grooming habits. But there was a difference between rugged and neglected, and he’d crossed that line somewhere around day three in Dubai.

The trimmer hummed as he worked. Short passes along the jaw. Shorter ones beneath the nose. He wasn’t going for clean-shaven. Just something that looked intentional rather than forgetful.

When he finished, he set the trimmer down and studied the result. Better. Still more than stubble, but shaped. The kind of look that said he had a beard because he wanted one, not because he’d forgotten about the existence of mirrors.

He gave his reflection a single nod, then left the bathroom.

Sunlight poured through the balcony doors, warm and golden across the bedroom floor. He grabbed a shirt from the chair where he’d thrown it, pulled it on, and found a pair of comfortable pants. Nothing formal. No armor, no gauntlets, no combat boots. Just clothes.

As always, it felt a little strange after such intense life or death moments. Both out in the Empty Quarter, and in the Sheikha’s palace.

Alexander crossed to the balcony doors and stood there for a while, letting the warmth sink in. Then he pulled up his status, setting it to show the changes since the roundtable before Dubai.

—

[STATUS]

Alexander Rooke

| Alias: Machine God

| Guild: Grimnir (Leader)

| Alliances: The Royals (Defensive, Formal) | Throne of Scales (Defensive [Partial], Formal)

| Designation: Supervillain

| Bounty: 2,183,000 → 2,415,000 credits

| Rankings: Universe_1: 64 → 58, Unified: 735 → 684

| Evaluation: Tier 2 (25% → 38%) — Class A

ASCENSION POTENTIAL INDEX (API)

Physical Attributes

| Strength — 80% → 81%

| Endurance ✧ 120 → 142

| Constitution ✧ 121 → 129

| Dexterity — 94% → 95%

| Agility — 85% → 86%

Cognitive Attributes

| Intelligence ✧ 152 → 171

| Processing Speed ✧ 138 → 154

| Perception ✧ 141 → 162

| Focus ✧ 129 → 161

| Willpower (Ambition) ✧ 184 → 199 (+5)

Power Manifestation

Machine God (Technopathy) | Class S, Tier 1

| Efficiency — 100%

| Control — 100%

| Output — 77% → 81%

| Adaptation — 97%

Electrokinesis | Class C → B, Tier 1

| Efficiency — 90% → 91%

| Control — 86% → 92%

| Output — 94% → 98%

| Adaptation — 76% → 80%

Metallokinesis | Class B+, Tier 1

| Efficiency — 83% → 85%

| Control — 76% → 88%

| Output — 66% → 78%

| Adaptation — 59% → 64%

Animachina | Class S, Tier 2

| Mastery ✧ 82% → 88%

Cultivator’s Core | Class B, Tier 1

| Refinement ✧ 62% → 68%

Techniques

| Blackout

| Ensoulment

| Soul Circuit

Skills

| Hyperawareness

| Multithreading

Achievements

| Origin 0 Soul

| Continue the Dream II

—

The rule continued to prove true. Intensive growth came from risking it all. Though, interestingly, there were considerable gains attributed to the arbitration sessions, especially the final one involving Khalida.

He’d even, specifically, gained a single point in Willpower for rebuffing the woman’s mental probe. Perhaps there was something more, too. Because he couldn’t help but feel as if he’d unwillingly forgotten to scan her with his senses. He hadn’t even thought about it until after they’d left, and that moment had hit him pretty suddenly.

There was no certainty that she’d messed with his mind. There was also no certainty that she hadn’t.

The only thing he knew for sure was that she couldn’t have done much. And after deliberating on it, he’d decided that if she’d only protected her own secrets from him, by nudging him away from poking at her with his own powers, he wouldn’t begrudge it.

For now. But they’d be having a serious conversation when next they met. He would willingly keep his powers out of her, so long as she kept her powers out of him.

And if that wasn’t agreeable, they would have a problem.

He really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Dubai had turned out well. The Ascension Oasis had extended Frank and the crew’s stay by an additional week, courtesy of the Sheikha and as thanks for Grimnir’s ‘help.’

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The arbitration had ended better than he’d had any right to expect. His original plan had been to annoy Maximilian relentlessly for the better part of a week, then agree to some minor concession about leaving California alone, maybe even throwing in Oregon and Washington for good measure.

Alexander believed in paying his debts.

Instead, he’d been blindsided by the most ridiculous offer he could think of. Grimnir and the Throne of Scales joining forces to save the world. Or some parts of it, at least. Even then, that just meant playing nice for a bit. Hear them out. Unleash the lawyer and make it all look above board.

Then, politely and perhaps a little apologetically, withdraw from the arbitration, citing unresolvable differences.

Somehow Maximilian had ended up with everything he wanted instead.

Alexander scratched his head and frowned. He shouldn’t complain. Grimnir was getting a lot out of the deal.

He headed downstairs, drawn by the promise of breakfast. Already he could smell Augustus’s pancakes. The old man’s cooking had become one of those quiet constants in Alexander’s life, and he always missed it when they were out on a mission.

Augustus had scaled back given the absence of the crew, but that still meant stacks of his favorites, accompanied by eggs scrambled with herbs Alexander couldn’t even name, bacon piled high, and a pot of coffee large enough to satisfy superhuman demands.

Annie was halfway through her plate. Gilly sat beside her, eating with his usual enjoyment. The alien had really taken to human cuisine, and thanks to Talia, they’d managed to avoid any incompatibilities.

Augustus stood at the counter, nursing his coffee and reading something on a tablet. He glanced up as Alexander entered.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” Alexander grabbed a plate and sat down, pulling a small stack of pancakes from the pile. He added bacon, poured himself some coffee, and took a bite.

Perfect. As always.

“You shaved,” Annie said, stabbing her fork in his direction.

“Trimmed.”

“Same thing. You look like a person again.”

“Thank you, Annie.”

“I’m serious. You were entering cryptid territory. I had to warn the mercs that we had a sasquatch on the island. Gilly, back me up.”

Gilly looked up from his plate, glanced at Alexander, then turned back to Annie. “I found a red fish with a beard last week. Do you think fish need to shave?”

Alexander took another bite of pancake, enjoying Annie’s confused look, and tuned out the pair as they descended into bickering about whether fish could even have beards. He was proud of Gilly, though. Both for the perfectly timed non sequitur, and because his mastery of English was finally reaching a point where he formed full sentences.

“How’s everything going on the other side?” he asked, glancing at Augustus.

Augustus nodded. “Good. The scouts found a small pack of beasts, some sort of deer. Almost took them by surprise when they attacked, but I guess they listened to our warnings.” He took a sip of coffee. “They handled it without injury. Had to send a truck out to retrieve the carcasses. Last I heard, they were itching to find out what beast-deer meat tastes like.”

“Any idea where the gate is situated?”

“Not yet.”

Alexander turned to Annie. “What about you? Find anything in the mushroom murder jungle?”

She shook her head. “Nope. No bodies. Spoke to a scout, and he said there were possible traces of drag marks heading away from the trees. But he couldn’t be certain because there’s been a lot of rain since we were there last.”

“Okay. Keep looking, but focus on your training.”

Annie saluted him with her fork.

“What will you be up to while we’re training?” Augustus asked.

“Workshop.” Alexander sipped his coffee. “Working on the gear I’ll need for Flashpoint.”

The table went quiet.

Annie’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. Augustus straightened, his expression shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant.

Gilly stared at Alexander with his two upper pairs of eyes while his lower pair remained trained on his plate, the fork steadily transporting bite after bite without interruption.

Augustus spoke first. “What about the arbitration? You agreed to some very specific limitations within the Throne’s territory.”

Alexander nodded. “I know. But Flashpoint is currently on tour. AEGIS has him doing public appearances across the country.”

Annie slammed her fork down. “Oh yeah! They’ve got him out there kissing babies like he’s some kind of hero.”

“That’s because he is a hero, Annie. Technically.”

“Pfft.” She leaned back in her chair. “My butt has performed more heroics than that asshole.”

Alexander coughed hard, barely keeping coffee from going across the table. Augustus chuckled into his mug, shoulders shaking.

“Oh yeah? You liked that one?” Annie glanced between them, her mouth widening into a grin. “I’m so putting it on my next shirt.”

Augustus shook his head, still smiling, then turned back to Alexander. “So what’s the plan?”

Alexander cleared his throat. “Well, his next stop is two days after we’re back in Dubai for the joint press release. In New York.”

Augustus sighed. “Really?”

Alexander laughed. “I’m kidding. I mean, it is in New York, but it’s too soon. You’ve all been putting in the work, and I’m a man of my word. So we’ll do it together.” He raised an eyebrow. “Assuming you’re all ready in twenty-four days.”

Annie frowned. “Why twenty-four days?”

“Because that’s the last stop of the tour.” Alexander put his coffee cup down. “In Houston.”

***

Alexander spun the leather chair to the left, then back to the right, his eyes never leaving the weapon on the central workbench.

Around him, the workshop hummed with new life. Display screens along the far wall flickered through schematics and diagnostic feeds, cycling constantly. The second quantum supercomputer was up and running, hooked into every piece of workshop equipment through a series of cables that ran through hastily drilled holes in the walls and ceiling. Not his finest infrastructure work. The supercomputers’ cobbled-together cooling systems made housing them a challenge on the best of days, and with construction efforts split between the Fort and the Beastworld gateway, they couldn’t spare the personnel to build a proper server room.

Just another item on the to-do list before the apocalypse began.

He spun the chair again. Left. Right.

The Sidearm sat on the island workbench under the glow of the holographic projectors, partially disassembled. Eighteen barrels arranged in a rotary configuration, the housing cracked open to expose the plasma cycling mechanism within. Scorch marks still darkened the interior where Pierce’s round had punched through the casing and into his shoulder.

It had performed exceptionally well for his first real foray into weapons design. Ridiculous, even he could admit that. A weapon that required four superpowers to operate simultaneously wasn’t exactly practical. But the project had taught him more about integrating his abilities into a single platform than months of training ever could.

And it had been a fun experiment.

Not as fun as wielding it, even if the thing had consumed almost a third of his reserves in under thirty seconds.

He was absolutely going to repair it. If for no other reason than the amusing shock factor. But not now. The Sidearm fired superheated air. And Flashpoint had two separate powers. Heat and fire. The individual nature of his powers made him far more dangerous than the average pyrokinetic.

Alexander frowned. If not for the man’s arrogance, they’d all be dead.

Flashpoint wouldn’t underestimate or play with them again.

Which meant the Sidearm, impressive as it was, stayed on the bench. Throwing plasma at a man like Flashpoint would be about as useful as trying to drown Gilly.

Alexander’s gaze drifted to the fabricators along the right wall. All four were running, producing components for multiple projects simultaneously.

Armor came first. Custom sets for everyone, designed specifically for sustained thermal assault. Nickel-cobalt superalloy plating with tungsten reinforcement at critical impact points. Even Annie would be getting a set, though convincing her to wear it was something he wasn’t looking forward to.

Then there was Talia’s hoverbike. The internals needed thermal shielding or they’d cook the moment Flashpoint turned his attention on it. Ceramic insulation around the power systems, heat sinks along the frame, redundant cooling for the navigation suite. Straightforward work, just time consuming.

His own equipment was where things got interesting. Or boring, depending on one’s perspective. Fighting someone with Flashpoint’s powers meant simplicity. Complicated tech would overheat and burn if it got too close.

First on the list was a new drone type. They’d probably be the ugliest and simplest drones he would ever make. A power supply and hovertech wrapped in layers of tungsten. Slow. Stupid. Dense and heavy enough to be hurled around the battlefield with Metallokinesis, designed to eat whatever heat the superhero could put out and keep going.

Mace drones. Because he planned to shape them like the head of a mace, for some extra fuck you.

Then the basic kit. Tungsten needles. Rods. Chain. Maybe even plain sheets. Wrapping up the biomorph in Dubai had proven surprisingly effective, and the idea of doing the same to Flashpoint was entirely too alluring.

Alexander snorted and shook his head.

He spun the chair around, turning to face the screens on the far wall. They flickered as the supercomputer cycled through data, faster than the human eye could track. Faster even than his superhuman eyes could follow.

The others didn’t understand. He knew better than anyone that his powers weren’t suited for combat. Technopathy provided few advantages in a direct confrontation. His version of Electrokinesis required technological interfaces to get even a basic lightning bolt. Metallokinesis fought against being finely controlled, despite existing within him as a deep well of power.

Then there was Animachina. The Soul of the Machine. Perhaps the most important power in his kit after Technopathy. And absolutely useless without machines.

That’s why the people who cared about him kept telling him to get some armor. Build a supersuit. Annie even glared at him every time she saw him for three days after he refused to build a fifty-foot mech with a plasma sword.

The joke was on her though. He was absolutely going to build a fifty-foot mech with a plasma sword one day.

But in the meantime, a proper supersuit was a genuinely good idea. One he hated. He’d mostly learned to ignore the sensation of worship he got from machines, but it was always there, nagging at the corner of his mind.

The idea of being completely embraced by the sensation was discomforting in a way he couldn’t explain.

Which led him to his real project.

He reached inside and drew Electrokinesis from his soul, feeding it through his Core until the current flooded his body. Every sense sharpened. The world snapped into focus with an almost painful clarity, and suddenly the flickering images on the screens slowed enough for him to make out the details.

A title flashed in and out, stamped on every simulated proposal, the quantum supercomputer calculating their potential and dismissing them just as fast.

The Machine God System.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep