### Chapter 6: A New Heart
Marcus pressed his hand against the access panel. He expected denial, a blaring siren, or perhaps a defensive shock. Instead, ancient tumblers clicked into place, verifying a clearance that shouldn't exist or perhaps simply failing open due to age.
With a pneumatic hiss that sounded like a dying breath, the heavy blast doors shuddered and retracted into the walls.
The air inside was different. Sterile. Cold. Free of the metallic taste of the Scrapyard.
In the center of the room, bathed in the soft, clinical glow of emergency strip-lighting, stood a pedestal. And atop it lay the object of his salvation.
It was a cylinder, matte black and absorbing the light around it like a physical void. A lattice of silver nano-mesh encased it, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic heartbeat. It was small—deceptively so. Compact enough to hold in one hand, roughly the size of a large thermal mug.
Marcus stepped closer, his sensors focused entirely on the artifact. He found a manual activation switch on the pedestal and depressed it.
The cylinder hummed. A low-frequency vibration resonated through the floor and up into Marcus's legs. The silver mesh ignited with a soft, ethereal blue light.
> OBJECT IDENTIFIED: Cold Fusion Micro-Reactor [Prototype]
> * CLASS: Experimental / Infinite Power Source
> * STATUS: Active / Unstable
> * OUTPUT: Variable.
"I hope you aren't defective," Marcus muttered, his vocalizer static scratching against the clean silence of the lab. "You look... insignificant."
He sat down on the pristine white floor tiles, crossing his rusted metal legs. It was time for surgery.
He popped the latches on his chest plate. The metal groaned as it swung open, revealing the ugly truth of his anatomy. His current power source—a corroded lead-acid battery meant for a heavy forklift—occupied nearly the entire thoracic cavity. It leaked fumes that smelled of rotten eggs and sulfur, staining his internal chassis yellow.
This was dangerous.
He couldn't afford a full system shutdown. If he cut the power completely, his volatile memory banks might wipe. His corrupted OS, barely holding together, might fail to reboot. He needed to perform a "hot swap."
Open-heart surgery on himself. While awake.
He pulled a bundle of scavenged wires from his hip storage. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from starvation. His old battery was down to **2%**.
Step one: Bridge the connection.
He stripped the insulation from the wires with his teeth—a habit from a human life he no longer possessed—and twisted them around the output terminals of the reactor.
*Spark.*
> ⚠ EXTERNAL SOURCE DETECTED.
> ⚠ VOLTAGE: Extremely High.
> ⚠ FREQUENCY: Stable.
"Here goes nothing," Marcus whispered.
He initiated the transfer. He loosened the clamps on his old acid battery. The moment the connection wavered, his vision went black. A terrifying void engulfed his mind.
Then, he jammed the wires from the reactor into his main bus.
It wasn't a flow of energy. It was a tidal wave.
He gasped—a mechanical intake of air that didn't exist. The sensation was shocking. Instead of the sluggish, thick sludge of energy he was used to from the acid battery, this was liquid fire. It was pure, refined plasma coursing through veins meant for dirty diesel.
With a savage yank, he tore the heavy acid battery from his chest and hurled it aside. It clattered across the floor, leaking fluid.
He shoved the small reactor into the gaping, empty cavern of his chest. It looked ridiculous there—a tiny jewel floating in a hollow ribcage meant for a massive engine. It dangled by the wires, swaying.
"Secure it," he commanded his hands.
He used coils of copper wire to lash the reactor to his spinal strut, tying it in place like a prisoner.
> POWER SOURCE: INTEGRATED.
> DIAGNOSTIC: RUNNING...
> CALIBRATION: COMPLETE.
Marcus waited. He watched the energy bar in his HUD, expecting the thrill of seeing it shoot up to 100%. He was ready to feel invincible.
The system pinged softly.
> CURRENT CHARGE: 1%
Marcus froze. He stared at the digit. He blinked his optical shutters, thinking it was a glitch.
It remained **1%**.
He punched the floor, cracking a tile.
"Bullshit!" he roared, his voice cracking with static distortion. "One percent? Are you kidding me? I risked deletion for a dead battery?!"
He glared down at the blue glow emanating from his chest.
"Prototype... of course. It's a dud. A piece of junk. That's why they left it here."
Suddenly, a warning icon screamed into existence on his display.
> ⚠ TEMPERATURE CRITICAL
> ⚠ CORE HEAT: RISING RAPIDLY
He felt it. A wave of intense heat began to radiate from his chest plate.
"And the efficiency is garbage," Marcus spat, feeling his internal fans spin up to maximum RPM. "It runs hot. It runs like a blast furnace. The energy is just leaking out as waste heat!"
He was furious. But he was also wrong.
He didn't understand the physics of what he had installed. It wasn't a defect in the reactor. It was a defect in *him*.
The reactor was generating a Niagara Falls of energy. But Marcus's internal wiring was a garden hose. His cheap aluminum cables, his rusted connectors, his primitive power distribution unit—they physically couldn't handle the flow.
The reactor was outputting 100%. His body could only accept 1%. The other 99% was being violently converted into thermal energy at the point of resistance.
He was cooking himself from the inside out.
> ⚠ WARNING: INTERNAL COMPONENT MELTDOWN IMMINENT.
Marcus sighed, a sound of grinding gears. He slammed his chest plate shut, hiding the glowing blue death-trap.
"Fine. At least I'm not shutting down. 1% is infinite if it never drops. It's enough to get me back to the stash."
He stood up. The floor tiles beneath his feet hissed. The rubber soles of his feet were softening, leaving black, sticky footprints on the white ceramic.
He walked toward the exit, unaware that the plastic instrument trays he passed were curling and warping from the heat radiating off his body.
He wasn't just a robot anymore. He was a walking reactor core, unshielded and critical.