### Chapter 5: Protocol "Spark"
The euphoria of his victory over the turret was a volatile chemical burn—intense, but short-lived. It evaporated exactly three minutes after the last spark died.
The energy indicator in his HUD flickered, the numbers tumbling down like a countdown to execution: *42%... 41%... 39%...*
His ancient capacitors were sieves. They couldn't hold the "dirty," unstabilized charge he had ripped from the terminal. The electricity was leaking out of him, dissipating into heat and useless static, slipping through his circuits like water through a clenched fist.
He needed a stable power source. And he needed it before he became a permanent fixture of this room.
Marcus retrieved the map he had looted from the safe. It was a physical artifact, a sheet of polymer paper covered in cryptic glyphs. He activated a linguistic decryption subroutine. It was a painful process; the data packet forced its way into his cortex, rearranging his understanding of symbols.
The gibberish resolved into crisp, intelligible text.
> LOCATION IDENTIFIED: Research Complex "AEGIS-4"
> SECTOR: Industrial/Experimental.
He projected the map into his visual field, overlaying it on reality. A red navigation line pulsed, snaking through the digital representation of the ruins. The destination point throbbed with high priority:
**[BUILDING A: ADVANCED ENERGETICS LAB]**
**[DISTANCE: 4.5 KM]**
He checked his current charge: **35%**.
Then, he looked down at his left arm. The massive yellow "Titan" manipulator. It looked formidable, a weapon capable of tearing steel, but his diagnostic systems were merciless with the math.
> ⚠ RESOURCE ALERT:
> * Component: Heavy Manipulator "Titan"
> * Weight: 120 kg
> * Passive Power Draw: 18% / hour (Hydraulic maintenance + Counter-balance effort).
The math was simple. With this arm attached, he wouldn't make it to the lab. He would shut down halfway there, a heavy statue in the middle of the wasteland.
Rationality dictated a sacrifice.
Marcus picked up his wrench. The decision was logical, but his phantom emotions rebelled. He felt a pang of loss. This arm had saved him. It made him feel powerful.
"Don't think I'm throwing you away," he muttered, the static in his voice sounding almost apologetic. He began loosening the heavy bolts he had tightened only hours ago. "You are my main caliber. But right now... you're killing me."
The disconnection process was somber. With a final hiss of depressurizing seals, the giant limb detached. His body suddenly felt incredibly light, almost weightless, but also painfully asymmetrical and vulnerable.
He dragged the "Titan" into a dark corner, covering it with sheets of rusted corrugated iron and debris. He marked the coordinates on his internal map with a digital flag.
> CACHE CREATED: [Stash #1]
> * Contents: Manipulator V-7 "Titan"
> * Return Priority: HIGH.
He would come back. He swore it on his remaining battery life. He wouldn't just retrieve it; he would upgrade it. He would force it to be efficient.
But for now, he had to move.
He scavenged a piece of oil-stained tarp from a pile of refuse, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cloak to shield his exposed wiring from the elements.
He stepped out into the night.
The storm had evolved into a deluge. The rain was torrential, a wall of water mixed with industrial fallout. It hammered against the metal landscape with a deafening roar.
This chaos was his cover. The noise masked the whine of his servos; the cold rain suppressed his thermal signature.
For 4.5 kilometers, Marcus ceased to be a machine and became a shadow. He moved through the "dead zones," sliding between shipping containers and climbing over mountains of crushed vehicles.
Twice, he froze.
A patrol of aerial drones—sleek, hunter-killer models with searchlights cutting through the rain—swept overhead. Marcus pressed himself into the mud, reducing his system output to the bare minimum. He watched them pass, their anti-grav engines humming a song of death.
Later, the ground shook. Not from thunder, but from footsteps. In the distance, silhouetted against a lightning flash, a colossal walker—a siege mech the size of a building—lumbered past. It ignored the small fry, its purpose unknown, but its vibration rattled Marcus's optical lenses.
He was an ant in a land of giants.
Finally, the silhouette of "Building A" emerged from the gloom.
It was a fortress of concrete and reinforced glass, miraculously intact amidst the destruction. The main gates were welded shut, fused by time and orbital lasers, but Marcus's scanner found a breach—a service entrance pryed open by looters decades ago.
He slipped inside.
The silence here was different. It wasn't the empty silence of the desert; it was the heavy, expectant silence of a tomb.
The interior was a maze of corridors labeled with fading paint: "TECHNICAL LEVEL"... "BIO-LABS"... "PROTOTYPING".
Marcus navigated by the map, ignoring the skeletons of researchers that still sat in chairs or lay in hallways, clutching datapads. He didn't have time for the dead.
He stopped in front of a massive, hermetically sealed blast door. The metal was thick, engraved with a symbol of a lightning bolt inside a shield.
**[PROJECT 'SPARK']**
**[AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY]**
**[WARNING: HIGH VOLTAGE]**
This was it. The end of the line.
> STATUS:
> * Power: 12%
> * Hull: Wet, dirty, functional.
> * Objective: REACHED.
He raised his hand to the control panel.