Marcus wandered through Oasis Quarters, trying to make sense of the place.
For a military base, it… bizarre. Unstructured. Undisciplined. Nothing like the rigid, high-alert culture he's known back at the Academy.
It was already past wake-up hour, yet the quarters were quiet. Unsettlingly so. The only thing he could hear was the occasional thud of boots and a few distant laughs.
As he passed the cafeteria, he heard a slurred voice pleading.
"What do you mean by that?" Nexus retorted with a mock-offended voice. "You saying there are things in your life better than me?"
Waldolf groaned. "I'm serious, Captain!"
"Nonsense. Marcus is the weakest. You'll just be second place."
Marcus didn't wait to hear the rest. He kept moving, with an unreadable expression.
The Oasis Quarters felt more like a forgotten estate than a frontline military post. It had everything, a park, a gym, a grocery store, even a few scattered cafes and utility buildings. But many of them looked abandoned, or barely functioning.
Eventually, he passed a mechanic workshop. Music blared from inside, muffled under thick steel and glass. Curious, Marcus stepped closer.
The moment he pushed the door open, a blast of heavy bass thudded through his chest. Somewhere in the back, sparks flew and metal screamed under a drill. A shirtless man stood hunched over a workbench, back to him, and engine oil smeared across his torso. A strap ran diagonally across his head, keeping a pair of industrial goggles in place.
Suddenly, the music cut.
The man froze, the drill stopping mid-bore.
"Hey, Johnny! What the hell, man! I'm not done yet. It's not your turn to pick the playlist!" he shouted without looking up from his work.
A voice echoed from above. "You think I don't know that! Look behind you Tommy! You couldn't even tell that the newbie's here to say hello."
Marcus looked up. On a platform above, a man leaned over the balcony. Same build, same hair, same green eyes—only difference was the black tank top.
Twins.
Tommy yanked off his goggles and turned. "Oh, hey! Newbie! I'm Tommy." He offered a handshake—completely forgetting his palm was covered in black grease.
Marcus hesitated.
Before he could answer, Johnny landed beside them with a thud, slapping Tommy's hand away. "Go wash that mess off first. No one wants your engine sludge on their skin."
Tommy shrugged and shuffled off without protest.
Marcus studied the two. Identical height, just over six feet. Close-cropped blonde hair. Chiseled jaws. Green eyes that sparkled with mischief, or madness—or both. Their skin was sun-burnished, and despite the relaxed atmosphere, Marcus could feel a current of strength under their frames.
"You're Marcus, right?" Johnny said, voice casual but observant. "Welcome to the madhouse."
"Thanks," Marcus replied, scanning the shop.
Johnny gestured around. "We keep this place running, more or less. Repairs, gadgets, tweaks. You need something fixed, come here."
Even covered in grease and dressed like mechanics, the twins still looked like they'd walked off the pages of a skincare magazine.
"Nice to meet you." Johnny gave an award-winning smile, as though he was truly happy to see Marcus in their workshop.
"So, what brings you here?" He asked.
"Nothing in particular… I was walking around trying to get familiar with the place and then I got curious because of the music."
"Oh, are you a fan of rock music too?" Tommy asked excitedly from a distance. He was washing his hands, struggling to get the grease off.
"No, I was just curious." Marcus shifted his weight. "But I'll take my leave now."
Even though he could tell that the twins meant him no harm, something about their being gave him serious chills. As if he were standing close to live wires.
"Why don't you stay for a bit," Johnny offered. "We don't usually get guests so excuse our poor hospitality."
"Don't worry about that. I wouldn't know how to appreciate a good one even if it hits me in the face. I'm meant to be in Sentinel Logan's office."
Johnny just maintained his smile and gave a nod. "Sure thing. I hope you'll visit again, soon."
"If circumstances allow it," Marcus said as he quickly left the workshop. As he left, Tommy approached his brother. "You scared him away Johnny."
"I was just trying to probe deeper… but he seemed to have sensed something. He might just be as special as Captain said."
Not interested in walking around anymore, Marcus went to the building where he had seen Logan walk out of yesterday. Even though the sun wasn't up yet, he had a feeling the man wasn't the type to sleep much.
Approaching the building, before he could knock on the door, Logan's voice reached his ears. "Come in, Marcus…"
This caused him to freeze in place as it sounded as if Logan was right next to him, however, when he turned to check, there was no one there.
Marcus opened the door cautiously and stepped inside.
His breath caught.
The room opened up like a hall in a royal archive—towering walls lined with bookshelves, mechanical arms dusting spines and shifting tomes as if they had minds of their own. The air was warm also, laced with the scent of parchment and oil.
Down a long corridor, Marcus spotted Logan seated at a broad desk, brush in hand, carefully painting intricate patterns on a thin rectangular sheet.
"Come, take a seat." Logan looked up as he offered.
Marcus obeyed.
"I had a feeling you were a morning person too," Logan said, though his deadpan tone made it sound more like a statement than a joke.
Marcus gave a light nod.
"I assume that the Captain hasn't told you much of how things work in the Second Ring?"
Another nod.
Logan sighed.
"I apologize in his stead. He might look like he's all over the place, but occasionally, he's too smart for his own good. Captain's a good guy… just a little bit troubled. Where do I start from?" He leaned back on his chair and scratched the stubble on his chin.
"How about we start with what we do in our division. And then from there we can find our way around. Don't hold back on the questions you have… and don't worry, I'm not as sketchy as Captain."