CHAPTER 68: HUNTING FOR STABILITY

Start of Book 2 : Seeds Of Conquest
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Marcus Chen had exactly three dollars and forty seven cents to his name, which meant Tyler's couch wasn't just temporary housing. It was his entire real estate empire.

The apartment smelled like instant ramen and broken dreams. Two bedroom apartmant was mostly empthy Tyler was waiting his finals to moving in. His room a sleeping bag, a backpack stuffed with his entire wardrobe, and a laptop held together with electrical tape and hope.

He checked his phone. Three messages from mom. One from dad. "Call us son, we are worried about you."

Marcus deleted them without reading the details. Same guilt trip, different day. How could he explain that dropping out wasn't about giving up. It was about priorities they'd never understand. While they wanted him to become a doctor in this world, he was trying to save actual lives in another.

The job listing on his laptop screen glowed like salvation: "Security Position - Pressley Guns & Range."

Perfect. Low-stress work meant more time to study medieval agriculture and weapon design. He could live on almost nothing here while building an empire there.

Marcus grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Time to convince someone he was security guard material.

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The bus ride to Pressley Guns took him through the industrial part of town where ambition went to die. Warehouses and workshops lined perfect unison ready to work for capital overlords, and plenty of people who looked like they'd given up on life.

Marcus wasn't one of them. Not yet.

The gun shop sat between a pawn shop and a tire repair place, its metal siding painted military green. A hand-painted sign read "Pressley Guns & Range - Quality Firearms Since 1987." Through the window, he could see workbenches covered in gun parts and a woman slumped over the front desk.

The young woman looked like she'd had too much to drink last night and was paying for it this morning. Dark circles under her eyes, messy brown hair, and the general appearance of someone fighting a losing battle with gravity.

A voice boomed from somewhere in the back. "Irene! Customer!"

The woman didn't respond. She looked like standing up would require more energy than she currently possessed.

Marcus pushed through the front door, setting off a bell that sounded like it had been there since 1987 too. The shop smelled of gun oil and metal shavings. Workbenches lined the walls, covered in rifle parts, tools, and half-finished projects. A doorway led to what looked like an indoor shooting range.

Heavy footsteps approached from the back. A man emerged who looked like he could wrestle bears for fun—six foot four, built like a tank, wearing coveralls that had seen better decades.

"Marcus Chen, is he here Irene?"

Irene didn't answer. She stared at her coffee cup like it held the secrets of the universe.

Marcus stood up from the plastic chair by the door. "Sir, I'm here!"

The big man walked over to Irene. "Sober up girl, go drink coffee or something."

"OK, dad," Irene mumbled reluctantly.

The man turned to Marcus. "Please excuse my daughter. She slacks off sometimes. I'm John Pressley. I own both the production facility and the gun range."

Marcus shook the man's massive hand, feeling like his own might get crushed. "Nice to meet you sir. I'm Marcus Chen. I'm here for the security job."

"Let's get inside to my office." John pointed at a white container office that had been dropped into one corner of the shop. "Sally, bring Irene a coffee please," he called to a clerk who was taking money from gun range customers.

The office was a study in contrasts. Outside, the workshop looked like organized chaos. Inside, everything sat at perfect ninety-degree angles. Papers stacked in neat piles, pens arranged by color, coffee mug positioned exactly three inches from the edge of the desk.

John pointed at a chair for Marcus and squeezed himself behind a desk that was way too small for him.

"Marcus, I read your resume, but you don't have any security certificate..."

"Sir—"

"Call me John or Mr. Pressley."

Marcus shifted forward. "Mr. Pressley, I'll get the certificate. Until I get it, I'll do anything."

John frowned. "I don't know." He paused, drumming thick fingers on the desk. "Our guys here are already much better than most security guys, but the state requires we have an official security worker. Last guy left us not in good terms. But I don't want to hire a..."

"Someone like me?" Marcus said with a slight smile. "Five-foot-two, hundred pounds?"

John almost smiled back. "Not just that. You don't know any security details, regulations. I'm not even sure you've ever held a gun."

You have no idea what types of guns I used last month, Marcus thought. Flashes of the fight between General Koroth and Lord Varek passed through his mind crude shotgun fire, the smell of black powder, Sara's improvised grenades.

John stood up. "I can see you're a college dropout. Start with menial jobs, collect certificates, then if you want to work places like this, we'll talk."

Marcus also stood. "Sir... Mr. Pressley, I've been working at fast food restaurants for a month and I hate it. Please give me any job here. My dream is to build a rifle with my hands, and only here can I both work and get mentored."

John sat back down, studying Marcus with new interest. "You could have been an engineer. You were in college. What happened?"

"Mr. Pressley, I wasn't in the right mind. Stuff happened and I had to drop out."

John's expression softened. "You know, I understand. Life sometimes gets in the way. I too have a troubled kid. The one at the desk ,Irene. I love her, she's my only daughter. She met awful people." His voice got emotional. He looked toward the edge of the office for a couple seconds, then turned back to Marcus. "How about this. Work here, help out around the shop. I'll sponsor half of your security certificate. After that, you can start full time."

Relief flooded through Marcus. He tried not to show how desperately he needed this. "Thank you, Mr. Pressley."

"But you will not half-ass that certificate course. I have a couple friends who give them. You have to be real security, OK?"

"Yes sir!" Marcus stood up and saluted him like he was still in the military. They shook hands.

"Sir, let me call my parents. They've been worried about me."

"Go ahead."

Marcus left the office and on his way out, saw Irene still struggling to stay awake with a full cup of coffee, now sitting at the desk but nodding off.

"IRENE, get up!" John yelled from his office.

Outside, Marcus called his worried parents. He tried to shave off their concerns with half-truths and optimism. "I found a good job, good boss," he told them, conveniently leaving out the part about being essentially an unpaid intern at a gun shop.

He took the bus back to Tyler's apartment and entered his room. Just a sleeping bag on the floor and his laptop. Clothes scattered everywhere like casualties of his chaotic life.

Time to plan. He opened his laptop and pulled up his ever-growing to-do list:

• Produce fast-growing foods

• Learn to produce a rifle in real world

• Learn to use guns

• Plan a mass-producing agriculture movement

• Learn to produce sewing machine

The list went on and on, each point linking to other files full of research, sketches, and half-formed plans. If anyone saw it with his background, they'd be sure he was crazy.

But Marcus wasn't crazy. He was just living in two worlds at once.

Marcus smiled to himself. "Learn here, build there." He meant Valdris

Now, were to start? He thought. How to grow mushrooms from spawn.

Time to get some sleep. Time to switch worlds. Time to get back to the people who really needed him.