CHAPTER 85: BUILDING DEADLY SKILLS

Marcus arrived at Pressley Guns with renewed focus. Marcus returned to the gun shop to find the workshop busier than ever. Edward's sales success had brought new contracts, and everyone was working overtime to meet demand. Marcus used the opportunity to continue his rifle research with Agustin.

"Your design is getting better," Agustin said, examining Marcus's latest sketches. "But these are all professionally manufactured components. You said you wanted to build everything by hand?"

"That's the challenge," Marcus replied carefully. "I want to understand every piece, every mechanism. How would someone create this without modern manufacturing?"

"Well, you'd need to simplify a lot. Hand forged parts can't achieve the same tolerances as machine tooling. Also, some of these materials just don't exist in crude form."

Marcus nodded, making mental notes. "What if someone had access to basic metalworking but no advanced machinery?"

"Then you'd need to redesign the whole firing mechanism. Look, these springs require specific steel alloys. This firing pin needs precise hardening. And don't get me started on consistent ammunition."

While they discussed technical challenges, Marcus noticed Irene organizing paperwork at her desk. Her transformation over recent weeks had been remarkable. She was sober, focused, and actively participating in shop operations instead of just occupying space.

"Marcus, can you help me move these supply boxes?" Irene asked, gesturing toward a delivery that had arrived while he was at his course.

"Sure thing."

As they worked together, Marcus observed how much steadier her hands had become. Her eyes were clear, and she moved with purpose rather than the sluggish uncertainty he'd seen before.

"You seem to be doing really well lately," Marcus said as they stacked the boxes.

"Yeah, I feel better than I have in months. Staying busy helps. Having actual responsibilities makes a difference." She paused, then added quietly, "Thanks for not treating me like I'm broken."

"Everyone deserves a chance to get better."

"Not everyone thinks that way around here," Irene said, glancing toward the gun range where Alex was working with a customer.

Marcus followed her gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Alex has been spreading stories about me. Telling people I must be on new drugs because I'm actually functional lately." Her voice carried hurt and frustration. "He thinks addiction is a character flaw instead of a medical condition."

"That's his problem, not yours."

"Easy to say. Harder when people believe him."

Marcus felt anger building toward Alex. The man's hostility had been growing steadily, but targeting Irene's recovery crossed a line. "Don't let him undermine your progress. You know what's real."

Later, while Marcus worked on his rifle prototype in the workshop, he overheard Alex talking to Sally at the front counter.

"She's been way too happy lately," Alex was saying. "Nobody goes from depressed addict to cheerful helper without some kind of chemical assistance. She must be on new stuff."

Sally looked uncomfortable with the conversation. "Maybe she's just getting better, Alex. People do recover."

"Trust me, I've seen this before. The happy phase never lasts. She'll crash harder than before, and we'll all have to deal with the fallout."

Marcus clenched his fists but forced himself to stay focused on his work. Direct confrontation would only make things worse for Irene. Better to support her progress and let Alex's negativity speak for itself.

His rifle prototype was coming along slowly. The firing mechanism was crude but functional, though nowhere near the reliability he needed. Every failure taught him something, but progress felt frustratingly slow.

"Having trouble?" Agustin asked, examining Marcus's latest attempt.

"The timing is off. The firing pin strikes too early, and the ejection mechanism jams every third round."

"These tolerances are really tight for hand machining. You might want to consider using some modern manufactured components mixed with your custom work."

"I'll think about that," Marcus said, though he knew that wasn't an option for Valdris.

His phone rang as he was cleaning up his workspace. Mom's number appeared on the screen. He'd been avoiding their calls for weeks, but the guilt was becoming overwhelming.

"Hi, Mom."

"Marcus! Finally. We've been so worried about you. You never call anymore."

"I've been busy with work and studying for my security certification."

"That's what concerns us, honey. You used to call every few days. Now it's been three weeks. Are you eating properly? Are you safe?"

Marcus heard the genuine worry in her voice and felt terrible for causing it. "I'm fine, Mom. Really. Just focused on building a career."

"Your father thinks you're depressed about dropping out of school. Maybe you should talk to someone professional."

"I'm not depressed. I'm just working toward different goals than before."

"What kind of goals? You used to want to be a doctor. Now you're working at a gun shop."

How could he explain that he was trying to prevent famine and war in another world? That his current job was preparation for fighting an dark wizard? That every skill he learned here could save lives there?

"I'm learning practical skills that could help people in dangerous situations. It's meaningful work."

"Marcus, sweetheart, you're nineteen years old. You should be enjoying college, making friends, having normal experiences."

"Maybe normal isn't what I'm meant for."

The conversation continued for another ten minutes, with his parents expressing worry and Marcus providing reassurances he wasn't sure he believed himself. By the time he hung up, he felt drained and guilty.

When he got home, Tyler was setting up for his evening stream. His roommate had been watching Marcus with increasing concern lately.

"Dude, you're becoming obsessed with weapons and survival stuff," Tyler said bluntly. "Your laptop is full of rifle diagrams, combat techniques, and food preservation methods. That's not normal hobby material."

Marcus sat on the couch, suddenly aware of how his behavior must appear to others. "It's just intellectual curiosity. I find the engineering interesting."

"It's more than that. You're studying this stuff like your life depends on it. And you've been acting paranoid lately, like you're preparing for some kind of apocalypse."

"I'm not a gun maniac, Tyler. I won't even keep the rifle after I build one myself. It's about understanding the mechanics."

Tyler studied his friend's face. "Marcus, you know you can tell me if something serious is going on, right? I mean, really serious."

For a moment, Marcus considered telling Tyler everything. About Valdris, about the dual world existence, about the impossible responsibilities weighing on him. But how could anyone understand without experiencing it themselves?

"I appreciate that. Really. But this is just a phase. Once I complete my projects, things will go back to normal."

Tyler didn't look convinced, but he dropped the subject. "Alright, man. But if you need help, ask. That's what friends are for."

As Tyler started his stream, Marcus retreated to his room with his laptop. He pulled up his ever expanding to do list, adding new items based on the day's lessons. Every skill he learned in this world could be adapted for Valdris. Every technique he mastered could save lives when the real crisis hit.

But Tyler's concern gnawed at him. Was he becoming too focused on preparation and not enough on actually living? Was his obsession with dual world responsibilities turning him into someone his friends wouldn't recognize?

Marcus looked at his reflection in the laptop screen. The face staring back seemed older, more serious, carrying burdens that no nineteen year old should have to bear. He was becoming more ruthless in his manipulations, more willing to lie and deceive to achieve his goals. Was this growth or corruption?

In Valdris, these skills and this mentality could save thousands of lives. But in the real world, they were turning him into someone his family and friends worried about. The person he was becoming might be necessary, but that didn't make the transformation any less troubling.

Tomorrow he would continue his training, continue his research, continue preparing for challenges that most people couldn't imagine. But tonight, he allowed himself to feel the weight of what he was sacrificing to become capable of meeting those challenges.

The skills he was building were deadly serious. The question was whether he could retain enough of his humanity to use them for the right reasons.