CHAPTER 97: FINAL PIECES

Marcus arrived at Pressley Guns determined to bury himself in his job and avoid any conflicts that could jeopardize his position. His conversation with Mr. Pressley had bought him breathing room, but he needed to demonstrate consistent professionalism while secretly advancing his weapon project.

The morning passed smoothly as Marcus focused entirely on his assigned duties. He organized inventory, assisted customers, and maintained the kind of steady performance that security work demanded. His deliberate avoidance of workplace drama seemed to be paying off.

During lunch break, Marcus approached Agustin discreetly about finalizing some components for his rifle prototype. They'd been working together for weeks, with Agustin providing technical guidance while Marcus handled the actual construction and assembly.

"How's your project coming along?" Agustin asked quietly as they examined Marcus's latest modifications.

"Getting close to completion. I just need to solve a few problems with the firing mechanism and ammunition feed."

"These tolerances are still pretty ambitious for hand forging," Agustin observed, studying Marcus's detailed drawings. "But the overall design is sound. What's this for again?"

Marcus had prepared vague explanations about personal interest in historical firearms and mechanical engineering challenges. "Just trying to understand how these systems work from first principles. It's educational."

"Well, you're definitely learning. This is better than most people could manage without professional machining equipment."

They spent the remaining lunch time discussing technical refinements and material choices. Marcus took careful notes about recommendations that could improve his weapon's reliability and accuracy when he eventually built the final version in Valdris.

When the lunch break ended, Marcus returned to his duties feeling satisfied with the progress. His rifle project was nearly ready for testing, though he'd have to complete that in Valdris where he could work without supervision.

But his good mood was shattered when he passed the gun range and overheard Alex talking to Irene with obvious malice.

"Everyone knows you're only functional because you've found new suppliers," Alex was saying in low, cruel tones. "Whatever you're taking now must be pretty good stuff to keep you this stable."

"I'm not taking anything," Irene replied, her voice tight with frustration. "I've been clean for months. You know that."

"Sure you have. That's why you're suddenly so cheerful and productive. Nobody changes that fast without chemical help."

Marcus forced himself to keep walking, but the conversation continued behind him.

"Maybe you should get tested," Alex continued. "Just to prove you're really clean. Unless you're afraid of what they'd find."

"I don't have to prove anything to you."

"You do if you want to work in gun range. Our lives at stake"

Marcus clenched his fists but maintained his steady pace toward his workstation. Getting involved would only create the kind of drama that Mr. Pressley had warned him to avoid. His job security was more important than defending Irene from Alex's harassment.

But when he glanced back and saw Irene's face, Marcus's resolve cracked. She looked devastated, as if Alex's accusations were undermining months of hard fought recovery. Her hands were shaking, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

"You're a cruel person, Alex," Irene said quietly. "I've never done anything to hurt you. Why do you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you. I just don't trust you. And I think other people should know what they're dealing with."

The conversation was attracting attention from other employees. Sally looked uncomfortable, while Jimenez seemed uncertain about whether to intervene. Mr. Pressley was in his office, unaware of the confrontation developing in his workplace.

Marcus made a decision that he knew might cost him his job.

"Alex, that's enough," he said, approaching the two of them with deliberate calm. "Leave her alone."

Alex turned with obvious satisfaction, as if he'd been hoping Marcus would insert himself into the conflict.

"Oh, look. The security guard thinks he needs to protect everyone. What's your relationship with Irene exactly, Marcus? You seem awfully concerned about her wellbeing."

"I'm concerned about a coworker being harassed. That's all."

"Harassed? I'm just asking reasonable questions about workplace safety. If someone has a history of drug problems, shouldn't we be cautious about trust and responsibility?"

Marcus felt his anger rising but tried to maintain professional composure. "Irene has been doing excellent work. Her performance speaks for itself."

"For now. But addicts always relapse. It's just a matter of time before she steals something or shows up high or disappears for days without explanation."

"That's not going to happen," Irene said, though her voice lacked conviction.

"How can you be sure?" Alex pressed. "What's different this time? What's keeping you clean that didn't work before?"

The question seemed to break something in Irene. She turned and walked rapidly toward the exit, leaving Marcus and Alex facing each other in tense silence.

"Nice work," Marcus said sarcastically. "Feel proud of yourself?"

"I feel realistic about drug addicts and their reliability. You should too if you're really interested in security work."

Marcus felt his moral compass pulling him toward a confrontation he couldn't afford. Alex's cruelty was exactly the kind of toxic behavior that made workplaces unbearable for vulnerable people like Irene.

But as he started to respond, Mr. Pressley emerged from his office and noticed the tension.

"What's going on here? Where's Irene?"

"Just discussing workplace safety concerns," Alex replied smoothly. "Nothing serious."

Mr. Pressley looked between Alex and Marcus, clearly sensing that he'd missed something important. "Marcus, aren't you supposed to be organizing the ammunition inventory?"

"Yes, sir. I was just heading there."

As Marcus walked away, he heard Mr. Pressley asking Alex for details about their conversation. Alex would undoubtedly present his side of the story in terms that made him seem reasonable and Marcus seem disruptive.

Marcus spent the rest of the afternoon wrestling with frustration and guilt. He'd failed to protect Irene from harassment, probably damaged his own standing with management, and achieved nothing useful. His attempt to do the right thing had backfired completely.

When Irene returned an hour later, her eyes were red from crying. She avoided looking at Marcus or Alex, focusing entirely on her paperwork with the mechanical precision of someone trying not to fall apart.

Marcus tried to comfort her, but she brushed him off. Screw playing nice, he thought bitterly. His moral compass screamed at him to intervene, no matter the cost. I’m almost finished with my weapon anyway, he reminded himself, the thought like steel in his chest.

Irene pulled back, rebuking him with sharp words when he tried to reach out. “I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you,” she snapped, her voice trembling more from hurt than anger.

After work, Marcus lingered in the workshop to make final adjustments to his rifle prototype while most employees had gone home. He wanted to complete as much as possible before his inevitable confrontation with management about the day's incident.

But his solitude was interrupted when Alex appeared in the workshop doorway.

"Working late again? Mr. Pressley told me to check on what you're doing back here. He's concerned about unauthorized personal projects."

Marcus looked up from his workbench, where his rifle components were partially assembled. "I'm just reviewing some technical specifications for my certification course."

Alex approached and examined the mechanical parts with obvious suspicion. "These look like weapon components. What exactly are you building?"

"Educational materials. Nothing that violates company policy."

"Educational materials that look remarkably like an actual firearm. That seems like something Mr. Pressley should evaluate personally."

Marcus realized he was trapped. Alex had found exactly the ammunition he needed to justify all his previous complaints about Marcus's professionalism and reliability.

"Alex, what do you want? Why are you so determined to destroy everyone around you?"

"I want honest, reliable coworkers who don't bring drama and security risks into the workplace. Is that too much to ask?"

Marcus began packing up his materials, knowing this conversation would end badly regardless of what he said.

"You know what your real problem is, Marcus? You think you're some kind of hero who needs to save everyone. But you're just a nineteen year old dropout who doesn't understand professional boundaries."

The accusation hit closer to home than Alex realized. Marcus was trying to be a hero, but across multiple worlds with stakes that Alex couldn't imagine.

"Maybe you're right," Marcus replied quietly. "Maybe I don't understand boundaries."

As he prepared to leave, Marcus felt the weight of inevitable consequences. His weapon project was compromised, his job security was destroyed, and he'd failed to protect someone who needed help.

But walking to bus station, Marcus also felt a strange sense of relief. At least now he could stop pretending that normal workplace concerns mattered compared to saving thousands of lives in another world.

During the evening weapons training session, Marcus channeled his anger into relentless practice. His shooting accuracy improved dramatically as he used the physical challenge to work through his emotional turmoil.

"Good concentration today," Uncle Brass observed. "Sometimes anger can improve focus if you channel it properly."

"Just trying to stay sharp."

"Keep it up. Your final certification tests are next week. This level of performance will serve you well."

The question was whether he could complete his dual world preparations before his carefully balanced existence collapsed entirely.