CHAPTER 147: GERALD'S WORKSHOP

Gerald Patterson's manufacturing shop sat in an industrial park outside Cleveland.

The building was unremarkable from the outside. Gray metal siding. A faded sign. Loading docks where trucks came and went. Just another business in a sea of businesses, each one grinding away at the edges of the American dream.

Marcus Chen drove there alone. A six-hour trip fueled by energy drinks and desperation. One phone call indicating they had made a working prototype and Marcus had basically teleported there to meet in person.

The Ohio countryside rolled past his window. Flat farmland giving way to suburbs giving way to industrial zones. His mind was anywhere but on the road.

His crude attempt at a mind-freeing machine had worked on him and Tom. But it had compromised Aldric one way or another. Resulted in the loss of his friend. The guilt gnawed at him during every quiet moment. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Aldric being dragged away by Malachar's forces.

This time he needed a better version. And lots of them.

Even if he had to pay every dime he had.

The shop was impressive when he finally arrived. Rows of industrial 3D printers hummed in climate-controlled rooms. CNC machines carved metal with precision measured in microns. Laser cutters sliced through steel like butter. The air smelled of machine oil and hot metal.

Gerald himself was a lengthy man in his thirties. Practical hands. Curious eyes behind safety glasses pushed up on his forehead. Apparently he had taken a giant risk by selling the house his parents left him and started this business after years of working similar places.

He greeted Marcus with a mix of smile and professional curiosity.

"This design," Gerald said, holding Marcus's schematics up to the fluorescent lights. "Is unlike anything I've seen. What's it supposed to do?"

Marcus had rehearsed this answer during the entire drive. "It generates a specific electromagnetic frequency. Experimental therapy device. Helps with... mental clarity."

Gerald raised an eyebrow but didn't push. Smart businessman. Didn't need to know everything to know money when he saw it.

"The geometry is complex. These resonance chambers need precise tolerances. But..." He turned the paper, studying it from different angles. "Me and my engineer found a way to make one work. Here take a look."

He walked to a workbench and picked up something. Then he turned and placed it in Marcus's hands.

A dented steel ball the size of a tennis ball with an attached battery hanging outside by wires. Ugly. Rough. Clearly a prototype.

"Don't mind the battery. Everything will be compact and inside in the final version. And the color and designs outside will be better." Gerald stopped himself mid-explanation. "Anyway you know prototyping."

Marcus stared at the device. His hands trembled slightly. This was it. Everything rode on this working.

He found the apparent button and pressed it.

The machine buzzed. A familiar energy wave washed over Marcus, coating him in that sensation he remembered from Malachar's lair. The mental static that blocked outside influence. The clarity that came from being truly alone in his own head.

"This is it!" He blurted out before he could stop himself. He turned to Gerald, eyes wide. "This is the feeling I was searching for!"

He was over the moon. If it wasn't a serious business meeting he would have jumped with joy up and down. Would have called his counterpart immediately. Would have wept with relief.

Instead he pushed down his grin. Forced his face into professional composure. And thanked Gerald for the prototype in measured tones.

They discussed specifications. The final version would be about the size of a tennis ball. Compact. Portable. Easy to carry into battle or hide in a pocket.

"Battery will last nearly a twelve hours at maximum power, normal usage twenty" Gerald explained. "The resonance chambers are incredibly efficient once they're properly calibrated."

A twelve hours. Enough to launch an all-out attack on Malachar. Or defend against him if he were to siege Drakmoor again. Enough to change the tide of a war.

"How many units eventually?" Gerald asked.

"A hundred. Maybe more. Depending on the price."

Gerald whistled low and long. "That's serious production. For the parts we use... production process isn't the hardest but some pieces to make it small and withstand immediate electric pulses are gonna make it pricey."

Marcus felt his stomach tighten.

"I can't give you a full price now," Gerald continued. "But I'm estimating around twenty to thirty thousand for a hundred pieces."

Marcus bit his lip. But it was to be expected. For an unknown pseudo-technology this firm had worked and produced a working prototype. Of course they were going to charge accordingly.

He thought about his father's loan. Fifty thousand dollars borrowed against everything his family had built. His mother didn't even know the full extent. If she found out...

Marcus smiled despite the worry. "It seems reasonable."

"But we need a portion of that upfront," Gerald said.

"How much?"

"Five thousand dollars."

Marcus nodded. He pulled out his phone and opened his banking app. The transfer took seconds. Five thousand dollars moved from his account to Gerald's business.

The number in his balance dropped.

After payments for the machines he would give control of the remaining balance to his counterpart in Turkey. To buy anything useful to take back to Valdris. Weapons. Medical supplies. Anything that could give them an edge.

Marcus shook Gerald's hand firmly. "Thank you. This might save more lives than you'll ever know."

Gerald smiled, confused but pleased. "Happy to help. Whatever this therapy thing is, it seems important to you."

"You have no idea," Marcus said quietly.

The drive back to Chicago was long. Dark roads. Lonely thoughts. Marcus kept one hand on the prototype in his jacket pocket, feeling its weight.

Somewhere across the stars, people were counting on him. Sara. Palwin. The whole kingdom of Valdris.

And here he was, a broke college dropout in Ohio, trying to save them with manufacturing contracts and bank loans.

The absurdity would have been funny if the stakes weren't so high.