Chapter 12 – Battery

Quarantine Level Two wasn't a hospital. Hospitals at least pretended to care.

This place didn't even bother to fake it. All it wanted was to lock people up and forget they existed.

The door slammed behind Caelum. The collar on his neck blinked, a little reminder, as if he could ever forget it was there. Underneath the silence, a low hum pressed in, the kind that crawled into your bones if you stood still too long.

He stood in the middle of the cell, listening to his own breathing. The silence bore down, more oppressive with every second. No footsteps, no voices—just him, alone. The isolation wrapped around him, bracing him for whatever unfolded next.The brace took the edge off his calf pain. Thick, throbbing, always there, but he could live with it. What really got to him was the pressure in his chest—restless, like something pacing back and forth inside.

The electric resonance. It did not hurt the way the wound hurt. It did not ache.It lingered, patient, as though it had endless time.

He flexed his fingers, slowly. The hair on his knuckles stood up. The air felt thick, close. Nothing to see, but it pressed in anyway. His palms tingled.

A slim tablet sat on the wall shelf, chained down by a short cord. It appeared harmless enough. It was the only thing in the room that even pretended to be his choice.

He limped over and picked it up with both hands. The display came on the second his thumb touched it. The collar blinked again, as if it thought he might forget it was there.

ARC INTAKE QUARANTINE ACCESS — LIMITED

AUTHORIZED MATERIALS: CONTROL PRIMERS, MEDICAL READOUTS, SELF-REPORT FORMS

He snorted. They knew exactly what people wanted. He entered it anyway: Rift echo present—yes. No point lying about it.

The control primers were filed by resonance type. He found his without searching.

ELECTRICAL RESONANCE — FIRST-MANIFEST CONTROL PACK

SOURCE: THE MARKED COLLECTIVE (ATS-CLEARED EDITION)

REV: 12.4 (REDLINE NOTES INCLUDED)

The Marked.

That name meant something, even in the arcologies. Some whispered it as if they were heroes. Others spat it like a jinx. If ATS cleared their material, it meant it saved enough lives to be worth the hassle—or at least worth the payout.

Caelum tapped.

A disclaimer appeared in clean, unfriendly text.

WARNING: Resonance mishandling could cause fatal discharge, cardiac arrhythmia, neural burns, and secondary fires.

He accepted with a stiff thumb. The first page hit him hard, like someone older grabbing him by the shoulders.

The manual spelt out what counted as normal for his type: pressure under the sternum, metallic taste when things spiked, tingling in his fingers and tongue, little arcs in the air when it was humid, sleep disruption—rift echo—and emotions making it all worse.

He read it twice, slower the second time. Normal, apparently.

Seeing his fear laid out like symptoms on a chart stung. But at the same time, a cold relief crept in. He wasn't the only one. Other people had felt this and survived—enough that someone bothered to write it down and call it normal. His anxiety eased, just a little.

He scrolled.

The first rule was blunt: he was not a battery. The manual warned him not to hold the charge or compress it inside his chest. Electrical resonance, it said, worked best as flow, not storage.

Flow. Not storage.

His instincts were the opposite: clamp down, contain it, don't let it out. Don't let anyone see.Every time he tightened up, the pressure under his sternum got worse—like the power hated being trapped. He set the tablet on the bed and stood again, planting himself in the middle of the floor and forcing his hands to relax.

If he was going to learn this, he'd have to do it honestly.

He breathed in through his nose. Counted to four. Held for two. Let it out on six.On the second exhale, warmth crawled into his fingers.

On the third, his palms tingled.

He startled, shoulders tensing. Instantly, the heat spiked—sharp and hot.Caelum froze, jaw locked, and for a stupid half second, he did exactly what the manual warned against: he tried to hold it. Tried to trap the charge in his ribs, similar to a secret.

The pressure tightened, flaring into pain. Heat rushed up his throat. Metallic taste flooded his mouth.

He let out a strained breath and forced his shoulders down, trying to shake it off.Flow.

He pictured the energy as water, not lightning—something that could move without blowing up.

He imagined it running down his arms to his fingertips, then somehow into the floor.

The heat eased. His pulse drummed in his ears. He picked up the tablet again with trembling hands.

The next section was about grounding—the drip. The idea was to stop snap discharges by deliberately allowing the energy to leave. The steps looked simple on the screen, brutal in practice: relax his hands, spread his fingers, exhale until his shoulders dropped, picture the charge moving from his chest to his arms to his fingertips, and let it drip onto the approved grounding spots.

He glanced at the floor.Pale silver lines traced beneath the resin, resembling a grid.Grounding lattice. The room itself was a drain. So that's what this place was for. Not punishment.

Not care. Training.

He tried again.

He loosened his hands. Spread his fingers. Let his shoulders drop as he exhaled.

He pictured the charge moving—not forced, not yanked—just nudged along.Warmth slid down his arms like a current finding a channel. It reached his fingertips and hovered, itching to turn into something more.

He resisted the urge to clench and suppress it.

He let it drip.

He didn't see anything. No spark, no flash. The heat just faded, draining into the floor till his fingers felt normal again.

Caelum gulped, nerves tight. Again.

The second attempt was steadier. The heat came and went. His breath stayed even.The third time, he got greedy. Let the heat build a little higher behind his sternum, just to see what it would feel like to hold more.

The collar buzzed. Sharp. Immediate.

He stopped on instinct, hands still spread, and exhaled slowly until the heat drained away.

He glared at the tablet as it had just slapped him.Right. This wasn't a game.