Marcus had always been boring.
Even as a child. No spark. No personality. Just average. Forgettable. The kind of kid teachers struggled to remember. The one who sat in the middle. Never raised his hand. Never caused trouble. Never stood out.
Other kids noticed. Of course they did. They found him. Easy target. Shoved him in hallways. Took his lunch. Called him names. He took it. What else could he do?
But machines. Numbers. Code. Those made sense. They didn't judge. Didn't mock. They followed rules. Predictable. Beautiful.
He found joy there. In circuit boards. In algorithms. In the clean logic of technology.
Years passed.
Marcus grew up. Dark circles became permanent. Sleep was negotiable. Food was fuel. Exercise was optional. He stayed average. Average build. Average height. Average everything.
But he had skills. Technical skills. Good ones.
He landed a job. Decent pay. Working with the things he loved. Machines. Systems. Tech. It should have been perfect.
For a while, it was.
Then something changed. Subtle. Gradual. The passion faded. Became routine. Became work. Just work. Clock in. Fix problems. Clock out. Repeat.
His parents called. Asked about his life. Asked about romance. He was an only child. Expectations existed. Unspoken but heavy.
He tried. Really tried. Met people. Went on dates. Failed. Every time. Something was missing. Some spark he didn't have. Some personality that refused to exist.
The weight came next. Not obese. Just enough. Enough to notice. Enough to matter. At least that's what he believed. Another reason. Another excuse. Another failure.
But the real truth was simpler. Harsher. Marcus had no real personality. Nothing that made him special. Nothing that made him worth remembering.
Life became a loop. Wake up. Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. The joy was gone. The passion dead. Just existence now. Just getting by.
Then one day, during his rest period, his comm device buzzed.
Marcus groaned. Rolled over. Ignored it.
It buzzed again. Persistent. Annoying.
He answered. "What."
"Marcus. We have an emergency." An instructor's voice. Tight. Urgent.
"Not possible." Marcus's voice was flat. Lazy. "We checked everything last night. All units are functional. Stop joking."
"I'm not joking!" The instructor's voice rose. Authority cutting through. "One of the Adaptive Units malfunctioned. Get down here. Now!"
Marcus clicked his tongue. Loud. Deliberate. Annoyed.
Life was annoying. Always interrupting. Always demanding. Never letting him rest. Never leaving him alone.
He sat up slowly. Every movement felt heavy. Tired. So damn tired.
He pulled on his uniform. The tech officer suit. Standard issue. Comfortable at least. Small mercies.
Outside his quarters, three other tech officers waited. Arms crossed. Faces tight. They didn't say anything. Didn't have to. Their expressions spoke volumes.
They were upset. Pissed, probably. He'd made them wait. Made them come get him.
Marcus didn't care. He was in it for the money anyway. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just another paycheck. Just another day.
They walked in silence. The training room wasn't far. Five minutes. Maybe less.
The doors opened.
Marcus stopped.
Stared.
His mind stuttered. Tried to process. Failed.
The Adaptive Unit stood in the center. Massive. Transformed. Weapons extended. Frame expanded. It looked like a war machine. Not a training bot. A killing machine.
But that was impossible. The units had limiters. Safety protocols. Multiple redundancies. They couldn't do this. They shouldn't be able to do this.
His eyes moved. Scanned the room. Found the cause.
One cadet. Blonde hair. Red eyes. Standing calm. Facing the metal monster.
No fear. None. Just calm. Absolute calm.
"Move! Now!" Marcus snapped into action. His team followed. Years of training kicked in. Muscle memory. Professional mode activated.
They pulled out diagnostic tools. Override codes. Emergency shutdown sequences. Worked fast. Efficient. Professional.
The unit moved forward. Slow. Heavy. Each step shook the floor.
Marcus's fingers flew across his interface. Found the connection. Established control. "Got it. Powering down."
The unit froze. Mid-step. Its weapons retracted. Frame collapsed. Returned to normal size. Deactivated.
Safe. Finally safe.
"About time!" Chief Instructor Vela stormed over. Her face was fury personified. "Where were you? This could have been a disaster!"
"We apologize, Chief Instructor." Marcus's voice was automatic. Professional. Empty.
"Apologies don't prevent casualties." Vela's small eyes bore into him. "Your negligence could have cost lives."
Marcus felt it. The weight of the other officers' stares. The unspoken accusations. The silent blame. They were cursing him. In their hearts. In their minds. He knew it.
But he didn't care.
Not for the usual reasons. Not because of apathy. Not because of laziness.
His eyes were glued to the blonde cadet.
His technical mind worked. Analyzed. Calculated. Ran diagnostics in his head.
He'd checked the data. Quick scan. Professional habit. The unit's memory chip. Combat logs. Threat assessment protocols.
The bot wasn't malfunctioned.
That was the terrifying part. The impossible part. The part that made no sense.
The bot had done exactly what it was designed to do. Detected a major threat. Responded appropriately. Escalated to maximum combat readiness.
The unit was right.
This boy. This blonde cadet. He was a threat. A real one. A massive one. The kind of threat that triggered every alarm. Every warning. Every safety protocol.
But.
The boy radiated warmth. Pure warmth. It poured from him like sunlight. Like kindness made physical. Like joy given form.
He smiled. Looked right at Marcus. His red eyes sparkled. Genuine. Open. Honest.
His thumb went up. Classic gesture. Simple. Friendly.
"Thanks for the help, Mr. Tech guy!" The boy's voice was cheerful. Grateful. Real.
Marcus stared. His mind couldn't reconcile it. Couldn't compute. Error. Logic failure. Does not compute.
How could someone be both? Threat and warmth. Danger and kindness. Impossible and real.
But there it was. Standing in front of him. Smiling. Giving a thumbs up.
Marcus smiled back. Couldn't help it. The expression felt foreign. Unfamiliar. When was the last time he'd smiled? Really smiled? Not the fake customer service smile. Not the professional courtesy smile. But a real one?
Maybe he'd needed this warmth all his life. This genuine human connection. This spark of something real. Something honest. Something true.
This blonde kid was something else. Special. Different. Important.
Marcus had deemed his life a failure. Years of disappointment. Years of emptiness. Years of just existing. No purpose. No meaning. No point.
But now.
His heart rooted for this boy. Secretly. Quietly. Deeply.
This supposed great threat. This walking contradiction. This impossible warmth.
Marcus didn't know his name. Didn't know his story. Didn't know anything about him.
But he knew enough. He felt enough.
Something had changed. Something inside. Some ember reignited. Some spark caught fire.
Life wasn't just routine anymore. Wasn't just existence. There was something to watch for now. Something to care about. Something to hope for.
He wanted to see where this boy would go. What he would become. What he would achieve.
Marcus turned to his team. "Let's pack up. Get this unit back to the lab. Full diagnostic."
They nodded. Got to work.
Marcus took one last look at the blonde cadet. Still smiling. Still warm. Still impossible.
For the first time in years, Marcus felt something.
Not just alive. But living.