Soothing coolness coursed through Brandon's body. His eye fluttered open, and he saw a lot of white. A mahogany desk rested beside his bed, atop which a stack of books lay. Four IV stands stood around him, a half-full blood bag hung on top each of them. The crimson fluid traveled into him through the IV lines that were connected to each of his limbs.
Brandon recalled what his creator had told him. Unlike humans, he could receive four bags of blood at once without suffering fever or other side effects of transfusion; hell, he only needed at most thirty minutes to take in all the fluid. He and blood were like a car and gasoline, but unlike a car, lack of blood would spell doom for him.
Brandon slowly sat up and stretched, bringing with it a series of cracks. Then he scanned his body down to the toes. Hmm, he was just wearing boxer shorts right now? Oh, well, at least the lack of proper clothing let him see everything clearly. All the burns on his legs and torso had disappeared, as if the explosion had never hurt him.
Scutum, you're back in shape, aren't you?
No answer. Ah, not that his life depended on Scutum's barriers anyway.
"You're finally awake? It's 3AM right now."
Brandon turned. A chubby bespectacled man in a lab coat walked towards him with a smile. A desk full of test tubes, microscopes, and petri dishes lay behind him.
Where's Mika? Brandon looked around frantically, only to find folded wheelchairs and unoccupied beds across the spacious rectangular room. She never leaves me alone whenever I'm injured.
"Something's missing?" the man asked.
"Did you see a silver-haired girl around?"
"A silver-haired girl?" He stroked his bearded chin. "Oh, I know her. She's still waiting in the lobby."
Brandon smiled. "Can you call her? She must be worried about me."
"Sorry, but the lab is off-limits. We're afraid that outsiders may break our tools by accident."
"She has been living with me for years. I can guarantee that she won't break anything."
Smile fading from his face, the chubby man replied, "But rules are rules, Mr. Grave. No outsiders are allowed in the lab."
"Can you at least take me to the lobby? I want to let her know that I'm fine."
"I can relay your message."
Why the hell was he dragging everything? Glaring at the fatso, Brandon asked, "She always wants to be sure, Sir. Please let us meet each other."
"Um..." The fatso's face paled.
Brandon quirked an eyebrow and took a closer look at the man. Upon spotting beads of sweat and shaky limbs, he snarled. Damn, why had he been so weak earlier? He shouldn't have fallen asleep; now, he didn't even know what was wrong with Mika.
"Give me a sec." The fatso ran towards the exit door and opened it. "I'll ask the dean if we could make an exception for her." With that, he dashed out of the room and slammed the door shut.
Folding his arms over his chest, Brandon stared at the door. At least the fatso couldn't hide his nervousness, but how could he find Mika then? Would the liar have the guts to come back, take off the transfusion sets, and face his wrath?
Wait. Why would he need someone to remove the apparatus for him? To prevent infection? Scutum would easily ward off those microorganisms when they entered his body. To minimize blood loss? His regeneration would seal the wounds shut within a split-second.
Brandon looked up at the blood bags. Only a quarter remained, but Brandon figured he'd better wait. Before falling asleep, he'd heard Mika and the rabbit woman talking about his need for a total blood drainage to remove the scorpion's poison and restore Scutum. Moreover, he didn't know how much blood he'd received and what awaited him out there.
To combat boredom, Brandon picked up a book - a thin notebook - from the desk beside him and scrutinized the text on the cover. "The Methdroid," it said.
Droid. Android. Machine and robot stuff.
His coffin was a machine that could read and understand his thoughts.
Brandon quickly opened the notebook, but he ended up skimming the wall of text on the first few pages. DNA, conjugation, binary fission; whatever they actually were, they reminded him of his failing grades at school. Why should he care about these scientific terms when Scutum had once told him about mating folks in a much simpler way?
The latter pages drew him in, but he skipped a few details. Mechanical stuff bored him as much as scientific stuff.
Two virgin folks mated and produced a sterile offspring. Then some researchers inserted the offspring into an engine to create a weird-ass machine, which they dubbed as a "methdroid" - a combination of "Methuselah" and "Android." Yeah, that was all he wanted to know.
The comparison tables and the list formats on the last few pages kept him glued to the book. They told him about the similarities and the differences between a folk-infected person and a methdroid, explaining their power system in process. A folk-infected person required blood to cast a power, whereas a methdroid could do it without requiring some kind of fuel. However, if a methdroid generated too many things for too long, it would overheat.
Brandon stroked his chin as he recalled Orion's warning about his overheating coffin. It had told him to stop once the coffin smoldered, hadn't it? Well, now Brandon understood why. If he pushed it further, the coffin would stop working for a while. The biggest threat, though, was the loss of durability as it cooled off. A swing of the coffin could send an orgman flying with ease, but when it overheated, an orgman's punch could even smash the weapon container.
Another interesting thing he'd read was the anti-theft mechanism of methdroid weapons. They identified their owners, so in case some strangers tried to use his coffin, they could never summon any of its weapons; at most, they could only smack an enemy with it. However, these methdroid weapons would make an exception for someone close to the owner. Brandon smiled, imagining how cool Mika would look as she wielded his Cerberus and coffin.
After closing the book and placing it back on the desk, Brandon looked up. Crimson stains remained in the deflated bags.
Brandon grabbed an IV line, ripped it off, and tossed it aside. Blood gushed out of the wound and trickled down his hand and forearm, but he went on with another line. Then another. And another. Rivulets of crimson ran down his limbs and stained the white bed sheet red. A few seconds later, the bleeding stopped.
When he hopped off the bed, something splashed against one of his feet. Blood. The fluid dripped down the IV lines he had just pulled off and pooled around the bed.
Eh, why should he care? If he could even see his own reflection on the marble tiles, then these people must have great cleaning service in the building.
Brandon walked towards the exit door and opened it, leaving bloody footprints behind. The beads of blood around his limbs soon dried up, and he growled at the stickiness around his hands and feet. A quick wash at the nearby sink would be nice, but the truth about Mika mattered more.
Stepping out of the room led him to a hallway with a T-junction at its end. Two orgmen in suits and shades guarded the forks, while a huge, heavily-armored bull man stood in front of the steel door ahead. Cyan glow radiated from its eyes. Dark blue luminescent lines decorated its silver armor as though it was a circuit board. A massive double-bitted axe rested in its hands, its blades and handle sharing the same color and lines as the beast man's armor.
A robot, or rather, a methdroid. The constant whirring of an engine from within its body gave out its identity.
Good thing someone had left a notebook about methdroids beside him; otherwise, his knowledge would be limited to the fact that a bull man was known as a minotaur and part of Greek mythology. But how could he defeat it? His fists couldn't even dent his own coffin.
When he took another step, the armored minotaur pointed its axe at him. The two orgmen charged at him, each of them pulling a stun gun out of their suit. Another form of methdroid, Brandon thought, since ordinary stun guns would never work against an undead man such as him.
As the orgmen drew closer, Brandon rushed at them and slid with a leg extended. The silver-skinned ogres tripped on him and crashed to the ground, their stun guns slipping out of their hands.
Brandon stood up and glared at the incoming minotaur. For a moment, he struggled to keep a straight face; the idiot held the axe overhead, eager to swat him like a fly.
I'd use the blade if I were you. Brandon dashed at the minotaur and slid like a professional soccer player. The methdroid tripped on him, and ear-piercing shrieks echoed. A loud crash cut them off.
Brandon got up and turned to see the minotaur rising to its feet. Behind the methdroid was a crater, on which shattered shades and two worn suits rested. The stun guns remained intact, but Brandon wouldn't go after them. He wouldn't pass the anti-theft mechanism of the weapons.
The minotaur charged at him, his axe ready to swat. Brandon stood still. The methdroid's axe should make a nice weapon; it didn't really need any special features to wreak havoc.
The axe came down, at which Brandon rushed to seize the handle. The pole hung just a few inches above his head.
The engine within the minotaur whirred louder as the methdroid pulled. Gritting his teeth, Brandon pulled as well. His muscles tensed. Beads of sweat dribbled down his body.
If he could carry his coffin - a methdroid - easily, then lifting this minotaur wouldn't be a problem, would it?
Roaring, Brandon lifted the axe and the minotaur into the air. Then he flung the methdroid over his head.
Crash!
Preparing the axe for a killing blow, Brandon whirled. The minotaur lay on the cratered ground, but before it could rise, Brandon streaked towards the methdroid with his weapon raised. This is how you wield an axe: use the blade.
Crunches resounded across the hallway as Brandon reduced the minotaur into a heap of scrap metal and snapped cables. The sparks on the wires soon died out, just like the radiance along the lines on the armor's fragments.
After wiping the sweat off his forehead, Brandon approached the steel door with his new weapon in hand. He grabbed the handle and pulled it, but the door wouldn't open. He decided to push and even kick it, but it wouldn't budge.
Fine. Brandon nodded and readied his axe. In a few swings, the door went down.
Then he heard someone shout, "Nagas! Beat him back to the lab!"