*SPOILERS*

Disclaimer: All property is the property of their respective owners. I will also apologize in advance for any and all grammar errors I make.

Author's Note: This chapter does little to progress the story. It is meant to provide a LITTLE background for Marcus, and flesh out the use of cybernetics. It isn't crucial to the story, but it does make Marcus's abilities more believable.

As Elizabeth lay sleeping in his bed, Marcus found himself staring up at the ceiling in his cramped living room. He'd fallen asleep for a couple hours, but the restful dreaming he sought evaded him now. The small green numbers displayed on the microwave in his kitchen were kind enough to tell him the time, 2:38. This early in the morning, Marcus's entire house was pitch-black. The darkness pervaded all of his perception, making every squeaky floorboard sinister, and turning each swaying tree branch beyond his window into an assassin.

Still, Marcus liked the darkness. It concealed his vulnerabilities, and even more importantly, it allowed him to turn inward, to reflect on his inner thoughts. This 'Elizabeth' didn't add up, more specifically, the reason she had been struggling against Hidalgo's men was unclear. Marcus wasn't paranoid enough to believe that the young woman was some kind of distraction cooked up by Hidalgo. The three thugs had put serious effort into subduing her, and until Marcus had shown up, she had seemed to be giving them a good run for their money. The only question was what had triggered their assault? There had been no cage, chains, bindings, or anything in the room that they could have been using to subdue her, yet the struggle had begun after Marcus started up the stairs. She couldn't possibly have known he was coming, or the three guards would have been much more prepared.

It was possible that Elizabeth had merely chosen the perfect moment to attack her captors, but Marcus didn't put much stock in coincidence. Everything happened for a reason. Perhaps Elizabeth had been the one to sabotage the estate's generators. It could explain why those guards were concerned with her in the first place. If only he had been able to question one of them.

Squeezing his hand tightly into a fist, Marcus mentally berated himself for killing that last guard. Why hadn't he remembered to power down his cybernetics? Sometimes he swore these things were far more trouble than they were worth. He'd narrowly avoided implanting himself with SabreTech's 'enhanced sensory package', talking himself out of it at the last minute. That package was marketed as the next evolutionary leap for Humanity as a whole, granting its users the ability to spot objects a mile away, hear a butterfly's wings beat the air as it struggled to stay aloft, and see objects in near-total darkness.

In theory, it gave anyone who'd installed it a major tactical advantage over their opponent in a fight, but in practice, it was a total washout. Simply flicking on an overhead light blinded the overly sensitive individuals with painful spots filling their vision. Of course the implants along the corneal layer of the eye would darken after a few seconds, but that was little consolation to those who had been blinded. The cybernetics were unable to compensate for changes in light automatically. Like every cybernetic implant, they required manual input to activate and deactivate their functions. The auditory enhancers suffered the same problem, sudden stimulus. A single yell at close range worked as well as any flashbang for disorienting the poor people. Marcus had seen blood vessels in the eye burst, ears bleed, and more than a few people experience seizures as a result of their so called 'enhancements.'

Still, Marcus conceded that cybernetics were extremely useful. When they weren't killing people, he could use the implants grafted into the muscle and bone of his arms to augment his strength well beyond the threshold of your average bodybuilder. That kind of force placed a significant amount of stress on his limbs. To compensate for the massive power behind his blows, he'd installed the kinetic buffers alongside the muscle enhancers implanted throughout his arms and legs. The result was a man who could punch and kick almost anything to devastating effect, yet have no fear of receiving any injury beyond bloody, torn skin.

Marcus had also refused to use any of the cybernetics that required being grafted to his brain. These neural enhancers were mainly used for two purposes: First, they could drastically decrease your reaction times, and second, they were capable of increasing your memory to an almost eidetic state. There was rumored to be another neural cybernetic with a third, incredibly intriguing, purpose. It was alleged that SabreTech CyberNetics had built a prototype that increased cognitive function. No official representatives would confirm the existence of such a prototype, but a firestorm of debates erupted over 'the dangers of elevating individuals to a level of power that would render Humanity functionally inferior.' It was actually a fairly reasonable concern, and it may have caught traction with the general public if the major news outlets hadn't been trying to railroad that line down the public's throat since SabreTech's inception back in '62. Unfortunately we'll never know the truth as the entire neural branch was shut down by the federal government after the First Lady's sudden 'accident.' If you fail to keep them cool they quite literally burn through whatever they're grafted to. Muscle, bone, brain, they're all vulnerable, but the latter has more serious consequences when it's damaged, especially when the president's wife collapses on live television. They were viewed as too dangerous after that, as the neural branch of cybernetics were among the most likely to suffer from 'burnouts', an overheating of the delicate circuitry that performed the device's function.

Every cybernetic, no matter the model, is powered and cooled by the salts and minerals collectively known as electrolytes, more specifically Sodium, Potassium, and Calcium. If you get too flustered, whether it's from stress or exercise, the body's electrolytes are depleted and need to be replenished before trying to use the cybernetic. Otherwise, the implant will do one of two things; it would either shut itself down or spiral into a burnout. Usually, a person would simply perform a manual shut down to avoid any unnecessary complications. If allowed to, the cybernetic will try to draw on the body's electrolytes, even if there are none left to power it. The result is an automatic shut down, producing painful spasms as the muscle fibers contract spastically, deep aches form, and acute migraines incapacitate you depending on the implantation site.

The second possibility is the far more dangerous potential for a burnout. While there are safety measures in place to prevent this, in the form of emergency coolants, the circuitry that controls its release is often enough the first to be destroyed by the heat. Marcus had seen a presentation on the subject. The screen was displaying pre-recorded footage of a cybernetic going from harmless to molten metal in the blink of an eye. The medical and technical experts responsible for producing the video, and assembling the data portrayed within it, had been forced to slow the footage to a forty-eighth of real speed. While the screen time was increased to only three seconds, it was enough to see the exact moment bone turned black, and how the brain looked when it baked inside its own skull.

Marcus still had nightmares months later. Ever since that experience, he felt it necessary to keep his house stocked with electrolyte-rich food like nuts, cheese, and crackers for sodium, and bananas, oranges, and heads of romaine lettuce for potassium. Calcium was easy to find in these sources as well. Other than that, Marcus was always careful to never push himself past his limits.

Luckily, the more physical implants were incredibly stable, as they were only draining the body at the moment they were being used. Neural cybernetics were CONSTANTLY drawing on the body's supply of electrolytes, and that was why they were so prone to overheating. Most people who used these cybernetics weren't as vigilante with their diet, so part of the blame was on them. This distinction allowed SabreTech to avoid reimbursing countless damage claims back in '63, as they could argue that the consumers were merely incompetent. The loophole may have saved tens of millions of dollars, but SabreTech had squandered their public support. Shareholders were selling stock in droves and private investors stopped providing donations because the company had become something of a black sheep in the business world. What else could they do but offer hundreds of individuals free cybernetics, complete with packets of 'Bites of Bytes', small, circular pieces of rock candy infused with electrolytes for instant replenishment of the power source?

The public is a fickle creature. When scorned by those they thought were looking out for them, one word WILL bring them back with loving arms, free. Suddenly SabreTech CyberNetics was the shit. Everybody wanted a piece of the pie, consumers and investors alike. While the investors were striking it rich, the consumers were a bunch of dumbasses. They were buying cybernetics from SabreTech, only to turn right around and pay again for Bites of Bytes every time they needed to refuel. Sure they could eat a balanced diet, but who would do that when there was this handy little packet on sale for the, oh so affordable cost of fourteen ninety-nine per unit.

"Lazy shits." Marcus breathed into the silence surrounding him.

"Something wrong, mister Delavee?" a quiet voice sounded.

Startled, Marcus bolted into an upright position. Turning quickly, he found himself staring at a pair of bright blue eyes floating in the doorway of his bedroom. Coming closer, Elizabeth sat down on the space left by Marcus's reaction to her question. Realizing who was intruding, Marcus tried to quell the adrenaline that had flooded his veins the moment Elizabeth had made her presence known. Failing at that, he let out the breath he'd been holding. Speaking with just enough bite to prove he was still irritated, Marcus replied to her question.

"Other than the world we live in everything's peachy."

Sensing an opportunity, Elizabeth pressed him. "What makes you say that?"

"Let's see," Marcus began cynically. "Everyday enough narcotics are smuggled into this state alone to bring ruination to millions, not to mention the amount crossing through the rest of our shared U.S./Mexican border. The Earth itself is one red button away from being destroyed in the light of a thousand miniature suns, and there are two God Damn buttons!" he added angrily. With a rising temper, he carried on with his rant. "And what is the public worried about? The rising popularity of rock and roll music. Everything is so ass backwards it just . . . it just . . . Ugh!" He cried out in frustration.

Break: Switch to Elizabeth's perspective

Elizabeth was transfixed by the passion behind his anger. Here sat a man who had all the makings of a soldier, but he was wasting his life away as some kind of lawless mercenary. She had been awake longer than he knew; she had spent the last few hours reading through his journals. You'd think a man who constantly worried about contract killers would actually hide his innermost thoughts somewhere a little more secret than under his bed. Still, she should be thanking him, as she now had a much keener insight into the life of Marcus Delavee.

He'd been working with Shadows Incorporated for almost a year now. During his time with them, they'd sent him to no less than six different countries in South America, having him hunt one man, Hidalgo Delgado. His escapade in Los Angeles appeared to be his most recent attempt on Hidalgo's life. Most would see a one-man assault against a cartel boss as pure fiction but, Marcus had earned his reputation by making the impossible seem merely difficult. Whether it was hiking through the mountains of Argentina to reach his insertion point undetected or commandeering a cartel helicopter to fly his way out of Venezuela. She wasn't entirely sure what a helicopter was, but it sounded like a zeppelin with rotors instead of a set of balloons for lift to her. Despite all of his laudatory accomplishments when it came to sneaking around and cheating death, Marcus had never been able to actually accomplish his objective.

Hidalgo had become an obsession for Marcus, an itch that he couldn't scratch. Elizabeth knew what people could become to find a little relief. Most fell prey to the machinations of others, but a few were stronger for the experience.

*Maybe Marcus is one them.* she mused, absent mindedly rubbing the tension from his shoulder as she sifted through her thoughts. He didn't allow the contact for long though. After a few more moments, he reached up and placed his hand over her own. Holding her childish hand within his rough grip, he replaced it back in Elizabeth's lap. She could tell he was looking over the shoulder she'd been massaging as he spoke quietly to her.

"You'd better go back to bed Miss Elizabeth, wouldn't want you sleeping away all of tomorrow."

Feeling slightly hurt by his rejection of her presence, Elizabeth rose to go back to his bedroom. Unable to resist taking a jab at him, she quipped,

"It's already tomorrow Mister Delavee, the sun just isn't out yet."

"Does that change anything? Far as I care, a day isn't through until the next one starts Miss Elizabeth." He said back jovially.

Off put by the change in his tone, Elizabeth remained silent before turning back to speak from the doorway.

"You're a strange man Mister Delavee . . . and please, call me Elizabeth."

"Whatever you say, 'Elizabeth.'" Marcus said, raising his hand up like he was toasting at a party.

Shaking her head with a smile, Elizabeth closed the door and effectively shut herself off from Marcus. He was settled onto his back, ready to try and catch a few more hours of sleep. Before drifting away to his dreams, or possibly nightmares, he tested her name, savoring each syllable as it rolled off his tongue.

"E-liz-a-beth."

*Wait. That name, I know it from . . . somewhere.* Marcus thought to himself.

As he tried to puzzle it out, a sudden pain lanced through his skull. Marcus gritted his teeth, and waiting for it to pass. Rather than move on, the migraine intensified, growing worse with each moment it bounced inside his thoughts. He felt as if he was lost, retreating inward to find the truth. Thinking he was suffering from an unknown side effect of his cybernetics, Marcus stumbled around the counter and into his kitchenette. Fumbling through the fridge, he grabbed one of his emergency Bites of Bytes, tore through the strip sealing it shut, and poured the rocks down his throat. Immediately, he felt his implants respond. They hadn't been low before, but now they had an excessive amount of electrolytes to burn. The result was a jittery invigoration spreading throughout his body.

Unfortunately it still felt like some was driving spikes into his head with a hammer. Blood was flowing from his nose like it was coming out of the tap, running over his knuckles as he tried to staunch it. Unable to ignore the constant lances, Marcus latched into his pain, used it to anchor him. Time passed as a blur to him, but eventually Marcus was able to open his eyes.

"Good God." He sighed, grabbing a rag to clean his blood off the floor. Most people would have simply attacked the stain with a cloth, thinking that the answer to cleaning it up was to scrub harder. Marcus had been trained in how to leave no trace, and it wasn't about force. It was your method. He mopped it up while alternating between clockwise and counterclockwise patterns. It wasn't easy and it took the rest of the hours he'd allotting for sleeping, but he was done by the time Elizabeth woke around seven thirty. If she could tell he hadn't followed his own advice, she didn't comment. Rather, she followed his maxim, and waited for tomorrow.