CHAPTER FIVE: I WANNA ROCK RIGHT NOW: PART I

PRESENT DAY

It was the dawn of a new day.

Granted it had been some time—about two dozen weeks, approaching three—since The Cure swept the planet and humanity began to recover from the most disastrous pandemic in recent history.

But the agents at Providence, or those that remained anyway, were far too occupied in dealing with the aftermath to ever truly celebrate their momentous triumph; or rather they were, until Cesar remembered the anniversary of a personally significant occasion soon approaching.

And it was no sooner than the day prior to the special date when he finally completed his latest project and finally had the time to simply peek at the calendar mounted on the wall of his workshop. He couldn't fathom how he lost track of time so easily — perhaps his five year suspension around orbit messed with his internal rhythm more than he cared to admit.

All the same, in spite of the incredibly short notice to plan the festivities it didn't take much convincing to sway the new leaders of Providence to put aside their tasks for one day to help him prepare. And given the constraints on time, manpower, space, and budget above all else, the list of supplies were modest but the intention behind each and every item was as meaningful as the last:

Meatloaf and mashed potatoes, empanadas, pineapple meringue cake, and the appropriate dinnerware to plate all of said food; candles, confetti, and piñatas were added as well, since messes and pyrotechnics were the standard for these sort of events; but perhaps the most important items of all were presents from those who were closest to the guest of honor.

Some of them scrambled to find gifts of substance for their friend, while the principal organizers of the party have been waiting for such an opportunity to bestow their various presents upon a special young adult since The Cure. And even though those around him couldn't provide him with much, they were sure to make his rite of passage as special as they could.

Indeed, it was Rex's 18th birthday. And just as it was the dawn of a new day, it was the dawn of a new chapter in his life; one that would be laden with lines of love and camaraderie, paragraphs of pain and suffering, and blank pages full of uncertainty — to be ultimately inked in blood.

Sleep was as much of a commodity as functioning utilities were at Providence Headquarters; and unfortunately, they weren't so readily exchangeable as Rex learned in his time at the organization following The Cure.

After all, Providence was a much different entity following the suddenly nonexistent demand to study, cure, contain, and decommission EVOs—and with the Consortium no longer an option to grant Providence its main funding, a majority of agents working at Providence were left without a job and thus a way to make a living for themselves and their families.

It was an interesting consequence to Rex's first and final act with the Meta-Nanites. However, he didn't hesitate for a second to take responsibility and remedy their situations because their combined effort was the only reason that he was able to harness the Dominion Code's power at all.

Which, for himself more than most, led to many restless days and nights performing a myriad of tasks to keep the lights on at Providence and secure the agents' severance packages.

Whether it be taking down mechanical contraptions piloted by mad-scientists; rebuilding any number of structures he inadvertently destroyed ever since his debut; or providing aid to communities that were formerly dependent on the abilities of EVOs, Rex's laudable contributions to the restoration of humanity were well known and quite visible through press and word of mouth.

Yet his work-ethic was best exemplified by how tattered his traditional outfit became—with his signature coat falling apart by the seam—and the sheer number of pages that his personal journal dedicated to the progress he made and all the ways in which he could do better.

His life was far from easier, but it was fulfilling and he had grown exponentially as a result of his efforts — emotionally, mentally, and physically of course. But he would frequently sit at his desk at late hours hours to vapidly scrawl the details of his day before catching so much as a wink of sleep.

Oftentimes, he would wake up the next morning with his face firmly planted against the table; sometimes in a pathetic puddle of drool with the rays of the morning sun blanket him in warmth he failed to cover himself in the night before, as was the case that morning.

Registering the change in brightness and temperature, Rex straightened his back from the incredibly uncomfortable position he held for an entire night; let out a satisfied yawn accompanied by the stretch of his arms; and picked up his pen to inscribe one final period at the end of a sentence he wrote the previous night before closing his journal and finally standing up to prepare for the day.

...Which was odd, because when was the last time he had time to prepare for anything?

He skeptically pulled up his phone and checked the screen. There were no notifications demanding his urgent attention, or any notifications at all for that matter; and if the time was properly updated to his current timezone it was the afternoon and he had slept in — for the first time in months, even.

Rex wondered why he was given a break that day of all days, but he was more than happy to count his blessings and grabbed his jacket from the shelf he threw it at days ago. He attempted to put it on as he casually strolled towards the windowsill to close the blinds, but then struggled to put on but a single arm no matter what direction he tugged on it and how much force he used.

Was it possible that it shrunk? He quickly dismissed the thought, unable to recall the last time he washed the jacket himself — and the only other people who cared enough about its appearance to wash it otherwise, Agent Six, Holliday, Noah, and Circe, were incredibly considerate washers.

But when holding out the jacket in front of him with his arms outstretched, he was surprised to see that his arms had become much bulkier; his biceps alone being too large to fit through the sleeves.

So, with a hint of melancholy on his face he tossed the jacket towards his bed—completely missing the shot of course—and placed a hand against the wall to close the blinds and turn on the lights.

Nothing happened, but that didn't come as much of a surprise as there were sometimes days when certain parts of Headquarters went without power. And of course his room was located in what was deemed the least power-essential zone in all of Providence—which was fair given that the total number of inhabitants that actively lived there were only ten people; but it didn't make navigating the base any easier when the lights spontaneously went out and the doors couldn't be opened.

And as if on queue, Rex's head jolted towards the direction of his door which failed to open with a deep mechanical whir. It seemed that someone was trying to make their way into his room, but he was usually given advance notice or even a simple knock against the metal before any given agent would enter, so something was definitely amiss that morning.

Surely it wasn't an infiltration, otherwise they wouldn't have bothered to use the most obvious entrance; but his nay forgotten experience with Scarecrow left a seed of doubt that remained planted in his consciousness to that very day, so Rex cautiously drew his Tanto in case he needed to make combat in a way that wouldn't ravage his immediate surroundings.

Not that shapeshifters or spies of any sort were an immediate concern since Rex was the only known EVO that remained and Scarecrow was in Providence's custody, but Rex approached the door slowly all the same — listening for what noises were on the other side.

"I can't open the door." stated one voice in whisper.

"What do you mean you can't open it?" pressured another.

"Dude, when I say I can't open I mean I can't open it!"

"Just press a button on the keypad, any of them should work." A third voice suggested.

"With all due respect, what does it look like I'm doing? Because it's clearly not working."

"We don't have all day you guys, just let me give this a try—" a fourth interjected before pressing some buttons into a keypad.

"Well?"

"Nothing. The lights are still on in the hallways but all the rooms have no power."

"See?"

"Hush you. Even then, the override code was supposed to work..."

"Hold on a second Circe, how come you have an override code to Rex's room?" a different voice questioned, followed by a series of oohs and suggestive growls.

"Don't give them the wrong idea, Kenwyn! Noah knows it too!"

"Don't you throw me under the bus! I only know it to make sure Bobo isn't using any of his stuff!"

So that's why his underwear reeked of bananas the other week. Unsurprising, but Rex made a mental note to have his revenge. And after recognizing all of the voices on the opposite side of the door, Rex withdrew his Tanto and backed away to open the door with his bare hands.

Under normal circumstances, attempting to force open such a door with mere brute strength was a reckless idea that begeted injury to person and property, but Rex was far from a normal person and way too eager to learn what the surprise was to wait for the power to be restored.

So with a crack of his knuckles and a keen understanding of the door's mechanical properties — he came to a realization that he could open the doorway in a manner that didn't jeopardize its integrity.

Admittedly, he had the physique to simply pry it open; but taking a moment to carefully observe his hands which he became so accustomed to using for destruction rather than utility, he was reminded of the truly unique powers he possessed and considered a new application of his nanites.

So with a minimal amount of concentration, sparks and then tiny arcs of electricity bounced between his fingertips without the aid of any machine to facilitate its generation. Similar to when Agent Six prompted him to wield multiple machines at once, Rex felt a spark of awe at his own capabilities. But without further ado, he firmly placed his hand against the door to charge it.

After he commanded it to open, the door swiftly slid into the wall to reveal a still-bickering group that was caught off guard by Rex standing smugly at the entrance. Noah, Circe, Beverly, Kenwyn, Cricket, Tuck, and Skwydd—or Walter as he insisted on going by—were present alongside Anne and Claire; everyone together in the same place for the first time since The Cure if he recalled correctly.

Everyone tried to play off the oddity that was their collective presence outside his room by greeting him nonchalantly to varying degrees of success and all sorts of mild amusement. Circe hopped forward from the group to give him a peck on the cheek and embrace him from the side, with Rex returning the gesture by smooching her on the lips before smiling back at the rest of his friends.

"So, when's the party?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Moving is a tiring process.

Anyway I wrote the entirety of this part in less than two days. This was definitely a slower-pace than I'd prefer to return with after my mini hiatus, but more exciting stuff is coming (and is already written...in chapters way ahead of this one) and hopefully will be posted more often.

I may even post art to help visualize some new designs I have planned for the characters, setpieces, and vehicles, but I'm not sure of a graceful way to integrate them into AO3 and yet.

UPDATE [7/9/2019]:
Edits have been made to improve grammar and structure.