Patched-Up

“The dead do not rest; they wait.”

— Lorvyn Malek,

Ninth Prophet of the First Order

***

A red-hot lance of pain shot through my skull, a searing flash that warped reality for a split second—the edges of the world rippling like a mirage, glitching out of sync. Sudden. Brief. Like a camera flash in a pitch-black room. Then it was gone, leaving only the dull throb settling behind my eyes.

The pain wasn’t new. Neither were the system warnings—background noise at this point. But the data? That was worse than usual. Always there and gone before I could make sense of it, no log, no trace, like it had never happened. I might have dismissed it as a glitch if not for the wave of disorientation that followed. I sighed and rubbed my temple, trying to clear the mental fog, but the headache stayed. A lingering reminder that things were starting to break down.

System Integrity: 42%

That was one hell of a nosedive. I guess dying doesn’t go well with my augmentations.

The deafening roar of the engine broke through the stillness as Cali arrived in a pickup truck. Its body shimmered with a vivid turquoise. The headlights knifed through the darkness, revealing a chaotic tableau of destruction. Shards of glass glinted in the harsh beams, scattered debris littered the ground, and the twisted remnants of a recent struggle were illuminated in stark detail.

My legs gave out beneath me, and I stumbled towards a nearby post, my hands grasping at the rough, weathered wood for support. The gravel beneath my feet crunched loudly as Cali came running over, her boots kicking up small clouds of dust in her wake. Her eyes were wide with alarm and worry, her blonde hair tousled and wild. A metallic tang filled the air, mixing with the sharp smell of burnt rubber and sending shivers down my already trembling spine. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, dulling the pain but heightening my senses as I weakly returned Cali’s concerned gaze. My vision blurred, and I struggled to stay upright against the post, a puppet with frayed strings.

“Jack!” Cali exclaimed, her voice laced with concern as she rushed to my side.

I tried not to bleed on her overalls. Her smooth features were etched with worry as she slipped an arm around my waist, supporting me as I struggled to climb into the passenger seat. I settled into the worn leather seat as Cali slid behind the wheel. The scent of Nightstone filled my nostrils as we drove off into the night.

I glanced down at my Enhanced left arm and shoulder, the dull ache giving way to something sharper as a bright flash erupted from the wiring beneath my synth-skin. The blackstone cables pulsed erratically, Infernum energy crackling out in violent bursts like a bad circuit on the verge of overload. The faint glow lit the dark alley in rhythmic pulses, throwing jagged shadows against the damp walls.

I clutched the arm instinctively, trying to keep the energy contained, but it was no use. The blackstone wasn’t meant to handle this level of strain, not for this long. Sparks hissed and spat, tiny fractures crawling along the plating like cracks in ice.

I gritted my teeth against the pain as the glowing veins of Infernum energy flared again.

“Ran into a bit of trouble,” I muttered through gritted teeth, unable to hide the grimace of pain that crossed my face with every movement. My voice was harsh and strained, and I clutched my neck reflexively. “Thanks for coming.”

Cali’s voice, touched with a gentle Southern twang, wrapped around me like a warm embrace, making the world feel just a little less cold. “For devil’s sake, Jack.” Her eyes were filled with kindness and concern. “Let’s get you sorted out and figure out precisely what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time.” Her gaze wandered over my battered form, tracing the angry red cuts and dark bruises that marred my skin.

Cali’s worried eyes flickered between the road and my face. “Jack, you look like hell. What happened to you?”

As the truck roared through the night, I caught a fleeting glimpse of myself in the side mirror—there and gone in an instant, like a ghost hitching a ride. She wasn’t wrong.

I hesitated, trying to find the words. “It’s... complicated.”

Her brow furrowed. “Complicated? Like how? You owe someone money complicated? Or you picked a fight with a werewolf again complicated?”

I forced a weak smile. “No, more like I had a run-in with Death. Literally.”

She scoffed. “Death, huh? Well, that’s new.” She paused, glancing at me. “He stop by for tea and cookies?”

“Not exactly,” I said, barely a whisper.

The truck drove on, its engine a steady, comforting growl, filling the silence that followed. We passed the exit to my place. “Where are you taking me?”

“The hospital, where else?”

“No, Cali. We can’t. We need to keep this under wraps.”

She looked at me like I’d suggested she eat a dead slug off the sidewalk.

“Oh sure, because patching you up in my garage is the smart play. I think I’ve got a new carburetor that should do the trick. Jack, you’re half-dead!”

“Cali, I’m undead.”

She snorted with the kind of refined elegance that only comes from years of perfecting the art of not giving a damn.

“You’re telling me you’re a zombie now?” She glanced me over, more intently this time, stealing quick looks while keeping her eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep it casual. “Undead, reanimated, Death’s errand boy. Take your pick.”

She smiled, brushing it off with a shrug, like it was a bad joke. Which, in a cosmic way, it was. But then, as the warm glow of streetlights swept across my face, I saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes—a subtle shift I couldn’t miss. I didn’t envy the rollercoaster she was on tonight—first the shock of hearing my voice crackle over the pay phone, desperate, then helping me shamble up, and now this. I caught the moment it hit her that I wasn’t joking. But still, she couldn’t fully accept it. I had to rip off the band-aid.

“Look.” I turned on the light in the cab so she could see me clearly. A bloody gash was open across my throat, and three lines were bleeding from my side where the demon clawed. My face was puffy from the waterlog. Anyone else in my state would be dead. Well, I guess I was no exception.

I cursed as she nearly sent us careening off the road. The tires screeched, the truck fishtailing before jerking to a stop. She threw me a sideways glare, caught between exasperation and disbelief.

“Satan on skis, Jack! What the hell is going on? Fighting demons is one thing, but this? What kind of mess have you dragged yourself into this time?”

I explained the series of events leading up to my death and the surreal conversation with the Eternal. Cali took a deep breath, her grip on the steering wheel loosening and tightening. After I finished the story, silence hung heavy between us, a long pause that made me wonder if she was about to throw me out of the truck.

“Only you, Jack. Only you.” Her voice was soft, almost as if she wasn’t speaking to me at all.

Slowly, she shook her head, her gaze drifting off into the distance as cars streaked past like steel bullets, racing toward whatever destiny awaited them. She took another deep, slow breath, gave a subtle nod, and shifted the truck back into gear. She shot me a smile, as if nothing was wrong—and for a moment, I almost believed it. She had that way about her, an unshakable faith that everything was exactly as it should be, part of some hidden plan. I wished I had even a drop of that certainty.

“Alright, zombie boy. Let’s get you patched up at the shop.”

She hit the gas, and we were back on the road, speeding towards her garage. The tension slowly eased, replaced by a strange sense of normalcy in the midst of the chaos. I leaned back, the weariness creep in.

The steady hum of the engine lulled us into a comfortable silence as we drove down the winding road. My friend smiled genuinely as she started talking again. “I finally finished fixing her up,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “She’s waiting for you back at the shop. And I even managed a few improvements.”

She shifted gears effortlessly. I furrowed my brows, concern etched on my face. “Improvements?”

Cali grinned mischievously and reassured me, “You’ll love it, you big grouch.”

I reached out to pat her shoulder in friendly thanks, but a sharp pain shot through my body like a bolt of lightning, causing me to recoil in agony. Every movement felt like being stabbed with hot knives, and I gritted my teeth to hide the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

“You’re the most skilled mechanic and Hexsmith I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. If I trust anybody with her, it’s you.”

Cali chuckled, the sound light and melodic. “And don’t you dare forget it.” Her eyes, bright and sparkling like stars in the night sky, radiated with pride and confidence as she playfully nudged me with her elbow. I squashed the pain down.

As the truck bounced over potholes, every jolt made the damaged wiring buzz and flicker with Infernum sparks.

“Quit fussing with it,” Cali said, glancing over with a sharp look. “You’ll only make it worse.”

We reached her place, a modest apartment behind her family’s fuel station and repair shop. She helped me inside, her touch careful yet firm. Martin, her scruffy mutt with one ear flopped over and a tail that never stopped wagging, came over at the noise. He hesitated at first, but after sniffing me for a moment, he started nuzzling my leg. I petted him absentmindedly.

Cali guided me to sit on a stool in the kitchen. She turned on the light and got her first good look at my entire body. Her eyes widened, and she took a sharp breath, clearly trying to keep it together.

“How bad is it? Give it to me straight.”

“You look like a half-eaten dog biscuit,” she said.

“Don’t hold back now.”

“You look like you lost a fight with a wood chipper. Like last month’s meatloaf.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

“You ever see a piñata after a kids’ party? It’s kind of like that, except they didn’t stop after they got the candy.”

“Alright already.”

She disappeared into the shop, the sound of drawers opening and tools clattering echoing through the quiet. When she returned, her arms were full: a roll of black tape, a first aid and repair kit meant for Bots like me, a needle and thread, a few vials of coolant and sealant, and a small handheld mirror.

Taking the mirror, I inspected myself under the harsh kitchen light. She wasn’t kidding.

My skin carried the hue of a forgotten antique, an ashen gray that caught the flicker of the streetlights in a ghostly glow. It wasn’t just the color; it was the texture too—like dried leather left out to rot, rough and cracked, the kind of surface that told you time gave up trying to erode it. Deep creases slashed across my face, the remnants of a past buried long before its time, and my eyes, sunken into shadowed hollows, peered out like they’d been staring at the dark for too long.

She didn’t even flinch when she saw the sparks jumping from my arm. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and grabbed the repair kit. “Hold still,” she said, voice steady and calm.

She reached into the kit, pulling out a pair of insulated pliers and a small tool with a faintly glowing tip. The smell of burnt wiring filled the air as she worked, cutting away the damaged components with precision.

“Looks like you fried a servo and shorted the stabilizer circuit,” she muttered, more to herself than to me. Her fingers moved deftly, unwinding a sparking wire and replacing it with a new one from her kit. She sealed it with a few quick taps of her soldering iron, the sharp tang of molten metal cutting through the room.

“There,” she said, stepping back to inspect her work, her brow furrowed in that way that always meant bad news. “That should keep you from blowing yourself to pieces for now. But Jack, you’re running on borrowed time here. This thing is a mess. You need a full replacement, not a patch job.”

“I’ve heard that before,” I muttered, flexing my arm. It still stung like hell, but at least it wasn’t sparking anymore. “What can you do without replacing it? You’ve patched me up before just fine.”

She gave me a look—half exasperation, half pity. “Yeah, because before, it was cracks in the casing or worn wires. This?” She pointed at my arm like it was a ticking bomb. “This is structural, Jack. Your system’s crashing, and I’m not exactly a miracle worker. I can rip the main wires and jerry-rig something, but it’s like duct-taping a dam. It won’t hold for long, and it definitely won’t be compatible with anything else.”

“Good enough,” I said, shrugging.

Her jaw tightened, and she took a sharp breath. “You’re impossible. Fine. Don’t come crying to me when your arm falls off.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. It’d be bad for my image.”

She rolled her eyes but reached for her tools anyway, muttering under her breath about stubborn idiots and their death wishes. “This is going to hurt,” she warned, snapping on a pair of gloves.

“Okay, give me a sec.”

She didn’t give me a second.

The pain hit like someone had jammed a live wire straight into my nervous system. White-hot agony exploded through me, and for a second, the world disappeared in a flash of blinding light.

When it cleared, I was slumped against the workbench, breathing hard, my arm twitching like it had a mind of its own.

“Damn it, Cali!” I snarled, shaking the dizziness from my head.

She didn’t look the least bit sorry. “Oh, quit whining. You’re still in one piece, aren’t you?” She grabbed an oil-stained rag and wiped her hands, her voice softening ever so slightly. “But seriously, Jack, this thing’s on its last legs. If you don’t get it properly repaired, it’s going to fail at the worst possible moment. And knowing you, that moment will probably involve a demon with a chainsaw.”

I flexed my hand, testing the new connections. It worked—barely. “I’ll think about it,” I said, which was code for not a chance in hell.

She gave me a long, knowing look. “Sure you will,” she said dryly, packing up her tools.

Cali took a small vial of viscous liquid out of the first aid kit and started to clean my more organic wounds. It was a standard healing tonic. Her hands were deft, but she wasn’t gentle. When I yelped, she looked at me with a smirk. “Big baby.”

“You don’t have to take so much enjoyment in it,” I said through gritted teeth.

Her lips curved into a wide grin. “Keeps you honest. Besides, good to know you can still feel things,” she quipped. But I was getting a little worried about that; this all should have been much more painful than it was. She thrust the vial toward my face.

“Drink up, zombie boy.”

My gaze hovered over the clear liquid, my grotesque reflection staring back at me. Cali’s eyes were practically drilling holes into my skull. With a reluctant hand, I accepted the familiar healing concoction, swirling it around skeptically. Cali’s glare intensified.

“Just drink it, you old mop.”

I exhaled slowly, bringing the glass to my lips and forcing myself to swallow. The thick liquid moved down my throat, making me grimace. Usually, the taste was unbearable, like drinking snails coated in battery acid. But this time it was different. It barely tasted like anything. I wondered if my dying nerve endings were to blame.

I gulped it down. There was a tingle as the potion started to work, knitting my skin back together. Relief flooded in for a moment—until it didn’t. A sharp hiss filled the air, and my flesh began to sizzle like someone had dropped acid on it. The pain was instant, searing. I thrashed wildly, trying to spit it out, but it was too late. She grabbed a glass of water, shoving it into my hand, but but a sip only spread the burn, making it worse.

“Damn it!” I managed to croak, clawing at my throat.

She scrambled, then appeared with a gallon jug of milk. I ripped off the cap and downed it in desperate gulps, pouring the rest over my neck where the potion had turned my skin into a smoldering mess. The hissing finally started to fade, and I sagged in relief, even as the milk dribbled out through the raw, open wound.

“I’m so sorry, Jack.”

“It’s fine,” I rasped, the last remnants of the potion working their way down to my gut, where it settled like a lead weight. “Neither of us could’ve known it’d do that. Guess health potions aren’t meant for the undead.”

She watched as the milk slowly seeped out of my neck, a mix of horror and resignation in her eyes. “We need to find something that actually helps.”

She got back to patching me up, this time sticking to tape and stitches, while the rest of the potions got shoved far, far away.

“So, this deal with Death, what’s the scoop?”

“Just some freelance work,” I explained.

“And what about the whole zombie thing? Should I be worried you’ll start craving brains, or are you more of the cute and cuddly variety?”

“There’s a cuddly type?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I’m not exactly an expert on the undead.”

She blew out a sharp whistle. As she resumed her work, I leaned back, the weariness creeping in. The pain was dulling, replaced by a new sensation— n emptiness, a gnawing hunger that was starting to grow. I shook it off, focusing on the task at hand.

Cali’s nimble fingers moved with expert precision, the needle and thread dancing in her hands as she carefully stitched up my skin. Years of growing up on a farm had given her plenty of practice stitching up her brothers long before she could even ride a bike. Her natural talent and dexterity, honed by years of hard work, also made her a formidable smith.

The night stretched on as Cali tended to my wounds. We slipped into a comfortable conversation. But deep down, I knew nothing would ever be the same again.

As she finished patching me up, I couldn’t help but admire her. Despite the grease and dirt smudged on her face and clothes, she exuded a raw beauty that was both wholesome and devilish.

In her early thirties, with ocean blue eyes and a warm smile, Cali radiated genuine kindness.

She’d told me once how they’d all come down from Montana together—her, her father, and her brothers—back when the shop buzzed with voices and the clatter of tools. Back then, it wasn’t just repairs; they’d tinker, upgrade, and enhance anything that ran on wheels—or wires. The boys, though, had a restless streak, like stray cats who couldn’t stand staying penned in. Charlie took off west, chasing stardom in Hollywood, while, Jim hopped a train to Chicago, chasing fortunes in the scrapyards, where discarded cyberware and rusted augments were salvaged, hacked, and sold to the desperate and the daring.

Now they were scattered across America, chasing dreams in a booming, chaotic world. She’d been left to pick up the slack, and it showed—her hands, rough and calloused from years of hard work, always had traces of oil and nano-grease clinging stubbornly beneath her nails, no matter how much she scrubbed. There was a metaphor in there somewhere—something about the city sinking into your skin, leaving its mark—but I was too tired and too hungry to care.

The shop was quieter now, emptier, but she kept it running. The hum of modded equipment and the glow of work lamps cast a familiar warmth over the space. Enhancements were her specialty—cybernetic upgrades, neural interface calibrations, patched-up old Systems she claimed could run better than the newer ones if you knew where to look. She said she preferred working alone these days—calmer, less chaos. Fewer voices meant fewer arguments, and she could focus. At least, that’s how she put it.

But I’d catch that flicker of nostalgia in her eyes sometimes, the way her gaze lingered on an old, half-broken coffee can of bolts the boys used to argue over. Like she missed the noise more than she’d ever let on.

I think she would’ve walked away long ago if it weren’t for the ghosts keeping her company. Maybe that’s why we got along so well—both of us clinging to something that refused to fade, like oil stains that never quite washed out.

When she was finished, I leaned back. “Thanks for the patch-up, Doc. Got any spare brains lying around?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled weakly. “You are obviously in want of one.”

I closed my eyes, the weariness finally taking over.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said, her voice steady. “We always do.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “We always do.”

I cleaned up in her bathroom, and she lent me some clothes her older brother had left behind. I stared into the cracked mirror, my reflection barely recognizable. Pale, gray skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones, faintly glowing circuits pulsing beneath the surface like veins of dying light. My left eye burned a faint green, a cybernetic implant flickering with every strained connection. The trench coat hung heavy on my shoulders, soaked through, and stained with the grime of too many fights.

I ran a hand down my face, feeling the cold, synthetic texture where skin used to be. The System hummed faintly, keeping me stitched together, but just barely. Whatever I was now, it wasn’t alive. Not really. I ran a full System Diagnostic and Status Check.

SYSTEM STATUS: UNCERTAIN (CRITICAL ERRORS DETECTED)

User: Jack Callaghan

Designation: Hunter-Class Hybrid (Undead/Enhanced)

New Designation Detected: Revenant-Class. Rank 1 ( Current Revenant Status: Resistive.)

System Integrity: 12% ( Severe degradation detected—primary systems functioning at reduced capacity. )

System Rank/Version: Unranked, Version Classified, Code Name: Project Methuselah

Warning: Unauthorized alterations detected. Recall order voided—System classified as obsolete.

CORE VITALS

1. Vitality: 0% — Fatality Detected — Error, recalibrating
2. Vitality: Calibrating… calibrating… estimated 70% ( Post-mortem state detected: No active blood flow, necrotic tissue stabilized by Infernum energy. Decomposition mitigated but ongoing. System attempting diagnosis… incomplete data. Diagnostic analysis failed. )
3. Resilience: Unknown—insufficient data.
4. Fatigue: Unknown ( Biological energy consumption reduced. Mechanical supports compensating for all motor functions. )
5. Humanity: 11% — Critical Failure Imminent ( Cybernetic enhancements: 41%. Corruption: 48%. Warning: Humanity level approaching irreversible threshold.)

GLITCHES / ERRORS

1. Ghost File Detected: Sarah.
2. Presence persists in neural interface. File integrity stable. Interaction frequency elevated.
3. Unauthorized Task Log Entries: “Find Sarah” repeated 46 times.
4. Timestamp inconsistencies noted—entry pre-dates System activation.
5. Critical Error:
6. Primary neural interface partially fused with Infernum circuit. Signal instability detected.
7. Behavioral impact unknown.

TASK LOG

1. Hunt Target: Rift Entity (Low-Class Demon). Status: Failed.
2. Reason: Client safety compromised. Contract breeched. No payment shall be made.

System Screen Unlocked – “ Abilities”

A new status window had appeared for the first time, so, naturally, I selected it.

Revenant — Primary Class Abilities

Rage

1. Effects: ???

Consume

1. Effects: ???

Fearless

1. Effects: ???

Painless

1. Effects: ???

Revenant Instinct – Locked

1. Effects: ???

I didn't know what to make of all of this. And it looked like the System felt the same way about me.

Revenant? Fitting. Undead, alive—somewhere in between.

Every time it pinged, it spat out contradictions: Vitality: Unknown. Resilience: Insufficient Data. It was trying, recalibrating, struggling to define what I’d become. Abilities?

I flexed my fingers, the faint green glow of the circuits beneath my skin sparking in protest. The System wasn’t built for this—whatever this was. Neither was I.

One thing was for sure, my Humanity was dangerously low, replaced with something the system recognized as Corruption.

When I stepped out, Cali gave me a quick once-over, her keen eyes taking in the faint glow in my chest. She nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.

“It’ll have to do,” she said.

She offered to let me take my car home, but I couldn’t afford the repairs, and my pride wouldn’t let me accept the favor. When she suggested giving me a lift in her truck, I reluctantly agreed.

As we headed to my place, I let out a defeated sigh. “I’ll pay you back for all you do for me, Cali, I promise.”

She waved off my words, her eyes fixed on the road. “You were a hero, Jack. You helped a lot of people. The world might have forgotten, but I haven’t. You gotta let people help you once in a while.”

Her words hit harder than any punch. You were a hero. Were being the key word. I managed a small smile and whispered, “You must’ve been kissed by an angel, Cali.”

She glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “What was that?”

“Nothin’,” I said quietly. “Thinking out loud.”

Rain pounded the truck’s roof, the wipers slashing like blades against tiny bullets. Each mile we covered, the past clawed at me, but Cali’s presence kept me grounded. She was something special, that girl. She was a beacon in the darkness.

As the miles stretched out beneath the steady hum of the engine, an old, familiar ache resurfaced - a memory with the rawness of grief and the weight of regret. Part of me clung to that pain, almost welcoming its bitter taste.

I took in a shaky breath, allowing myself to be swallowed by the past. In that fleeting darkness, her image appeared before me: golden hair splayed out on the cold concrete, a stark contrast against the brutal splash of red that surrounded her.

People loved to say ignorance is bliss, but that was a load of crap. It wasn’t the worries you braced for that gutted you—it was the sucker punches you never saw coming. They also liked to tell me her death wasn’t my fault, that there was nothing I could’ve done. People said a lot of things.

If I had just taken the day off...