Frank was dead. Paulo was dead. SmashSouth was dead. All of them were dead except Anatoly.
I watched in horror as a newscaster breathlessly recapped the drama from a few months back. It had all happened just after we’d first fled Bast. Every player in the conspiracy who’d been arrested was found dead in their jail cells from apparent suicides. Hamish “Frankenstein’s Monster” Yeltsin. Tito Hernandez, a mass killer from Tucson who made chorizo from teenage boys and served it to the family of the missing. Gramm Blaine, used car magnate and a mass killer and rapist from Omaha. A woman killer from Melbourne, Australia who exsanguinated girls and then turned their bodies into dolls. A man from New York City. Several others. All arrested. All dead in their cells. The man from Tucson and the man from Omaha were Paulo and SmashSouth. The woman was Princess. There was no mention of anybody arrested in Toronto.
All dead except Anatoly, whose real name was Lucas Jansen, a Dutch citizen. Anatoly was described as a “low-level” player who probably didn’t know enough to be of use to the police. But he was currently in protective custody in a federal prison somewhere in Pennsylvania. Jansen was “cooperating with the investigation.” But there were no details on what, if anything, this man knew.
The media knew none of the real details. I wasn’t so sure the police knew, either. They believed the Frankenstein Conspiracy was some sort of online message forum and VR chat where sociopaths and serial killers met up and traded videos and secrets of their escapades. That was it.
The sensational story had faded from the eye of the breaking news cycle because of everything else that was going on in the world. But this new development had stirred up a hornet’s nest of activity. Would Clara and I be found? And what about Jenk? It’d been almost four months since I’d last seen or heard from him, and I had no idea if he was still around.
Also, if there was someone going around and killing off the clients, what did that mean for us? Nobody believed that there were really that many suicides, which indicated there was still someone out there, controlling things. Whomever that was had to know where we were. The whole project had obviously gone to shit with the arrests. Clara and I were loose ends. How were we still alive?
I looked at my map now, taking stock of all the guardians. They all remained in their normal locations with a few exceptions. The Shrill was now hanging out near the rift with most of the others. Kanaloa, the leecher kaiju had been missing before. It now joined the others near the rift. The same with the Opera, the dagon guardian.
Avvinik, Clara’s panther kaiju had moved from the rift to the woods outside of Medina. That suggested Clara was successful in her attempts to take control of her guardian.
Banksy also appeared on my map, and he remained near Avvinik. So Banksy and Clara had probably found each other.
I wondered for the thousandth time what Clara must be thinking. Because of the indicator over Banksy’s head, she had to know I was still online. Was she looking for me?
Two-headed Orthrus remained back near his regen spot, west of Medina. Moritasgus remained buried where I put him, just north of Bast.
I knew from last time that Banksy couldn’t see my location while I was in jail. As far as the familiar was concerned, I’d appear to be offline. Before, he couldn’t send me a message at this great distance. But I didn’t know if that was still the case, not at his level.
During my confinement, Banksy had risen to level 47.
Because of Banksy’s leveling, I had risen to level 33. I hadn’t been able to allocate skills while I was incarcerated, but I pulled up my stats now. I tossed my points equally between strength and durability.
I called up my familiar menu, focusing on Summon to My Location for Banksy. But I paused before clicking. Banksy was probably pretty big now. I looked around, examining the city of Little Cibola for the first time. If I summoned him here, I’d end back up in jail.
A timer in the top right of my view continued to count down. Upon release, the stern-faced sundered told me I had two hours to leave town. No shops would sell to me. I’d received a quest to investigate the Epsilon Corporation. Winning would likely open the city up. I didn’t have the time. Not anymore.
This town was a stark contrast to the cyberpunk vision that was Necroshire. Little Cibola was a utopian landscape. Clean streets, towering buildings made of mirrored glass. Everything was white, blue, and sterile. I did not see a single NPC who wasn’t a sundered. Shu had said they were the only ones allowed within the city limits. The androids moved through the streets all at the same speed, moving like automatons, all moving with purpose.
A colossal, needle-thin tower pierced the sky at the center of the large town. The words “Epsilon Holdings” glowed vertically down the glass. Looking at the sign, I realized that was part of the strangeness of Little Cibola. That sign was the only one I saw in the entire town. I looked at my map, and there were several stores spread out across the city. But none had signs on the exterior, or anything else that indicated what was inside. Weird.
But I wasn’t surprised. My 90 days of confinement had been a study in antiseptic predictability. My large cell had a single exit, a forcefield-protected doorway. The guards at the prison had a patrol schedule that never, ever deviated. I was caught in a loop. If it wasn’t for the television and books… I shook my head.
“Hey,” I said to a passing sundered. Only nothing came out. My voice. I hadn’t used it in three months. I tried again, and this time I managed to cough out the word.
The sundered stopped and turned to look at me. This one’s name was 644.E. A level 13. He didn’t have an occupation. “Duke,” he said. “You are not welcome here.”
“Yeah, how do I get out of here?” I asked.
“You have two options,” the android said. “You may rent transport through the tunnel back into Necroshire. Or you may step off the edge of the city limits. The gazebo is closed to your kind.”
All the sundered as far as I could see had stopped in the street. They all looked directly at me, some of them with their heads turned all the way around, like owls. I felt the skin on the back of my neck prickle.
I could now pull Necroshire up on my map. It appeared as a secondary location, and I had to click a tab to pull it up. The transport gazebo remained open, but it had a red marker over it, similar to the one here in Little Cibola. Access Restricted to Epsilon Corporate Business only. I wouldn’t be able to use it. That meant I needed to hoof it out.
I’d walk out of town, hunker down somewhere safe, and call Banksy to me. That was my only choice. Either way, I needed to get out of here as soon as possible. If I got arrested again, I would literally starve to death in my jail cell.
I pulled up my map and found the closest town edge, which was north. It bordered a swampy region of the map, home to Colo Colo. I remembered Clara had said that particular kaiju was constantly giving birth to giant rat monsters. So I wouldn’t get too close.
It took a good ten minutes to walk to the edge of town. Like Neo-Austin, it was a line of buildings and then nothing. I had to find a tight alley and squeeze my way through.
The whole time as I walked, every sundered turned toward me and chanted “You are not welcome here.” They only said it when I passed close by one, but when one said it, all the sundered within earshot said it at the same time. I shuddered.
A five-foot wall closed off the brink of the alley. I came to the wall, and only then did I realize what Shu had meant when he said they had thrown people off the edge.
Little Cibola was a floating city. A thick cover of clouds surrounded the town. I could not tell how high we were. But I had the sudden sense that we were very, very high.
Of course. That was why this town was intact. It was high up in the clouds, out of reach of all but the flying demons.
I would have to rent passage back to Necroshire. Hopefully I’d be able to figure something out there, maybe buy a transport scroll. Maybe I could find a place to upgrade my teleport to level 4. If I could, I’d be abl
e to just zap myself to Charnel. I’d already asked Shu, and I knew he couldn’t do it. Certain high-level upgrades could only be done at certain locations. I didn’t see anything on the map, but there had to be something.
A pair of loss prevention officers appeared at the end of the alley. They stood, blocking my way out.
“Hey guys,” I called. “I still have an hour and a half to get out of the city. I decided to go to Necroshire instead.”
“Request denied,” the sentry said. “You have committed to this exit. If you make any further movement in this direction, you will be arrested for trespassing.”
“Really?” I said, backing up. I peered over the precipice.
I pulled up my skills menu. I could use my grappling hook to dangle off the edge, but I suspected that would do me no good. I did have one possible spell. Hinder. It was the equivalent of Feather Fall. But it only lasted .2 seconds per level of acumen. So six seconds. And it used almost all of my soul power. Level two of the spell was much better, but it required a bionic upgrade.
If I couldn’t see the ground, and I cast too early, I’d go splat.
I also had Invulnerable. I’d learned from drinking the donkey milk that it didn’t blunt pain. It didn’t stop me from getting injured. It just kept me from dying. Dropping from this height while I was invulnerable might work. Or it might not. I’d have to be in one piece in order to heal myself before the spell wore off.
I suddenly regretted my commitment to a tank build. It seemed I needed the acumen more than anything. I knew I would’ve been dead a hundred times over in multiple situations if I hadn’t worked on my durability. My acumen was 30, thanks to my amulet and armor and some of the Bernadette upgrades, making it my highest stat along with strength. But I could really use another ten or more points in it right about now.
I’d probably see the ground before I crashed. I’d pull through the lower level of clouds and be able to gauge the best time to slow my descent. Probably.
I spent five skill points on Hinder.
I scrambled up to the top of the wall, turned toward the sentries and saluted. They stared at me impassively. I loaded up the spell screen, and I stepped backward off the edge of Little Cibola.
The guardian came into view the moment the city tore away.
Ohh, I thought. Of course. And before I knew what I was doing, I shot my grappling hook, grasping onto the mechanical edge of the giant robot that bore the town of Little Cibola on its back.
Chapter 47
Entering the Hinterland.
My claw grasped onto a metallic tube snaking along the lower leg of the colossus. I had to keep from crushing the metal with my overpowered hand. I swung, bracing myself as I crashed hard onto the side. I cried out.
What the hell are you doing? I thought as I retracted, pulling myself up. If the guards above saw me, they’d surely throw me in jail again. I pulled up my map. The red icon of Epsilon the guardian was now visible, directly under the city. Just like Moritasgus.
The guardian was a human-shaped robot. The white and blue monstrosity was almost Voltron-like in appearance, which made me wonder if it could separate into smaller pieces. It wasn’t the largest of guardians, though size was relative with these things. I’d guess it was about as tall as Moritasgus was long. I couldn’t see anything biological at all in the guardian, which made me wonder how different the gameplay must be for those who chose the sundered race. If they didn’t heal, what did they do? Mechanical repairs? Weird.
The guardian floated in an Atlas pose with the round disc of Little Cibola borne upon his back. The robot’s posture gave the illusion he was kneeling on the ground instead of floating thousands of feet in the air. Blue jets of flame burst from its legs and feet from dozens of locations as it balanced the city on itself.
I’d managed to stop myself on its left leg. Wind ripped through my hair. The air here was significantly colder than it was above in the city, but I could still feel the punishing heat from the jets below me. Like driving in a car with the window rolled down and the heater on full blast. If I hadn’t shot out my hand and grasped onto the edge of the guardian, I’d have been roasted alive. Those assholes, I thought, looking up at the underside of the city.
But what could I do now? I needed to crawl around, find a part that didn’t have a jet bursting underneath it. Then I could resume my descent.
But it seemed the entire underside of Epsilon was aflame. My eyes caught a round entrance portal about fifteen feet up the leg. If they catch you, you’re fucked. I didn’t have a choice. I grasped on with my right arm, shot up to the portal with my hook, and I ascended, reaching for the entrance.
Unlike the twisting wheel within the previous guardians, this door had some sort of electric lock. There was no handle.
Shit. A panel in the wall blinked red. There were no buttons. I put my hand against it, and to my surprise, the light turned green. The door buzzed, and it dilated open like a camera shutter. I swung inside.
Entering Epsilon – Anterior Knee Piston Service Bay 3.
Deep Dive activating! World Map is not available during a deep dive! Gross Anatomy map activating! Surgery menu activating! Frame Vision now available!
Performing scan…
Warning: this is a technology-based guardian. System Diagnosis talent is required to perform a scan.
I’d entered an airlock. The round portal closed behind me, steam hissed, and another door opened. I entered into a large, metallic room that glowed with white light. My feet echoed on the metallic walkway. Gray, riveted metal comprised the walls. A hydraulic piston as long as a cruise missile rose through the room at an angle, coming up from the floor and out the ceiling. A rubber seal of sorts covered the piston’s entrance and exit into the room. A stark metal ladder was affixed to the wall of the chamber, mirroring the angle of the piston. The whole setup reminded me of the interior of a battleship, only with a higher ceiling. A short walkway led to the only other feature of the room, a computer terminal. There didn’t appear to be any way out of the chamber except the way I’d come.
I looked, and I didn’t have any sort of system diagnosis talent, skill, or spell. I didn’t have access to the technology school of magic, so there probably wasn’t anything I could do here. This was some sort of service access hatch to the kaiju’s (Was it still a kaiju when it was a robot? I didn’t think so.) knee area.
I shouldn’t be in here at all. But where else could I go?
The computer terminal beeped and turned itself on as I approached. A round circle glowed on the floor, and I stepped within it.
Words appeared on the terminal screen.
Access Granted. Citizen User.
System working within acceptable parameters. No maintenance required at this time.
I had no other options.
“Citizen user?” This had to be the result of that weird, second program Bernadette had passed on to me.
Shit. It made computers think I was a member of the corporation. Of course. The whole quest path made sense now. I went to the Shrill, got Bernadette’s brain, went to Necroshire, got the upgrade, got arrested by the Little Cibola goons, and I was released with a sundered access code in my head. It didn’t fool the actual androids, but it did fool their cop cars. Damn. I should have just gone back to Necroshire. I bet I could’ve walked directly into the transport gazebo and used it before the security guys stopped me. That was probably what I was supposed to do. Not jump off the side of the city.
Still… I had managed to get into this room. I thought for a moment. I opened up my pack, pulling out the lantern of Count Fronz.
The little caterpillar coughed angrily as I pulled him free.
“Do you know how long I have been in that bag?” the demon cried. “You have a groundling ear in there. What kind of sick motherfucker walks around with a damn ear in his bag?”
The demon stopped ranting as soon as he noticed where we were. The caterpillar looked about, his antennae nubs twitching as he took in the room. �
��Lad, are we inside of Epsilon?”
“Yes,” I said. “I used the program I think you and my aunt wrote to gain access. There’s a terminal here, and it recognizes me, but I can’t do anything else. Do you think I’ll be able to turn off one of the jets on the feet from here? I want to temporarily disable one of them long enough so I can jump away.”
Count Fronz was silent for several moments. “Do you know who my father was?” he finally asked.
“Uh, no,” I said. “I thought all of you were just fallen angels or something.”
The angry little caterpillar was suddenly and unusually serious. “Only the kings and queens,” he said. “My father was named Sytri. He brought me into existence. He fought in the original war. He was murdered by Epsilon.”
“Well, it’s not really murder if it’s in war,” I said.
“We had surrendered. We had agreed to withdraw,” Count Fronz said. “Your radiants and your sundered led us back, along with their guardians. The flaming bird and the metal man. They led the withdrawal back into the rift, and they slaughtered us, even after we surrendered. All we wanted was an audience with our creator. We wanted to speak peace. But instead we found this middle world, this stopgap. We had to fight our way through. But we couldn’t, and after a great war, we surrendered. And during our retreat, after you had accepted our terms, Paskunji burned my people and Epsilon turned on the great lords and killed several, including Sytri. The two guardians waited until they were on the other side of the rift, so the deaths of my people were permanent. It took a millennia for us to regain our strength.”
Paskunji was the guardian of the hawk-headed radiants. They were the celestial-only class, the sworn enemies of the worm surgeons, and I avoided them the best I could. Their guardian was one of the few flying ones, I knew. It was a phoenix-type creature.
“Okay,” I said. “So you got a thing for Epsilon. Does that mean you can do as I ask? I’m pretty sure you gotta do what I say.”
Kaiju- Battlefield Surgeon Page 37
