Syndicate Slayer

by Mars Dorian

  “I guess you just pierced my LowShell armor.”

  “Game lingo won’t save you here, Crusader.”

  Sparrow scratched the inside of her bowl with her wooden spoon. She dragged her feet across the floor and seemed to target me. Midway, she turned a hard right and disappeared in her room. The magnetic lock activated from the inside.

  Real smooth.

  For a second, I just stood around like a sparring bot, waiting to get hit. But Sparrow remained in her little kingdom, either playing or doing something else. I passed by her door and tried to sneak a peek through the crack below the frame, but the door was sealed like a hatch of a space ship. Airtight and magnetically locked, which I found overkill unless she was breeding aggressive beasts in there. Why in the world did she behave so secretly? Even if she was a hikkimori, a simple lock would have sufficed. Who knows.

  Back in the storage room, I applied the VR suit to my body. A buzz of excitement reinvigorated my lust for the game. Yumi-D’s words from before had soothed my soul and fired up my determination. Maybe it was better to have a friend and co-player like her stay nearby, in case I needed another inspirational power-up. And if the situation with Sparrow turned super-sour, maybe I could find a way to live with Yumi-D instead. She seemed more fun and less complicated than the split personality my real-live Anime roommate showcased every day. But maybe Sparrow just needed some time for herself. Maybe everything was going to be okay after our next gaming session. For now, I concentrated on my digital prison situation. The initial fear of failure had made way for courage. No matter how dire the circumstances in Fourlando turned out be, I was going to find a way out.

  I always did.

  The second I logged into the Crystal Crusade, the in-game menu flashed around my virtual vision.

  Update: You’ve been captured by Sunblood forces. Your access to the world map is currently off-limits. Your main actions are restricted.

  Tip: Try to break out OR ask for a negotiation with the highest ranking officer. The options are only limited by your imagination.

  Oh, game developers. Always trying to up the complexity.

  Good news first: my Level 16 WarTech was still among the living, full hit points included. My real body relaxed immediately, but the joy burned down quickly. I found myself in some kind of detainment cell. Rusty metal plates plastered the ground with heavy walls, squeezing me in. Old-fashioned bars with fortified steel prevented me from fleeing. There’s no place like prison.

  I could have sliced through the iron with my cutter, but the multi-tool was missing from my inventory, just like any other item. Every antidote, every potion, and, even worse, every weapon had disappeared.

  Grrrr.

  I hoped the game didn’t delete my items considering how hard I worked on obtaining them. If Sparrow was right, the game AI would grant me chances of retrieving my equipment, or else collecting rare items was pointless.

  Game logic.

  I looked through the bars and tried to see more of my surrounding. A soldier with light armor and Sunblood-branded plating walked by my bars and signaled something to his comrade. The analyzer circled around him and fed me much-needed intel.

  Enemy: Prison Guard

  Type: Human Soldier

  HP: 1230 / Armor: Light (+2)

  Drops: Stun baton, Hi-potion

  Easy enemy if it hadn’t been for my loss of weapons. Even my secondary harpoon gun glove was gone, which meant I could neither stun nor pull the enemy toward me. With no options left but to wait, I watched the patrolling guards with great care until steps echoed through the floor. Heavy metal-coated boots clumped along the corridor. A new guard halted in front of my bars, seven day grimace included. “Prisoner, the Lieutenant Colonel wants to see you.”

  The barred door retracted with a screech and allowed me to step out. Five guards surrounded me but kept a safe distance. They carried beating sticks and blunderbusses. Two wrapped their gloved hands around short-barreled gunblades. “Follow me.”

  We walked in a straight line with two guards in front and three in the back. I kept my one-liners to myself and waited until I gathered enough intel about my current whereabouts. The ground beneath my boots vibrated. It felt like a glitch, but even the soldiers spread their boots to regain balance.

  “Where are we?”

  “Shut up, cretin.”

  A quick glance to the world map of my e-scroll showcased a big, fat smudge. I couldn’t even tell whether I still resided on the Western Crescent, the main continent, or some other place.

  “Move,” the guard behind me said and pushed his gloved fist into my shoulder plate. The vibration translated to my adaptive VR chest gear. The walk of shame led through tight corridors of a military facility. I was guessing another outpost or a garrison. While my eyes soaked up every corridor, guard, and escape possibility, I pondered how to retrieve my weapons. Using game logic, they had to be stored in an armory or safe. I’d probably have to break out in a stealth infiltration mission. I mean, the Sunbleeders wouldn’t just hand them over to me, even if I asked politely.

  “Forward,” the guard behind me said and pushed me toward a silver, office door with embedded nameplate. The door opened and revealed a view inside a spacious office with an intricate carpet, a dark wooden table, and walls draped with the banner of the Syndicate. Behind the ebony desk stood a man wrapped in officer uniform. He grinned a fist-friendly smile that showed his impeccable teeth. “I remember you.”

  The analyzer function revealed his name:

  Lieutenant Colonel Odin. “Judging by your dumbfounded expression, you remember me as well.”

  “Odin. You were in charge of the Varmegarden oppression forces. Well, before we kicked your ass.”

  The boss fight crept back into my memory. Odin had arrived at the main plaza wearing an incredible mobile armor. He gave my team hell with his giant polearm weapon. In the second stage of the battle, he fired explodas from his gear and almost blew up the plaza. After trashing the Reepo collector tank on his back, I unleashed my chainlink skill and threw the weakened captain into a house facade. We won the battle and liberated Varmegarden.

  Good memories. Past memories.

  Odin clapped. “I have to give you credit. That fight ranks among the most brutal battles I’ve experienced in my epic life.”

  He either was a masochist or mentally ill. Who would enjoy getting the shit beat out of them?

  “Unfortunately, my failure to protect the township resulted in a repositioning as you can see.”

  He pointed toward the stripes of his chest, or lack thereof. The truth dawned on me. Odin had been demoted for his failure. The Syndicate punished him by relocating him to the butt of the Western Crescent. The notion put a smile on my face. “I have to give the Syndicate some slack; at least they punish the incompetent.”

  The soldier behind me pushed the grip of his baton into my back and barked. “Show some respect to the Lieutenant Colonel, you cretin.”

  “I had no idea your captain was such a sensitive snowflake.”

  Odin walked around his desk and poured a white liquid in a glass, taking a sip before speaking. “You lack manners just like those incestuous beast men messing with our Reepo harvests. It looks as if degenerates really do flock to one another.”

  I pulled myself together and recalled Sparrow’s words.

  The game AI wouldn’t kill me.

  The game AI wouldn’t kill me.

  This was just a story game event to rev up the tension.

  To boost up viewerships.

  I had to realize that the Crystal Crusade was more than a hack and slash game. It was also the world’s biggest live action reality show. So I played my part and acted within the game narrative. “What do you want from me?”

  He took a long sip of his drink. “I’d like to make you a deal.”

  I wanted to say something, but let him speak instead. I wanted to see where he was going with it. As long as he offered me opportunities, I could play within the
restrictions.

  “Intel tells me you’ve colluded with these hairy creatures before you attacked our outpost. You know about their weaknesses and strengths, which means you can be of use.”

  In other words, he wanted me to become a fully-blown anti-Preshaar warrior. That was unexpected.

  “The beast men are attacking our outposts as we speak. I have skilled soldiers on my payroll, but I still lack sufficient knowledge about that savage infestation. You can fill in the gaps and help us fight those furballs.”

  Was he trying to set me up? But why all the trouble? He could just order his soldiers to kill me. A new quest updated into my virtual vision.

  Quest: Pest Control

  Type: Perimeter Defense

  Description: Lieutenant Colonel Odin of the Sunblood Syndicate wants you to help him deal with the Preshaar resistance of the Western Crescent. An outpost is currently under attack and requires immediate backup.

  Rewards: 5,500 credits, Contextual EXP, Medium-rare Armor

  Do you accept (Yes/No)?

  5,500 credits.

  A medium-rare armor. I had to count each digit to make sure my eyes didn’t play a trick on me. Nope, the offer was real. I was flabbergasted. These rewards were high for a low-ranking quest from the… enemy.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Only when I make deals.”

  It had to be trick. Odin wouldn’t pay me so many credits, especially not after I had beaten the crap out of him. “What if I don’t accept?”

  Odin winked at one of the nearby soldiers who had been watching over me. He unsheathed his tactical blade, pointed its tip toward me before he pretended to slice his own throat.

  “How original,” I said.

  Odin smiled. “I prefer clarity over cleverness.”

  He stepped forward. My natural reaction was to retreat, but the guards around me limited my evasion range. If Odin brandished his tactical blade, he could stab me to death.

  Before I could step aside, something weird happened. Sparrow sent me an in-game message. “Do it,” she wrote. “Accept the quest.”

  I wanted to reply but Sparrow acted faster than me. “Remember that you can flee from any quest. You will not receive the rewards and worsen the affiliation with the faction, but you will be free again. Remember that the game AI gives you many options.”

  “What is it?” Odin said with more pressure. He was still waiting for my confirmation. Sparrow was right for the umpteenth time. Even if Odin didn’t kill my character on the spot, he’d throw me back into prison until a new story event occurred.

  “What choices do I have?”

  Odin smirked. “A desperate man is a hardworking man.”

  I confirmed his quest. The entry updated in my e-scroll log section as Odin ordered me the new instructions. “We will begin our defense shortly. Captain Wedge will lead your squad and supervise your equipment.”

  He sounded unnaturally calm. Was this the raging mech-knight pilot my team and I fought at the central plaza? Maybe he was going to backstab me. Maybe one of his officers would cut my throat in the middle of the quest while Odin downed his victory Scotch and cracked up with evil laughter.

  “Why are you hesitating, rabble-rouser? Instead of killing you for your crimes against the Sunblood Syndicate, I’m granting you a chance to redeem yourself.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. Why in the world would you give me a chance?”

  He signed and turned his back to me, eyes set to the wall-sized windows in front. “I’m a practical man, Dash. Revenge is short-term satisfaction for impulsive low lifes. You can’t build a sustainable future based on impulsive behavior.”

  His head turned like a freaky puppet. “And unlike the lies spread by those treacherous rebel groups, the Syndicate is generous. Everyone who works with us will prosper. Even cretins like you.”

  And the reward for diplomatic tactfulness went to… Lieutenant Colonel Odin. Seriously, it was hard for me to imagine the Syndicate’s persuasive power if it was represented by triggered barkers like Odin.

  “I can sense a great future ahead for you. But first, you must prove yourself.” He waved me away. “You’re dismissed.”

  The guards pushed me back to the corridor and guided me through the metal floors of the garrison. During the walk, I pondered my escape. I had no map of the area, but I could take down a couple of guards even without my equipment. But what if I got lost in the corridors? This garrison had to be infested with soldiers or worse, tamed beasts or even mechs. Trying to escape now equaled suicide. Nah, I had to learn more. Needed to keep my eyes open and my mind vigilant.

  The guards ushered me to an armory where twelve Syndicate shock soldiers prepared their weapon layout; four of which were enablers. Those pesky support units that buffed up warriors and healed their HPs. The sight was impressive: gunblades, smokers, shock lances, spiker shields, engine crossbows; the whole selection of destruction.

  The soldier said, “This is Dash, a deserter who decided to fight for progress and profit. Given his experience with those beast men, he will give us necessary intel on their battle behavior.”

  Captain Wedge, the highest ranking officer in the armory, ogled me with partial interest. “You want to join our mission?”

  ‘Want’ was the wrong word. I was given a life or death option. The Syndicate soldiers threw ugly faces at me. I had to be the most unpopular unit in the garrison, as well as the only non-NPC one.

  One soldier adjusted his multi-tool belt and stood up. “Isn’t that the rebel scum who attacked our outpost?”

  “He is,” captain Wedge said. “Killed our men like piglets.”

  What a schmuck, exposing me in front of the men. Four more soldiers shot up from their benches, their hands hovering over their belts and sheathed blades. The testosterone-ridden mob was ready to slice me in close combat range. I could read their basic stats, but the yellow color meter told me they weren’t hostile… yet.

  “Orders from the Lieutenant Colonel,” Captain Wedge said. “Dash will aid our attack against the Preshaar. If you have problems with that, speak to Odin.”

  Half of the men in the room ground their teeth, but no one dared to stand up against Wedge. He was the only barrier between me and a pack of armored predators.

  Captain Wedge grinned and ordered a first lieutenant to take care of me. The young guy with the orange hair reminded me of an Irish friend from college; they even had the same amount of freckles. The young NPC soldier finished prepping his gear and introduced me to the weapon layout of the armory.

  “Hello, Dash. My name is Cadfael. I’m a first lieutenant and second-in-command of the division.”

  “Cat fail? Sounds like a cheap meme.”

  He frowned. “Meme?”

  “Sorry, it’s a word from where I come from.”

  He shrugged it off and allowed me to take my old battle items back. The weapon chest opened up and revealed everything; the harpoon gun glove, my gunblade, and the high-damage BlitzBlade.

  “You’re giving me ALL of my weapons back?”

  The first lieutenant shrugged. “What are you going to do? Run away?”

  Chuckles from the nearby soldiers.

  “Even if you’re lucky enough to beat a single one of us—and you’d need crazy luck for that—you’d never leave the garrison, at least not with your limbs still attached.”

  “Never say never.”

  Cadfael shrugged. “I’m saying never. And why would you leave? The Syndicate is probably paying heaps of money for you to join this mission. They value muscle power and skill, even if it was used against them.”

  A not-so-subtle hint at my previous strikes against the Syndicate.

  “It was nothing personal, just questing.”

  “I ain’t judging. Let’s prep you for battle.”

  I received three smokers, three mid-health potions, four antidotes against Reepo infections, and six high-quality Reepo batteries. Rock-solid equipment. I wondered if I were to keep the
items even if I aborted the quest as Sparrow had instructed. Probably.

  “What about an engine shield?” Cadfael asked me. “The beast people use a lot of mid-ranged weaponry.”

  Shields belonged to Lancers and tank-players. Also, the weight would slow me down even more, rendering any evasive maneuvers useless. I needed my right hand reserved for a melee weapon and my left hand free for the harpoon gun glove. That functioned as my tactic to dispose of enemies from the second line of attack. Given the oddity of this quest, I wasn’t going to try any battle experiments.

  “Your call,” Cadfael finally said. “If you die, maybe we’ll get a part of your commission.”

  “How thoughtful of you.”

  He grinned. “Nothing personal. Just battle business.”

  “I see what you did there.”

  “Enough with the chatter, ladies. It’s time to mount our beasts,” Captain Wedge barked.

  We left the armory, crossed a couple of corridors and reached a hangar-like hall where feral roars filled the air.

  “You guys have bulkors?”

  “The best,” a local stable master said.

  I reckoned he was the NPC in charge of the bulkors. “These beauties were captured from the mountain regions of the Western Crescent.” He pointed at the muscles underneath the elephant-like skin. “Just look at those guns. Can rip a hole through every idiot foolish enough to stand in the way.”

  “They’re monsters.”

  The stable master patted the gear plates near the saddle and watched me with rising concern. “You’re the monster. They’re simply proud creatures who are willing to lend their body to your deeds.”

  “Right.”

  He gave me a bag filled with various booster food, such as hyper-minced meat and uber-kraut. Each item would dramatically increase a bulkor’s basic stat for a limited time.

  “Use the meat pieces wisely,” the staple master said and waived his fat finger like a beating stick. “Feed them before the fight. An excited fowl is not gonna eat, not even my delicious herbs.”