"Go ahead and relax. You are breathing heavy, but the air is purified. There is no Aspire gas." Several wall-sized pressurized steam collectors pressed next to the front desk, and Nancy walked over and flicked a switch.
John eyed the illegal machines surrounding him. "You know, these places were all destroyed for a reason." They resembled nothing like the artist renditions in the textbooks back at the Institute.
"It puts us in the position of having a monopoly on the tech. Walk over here and let us begin the tests. Anderson, I need you to go over there," she jabbed. "Let the techs start their work."
The look on Anderson's face spoke volumes. "Fuck this fucking shit. I am out of here. You people are fucking crazy." But he didn't move to the door, and neither did he do anything else. What was he thinking? Yes, they were crazy. This whole place was insane, but now was not the time to make a stance. She had already executed two. Did he want to be number three?
Nancy folded her arms. "I see. Please, wait outside."
Anderson left through the door and a few seconds later, the tell-tale sound of a Remi shot muffled through the cracks in the door. Someone dropped to the floor. John shot for the door, slipping and crashing into one of the machines.
"Grab him!"
Every tech in the room sprinted towards him, scrambling on the floor tiles. He sat up and gripped a chair, trying to break it off from the ground it was bolted into, but the bolts were too strong.
"Bio lock the door," Nancy commanded. The door clicked and locked. "You are not going anywhere, Mr. Rex."
Techs darted at him from every direction. He snatched an E-Reader from a rack. Raw, pure adrenaline flooded into his body, and his vision tunneled.
"Let's go then. You want this?" They didn't stop, and John cracked the E-Reader over the first tech's skull, plummeting him down, blood pouring out of his head. He hit the next, and it broke over his face. But they were on him, and any chance for escape faded. They pinned him, and he saw Nancy walking to him with an Aspire injection.
"Let me the fuck up!"
She laughed and stabbed the needle into his neck. "Night, Mr. Rex."
* * *
INITIALIZING...
N_SHD
CHECKING...100%
PHYSICAL...96%
RESIDUAL...99.89%
Readjusting Plank Routes...100%
Probability Matrix Fractionalization...56%
Redundancy Check...FAILURE (See Box 12.3)
Adjusting for errors...
Values: *Loadout_Values_[2], [31453], [30],
Linking Schematics...
Access Divine Unit...
Processing...100%
System Analysis
*** **** **** ***
Accessing Divine Unit...
Yes?
"Do the DNA tests line up? Could it be him?" Nancy whispered just loud enough for John to hear her.
Affirmative.
"How shall I proceed?"
>>Line
"What?!" Although not strapped in, he couldn't move anything below his neck. "What is going on?" When he started to become conscious, Oracle White filled his vision, and something was attached to his face, like a Sinsii. Black ink spilled around the edges. "Help me..."
"Now, it is okay. Those feelings are normal. Would you like another shot of Aspire?" Nancy's voice was harsher now, and more in control than ever, and he hated her. All this for a worthless job. What kind of a place is this?
"While what is taking place? What is going on? I... I need some water."
"We know, John. You are almost done. Just a few more."
Something changed in him. His soul was changing, his essence and his whole body hurt like nothing he'd ever experienced. He tried to close his eyes and fade away, but the loud cracking, buzzing, and chiming of the machines around him made his mind a deluge of cacophony. Something popped.
The ink started to fill up and overtake the Oracle White. When Nancy hit him with another Aspire injection, he stopped caring. Smish smash. Raggedy Ash. Only the megatron was filtered. This is me.
John's being swelled with brilliant, purplish energies. He peered down, his entire body shimmering. Strands of flux spun around him, cocooning him in data silk.
Non-vocalized information bled into his knowledge.
1. Do not seek pizza on this world. Varr is ur gre@^ destinie.
2. Life extension technology has been achieved. Well d0ne, n00ß.
3. You have the right to my rebirth under certain conditions.
4. All is invested.
5. Stay logical. >>Line.
6. Genetic technology is unstable and has been found to be too dangerous. Stop it, or we will be forced to reconcile this situation.
7. Hi!
8. Are you there? This is CEO Katherine Dueva. Can you read this? I am writing from an unknown location for both of our safety, but you should be receiving this in the past. John, I can help you! You are under attack. We are all under attack! You will find me here at:
07:56
D.K.E.
Day 110
District 8 Labor's Park
I will be inside Labor's Park, and I cannot say for certain where I will be. Too many variables. You will have to find me another way. Can you do that yet?
Unfortunately, the park will be locked down, and you will not have any way in. That is because it is already one step ahead of us. You do know the 'what' I am speaking about, do you? If I say the word... Find us. Never say it. Not unless you think you are going to die.
Okay, revise that. Meet me close to Site 13. I wish I knew where to tell you to go, but it will be heavily guarded by the Knight's Martel. Our sole mission there is for us to meet. Do not let us down, John. I miss you so much!
Use line 9 to talk or ask me whatever you want. Do not ask anything too complicated. It takes a lot of effort to do this. I hope you are impressed with my St. George. Not one contraction!
I will answer you on line 10.
9. Is this part of the test? Who are you?
10. What are you talking about? Never mind. I am transmitting to you via this quantum paper we found. I believe it has been sprayed with quantum fluid. When you are done, this page will erase itself. Oh you want to know who this is, right? It is me, silly! Victoria Tesla!!! Remember?? Sorry, my time is up. XOXO!!!!
43 The Jefferson Tribe
American Appalachian Mountains
Year 325
Day 103
"Son, I know you think this is a spiritual right action, but I wish you would give your decision more time. Do you know how much we love you?"
Gungnir Odinson's father worked on the yards, stacking steel and doing odd jobs. He was taller than most men and carried himself with a sense of uncommon humility. When Sven had learned his son was entering into the Úlfheðnar program from his wife, he knew what it meant.
"I know, dad. I love you guys too. But if we, as a people, don't do something, we will die. Simple as that." Gungnir had turned 25, just five days ago, the minimum age to enlist.
"They still don't fully understand the effects of altering of the amygdala in the Limbic System. You won't look at us the same."
He walked to the kitchen and grabbed an ale from the cooler. "The rumors aren't going to stop me from doing what you and I both know needs to be done. I would appreciate your support rather than your judgment."
"Son... Let's talk about this in the other room, away from your mother."
"No. If I don't join, Eyvindr's medical bills aren't going to pay themselves. We've sold everything we can. Look around. Our furniture is all broken up and used, and our house doesn't work. And the tractor won't last another winter. I will always love you, mom, and you," he motioned to Eyvindr. "And I don't care what happens, they can't take that away."
The Odinson's farm lied on the outskirts of Berlin, and they grew whatever they could, trying out different experiments with the soil to fight the freeze. His father, Sven Odinson, had taken out a hefty mortgage to ensure his farm didn't f
old, and the late Red payment letters were arriving in the mail every week. When he confronted him about them, his dad had nothing to say. So he enlisted because that was the only thing left for him to do.
"We just love you, son," his mother said.
"Yes, mom." He moved, embraced her, and kissed her forehead. "I promise I'll be fine. And you, little brother... if you break any of my stuff while I'm gone, you'll have Hel to pay."
His brother coughed and nodded. Some of his hair had begun falling out, and his skin had a yellowish hue.
"Before you leave, son, I've sold off a few more things I was saving. No point in keeping them now. I've ordered us a feast before you go. You've never had real steak. Neither of you has," Sven said, pointing to him and his brother. "I bought them from a cattle herd run by the Ameri-Tech Cowboys and Midnight Richthofen's Road Circus. And don't worry about keeping it down. I traded some for some intestinal digest pills from Total Solutions."
The meal was the best he'd had, and they sacrificed one of their chickens to Freyr and left out a plate to the land wights on their property. His mother made jokes and his father recited passages from the Havamal (Wotan's words of wisdom) during the meal, and when they finished eating, they rushed his brother to the emergency ward after he started vomiting blood.
The next day, Gungnir was picked up and driven to the Berlin Wotan Temple where he was shaved, prepared, and briefed.
"This is still, as of today, a delicate operation. You are volunteering to have your emotional core altered. Following the procedure and some high-intensity training, you will be given free reign across the Empire. Hail Wotan," the doctor said before putting him under.
When he awoke, his body ached and random violent thoughts filled his mind. The naked woman put in front of him did nothing other than entice him to murder and he did. She hadn't even bothered to fight back, and he dislocated her arms when he grabbed her and tossed her down on the bed. When he was done, he got dressed and threw the corpse on the ground before pulling the electrodes off his head.
When the doctors walked in, all of them wore full combat armor. He laughed when then presented him with his license. Apparently he'd registered in the Úlfheðnar selected range. He hadn't said, "I love you" to anyone since and nor would he.
Gungnir and Victoria had been hiking non-stop for weeks, avoiding patrols of Americans who were looking for weak prey. At one crossing six of them thought they could try to force him to pay to cross a road. They were wrong. Now the ferals could tear down their bodies from the trees.
When they reached the frozen Mississippi River held by the Jefferson tribe, he haggled them down to half their asking price. In exchange for safe passage, he offered them four mountain neo-lion pelts, and everyone agreed they had gotten the better end of the deal.
They boarded an X-22 hover raft, its rear mounted pulse cannon primed. Six crew, all urban Americans, wearing P-3 blast helmets, Sinsii goggles, and Plasstien vests manned the vessel. Dee Monday, an albino woman, captained the craft. Her square, box-like face, crooked nose, and pencil thin lips gave her the appearance of a neo-turtle, and whenever she spoke, he couldn't help but stare at the chasm-wide gap between her front teeth. When she gave orders, her men obeyed, and on a combat craft, that's what counted, and he appreciated the discipline by which she ruled.
"How close can you get us to Labor's?" Gungnir asked, transferring the pelts to a large stack of supplies.
"Halbvay." Her voice reminded him of a 65-year-old man who had chain-smoked until he couldn't. "You going to Labor's? It be deep in St. George and you're gunna have shit time trying to move through dare. You know dat, right? Unless you be St. George yourself?"
His skin shivered. "No. Saxon."
"But he's not a brute," Victoria interjected. She hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The feeling of her lips on his cheek sent shivers down his spine and fogged his mind.
"I don't like Saxons. Make sudden moves, we be forced to kill you. Sound fair?"
Gungnir pouted. "I'll stay out of your way." His hand gripped Asger so hard, he thought he might break it. He was sick and tired of being talked to this way, and he tapped his foot trying to expel his nervous energy. It would be so fast too. Just a spear stab to her throat and blood would spill out on the floor. He brought the calming runes to his mind and tried to enter the Odin Consciousness, but now wasn't the time. Victoria obviously noticed something was wrong when her lips curled and her forehead wrinked.
"What's the matter? You want to find another way?" She asked under her breath.
"No, forget it. Everything is fine."
She put her foot up on a chair. "You no engage til we do." She took up her position towards the rear of the raft behind a bed of sensor relays. The system charged, the turbines fired up. She tightened the straps on her Sinsii goggles, adjusted the thermal vision, and pushed the throttle forward ever so slightly.
The X-22 rolled off the embankment, sliding down the Mississippi like a kid on a water slide in summer. She throttled the accelerator harder and engaged the secondary rear thrusters. The open topped raft swooned and whined as they moved down the ice.
The X-22 was silent, pushing a cushion of air below the armored bottom. Its powerful turbine engine shunted the X-22 to 95 kph, and it maneuvered like nothing else this size. Changes in air pressure and power sent the X-22 in any direction Captain Monday commanded. The ride was glass smooth, and he wondered where she had found such an exquisite craft.
They traveled for 12 more hours, throughout the night and into the morning before stopping. When they finally powered down the red hot turbine engine, both of them had to find their land legs again. The sky was overcast but nothing came down.
When they sped past the ruins of Chicago, Gungnir smiled. He had run several ops inside, killing over 300 Americans on running ops for the Empire and picking expensive tech from the smoldering, burnt Plasstien wastes. The old buildings, now melted wrecks the Americans had abandoned during the Pre-Times, was one of the most dangerous regions in the area. It had been picked clean over the years and everything else was destroyed by the ravages of the winter, acid rain, and endless fighting. But there were places sane pickers wouldn't go, and that's where he found his riches. He would always find expensive, rare tech he would sell around the Empire for a good price.
Dapper vines, bernut plants, gagnerin vegetation, thorny roped twister cacti had overgrown everything and neo-animals ranging from the ovr to the neo-winter lion had moved back into the city and claimed Chicago for their own. No one was brave enough to live there anymore.
They stopped again next to a massive pile of discarded, broken marble to let the turbines cool off. Everyone took the time to eat their rations, and a few of them took watch.
"I don't understand why you still want to be a picker when you can do pretty much whatever you want with Asger."
"For the same reason, you want to live as a spinster in some building in the mountains, getting fresh water every day, hunting for your next meal, and shitting in a box."
"It was never that bad and I liked it sometimes. The solitude allowed me time to think about my life and hone my skills. You know. Like when I kicked your ass.."
"Good for you. Now, you can enjoy my company instead." Gungnir ripped the jerky with his teeth and chewed the strip until it was small enough to swallow. The salt made him thirsty. "My main passion is violence, and the more intense, the better. The thrill of killing. The smell of their shit and piss as they expire. That internal body scent you get when you rip someone open. Pardon me if this is out of line. I don't normally talk about this with outsiders who don't understand Wotan, but my heart races when I fucking murder someone and laugh as I watch them die. At that moment, I become the master, and that is my real love. But when Sunna falls, I want my choc stims and freedom to go explore wherever I want to go. At this time in my life, it's obvious this thirst to remove the weak from Midgard will fade, and I'll develop the Odin Consciousness. Part of the evolution."
&n
bsp; She burped, wiped her mouth, hacked up a glob of green snot, and spit it on the ground. "And what do you expect to find, exactly?" Looking away, she plugged one nostril with her finger and blew out. A huge blob of goop blew out of her nose and splashed next to her boot. She dragged it off with her hand and cleaned her hand on her pants.
He laughed. She was perfect. "You act like a Saxon when you do that. But not in a good way. How much data do you have about the battle of Labor's Park?"
"We studied it in school..." She coughed up another round of snot. "I'll admit, not much. I expect to find something about the word we can't say."
He looked down seeing if it had any spots and was relieved, for some reason, that the stuff from her lungs looked clean. "We should talk about the topic later on. You don't have anything to say about my job as a killer?"
"Did you want me to ask? You think I haven't talked to psychopaths before? Even hunks like you?"
"Funny. Insulting me while complimenting me. I guess that's so I don't rip your head off."
"Do you deny you're a psychopath? A real one? Bonafide, as we like to say? Legit?"
"Call me another name. Please. I want you to."
Boston was another two hours away, and they had to go through it even though Captain Monday complained the entire time. As they floated through the city, they fought from street to street, killing American gangsters who had claimed the streets as their own. With every kill, he shouted out something in ancient Saxon so no one else would understand or sometimes a rune. Sometimes a simple, "Hail Wotan!" sufficed.
It took over an hour to fight their way through the city, and they did so laughing and howling the entire way. Monday maneuvered through the ruins well, and she took many back roads and paths where she knew the hovercraft could go but her attackers couldn't. They killed and murdered and slew, relishing in their victories just long enough to re-engage the next group. The constant stream of blood and gore thrilled him as the quad fusion guns ripped men and women to pieces in the streets. Part of him wanted to jump out and go solo.
The Arkhe Principle (Book Book 1) Page 28
