Harem Trash

by Rae Nantes

  Right?

  I gave them another day to return, just in case.

  They didn't.

  Since they had obviously abandoned this place, I figured I could take the leftovers. Using my arm, I took everything within reach, tossing weapons and potions and even breaking the crates down into chunks of wood. I needed everything I could get to make it to the next level.

  + 2 Swords

  + 7 Daggers

  + 3 Regeneration Potions (Uncommon), Level 10

  + 30kg Wood

  + 15kg Scrap Metal

  + 7.8kg Cloth

  Hummmm.

  + 591 Earth Element

  + 375 Water Element

  + 15 Fire Element

  + 7 Air Element

  + 30 Blood Element

  + 1527 XP

  + 1 Level

  + 1 Skill Point

  “New Recipes Unlocked.”

  Finally. I should've done it sooner instead of wasting time with those street rats.

  "Unlock: Movement."

  "Movement unlocked."

  I was hit by stomach aches, right in my gut. Something inside me was changing, reforming, wrapping into a ball, an orb, a metal contraption that spun and tilted and moved.

  It was a gyroscope that ran off mana.

  In the same way a newborn kitten knew how to walk, I instinctively knew how to use this newfound power. By spinning my onboard gyros, I could tilt my body over the edge and slam onto the ground (which I did), and I could use it right myself back up (which I did). With enough talent, I soon found that I could essentially "walk" myself by shifting my weight left and right while pushing forward.

  Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang. If it were possible to have a negative stealth skill, I would’ve had it. The sound of a trashcan walking is exactly as anybody would expect. Noisy, obnoxious, and really unnecessary.

  I eased out my machine arm, gripped the door handle, and clicked it open.

  Daylight flooded into me, and I found the world again.

  16: Autonomous Recycling Platform

  The outside world was just as I left it. Wood and cobblestone homes and storefronts and, here, a multi-story apartment complex. It felt like a few hours after sunrise, and the streets were nearly empty. Nearby, a new tavern had been seemingly installed into what was once some type of smith. A line of crows cawed along the rooftops.

  Tap.

  Something poked me.

  It was a trash can.

  It stared into me with its manipulator arm half raised as if it were about to knock on a door but then suddenly realized it was the wrong house.

  Tap.

  It poked me again.

  I had never taken a good, hard look at what I had become, but if I were anything like the thing sitting before me–

  Tap.

  It was just an ordinary recycler. My height, my dimensions, my own type of manipulator arm. The exterior was the usual gunmetal gray, a coin slot sat beneath the item selection buttons, and a weird aura of impatience emanated from it. An emblem of two fangs was painted on its face, and beneath that, was the number 11.

  A state-sanctioned identifier that I was missing.

  Tap.

  Shunk. I stabbed it. It could've been a person, sure, or it could've been an AI. Either was probably trying to force me out of its turf in a pathetic attempt at business competition, but I knew all about cutthroat tactics.

  My knife hand had ground through him, stunning him with the sharp, stabbing pain as I sliced off his manipulator arm. It clacked against the cobblestone path. With his defenses dismantled, I cut through him like a hot knife through an empty soda can.

  I cut him open and peered inside.

  The usual tidbits were there, empty containers, a few household goods in the vending slots - napkins, cups, utensils - but as I dissected this failed rival of mine, something erupted out from him.

  It was a glowing mass of something that pulsed and throbbed with lumps. Heat was steaming from it, and as it cooled, it reformed into a grassy sawdust mass that expanded like foam. This was probably why I was able to store so much raw materials inside of me since I had no form of dimensional storage or the like. Though I knew instinctively that my body was compressing the raw elements, now I could actually see was my bile looked like.

  It was kinda gross, in a sense.

  But as I continued to dig through this dying metal minion, I found the one thing that surprised me - the core.

  It was a spherical contraption that contained a glowing orb, all wrapped up in machinery and tubes and copper wires of varying colors. Part of me wanted to further dissect it just to see what would happen, but an even greater experiment was needed.

  I had come this far in trash-can-homicide anyway, so what was there to lose?

  I snipped out the recycler core - the AI or the human soul - and chunked it into my mouth.

  +1 Recycler core

  “New Recipe Unlocked.”

  Yes. An excellent choice. If I could somehow make more recyclers, I could create an army of half-sentient trash cans that could simply roll around and smother my foes. A perfect plan.

  The nearby crows began to caw louder than usual. One descended and landed at the corpse and started digging around in the raw plant fiber materials. It retrieved a brownish green paste and gobbled it down. Nutrient paste, surely, used for making foods.

  Gross, but this interloping bird was taking my kill.

  I shot out my arm and waved it away, but the crow hopped around to evade. Using its beak, it parried and countered and nibbled at me.

  It was a duel!

  My machine hand snapped into a knife blade. I swung hard in a wide slash.

  I missed. The bird countered with a deft peck at my lid.

  I used my gyroscope to dodge the attack. It missed, then I countered with a slap, but the crow gripped onto my arm with its crow feet!

  This might've been noob-level warfare, but there was no lack of tension. This was raw combat, survival, a clash of wants and ideologies and Obi Imsi wouldn’t go down with a fight!

  I lashed out again and missed, but it was a feint. As the bird dodged the strike gracefully, the middle of my arm buckled and bent around it, forcing him to get closer.

  He was off balance, right where I wanted him. Now was the time for the finishing blow.

  Caw! Caw! Caww! More crows dive-bombed in, forcing me to wave them away in a frantic panic. Caw! Caw! Even more reinforcements converged on me, then more, then more! It was a swarm, a crow hive, an entire raid!

  I shifted my weight to one side to balance on my bottom rim, then spun back to put distance between me and their treasure. They saw me retreat, then went right to work to devour the carcass with only the largest among them to stand guard - staring me down defiantly with its fierce beady eyes and beak of resolve.

  I had lost.

  They fought well as true warriors, and even though I was severely handicapped, I respected the fight and their noble spirits. It wasn't every day I lost a battle - I could count the losses on one hand - but I knew where honor should be given.

  Hummmm-click. I reached into my vending slot and presented to them a token of peace - a premium deluxe candy bar.

  The crow tilted its head, cawed once with ferocious acceptance, and received it. Soon, the other dozen crows hopped over with their own expectant faces. I remembered hearing about the intelligence of these black birds from passing stories and legends. There was certainly no tactical use for them but having at least one ally in this unforgiving world could be comforting, and after all, they deserved a victory treat.

  Hummmmm-click.

  17: Crow Harem

  In the deepest part of me, I had to know if I could recycle biological material that was alive. I could recycle and absorb food, sure, and here I had just recycled another trash can, but what about birds and ants and even people? Of course, I had to try to lure a crow into my mouth with a tasty snack, but they wouldn't buy it. They were too smart for that old trick.
r />   And they had a great memory, too. Over the course of the next few days as I roamed the city at night and rested during daylight, the crows would flock to me for meals and snacks, and in return - gift me with random bits of trash and trinkets.

  The biggest issue for our strange relationship was how they could identify me since I really looked like any ordinary city garbage bin, minus the identifier on my face. To remedy this, I manufactured red paint and smeared it along my top rim, easily seen from the rooftops and skies. With this, they stopped trying to barter with the other, lesser garbage cans and they all knew to come to me.

  I had even come to name a few of my favorite ones. Beautrice was a beautiful black crow with a slender neck and long beak. She would trot gracefully around me, hopping with excitement every time she visited. Randy was a real bully to the other crows, mostly because he was the largest and strongest, and he liked to act as a sort of bodyguard to newcoming birds who didn't want to play ball. Wellington the Third had a long grey streak along his tail feathers - paint probably - and had the aura of a wise sage. He was patient, calm, and often brought the most well-thought gifts for me.

  In the meantime, I broke into random shops and buildings looking for things to consume. It took longer than I expected to find a place, but the first one was one of the last open blacksmiths in the city. The others had all recently been forced out of business with the latest ban on swords, but this one made its living by supplying the army.

  There I was able to obtain a substantial amount of iron, tin, copper, lead, gold, and silver. Roughly 30% of my 500kg storage was filled with the alchemical equivalents of raw metals, and with my built-in compression system, I hardly felt a difference in my overall weight. It was just as painfully easy to spin and roll around, though I could only sneak as well as a rattling trash can could.

  In just a couple of days, I was able to progress by a few levels. I had not yet spent the class points, mostly due to uncertainty on what I should’ve invested in. The next skill in the sensory tree was Speech, but it had a 5-point entry requirement and only allowed basic recycler-based phrases. I could have invested more into the Manipulation skill, which would unlock more arms, but I decided to hold off for the time being, just in case I happened upon a huge stockpile of goods. Then, I would invest in the efficiency skills.

  By the third night, I broke into an apothecary to gather some of the more rare materials.

  It was an ordinary shop, sporting the wood display hanging on the outside door with a mortar and pestle carved in. I rolled up to it in the darkness of the night, then clanked as I came to a stop. As usual, I paused for a few minutes to listen out for anyone watching.

  Only the passing cool breeze and the bark of a distant dog.

  With my manipulator arm, I dug through the lock and clicked it open. Shifting my weight over, I peered inside to ensure it was empty, then rolled along my bottom rim to get inside. I eased the door shut.

  Click.

  It was pitch black, but I could feel the splintery wood floor beneath me, smell the sting of sulfur and manadust, feel the dampness of the night air. Using a spare mana potion as a torchlight, I could shine a blue glow around to see.

  Wood walls, wood stools, a wood bar, wood shelves, wood everything. There was a glass display case beneath the bar that presented a wide selection of powders and whatnot as if it were an ice cream parlor. Saltpeter, sulfur, iron dust, wort, cinnabar, lye, and all sorts of weird shit.

  I chunked all that mess right into me.

  + 3185 Fire Element

  + 1957 Water Element

  + 2881 Air Element

  + 4710 Earth Element

  + 15916 XP

  + 1 Level

  + 1 Class Point

  I already knew my recycler body would synthesize most of this into raw elements for alchemical use but seeing the cause and effect right in front of me was something special. I didn't understand half of it, and I knew that most people didn't really either. Never needed to in fact. That's what apothecaries and alchemists were for.

  After stuffing my trashcan face with all the weird powders that I could get my metal hands on, I noticed a newspaper on the bar top. Curious, I grabbed it and pulled it open.

  The headline was both shocking, yet unsurprising: Terrorist plot foiled!

  Of course. Those idiots weren't the rogue or assassin types, so I knew they would fuck it up somehow. I read on through the article.

  Thursday, several dozen terrorists had conspired to commit the greatest treason known to man. They sought, in a villainous plot, to murder the sovereign, our wonderful and everlasting Queen Marianna.

  That bitch.

  The plot was thwarted by our most excellent and professional detectives and operatives will skills unrivaled. As determined by the High Court and Grand Judges, their execution will take place at the Golden Fairgrounds on Sunday.

  Attendance is mandatory for all persons residing in blocks A12-C7.

  I was honestly sadder that they didn't explain what the plot even was, but I guessed it no longer mattered. Those idiots would be dead and that would be the end of that.

  Now that I had stockpiled a great deal of resources, I needed to leave and get out of this hostile city, maybe find a wizard or polymancer to return me to human form, or at least give me a human form that I could work with.

  It sucked being a trash can.

  Yet something tugged at me. Curiosity? Concern? Boredom? It didn't matter. At the very least, it might be nice to watch an execution for once.

  It's not like I had anything else to do.

  18: Public Execution

  Overcast skies. Cawing crows. Scores of somber people in the audience stands and scores more at the center. Here, the fairgrounds took a few hundred meters length and width, a flat grassy arena wrapped by raised seats.

  In essence, it was a sports stadium and was often used as such until Marianna the Cuntess had taken power. Apparently, the woman disliked sports. She was a true villain.

  In the center, nearly a hundred ragged prisoners were marched through the entrance, keeping cadence with the beat of the snares, halting at a hastily built wall. A squad of riflemen stood at the ready, and beside them a dashing young officer.

  Marianna was nowhere to be seen.

  I had posted up in the stands, high enough to give me a bird's eye view of the event. Smelly peasants surrounded me, all murmuring under their breath about injustice this and tyranny that, broad complaints that people of their ilk typically whined about.

  But I didn't care about those animals. I wanted to see the action. From my vantage point, I couldn't see shit. Well, I could, but I was unable to recognize any faces. Immediately I regretted spending the entire night struggling to roll up the steps.

  A voice echoed throughout the stadium. The young officer was making a passionate speech about the virtues of nationalism and loyalty to the queen. The usual dribble from those who partake in the royal propaganda. If peasants were rats, then these would be the pigs – and they were all still animals.

  I strained my metaphorical eyes as well as I could to scan the soon-to-be-killed rebels, but I couldn't make out Assface or his father or Jenna. If I wanted to at least witness them in their final moments, I needed to get closer.

  Floonk.

  I shoved my weight over to the side as hard as I could, pushing myself half over the handrail. The nearby peasants stared in shock as my garbage can body gracefully slid down the railing and launched to the levels below.

  Clank-clang-crash.

  The world spun around me as I rolled along with the momentum, feeling the grass caress my magnificent metal body, the cool wind, the rush of speed. I slowed to a halt and pulled myself right-side up.

  I froze.

  Not only did ten thousand people stare down at me with horrified glances, but even the young officer had paused his speech to bear witness to the marvel before him. The riflemen and even the rebels stared with caution.

  A passing wind carried the si
lence far.

  Seconds passed. Then a minute.

  "As I was, uh, saying," the young officer continued. "These terrorists have committed the greatest, most unforgivable crime. They are charged with treason, for conspiring to harm the Queen and her interests, and shall all be put to death by firing squad. By this end–"

  I stopped listening. The people stopped staring at me, save for a lone man with sunken eyes and deathly pale skin. It was Assface, standing next to his father. They were among the first dozen who were forced to the wall. The others stared down the far barrels of the rifles that would end their lives, but not Assface. He simply stared at me wanting.

  Maybe he hoped I could save him somehow. As if I were some benevolent force in this world, a guiding spirit, a hero who was down on his luck, anything, but at the moment, he was only just staring at a trash can.

  There was nothing I could do. Well, maybe I could do something - roll up and disrupt everyone, throw a bomb at them, anything - but honestly, I didn't care. He was just another means to an end, another stepping stone for my ultimate quest, as many before him were.

  One of us was the real trash, and it was probably him.

  "Fire!"

  Rolling thunder, flashes, gunsmoke. Their bodies dropped lifelessly into the grass, dust and debris poured from the wall. Scarlet splatter stained it. The crowd gasped in loud whispers and murmurs and cries. Some of the other rebels began to wail openly in anguish, lamenting over their dumbass decision-making or outright cursing the executors or even their own fates.

  Well, that was fun, but admittedly, I was more interested in Jenna. There were several other girls in the group, some her frail body type, but none were her. It was a relief, and I wasn't sure why.

  I didn't care about her. Whether she lived or died or suffered was beyond my giving a shit, but somehow seeing that she was absent from all this gave me a sense of calm. It could've been something to do with my new recycler instincts, hoping that a business partner might be safe from harm. There was no telling.

  But I needed to find out what happened to her. I was already planning on ways to infiltrate the police station or the royal guard just to get some information, and by the time I was able to formulate a plan, the event had ended and the prisoners executed and the somber spectators filing out of their seats without sound beyond the shuffling of sad feet.