[Mission Successful - XP 2050 - 1,200Cr]
The money was chump change. Fighting off those Ospreys would have been the cash in this job. What mattered was that the mission had gone according to plan, his platoon had followed orders, and no one had flubbed an easy shot—or murdered a friendly target.
Reggie could work with this.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Days turned into weeks, and Reggie lost track of the weeks. Worries about the hospital faded into a haze of illusion. Most days he woke and slept without even wondering whether they’d forgotten him in here.
Those were the good days.
Whenever he finished any task, it prompted him to consider the next. Bring the platoon back from a successful mission, and Reggie had to figure out where to allocate skill points and spend credits. Run out of credits to spend, and it was time to browse through missions for something his intelligence-limited platoon could stomp for more cash.
Despite having advanced to level 4 each, Sando, Barv, Fraya, and Tenny hardly changed. Sure, their Gunnery and Piloting improved, but they were the same knucklehead bunch at heart. Reggie also learned that while he could order them how to spend their credits on juggernaut upgrades, he couldn’t dictate their skill and perk choices. While they’d done fine thus far on skills, their perk choices had been… peculiar.
At level 4, Sando had taken Improved Jump, which wasn’t necessarily horrible. But Barv had taken Personal Combat 1, which was basically hand-to-hand combat on foot. It would have only been useful for commando missions or someone who really wanted to win bar fights. Fraya had taken Command Radius 1, which would have no effect because she wasn’t in command of anything and would have been overridden by Reggie’s higher bonuses anyway. At best, Reggie could only imagine Fraya had high hopes for her future and no plans to take a Skill Pill.
As usual, only Tenny showed any sense, and based on the others’ choices, Reggie could only imagine that her choice was just a luckier sort of random. Tenny had selected Improved Recon. She’d glean more useful intel based on visual sightings of enemy juggernauts, which her computers would somehow technomagically learn. Though the “how” was buried in fuzzy pseudoscientific mumbo jumbo, Reggie would be the beneficiary when her computers automatically reported to Vortex’s.
The base was coming together. The communal barracks still had five cots, but only because Reggie hadn’t bothered to sell one off. He had his own quarters now, down a newly excavated hallway complete with a door that slid into the wall at a verbal or touch command.
His bedroom was a quiet refuge. It had thick carpet and wood-paneled walls. While he was too deep into the mountainside to have a view, there was a video screen hooked into the surveillance system that he kept on at all times as a surrogate. The mirror and computer panel meant he never had to leave if he didn’t want to, meaning he could stay clear of the NPCs and do his own thing between missions. The king-sized bed wasn’t the most comfortable he’d ever slept on, but it was soft and the mattress springs didn’t sing like a tortured accordion every time he moved.
Reggie was starting to like it here.
Ambling down the halls whistling a songless tune, he checked in on the drones’ progress installing his new officers’ lounge. It had been ages since he’d upgraded Vortex, but Reggie had poured tens of thousands—maybe over a hundred thousand by now—into turning his rocky outpost into a home.
Armored Souls was a strange game.
The game was based around giant robots blowing each other up in service gigantic intergalactic factions and mega corporations. Yet, it also had specialized stores that sold flatware, shot glasses, billiards supplies, and home electronics. Reggie could buy clothes that ranged from typical generic military uniforms to Roman togas, bathing suits, and Halloween costumes. If he got sick of the barren landscape, he could have sod laid down, plant gardens, even install fountains or a swimming pool.
“Let’s watch Football Hero,” Sando suggested as the final drone was hanging a wide-screen television on the wall.
“How about we don’t cross-promote other games when the boss is feeling the swelling pride of home ownership?” Reggie snapped in reply, then turned to admire the giant screen as the construction drone affixed it to the wall.
No drywall, no nail guns, no sandpaper… Reggie could get used to home improvements where shoving something against the wall made it stick there like it was welded. Hell, if the same trick worked for him, he wouldn’t even mind taking over from the drones.
“Screen on,” Reggie called out. The television flickered to life, showing listings of various news programs, tutorial videos, music performances, and sports. Some of it was thematic, in-game stuff for Armored Souls, but most of the sports were other Valhalla West games, as was at least one of the music channels. The company’s logo of a Viking sitting at a laptop was superimposed in the corner of most channels.
The television was a great big toy, a reward to himself after a particularly clever mission where he’d managed to set up an ambush and take out the leg of a Titan. That had earned him a pretty penny. Even though the television cost less than a missile reload on Vortex, he felt like it was a fitting reward.
Despite myriad options, Reggie couldn’t decide what to watch.
Gritting his teeth and casting a beam-cannon glare at Sando, Reggie told the screen, “Fine, Football Hero.”
But instead of showing over-the-top football action, the screen wavered and turned into an incoherent mass of squiggly lines and garish colors. When the image snapped back into focus, Reggie was staring into the eyes of a black juggernaut.
“You thought you could escape me?” The Mechromancer taunted, his digitally scrambled voice dripping with melodramatic menace. “You thought I had forgotten my vow? You may have hidden away on a desolate rock, but I will—”
“Screen off,” Reggie said calmly.
Unlike every horror movie where some otherworldly force speaks through the TV, Reggie was satisfied to find that the screen obeyed. The Mechromancer’s juggernaut avatar winked out of existence.
“Wonder if I can report this bleep to the admins,” Reggie grumbled. “Last thing I need is some bleeper griefing me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Missions had been going smoothly of late. A combination of loading himself with Command perks and managing his expectations had led Reggie on a winning streak of heretofore unimagined length. It had been five missions since the last time one of the NPCs had lost their juggernaut in battle, eight since the last failure of a mission objective, and there hadn’t been a friendly fire incident since the beetle swarm.
Things were looking good for Reggie. He’d made it to level 7 and popped another two points into Command. At level 8, he planned on reaching Command 16, exactly enough to take Command Radius 4.
[Primary Objective: Destroy Enemy Juggernauts 7/9]
Another of the Ferrets had just exploded as Sando’s salvo of short-range missiles ruptured its reactor. There were just two defenders left guarding the cloning fluid refinery. Reggie wasn’t too knowledgeable on the ins and outs of cloning tech, but whatever it entailed, this cluster of fancy-looking silver-roofed buildings made a fluid that was key to the process.
“My enemies all perish,” Sando bragged.
“That’s because you’re a digitized psychopath with someone aiming you properly,” Reggie radioed on the platoon channel.
“You said it, boss,” Sando agreed.
Reggie chuckled. Once he figured out that the AI had no sense of sarcasm and used his tone of voice to infer his meaning, he’d begun taking pleasure in making asses of his platoon of braggarts and imbeciles. It was like range practice, aiming at bales of hay and plywood tank silhouettes.
“Sir, enemies receiving reinforcements,” Tenny reported.
Reggie’s heart quickened. On the mini-map, he saw the blip of a drop ship landing at hex November-five-five, on the far side of a ridge.
[Primary Objective: Destroy Enemy Juggernauts 7/1
4]
“Fraya, advance to Foxtrot-five-zero and take stock of enemy reinforcements,” Reggie ordered. “The rest of you, begin tactical withdrawal. Rendezvous at Echo-zero-niner.”
Reinforcements happened. It was just part of the game. But Reggie’s instincts proved unfortunately accurate when the image of The Mechromancer popped up on his display. “Greetings, warrior. You scavenge for table scraps on remote worlds in the pitiful hope of evading my notice? Your efforts are worthless.”
“Don’t you have any hobbies?” Reggie barked into the radio. “It’s a bleeping game, you obsessive piece of bleep.” When tearing into a player, Reggie once again felt the frustration of being unable to express his full feelings. Or at least, he couldn’t express them in his usual fashion.
“My, my. The language House Virgo taught you,” The Mechromancer taunted. “You’d think someone would have educated you on proper manners.”
“Excuse me,” Fraya radioed. “I’d like to report that there are two Wyverns, one a Wolverine, a Chi-Ha, and one player-customized juggernaut that just disembarked a drop ship at hex N55.”
Reggie studied his map. That Chi-Ha could be a real problem if outfitted with LRMs. Even with just MRMs, it might manage enough damage to slow Vortex to the point where the Wyverns could engage. “Roger that, Fraya. Head to Sierra-five-two. Make sure the enemy spots you. Do not engage. Once you reach Sierra-five-two, proceed to Echo-zero-niner via Oscar-four-eight.”
If Fraya survived laying that false trail, she’d head for the rendezvous point making the best use of terrain for cover.
Reggie kicked Vortex into high gear. Steel feet stomped along the rocky ground, and the cockpit bobbed with the quickest gait the Wolverine could manage. Being just 4,300 XP shy of hitting level 8, the last thing he needed was a setback of practically an entire level.
“Running away?” The Mechromancer sneered. “And feeding me this delicious little Chipmunk as an appeasement? The ancient volcano gods demanded a virgin sacrifice. But I doubt you’ve left this one alone, eh, warrior?”
Reggie’s gut clenched. He didn’t want to play this game, but this Mechromancer dickhead wasn’t laying that rap on him. “Hey, I don’t bleep around with digital girls, you sick bleep. At least I don’t get off on harassing lower-level pilots.”
On the platoon status console, Reggie saw Fraya’s Chipmunk lose a leg. Its progress across the map halted at once. The orientation indicator showed the Chipmunk fallen over.
“Commander, help!” Fraya screeched.
Reggie hesitated. Vortex slowed. Digital girl. NPC. Not a person. Gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, Reggie jammed the accelerator back to max.
“I’m not interested in the pleasures of the flesh,” The Mechromancer cooed, the digital scrambling turning the words into fuel for future nightmares. “I just want her juggernaut.”
[Primary Objective: Destroy Enemy Juggernauts 7/15]
“Help!” Fraya screamed. “I can’t control it! Please, stop moving my juggernaut without permission!”
“You sick bleep,” Reggie shouted into the radio. Seething, he needed to use words he could hear, that he could at least sink his own teeth into, whether The Mechromancer heard the uncensored version or not. “You miserable pile of dog vomit. If I ever get my hands on you, I will douse you in diesel fuel, set you on fire, and once you’re done burning, I’m gonna piss on the ashes.”
The Mechromancer chuckled. “Good luck finding diesel fuel in the thirty-first century.”
One of the Wyverns entered the hex with the downed Chipmunk.
Fraya screamed.
The torso armor blacked out. The scream ended abruptly.
The other three Chipmunks were already aboard the drop ship when Reggie arrived. The empty space where Fraya would habitually parked her juggernaut in transit stared at Reggie accusingly.
Guilt refused to take hold.
“Not a person,” Reggie muttered. “Just a digital pilot. Not even really a woman. Just an NPC, coded by a guy in Sweden.”
But the same corner of Reggie’s mind that refused to sleep with NPCs also refused this line of reasoning.
Reggie felt like dirt, leaving Fraya to die.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Reggie watched the silos burn. The mission briefing had been fuzzy on what was being stored within the thirty-story metal tubes, but somehow he doubted it was grain. No one would have paid so much to defend food stores.
Not in the real world, at least.
[Primary Mission Failed: Defend Grain Silos]
A grating, digitized voice cackled over Reggie’s radio. “Take this as a lesson: all your meals will taste of ashes. Your pitiful attempts to save yourself will prove fruitless… fruitless as these poor colonists.”
Vortex was already chugging along at top speed as Reggie made his way to the drop ship. The Mechromancer had come in at the far side of the battle from the platoon of Badger medium juggernauts that comprised the assault force. There had been plenty of time for him to pull the plug and run.
As Sando came aboard last, lagging behind to provide real-time intel on the pursuit, the drop ship’s loading ramp closed. The ship lurched. Soon, Reggie and his NPC crew were back on their way to orbit, then home with repair and reload bills to pay but no loot to show for it.
Two days later, Reggie ran into The Mechromancer again.
This time, the mission was a simple escort job.
[Primary Objective: Escort Convoy From Starport to Vault]
[Primary Objective: Defend Convoy Transports 8/8]
It was supposed to be a level 4 mission. Reggie was level 8, and the clowns in his platoon were all level 5. It should have been a stroll down the boardwalk.
Fraya squealed into the radio, causing Reggie to wince. “Commander, we have a drop ship inbound. Hex FA109.”
They were 8 hexes from their destination. They could make it. But FA109 was only 22 hexes from their own drop ship. If he proceeded with the mission, they might complete all the objectives only to get scratched out by The Mechromancer’s forces on the way back.
Reggie tried something he almost never did. Switching radio frequencies, he put in a call to the drop ship. “Captain, lift off. Relocate to Foxtrot-Juliet-one-four-zero.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that,” the drop ship captain replied in his weirdly not-quite-Scottish accent. “The Randis Corporation air exclusion zone applies to—”
“Fine,” Reggie snapped, scanning his map frantically. If he couldn’t have the drop ship meet him near the vault, they could rendezvous at the far side and make a run for it once the mission was complete. “Relocate to… Golf-Bravo-one-one-niner.”
Reggie swallowed, fingers sweating on Vortex’s steering controls.
“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” The drop ship captain sounded like a pop-up ad Reggie couldn’t dismiss.
“Abort!” Reggie barked the order into his radio. “Back to the drop ship.”
The convoy leader came on the radio the instant Reggie and his platoon broke formation. “Your mission is to escort us to—”
Reggie killed the convoy radio frequency.
“Commander, we have hostile juggernauts inbound,” Fraya reported. The near panic in her voice made Reggie wish he’d had Tenny install the sensor upgrade in her Chipmunk instead. His attempts to make all the NPCs useful in some way were undermined by the fact that three of them were insufferable. “Two Chi-Ha class, two Shinigami class, one player custom.”
Reggie’s blood ran cold. Shinigamis were a bitch-and-a-half. Despite being heavies, they were fast—faster than Vortex. While the Wolverine class was a medium that could slug it out like a heavy, the Shinigami was a heavy that was faster than many mediums. Despite both playing against their weight class stereotypes, there was no question which had the firepower advantage in a fight.
Fiddling with controls he rarely used, Reggie disabled the heat-limiters on Vortex. Then he ejected his missile racks, dumping his ammo.
All aroun
d him, the Chipmunks blazed past, heading for escape from the mission. Reggie had managed to goose another 5kph out of Vortex from the reduced weight and dangerously high heat load.
On the mini-map, the Shinigamis gave up when it became clear Reggie had too large a head start, and they weren’t gaining as quickly as anticipated.
That was when Reggie saw the convoy.
[Primary Objective: Defend Convoy Transports 8/8]
[Primary Objective: Defend Convoy Transports 7/8]
[Primary Objective: Defend Convoy Transports 6/8]
[Primary Objective: Defend Convoy Transports 5/8]
[Primary Objective: Defend Convoy Transports 4/8]
[Primary Objective: Defend Convoy Transports 3/8]
[Primary Objective: Defend Convoy Transports 2/8]
[Primary Objective: Defend Convoy Transports 1/8]
[Primary Objective Failed: Defend Convoy Transports 0/8]
Once Reggie and his platoon arrived back at base, he waited three hours. He played pool, watched a little Football Heroes on the television, then sat down and scanned for missions.
The Mechromancer had to log out sometime.
Reggie studied his mission logs, something he’d barely realized existed, and came out with a rough idea of when The Mechromancer played.
The guy was either unemployed, a kid with no responsibilities, or some poor slob like Reggie, laid up in a hospital with nothing else to do.
“Maybe I can reason with him,” Reggie muttered as he stared at the logs. “Man to man.” Then he remembered the glee in The Mechromancer’s scrambled voice, the snide taunting, the insults. Even if he could get through to the bastard on a personal level, Reggie didn’t want to.
His options were to avoid the guy or kick his teeth in. The middle ground sounded like the pansy way out. Tactical outmaneuvering or direct conflict were at least options Reggie could stomach.
Dead Mech Walking: a mech LitRPG novel (Armored Souls Book 1) Page 22
