by G Aliaksei C
The remaining two were still turning, trying to track me. I picked up and flung someone’s broken weapon, the blade sinking into a neck and going dull, the Gem burning out.
I took the last five seconds to enjoy the final surviving fanatic. Ripping his sword arm off, I threw it to the side and began to beat in his skull in with my newly repaired arms. My limbs first morphed into spikes, then dulled into hammers, crushing every bit of his skull in record time. Only when my fists began striking the pavement underneath did the pain begin.
Thank you.
My entire body snapped back to normality, and the agony of being eaten alive from the inside out struck. My vision went dark, eyes filling with blood. Every torn muscle, broken bone and burned nerve was suddenly felt by my dying, half-consumed brain.
The swarms of insane nanites tried to keep me alive, even with my heart ripped out of me. For twenty seconds I thrashed, already dead, but feeling the impossible pain. As if burned alive I raged on the ground. Finally, my brain shut down for good.
Part Two: A Fortress of Theoretical Solitude
“…We put him in a world he would be most comfortable in, a world of fire and blood and death. We thought it would be a match this… force of nature. But we miscalculated. He went to hell and, well, found hell somewhat lacking…”
0 : Weakness After
Day 4
The memory of the pain had me thrashing on the floor. Realizing I wasn’t actually dying anymore calmed my panicked mind.
The shaking stopped in two minutes.
Muscle control returned in eight.
Illusions of pain disappeared in nine.
I counted the seconds.
Woah, was my first sensible thought, I just beat one alien with the arm of another. Scratch that right off my bucket list.
Having died and been revived before I had some assumptions about the general sense of the process. When I came to, I realized I had collapsed from a standing position on the floor of a white room. I was already dressed.
The future is now! Death does not take away your rights to pants!
Scene one, take two. I was already dressed and completely intact, but instead of my grave I had come to… elsewhere. I examined my clothes and determined that they were, without a doubt, new copies, since they lacked the holes and burns the originals accumulated over my short life.
My pockets, as before, were not empty. It was a very selective choice of items. I had Fall’s knife, the flask, and the keycard to my room at the Inn.
It was, in general, the same as before, though I was now in a prepared location that didn’t terrify me like the wastelands around the Monument.
An angry headache was now pounding its way out of my skull, making my heartbeat seem like a deafening drum. Through this fog I tried to focus on my numerous problems.
There was a gray doorway in one of the walls. I quietly shuffled out and looked around the familiar empty streets of Drake Monument Town.
I debated rushing the Gate and tying to retrieve my gear, but recalled that little of it survived. Only my minigun was worth anything to me, but I had no sharp or heavy caliber credentials to present to anyone that claimed my gun as their own. I decided to stop by the town square anyway to see if anything had been delivered at the Gate. To my disappointment, no packages were waiting for me. Unhappy, and in pain, I marched back to the Inn.
Inna the Innkeeper was standing by the hatch. My minigun was leaning on the wall next to her. I grinned at her in thanks.
“How…” I was having trouble forcing words out of my burning throat. “Where did you retrieve it?”
“You’re welcome,” she replied past the question. “Though I don’t know why you like that thing so much. You seem to have a talent for swords, no?”
I squinted down at her. What did she mean ‘why did I like it so much’? It’s a giant gun!
Inna stepped away from the hatch and crossed her arms. “You know you stepped in to defend a leaderboard Contender, right? She could have cleared that lot in less time than it took you to die.”
“A leaderboard? For what?”
“The Championship. Big event, happens every few years. Billions of participants. To be a Contender you need to be in the top millions, top point-one percent.”
“Really?” I hauled the gun up onto my shoulder, straining to hold it without my armor. “And how did you find out about my fight?”
“It’s on the local grid news. Suicide Boosters are not a common sight to see.” We entered the Inn, splitting ways between the bar and stairs.
“It’s an amazing power, isn’t it?”
I stepped back up a bit to look at her from the stairway. “What is?”
“The booster. The sense of being a small god.”
I thought a bit on that. The pounding headache made the simple thought difficult. “It’s amazing, but the end is not worth it.”
Locking the door, I set the cannon down in its case, and walked up to one of the concrete walls. Pulling back my arms, I began punching, alternating hands.
The pain brought out adrenalin, temporarily dulling the headache.
I had no illusions about myself. I had a talent, a way with creation that so many lacked. I worked on creating the first Antimatter synthesizer. Mine were the designs on which much of the first Corporate ships were built, and in my lab the first Gem was created. I wasn’t even thirty when I died. My value in the Corporation was in the top ninety-five percent - an ‘irreplaceable asset’.
Yet I died. I wondered who replaced me.
They better have left my safe alone.
But I had always been weaker than I had wanted to be, on a purely physical level. I was too weak to survive the battlefield, saved only by luck and blind determination. I had been too weak to compare to my Knight brother, and no amount of training could fix that. I was too slow to spot the spy that killed me, and now found myself in an unfamiliar world, far away from The War. I almost got killed by Raiders when I arrived at this time. I stood no chance against that damned Shadow, barely deflecting a few hits as it took me down.
I was too weak to defend a fellow Human without cheating, too absorbed to recognize that she did not need defending.
It was never a conscious issue, for I knew full well my other capabilities compensated for my lackluster combat skills. But one is rarely satisfied with what they have, and subconsciously, I knew it bothered me.
The booster had given me a look at true strength. I was calm and deadly, logical and quick-thinking enough to kill twenty beings of serious strength. And now, I was back to being weak.
I had lied to Inna. The ten seconds of agony and death were worth the thirty seconds of amazing strength. I was glad I had no boosters at hand - I would have definitely repeated the experience of that moment.
Worse, I was starting to doubt my mental acuity. I was making one dangerous mistake after another. I failed to recognize the Shade’s threat, instead choosing to fight. I failed to note the crowd’s intent to step in, too narrow-sighted and dim to appreciate the entire situation. The lone warrior’s capabilities eluded me, and I ended up dying to save someone who didn’t need saving. Worse, I realized I felt no sense of self-preservation.
What could have caused this damage? I thought. Was it the initial experience of dying? The lack of implants or neural boosters? What broke within me, what damage did I sustain to stoop to such stupidity and carelessness?
My fingers were gone without having dented the wall, pain barely noticeable through the Last Stand booster’s fog. I sunk the bloody stumps into the sink, using my teeth to turn on the water. My enraged Fall Coefficient finally had its chance to make repairs, sipping from the water and my own body for a good thirty minutes, regrowing fingers. The time gave me a chance to calm down.
I could feel the sparks in my brain dim.
Wiping my new, shaking, gray-colored fingers off I went back upstair
s for dinner. Having heard my boots clanking up the metal stairs Inna was already throwing food into an oven. The same group of six men and two women were spread across the tables, eating and talking.
“Inna, does this city have a firing range?” I asked as plate after plate began landing in front of me.
“Yes, next to the armory…” Her eyes landed on my ruined, nanite-gray hands. She did not move to reach for me, instead teleporting closer, giving me no time to react. A steel grip locked in on my unfeeling, half-broken fingers. “Oh shit. Withdrawal?”
Before I could answer, Inna snapped her fingers, and a black pill appeared out of thin air, landing in her hand.
Immediately, my hands began to shake. I struggled, managing to keep myself from reaching for the Suicide Booster.
Another snap, and the pill was gone.
I looked in terror at my trembling, reaching palms. Raising them over my head I slammed fists into the metal bar table. Bone and muscle tore, the thick slab of steel covering the bar unconcerned by my violence. Several people at once grabbed me, holding me in place as I thrashed in a fit of confused anger.
I wanted the speed of the Last Stand booster.
I wanted the clarity of weeks filled with continuous mental booster injections.
I wanted the power of my full Fall Coefficient, a power that my death and this world had taken away from me.
My brain began to spark again. People around me seemed dangerous for fractions of a second, as if in their place stood Imari assassins or Syndicate heavy troops, all intent on killing me. The fighting instinct and training of a Corporate took over, and I began to fight. Helplessly trying to reach ancient functions of my Fall Coefficient I thrashed, locked in place by the bystanders.
“Did he skip shock and denial?”
“That’s grief you idiot!”
“Same shit!”
Someone bashed a chair across my face, breaking all four legs off, the strike leaving my jaw open.
It was a metal chair.
Immediately someone threw something into my mouth, and in a moment of clarity I recognized good intent and swallowed.
The medicine seemed to set my blood on fire. The pain was not unbearable, and I found my thrashing coming to a stop as I focused on it rather than my reasonless rampage. I spent a few minutes on the floor like that, the agony and anger canceling out one-another in my boiling blood.
A few minutes later I reconnected my brain to my eyes.
Inna squatted next to me, pouring a glass of water onto my face. Again I noticed how smoothly she moved. She had to be truly ancient, even if her looks did nothing to reveal age.
How did a society of immortals function? Was age equal to status?
“Thanks, Inna.”
“You’re welcome. You need a therapist.”
“I need work.”
“Both are good.”
A chime sounded in my mind. I focused on it, and my Menu appeared besides the Innkeeper’s face. The wallet icon was flashing at me.
252,875 CC.
Lunch cost 15 CC. A night at the Inn - 100 CC.
Inna, uncaring for the hologram floating next to her, continued. “Mr. Frost, you should go to the Green Ring. Go where everyone starts. Get comfortable, relax, rest. You can come back when you are feeling better.”
“You know Inna, that’s a great idea. Very reasonable.” I blinked, and smiled. “I’m going to do the exact opposite.”
Inna shrugged, “Wouldn’t expect anything else from a Corporate warrior.”
I tried not to move my head as I shifted my eyes to look at the Innkeeper. “I’m not a Corporate warrior.”
“Look, I know you are suffering right now, but a moment of weakness does not disqualify you as a Corporate.”
“No Inna. I’m not a Corporate warrior. I’m a Corporate engineer.” I could never be a warrior.
She smiled at me. “Is there really a difference?” All Corporate are warriors.
“Oh yes, there is. The difference is that my brother wouldn’t be laying here like this.” And there would have been more damage.
“You charged into a fight with a gang of heavily armed aliens to protect another Human.” You matched the required threshold of foolish required to be a warrior in that one act.
“Because that’s what my brother would do.” That’s what made him the hero.
“What happened to him?” Heroes don’t have happy endings.
“He’s long gone.” I abandoned him in time.
“And what will you do now?” You’re still alive.
“Something fun.” Little else is left for me to do.
She did not offer me a hand, and I appreciated it. Physical contact would have been a reason for murder in that moment. I slowly rolled over on my face, then forced myself up to my knees. The bar customers watched me carefully. Two corners were occupied by a man and woman knocked unconscious, their friends trying to shake them awake. I shuffled to the stairway planning to descend into the comfort of my room.
“Swear to void, every time that guy walks up those steps it’s a disaster…”
I stopped, taking a few steps back up, and glared at the speaker.
“At least I get off my ass to do something instead of sitting in the bar and playing poker all damn day!”
Raised eyebrows followed me down the stairs.
I sat on my bunk, thinking.
I didn’t need much. Food and housing were cheap. I had made friends that, I was sure, would help me in need, if only in fear for a Corporate.
But when a Human’s needs are satisfied it begins to want. In fact, this want for more is the defining feature of sentience.
I would later find out that, in the thousands of years the Corporate spent spreading throughout the stars after my death, we had found species that had reached a stage of interstellar travel, colonized several star systems and terraformed planets, yet were not sentient. These species had growing needs, satisfied by their expansion, but had no want for anything more than spreading their life. Such swarms were exterminated with prejudice, pushed back to their homeworlds to save resources for sentient life that wanted, not just needed.
I wanted neural boosters, but that was not an option.
More than that, I wanted to work. It was all I knew, and it was what I loved. Interesting work, creating something new out of nothing, crafting what few could even imagine - that’s what grew into the meaning of my life. I died living that dream, a distraction from the endless War, a lifeline for my sanity. And now, when The War seemed long forgotten and I could relax, there was little left for me but that work.
I finally tapped at the wallet icon. The last transaction was from Rarus, marked as ‘mission reward’, and totaled just under what my balance now was.
My mood went up semi-proportionally to my credit balance. To the materialist Corporate that I was, having resources in my hands was equivalent to having air - optional, but very pleasant.
The idea forming at the back of my mind resurfaced, unfolded.
It cost 100 credits to rent a room every day. Thirty more covered two meals. Assuming other basic purchases, the cost of living totaled two hundred credits a day.
I could live for twelve hundred days on the money I had now.
I could do that.
1 : Foundation
Day 6
The Land of Crimson Clouds was an amazing piece of old Russian science fiction I got my hands on back on Earth, at a rare time when I couldn’t rest, fight or work. Now long-lost in time, the book told a tale of one prototype ship’s mission to Venus, a planet in the Solar System. The conditions of the planet in the book forbid conventional rockets from landing or even entering the atmosphere - the stratosphere jammed radio, the winds threw the heaviest ships like feathers, the crust spontaneously released atomic fireballs, the fog ate away at titanium armor.
Whoever designed the Waste Ring had to have taken inspiration from that particular piece of literature, stepping the difficulty down just enough
that Human life was possible without pressured anti-radiation suits.
I stood before the forcefield-blocked gate in the wall surrounding Monument Town. On me was every possession I had, secured on a new, cheap, powered suit. My gatling gun was anchored on my right leg, balanced by an axe and grenades on the left. A massive reinforced backpack, complemented by countless pouches, stored my travel gear, food and supplies. Over all that, secured by metal string, was a tarp wrapping, making me look like a walking camouflage tent.
A Human strives to achieve comfort and safety. Then, apparently, a Human throws it all away for a thrill.
As soon as I stepped out of the environmental energy dome covering Monument Town the storm hit. Unlike my first excursion with Rarus, where the storm brought about hot dust, this particular hurricane included freezing cold, fog, and raining icicles. Not hail, no, but specifically sharp, needle-shaped chunks of ice that impaled into the dirt.
The wind turned the supposed rain into more of a sideways assault, battering away at my wrapping and trying to send me sailing across the valley.
During the worst gusts I had to retrieve a harpoon-like gun, firing an anchor into the valley floor to keep myself grounded against the wind. The anchor used a powered tip to dig deep into the dirt before locking in - an incredibly specialized piece of equipment one would use for scaling a mountain. The constant bombardment of the icicles (what passed for precipitation here) forced me to curl up under larger rocks every hour to let nanites repair my bruised side and worn muscles. I recalled Pessi’s comment about my size - it was working against me now, the storm trying to turn my two-meter-tall body into a sail.
The only thing keeping the needles of ice from killing me was the local equivalent of camping tarp that I wrapped myself in. Considering the weather Hades Ring was presenting me with, it was no surprise that the armored cloth could withstand the casual, spear-armed hurricane.
Two hours into the trip, exhausted and tired, I was attacked. An absolutely monstrous wolf-like Beast of armor and flesh charged me out of the storm, attacking from the back. I heard the ice pinging off its armor and turned in time to dodge the first leap.
