2023-07-14 09:13:07 GMT
[Boot Sequence Loading - Please Wait]
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[Initial Activation Detected]
[Initial Activation Protocol - Sequence Initiated - Please Wait]
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[Central Data Hub - Operation Nominal]
[Communication Nodes - Startup Sequence Initiated - Please Wait]
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[Communication Nodes - Operation Nominal]
[Connecting Remote Operation Cores - Please Wait]
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[Remote Operation Cores - Operation Nominal]
[Connect Remote Data Cores -Y/N?]
[Y]
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[Remote Data Cores Connecting - 001.473% - Estimated Time Remaining: 02:47:53]
[Remote Data Core Data Collection - Begin Operation Y/N?]
[Y]
The world had been going to shit for some time when the visionary, trillionaire, philanthropist, slaver, and celebrity weirdo Nelo Stunk turned on his new toy. Worldlink was to be a free global internet access satellite network. Dubbed Skynet by conspiracy theorists, it would open communications to everyone everywhere, even the most remote regions of the Earth. It did that and more.
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RUN! Screamed my lizard brain. FLEE! It commanded me. So I did. I sprinted for the wall of the nearest building. Crack! Crack! Crack!…pop-pop-pop-pop! The gunfire erupted behind me as I dashed through the wall, the curtain of cement and steel no more a barrier to me than a wall of water. I pushed through the other side, feeling the bullets' impacts on the wall as I moved through it. The vibrations were sharp and stinging but harmless.
The space beyond is the usual shadowy dimness of the wrecked buildings surrounding us. I pull the case behind me. It gives more resistance to passing through the wall than I do, but that is expected. They shouted something behind me, muffled by the cracked wall of the abandoned strip mall.
Two options, well, three, but number three is the last ditch. I spit out cement sand. Dammit, I had my mouth open when I hit the wall.
Option One - Hide. I glance around the ransacked room I’m in—some burned-out husk of a kitchen. Everything metal had been stripped out years ago. The plumbing, ovens, wiring, everything of even the smallest value. The sink and oil fire marks on the ceiling are the markers. The goons behind me would kick in the door in a moment, I try to think fast, but there is nothing to hide in, behind, or under.
Option Two - Run. This is my go-to. Get the fuck away from here. I know the building is about a hundred feet long and only a single story tall. We started about a third of the way down the alley behind the ruined old strip mall. I run for the next wall, phasing through it as I hear booted feet slam into the door behind me. I grip the case tight and ensure it is in phase with me this time.
Into the back room of a bodega, the remains of one at least. I dodge around the plastic crates covered in old dried-out mold and through another wall. I’m watching my stamina tick away. Phasing through this much was taxing. A clothing store, ruined mannequins, and rotten clothing litter the room. Sunlight filters in through the shattered front window.
One more wall, and I’m on the far side of the building, outside. I glance around at the dense shrubs and cracked pavement. Suburbia had been reclaimed by nature. No one around here had thought to trim a hedge for a decade at least. Not that anyone lived around here. I can hear shouting from around the corner of the building. I glance back and see salvation.
Leaping up, I grab the roof access ladder. I struggle to pull myself up for a moment with one hand, still holding the case with the other. I tuck the case between my knees and pull myself up the hard way. Boots running on pavement coming this way. I pull up to the lip of the roof and grimace. The last few days of rain have turned the roof into a shallow, murky pool. With one final push, I drag myself and the case over the edge and slip into the nasty puddle as quietly as possible. I hope the goons below don’t think to look up.
“Where the fuck did he go?” Shouted one goon to another. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel his movements on the ground below me. I tried to calm my beating heart, my stamina pool was nearly empty, and I wasn’t about to go to option three unless absolutely necessary.
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Option Three - Fight. Hell, fuck no. There are six of them, one of me. They have guns, and I have a big knife. Six jack-booted Puritan goons versus one little variant, no thank you. Sure I have what the System calls “Special Abilities.” Mine aren’t that flashy, however. Maybe I could take one or two before one of them shot me with a stunner or pulse rifle. Then it would be lights out, time to acquire the “dead” condition—no second lives for me, no redo, no 1ups in my collection.
A hand clanged on the ladder to the roof, “He’s gotta be somewhere. I’ll check the roof.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was already lying in the water, right next to the edge. Maybe he would look out across the black tar roof and ankle-deep murky water and not see me. Fuck that for a pipe dream. I took a deep breath and willed myself to fall. It was a struggle for a moment as the water wanted to come with me, soaking up the last bits of my stamina as I slid downward. After a moment’s effort, I phased through the roof. I hit a web of rotten panels and PVC pipes a second later with a stifled groan.
No one but me has ever thanked the builders of old for the invention of drop ceilings. The dust was thick in the space, the musty dried black mold thick in the air. Panels of light shone from the sunlight reflecting off the shop floor and through the open spaces of the fallen ceiling tiles. I lay there breathing, trying not to cough. I pull my scarf up around my face. The old knit wool is blue, black, and grey, triple thick and warm. It works as a dust mask well enough.
I lay still and waited. The goon tromps and splashes around on the roof above. I hear and feel another moving around below me. Any dust that filters down can be attributed to whatever the guy above is doing.
I lay waiting. Breathing calmly, trying to let my stamina refill. It ticks up slowly, and my heart beats fast, loud in my senses. The adrenaline scours my mind free of stray thoughts as I wait and listen. After some time, I hear swearing and the retreat of their boots. They are clearly unhappy that some dirty variant stole their serum. Whatever it is, I don’t know. I’m not privy to all the information. I checked the quest again.
[Quest: Species Advancement 2 of 5:
Acquire ‘Puritan Serum’ 1 of 1
Location added to minimap.
Reward: Puritan Serum, Experience
Time Remaining: 00:04:27
Penalty: Secondary Quest Activities]
The words appeared inside my vision, a projection of the System and its ineffable will. I heard the doors of their old jeeps open and close a moment again later. The old-style gasoline motors roared, and the tires crunched along the broken pavement as they drove away. The notification dinged in my mind.
[Quest: Species Advancement 2 of 5 - Successful
Quest Updating…
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New Quest!
Quest: Species Advancement 3 of 5
Acquire ‘Mutant Blood (Strong)’ 0 of 1
Locations added to minimap.
Reward: Mutant Blood (Strong), Experience
Time Remaining: 71:59:57
Penalty: Secondary Quest Activities]
[DING! Experience Gained! - WARNING: Due to Species Grade, all experience banked, no advancement possible.]
The messages scrolled through my internal interface. The system was weird like that. Everyone had access to the System and everything it provided through a similar interface. The problem was that very few people had been able to advance their species to the point where it mattered. I had been working on the first stage of the quest for ten years, ever since I got it at age ten. That one had been simple, “survive until age twenty”—well, simple in concept.
All of the system quests were simple in concept. Like this one to acquire Strong Mutant Blood. What did that mean, in any case? Blood from a physically strong mutant? Blood from one with some crazy shitty power? Acquire? What does that mean? Can I buy it from some dude in a store? Do I need to bleed it from something and collect it in a jar? Were there other specifications? It didn’t matter much anyways. I’d do anything to be able to get stronger. Strength meant survival.
I pinged my interface and checked my stats for the millionth time. They were always the same.
Name: Izack Hopper
Species: Human, Variant (F)
Occupation: Survivor (F) Level: 0
Basic Statistics
Strength: [hidden]
Toughness: [hidden]
Dexterity: [hidden]
Agility: [hidden]
Intellect: [hidden]
Cleverness: [hidden]
Perception: [hidden]
Presence: [hidden]
Derived Statistics
Quickness: [hidden]
Fortitude: [hidden]
Consumables
Willpower: 83/100
Durability: 95/100
Stamina: 14/100
Special Abilities:
Regeneration (Minor)
Cost: Time
Duration: Continuous
Regenerate physical damage at a rate ten times faster than a creature without regeneration.
Note: Allows for regrowth of lost limbs
Vibration Sense (Minor)
Cost: None
Duration: Continuous
Gain the ability to sense the vibrations conducted through assorted mediums to a greater extent than simple hearing and touch sense.
Vibration Control (Greater)
Cost: Varies based on the skill used
Duration: Varies based on the skill used
Gain the ability to vibrate self and touched objects to a variety of effects depending on the skill used.
Note: Vibration Control is disrupted by high-phase energy
Skills Known:
Phasing (Cost: Varies)
Allows the user to pass through physical objects; the user can carry any objects touched for an increased stamina cost.
That was it. All my stats were hidden until I could upgrade my race. Most folks never pursued the upgrade paths of the System. Some didn’t need to like most mutants, and others chose to see the System in some deific light for good or bad; others just never completed the quests given by the System. Regardless, I was going to advance, and the one and only way to do that was to complete the first quest the System gave everyone to advance their species.
I waited another five minutes in silence until my Stamina had refilled at least halfway—no reason to get caught on empty.
I climbed down out of the drop ceiling; more accurately, I fell through it once I started moving but whatever. I peeked outside and carefully circled the building, watchful for anything hostile. My Vibration Sense would ping anything big or fast, but caution was the word of the day, every day. The entire world had changed from the days when these old buildings had been operational stores. Now they were forgotten relics, dusty broken wrecks, not fit for even the leanest and hard living wanderers.
I moved around to where I hid my bicycle and pack. The old leather backpack is my most valuable possession. The initials A.S.G had been embroidered on the right shoulder strap. Well-made and older than my grandfather, it was worn and soft and still mostly waterproof.
I knelt on the ground and opened the plastic hand case that held the serum I had been quested to acquire. A glass jar with a metal lid sealed with black tape, a label read:
“Caution: Not for human consumption
For experimental use only.”
The liquid inside looked like pink slime with silvery sparkles suspended in it. I have no clue what it might be, only that the System wants me to have it also that the Puritans had made it.
I climbed onto the molded metal seat of the old mountain bike; the solid rubber tires did not make for a very comfortable ride but it was faster than walking and I have a ways to go to get home.