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{Loaded.}
[>>Now replaying: Log 2.9 - Scritches.]
Date: 13.9.175 AA / 4404 LTC
Location: UNNAMED_DOMAIN(LARES)
Remaining Logic: 678 LB
//It has been scientifically proven that on average, a cat is better at telling when their owner is sad than a dog.//
[>>DATA CORRUPTED]
I spent the next couple of days recuperating.
It wasn’t a fun experience.
The second I had stumbled onto the porch, Chris slammed open the door, and gently but firmly pushed me past the living room and kitchen, straight into bed. I didn’t even get a chance to shower or undress, but I was glad for it because the second I hit the mattress, I was out cold.
The lowest my DPM had sunk to had been 35%. It regenerated at about 1% per hour on its own, but 1.5 to 2% if Chris laid next to me and purred and I regularly ate a bowl of warm chicken soup straight from the fridge. That meant I had over 48 hours to kill, and I spent most of it asleep. Whenever I was awake, a part of me still tried to explain how the entire scene was absurd. How would laying in bed, eating tasty broth, and cuddling a cat heal a split-open scalp, several fractures, dozens of open wounds (infected and/or in dire need of stitches), and what I presumed was a buttload of poison?
And yet, every time I drifted off to sleep and awoke again, my DPM had regenerated a little more, and another wound had been closed.
Turns out there were perks to being trapped in the matrix.
It was gruesomely boring nonetheless. I asked Chris to bring me some documentation, but my CPU was already running too hot from memOS trying to fix my DPM. Trying to read the almost indecipherable language of the manual only led to a pounding headache, and I eventually stopped trying. On the second day, however, I already felt well enough to rack my mind about what the fuck I was going to do next.
The gauntlet of fights I’d gone through had made me appreciate Zephyro’s fervor even more, if that was even possible. The constant threat of enemies I hadn’t yet spotted quickly turned into a lingering anxiety that made focusing on the fight that much harder. I probably pulsed Ardor far too often, but then again, even that wasn’t often enough. Most of the wounds I’d gotten from Ferals who’d found a gap in my pattern and snuck up on me. Their stealthy approach had taken a heavy toll on my core temperature first, then, once Arx shut down, it took hearty chunks out of my DPM. I had no idea how the Vizier had managed to stay so calm, knowing that any second something could have tried to take his head off.
He must have trusted me to warn him.
That thought brought tears to my eyes, and I let them flow for a while, finally taking the time to understand just how much he’d done for me, and how close we’d grown in that single day we’d spent together. I also allowed all the negative thoughts to surface. Even the ones about how I’d failed him and deserved to be alone, even if I knew they would hurt, even if I was scared that if I allowed them into my consciousness, they would keep haunting me forever.
For once, however, I was glad I couldn’t forget my friends. Countless conversations flickered through my mind as I processed what happened, replaying just as bright and clear as all the others I’d remembered since Project Iron Light failed. They made me feel less alone, even if they always left a gaping hole whenever they ended.
But the most important one was about the moment Patti and I sat in an opulent bathroom in her ancestral home. I’d been brushing her gorgeous hair, and she told me I needed to face my demons.
> “…Why?” I ask. I bring the brush down slowly, luxuriating in the sound it makes and the feeling of resistance vanishing with each stroke. We’re sitting on the floor, but I pulled in a bunch of carpets because I don’t feel like freezing my ass off.
> “Because if you don’t face them, they’ll always keep controlling you,” she says. “You missed a strand here…”
> “Right,” I say, gently grabbing the lock in question, and carefully pulling it through the brush. “I still don’t get it, though. They’re just thoughts. Memories. Words. They can’t harm me.”
> She smiles, and as usual it makes me feel like she knows a secret I don’t. I immediately want to grab her, kiss her, probe her mouth with my tongue until I find what she’s hiding and coax it from her lips. Not that it would work. She’d be breathless, her eyes sparkling, her hair tangled, and her smile would remain just as mysterious.
> No, I’ll never understand her.
> But by God, I’ll never stop trying.
> She puts a finger on my jaw and pushes my mouth closed. “Stop drooling on my hair and pay attention,” she says with an amused chuckle.
> “Yes, Princess Tradeweaver, of course Princess Tradeweaver, anything, Princess Tradeweaver,” I reply, with deference I almost don’t have to feign.
> What can I say? This woman makes me weak. Even the way she rolls her eyes at me is something to worship. One more thing to love, I guess.
> “Anyway!” She grabs my hand and pulls the brush onto her head again, and I reverently resume my maidly duties. “How can you say words have no power? Especially after we saw Dezin give a speech last week?”
> “I like him,” I say. “He could be a good contact to have—“
> “You can’t seriously think about bringing him in. A person who can sway entire crowds with words alone? He’s a mind Mage, Sam.”
> She doesn’t say “Like Chris,” and I don’t say “Like your brother.” Those are secrets each of us pretends we don’t know. I keep brushing.
> “Honestly, I think it’s just natural charisma. I mean, where I’m from, some people can do what he does with far larger crowds, and they don’t need magic either. Really, his rhetoric is impeccable and—”
> “You’re getting off track, Sam,” she says as she reaches back to ruffle my hair, interrupting my attempt to escape. She doesn’t move her head an inch.
> “You’re the one who brought him up!” I say, a little annoyed she didn’t go for any of my hooks. She usually loves to ask me stuff about Earth, but whenever she thinks we should talk about feelings and that sort of stuff, she’s like a cat with a laser pointer. One more thing to love, I guess.
> “Even if you’re right, it just proves my point. Words have power, Sam, as do memories and thoughts. Everything we are is made up of those blocks, and if you know how to twist them, you can make tyrants weep, and paladins slaughter the innocent. You need to confront what happened. Sort through your memories and accept they happened. Face your demons, because even if you don’t they’re still there, unseen, waiting to strike.
> For a while, there’s no sound but the quiet rasp-rasp-rasp of the brush as I work my jaw. Then I trace my thumb’s fingernail over my index finger. I lick my lips. I scratch my head. I battle the overwhelming desire to try and distract her again, because I know that if I do, she’ll be mad, and I’ll be alone.
> If only sticking to the topic wouldn’t feel worse.
> She gives me time. She always does. As much as I need, and more. Just enough to understand she’s right, get annoyed about it, and make the right choice. One more thing to love, I guess.
> “Alright fuck,” I say and give her one last brush. “How?”
> She turns her head and there’s that damn smile again.
> “Well, first you have to know who you want to be.”
So—missing Patti so much it made my throat clench—I went through the damn motions. I let the thought come, labeled it, and let it go. On earth, I would have scoffed and said that was some new age bullshit no one needed. Now, I still scoffed but I’d be damned if I said it didn’t help, at least a little. Everything I said to Zephyro that I regretted, everything I’d failed to do to save Kasha, all the things I could have done, I let them all come as I laid in my bed, trying to get my damn DPM to recover quicker so I could escape this torture chamber.
And torture it was. There were so many things I wished I could have done differently, and the guilt I felt when I remembered the light in Kasha’s eyes fading hurt more than words can describe. It was nothing compared to what I felt when I finally allowed myself to ponder that, “Scout_14,” the Shackled that killed Zephyro the first time, had an awfully interesting name. Then I remembered Zephyro killed her, and it was all I could do to not believe that had been my fault.
So the thoughts came, relentless, but after each and every one I forced myself to realize that I was still alive, that the memory hadn’t killed me, and remember that I still had a goal. So the pain lessened after a while, and at the evening of the second day, I’d cried all my tears and just felt empty. Finally, in that weird fugue state of utter exhaustion where feelings were just a curious thing other people had, a thought surfaced.
I didn’t feel anything.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
That meant I didn’t feel pain.
But I should feel pain, Olre’s voice screamed. I deserved it!
I—
No.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care about anything.
Nothing could make me care, either.
I just was.
For a long time, laid there, waiting with almost curious detachment for some retort, some insistence that I was wrong and that I should do one thing or another to atone.
An hour passed, and nothing happened. Just emptiness, exhaustion and a feeling of presence that I couldn’t remember ever feeling before.
…And just like that, I’d shut up that voice that had been torturing me for years.
…Huh.
Maybe I would try doing that again sometime, once I remembered what feeling was like.
Then—body exhausted and mind empty—I fell asleep.
Though not before a quiet smile tugged at my lips.
It felt funny.
----------------------------------------
The next morning, I woke with a yawn and a stretch before I even remembered I should be hurting. In the absence of pain, I just didn’t bother to hurt.
{CPU Load: — 50%}
{Core Temp: — 41° C}
[DPM integrity]
▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰ 100%
I chuckled to myself as I got up and grabbed a sleepy Chris. I knew it wasn’t going to be this easy. I knew I was far from done, and that I would get hurt again. But for right now, I was okay, and that was enough. I’d survive and push on.
“Brekkie?” I asked Chris, holding them in front of me at the end of my outstretched arms.
They rubbed their eyes with their cyan scarf and beep-ed quietly, so I slung them over my shoulders like a neck warmer and made for the kitchen.
“Morning,” I said to the fridge, hiding another yawn.
Feast… (￣￢￣ヾ)
“Thanks for the chicken soup.”
Feast. ♨(-‿-)♨
The door flashed open, the feeling of time having a chunk bitten out of it returned, and I was holding a bowl of yogurt with granola bites. On the counter, there was a plate of bacon, fried eggs, hash browns, and grilled sardines. It smelled heavenly, and—already chewing my yogurt—I casually sauntered next to it to prevent Chris from jumping up and snatching it away.
Which totally hadn’t been their plan, they seemed to want to imply as they sat in front of the counter, their huge blue eyes flicking between the plate and me. Chewing on some deliciously crunchy oats, I pointed at their bowl in the opposite corner of the room, and when they looked at me as if I’d just betrayed their entire family, I just kept pointing. When nothing happened still, I snapped my fingers.
Beep… Chris grumbled as their expression changed to insulted acceptance. Then they slunk over to their wet cat food, which they proceeded to eat while giving me looks of utter contempt. They also crunched the bones extra loudly. I could tell.
I didn’t mind. I couldn’t see or hear them over how tasty my regular, full-sized, human breakfast tasted, anyway.
“Thanks, Fridge,” I said when I was done, and placed the dirty dishes into the sink.
Feast! ┬─┬(◕‿◕♡)
The door cracked open again, there was another flash, and the dishes were done.
{AVAILABLE LOGIC - 645 LB}
“Ready to work, Chris?” I asked them. They, in turn, stared up at me, then at the couch, then back at me.
“Oh no you fucking won’t!” I said, but they were already sprinting to claim the cushions as their own. I was hot on their tail, however, and when they pounced for the pillows, I caught them out of the air, whirled around, and let myself sink into the softness. I sighed with content victory as I settled Chris on my chest. I didn’t care how much that couch had cost me. It was so worth it.
“So, let’s talk about plans, shall we?” I told Chris, and they grumbled a beep.
Their mood immediately improved once I started petting them, however.
“How much do you know about what happened?” I asked.
“Beep-boop.”
“Enough? Do you know what happened with the fox and the other Ferals, and how the entire thing was a giant waste of Logic?”
“Beep.”
“Just saying. If that thing hadn’t been so greedy, and attacked me in the middle of that last fight, I wouldn’t have made it.”
“Beep!” Chris said, and with their eyes still closed, they pressed their scarf over my face in reprimand.
“I know, I know… but, yeah, just the other day, I remember thinking I’m finally beginning to understand how Zephyro felt. Not knowing when or where the next Feral is going to strike… it’s disconcerting.”
“Beep.”
“Yeah, I know. I got Ardor, Zephyro just had… me, I guess.”
“Boop,” Chris said, looking up with a kitty frown.
“Oh, I’m not putting myself down. It’s just that Ardor is objectively better than a dazed, reeling woman about to break. It’s got that 360-degree pulse, you know? Way better than Pharus.”
Chris squinted, but settled back down. Time passed in gentle pats and soft purrs.
“Do you think the Logic is… alive, Chris?” I asked.
“Beep?”
“It’s just… it never gives me what I want, but somehow always what I need, you know? Ardor is just the latest example. I really wanted a map, but what I got was a scanner without which the map would have been useless anyhow. …Probably.
“So, yeah, do you think it’s sentient? The Logic, I mean. Or is it more that my subconscious is influencing the Wish, you know, like it did before Project Iron Light?”
“Beep-boop,” Chris said with a shrug of their scarf.
“Yeah, right, right. Doesn’t matter.” I sighed and pinched my nose, trying to focus. “So what now, Chris?” I absentmindedly grabbed one of their paws and pressed my thumb into their paw pads. Tiny claws greeted me, but Chris’ purr intensified.
“We’re kind of screwed, aren’t we?” I asked. “I can’t go out hunting blind again. It doesn’t work, because I have no idea where I would even find Ferals. The Domain is too large. Besides, even if I knew the general area, I wouldn’t be able to spot the Ferals unless it’s too late. But if I frolic around the forest pulsing Ardor, I am just going to overheat and leave myself wide open.”
I let my head fall back with a long groan.
“I could spend more Logic and lure in more Ferals, but we know how that would go. Between not being able to control what connects to my Domain, the invisible Ferals, the cost of pulsing Ardor, and a magical death meadow that somehow steals my Logic, there’s no way I’m going to come out on top of that deal.
“Besides, my RAM is full, so I’d need to upgrade that first and… urgh! It’s so damn complicated!”
Chris booped and softly slapped their scarf into my face again. Though as I glared at them, I forced myself to calm down. Maybe I should think of this as a project for work. How would I approach that?
“Alright, up! I need to think,” I said, heaving Chris off of my chest against their pouting boops of protest. I got up with them securely cradled in my arms.
Lares.
[
Rendering new object: Pack of Sticky Notes, Felt-Tip Pen-Pack
[
Essential for every meeting. From soul-crushing to how-to-crush-souls! Now endlessly refilling, so the fun never stops. ]
Superlogical Alteration complete.
Total cost: 5 LB
]
{AVAILABLE LOGIC - 640 LB}
Lares constructed the items I wanted into my waiting palm, and after selecting a free wall to start brainstorming, I went to work. Half an hour later, I stood in front of a bright tapestry of notes and began sorting through them.
“Not going to wait around for Pina to open the laptop, then pray she somehow thinks I’m cool now… Not going to wait for Chris to build new software, either… Hiding in the fridge is out, for sure… hmm.”
One by one, I discarded ideas that were either too risky or too implausible or just straight-up jokes I’d written down to amuse myself. As funny as it would be to send out Chris to catch me some Ferals, I’d never put them in that much danger. As far as I knew, they couldn’t even fight at all.
In the end, I was only left with two plans that would work, both of which were risky. Simply waiting was out, which meant I had to be proactive. Going out to hunt blind would never work with my current level of Ardor, which meant I had to lure the Ferals in. Using Logic would do the trick, but I also knew I couldn’t sit in the safety of my home and wait for the Ferals to come to me. They’d just get annihilated by what I’d come to call the Death Meadow, leaving my ROI in the deep red.
That meant that whatever plan I made would involve some sort of danger.
I could either wander deep into the forest and advance my RAM there, which would guarantee I’d get all the Logic, but also expose me to ambushes. Alternatively, I could stay closer to the house in case of danger and set my trap there. I’d just retreat onto the meadow to cool down, then charge back in once Arx was ready. More likely than not, at least some Ferals would run into the Death Meadow and waste their Logic, but if I played my cards right and held out for just the right amount of time, I knew I could come out of this with more Logic than I spent…
If I didn’t get injured and wasted days licking my wounds again.
I tapped the pen against my lip as I thought both plans through one last time, then made a decision.
In the end, the risk presented in plan A wasn’t worth the reward.
Plan B it was.