After silently lamenting over their augmented bodies, Jordan and Gelos wandered nigh-aimlessly around the Safe Zone. Making small talk as the various shops and huts within the respective quadrants passed by. Vainly hiding from the other, the aches and bruises now plaguing their bodies from the absence of drive and adrenaline as they less-than gracefully landed and leapt across the surface.
Having rounded the D-Rankers quadrant a little more than an hour later; visibly deflated, they bounced towards the landing platforms at the center to hitch a ride back to Choece. Where they returned to the lower-levels in a mutual, silent agreement to spend the next few days in relative isolation.
Recovering.
As far as Jordan were concerned, the recovery of his mind took precedence over that of his body. The wounds of the flesh would heal. But the worries; the subtle panics that'd plague him in response to the rising of his points was an issue he could no longer ignore.
Logically, in his own mind, the reactions of his body were absolutely sound. The Knight. Rather, the Field Marshal, Quinn Law, had challenged Jordan as an E-Ranker. And as an E-Ranker, he should defeat her. Him being promoted prior to slaying her would only diminish his eventual triumph. Suredly leaving a putrid taste lingering in his mouth.
However. The irony of it all, was like a slap in the face.
All is as it was before he'd ever even left New Bran- The entirety of Jordan's issues and goals; ambitions and problems, revolved around the abstract points they all obsessed over.
Merit.
First, it was greed; a lust for a higher rank, that'd driven Jordan to act hastily. Bringing him face-to-face with Law and sending him falling down this well of manic training. Now that he could see the proverbial ceiling of his current rank however, Jordan's only concern was with keeping his points under the threshold until her return.
Much like Biff, that relegated Jordan to bide his time through mundane or otherwise fruitless activities for the following few days: Lounging about in his apartment; watching various films and feeds that he'd found or were recommended to him, mostly be Gelos; drinking ales and eating snacks or fruit on his balcony. Even cycling alone, along the seemingly endless bike paths winding throughout and around the city of Bronio.
A schedule that, much to the chagrin of Jordan, would possibly have to continue on for the next few periods.
Unless at least, Jordan found something that'd prevent him from accumulating points. If even for a day before due time.
In an attempt to give himself a buffer, he'd even looked into going on a spending spree. Not being particularly wanting of many things however, that was a tall order for the likes of Jordan Astros.
So, his pestilent routine continued for a few days, until Zoltan inevitably called. Seemingly offering as many problems as he did solutions.
Yo!" The Ganymedean's voice boomed throughout Jordan's living room. Dampening the noise of the tv. "Tobias is back in. If you and G are interested, we can sign you two up."
"I'd rather meet up and discuss things before we're all signed up." Jordan sighed. "If that's alright with you two?"
"Sure." Zoltan verbally shrugged not even a second later. "Where?"
Jordan silently accessed he and Gelos' 'meal list' before sharing the next location of their feast to the Ganymedean. "Here." Jordan grunted. Blinking the digital apparitions away.
"Uhhh." Zoltan groaned after a short pause. "That place is... expensive."
"And." Jordan began counter with a raised finger. "It's halfway between my city and yours."
"Fine." Zoltan curtly grumbled after a few more moments of silence. "We'll be there in two hours."
"As will we."
With a soft click the call disconnected. Leaving a moment for Jordan to bask in the peacefulness of solitude for just a moment longer before opening a chat with Gelos to establish a departing time.
Resettling into the crevices of his couch once settled, Jordan returned his attention to the flashing wall before him. Screaming assuredly outdated rhetoric about the rust-scarred, pale-turquoise world displayed on screen.
Repeatedly shouting in tune with every other journalist living in orbit of his home world about the pole-to-pole arrays of dome-shaped trusses that stretched across the leading side of the moons orbital path.
Constantly conjecturing and comparing theories of the intentions and consequences of the Don of Europa's excursion through the Saturnian Empire.
Things that Jordan and the likes of the Clan had known days, if not weeks prior to the story being leaked to the rest of the Powers.
Looking out at the still of Europa, Jordan let out a small, bitter chuckle as the nostalgia hit him in waves. As the literal memory of his father's announcement to their family played alongside the moon, centered proudly on screen. He felt all over again, the pride of finally having completed his trial being impaled by the shock of his father's seemingly sudden announcement. And the sadness and pity of seeing his baby sisters anguish over their father's departure.
Experiences that already felt like they'd happened lifetimes ago.
'Arthur was right.' Jordan shook his head, chuckling to himself again. Having grown up with most of his siblings, it was hard coming to realize how little he actually knew of them.
Despite understanding their habits and personalities to the point that he could almost foresee their interactions before they'd come to be, each of them leaving New Bran once coming of age meant that each of them were unable to understand how the others truly lived. What their hobbies and pastimes were. The personal preferences, or tastes in weapons, culture and cuisine, vehicles; and most importantly, occupations that they had.
Arthur's architectural studies, usage of the spear and preference for alcohol, for instance.
Looking out at Europa. Jordan was almost forced to think of his family. The Clan, who was nothing like they were meant to be. Or rather, what they were branded to be by the people around them: The largest, most dangerous family of mobsters living around Europa.
Instead. They were at best, a scattered family of misfits and deviants. All living selfishly as they searched for their place in the universe.
Just like everyone else.
It was a fact; rather, a problem, that Jordan had seen the budding signs of, even at a young five months old; Jovian. When Cosmos and his twin sister were born and nearly the entire first pack were absent.
A problem that'd surely increase upon their beloved father's heavy-handed return from Saturnia.
'A problem solving a problem.' Jordan snorted to himself, imagining the event in his mind's eye. Then immediately frowned as his cultural ignorance once again grew more apparent.
In an attempt to shrug his mind away from the frustratingly persistent thoughts, Jordan began flipping through the main feeds that were broadcasted from the various Powers. With a moment's static in between, the most popular podcast or stream of each of the miniature empires skimmed by in the upper corner of the screen while the corresponding moon shifted beside it.
"-all Galilean's, of all ranks. You. Are invited to the first ever, Festival of Power. Hosted by The Champion of Elara, Kasuya Ichiro. In the newly constructed Island III, Athenia. You. Are invited to a sports festival along the likes that none have seen, System-wide. We're calling all Galilean's, of all ranks. To compete against Gale's elite, on New Year's day. Lasting until February first."
Jordan's captivated attention regrettably dwindled as the ad ended. Causing him to peruse listlessly through the channels, passing the clock by until their departure time.
After meeting Gelos at the base of the stairs leading to the main highways, they jogged in unison up the steps and settled across from each other on the bench seats of a cab and promptly pulled the doors closed behind them.
The roughly hour and a half long ride was spend in companionable silence. Each of them watching the landscape approach from the singular point in the distance before passing by. Becoming the foreground of the curved horizons in the distance of the passenger windows before skating off behind them to merge once again. Staring until they came near the end cap of their residential layer. Where a large, domed shack sat on the far outskirts of a small, nameless town they'd passed a few kilometers back.
After waltzing into the geodesic structure and seating themselves, Jordan immediately began tending to the menus inlaid into the table and ordered for himself a cheeseburger with real beef. Topped with the standard vegetables, as well as bacon and peanut butter and jelly, to start himself off with. Costing him nearly two entire points on its own.
A fairly modest start.
After ordering a round of brews for himself and Gelos, Jordan pried his eyes from the menu to gaze across and through the triangular windows to the vibrantly green, curved landscape beyond.
As well as Zoltan and Tobias. Waddling up towards the entrance with nearly the same gait.
The latter was slightly taller than Zoltan. Only a few centimeters difference at most, if Jordan were to guess. Negligible when compared to the nearly ten centimeters difference between himself and Gelos.
Around 165, at an estimate. 167 at most.
Like James, Zoltan held a massive, stocky build that was granted in favor of height. His friend on the other hand, seemed to favor a leaner build like Jordan himself. Verticality aside. His deep, tan skin sat in bright contrast against Zoltan's ghostly hide. With brown, bulbous, curiously half-lidded, wide, childish eyes that blinked in bullet time as he studied Jordan and Gelos in turn. Like he were tired and wired simultaneously.
After their proper introductions, everyone immediately dove into perusing their own menus. Including Jordan. Naturally allowing a somewhat awkward silence to encroach upon their table. A silence that continued well after their entrees had been delivered.
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"So, about these races." Zoltan smacked after working through the majority of his meal. "As I've said, they're held once every four weeks. Each route runs along a section of the hab's circumference. Some 2,800 klicks."
"Usually takes around a week or so for most people." Tobias seamlessly commented as stared at Jordan through those lazy-lidded eyes. Blinking slowly.
"And how many points are on the table?" Jordan asked. Staring back in turn.
"First place gets an instant promotion." Zoltan replied in a boastful tone. "A thousand points. Second place gets seven-fifty. Third, five-hundred, and two-fifty for fourth."
"As far as rules," Tobias said in turn. "There are none. Normally, everyone's armed with pipes, poles... even rocks." He shrugged with his shoulders. "It's as much as a brawl as it is a race."
Jordan nodded silently and looked away for a moment to ponder his options. Allowing Gelos a moment to interject with a moderate belch. "And what do you two ride?" He asked.
"I ride a trike." Tobias casually mentioned before throwing his thumb towards his friend. "And Zed doesn't ride anything. He runs."
'A trike??' Jordan internally recoiled before being taken aback by the latter revelation. 'He runs!?" He turned to take a moment of reevaluation towards Zoltan to assess his surely deity-levels of endurance before continuing. "Alright." He sighed. Making sure to look each of them in the eyes as he spoke. "I just want to make sure you all understand that I have no intention of winning these races. I'm only killing time and doing a little exploration until my target returns. Eight periods. Eight races. If any of you want to win any of them, I'll ride on a seperate path. Ble-ugh." Jordan finished with a belch into his fist. "So, when and where's the start?"
"Tomorrow." Tobias subtly nodded, along with a dramatically slow blink of the eyes as the location was received by Jordan's software. "Noon. Ganymede time. At the base of support spire D-2."
***
[December 111th, GPY 2. B.L.S.S: D-2, Ganymede. 1158. UGT.]
[Merit: 785]
"Phew!" Gelos exclaimed again. Wrinkling his face and wafting the air in front of him as he turned about on his seat to scan their surroundings. His eyes practically glowing with awe; or augmented information, Jordan couldn't quite tell.
Or didn't care to. "Just block out the smell already." He rolled his eyes.
"I did." Gelos deflatedly chuckled and shook his head. "But the want to smell it again just keeps coming back."
Jordan could only snort out a chuckle of his own and repeat the motions of his friend before giving their surroundings another look around for himself.
By the base of the spire, Tobias had truly meant the very base. Where the hollowed, pocked structure formed a field-like basin at the foot beneath the lower-levels.
Enhancing his view before him, Jordan's perception lurched towards an assembly of quadrupedal mammals crowded along the alon wall. Perched atop rocks and each other as they stared at the group of excitable contestants below before being shooed away by their robot tenders.
He turned on his seat, absorbing the similar sights of ranches or farms or manufacturing bays or storage modules, crowded by curious onlookers from corner-to-corner of the compound. All shrouded in aforementioned, linger odor. Muted from Jordan's olfactory sensors, yet still made grossly aware to Jordan through thick, digital bands of gasses. Foul-greens. Urine-yellows. Hazard-orange. An-ash gray. All swarming to such a degree that they collectively shrouded the environment in a squalid, terrestrial camouflage pattern.
Resetting his vision, Jordan took a second to admire the nigh-endless sea of bodies and heads perpetually swaying through the cloud. Swarming in their relatively small pocket of the habitat. Constantly pulsing with noise as they anticipatorily shifted around.
Jordan adjusted his rucksack, granting him enough leeway to lean against is section of the wall before scanning his left. Where, a few hundred meters away, the dense, foul smog trailed from a comparatively narrow tunnel at the center of the wall. Where, in addition to the thick, ghastly aura encroaching their hole. The red, ethereal glow of the startline basked upon the first few rows of competitors.
"-Jordan." Zoltan's beckoning voice suddenly rose to a crystal clarity from amongst the perpetual murmur of the crowd. Prompting Jordan to turn about on his seat to see the Ganymedean pushing and weaving his way through the crowd. "Yo, Jordan." He called again as he approached. Greeting Gelos with a tap on the shoulder before nodding upwards towards Jordan. "You two ready?"
Jordan glanced at Gelos; still amiably gazing about the crowd, before grinning wide and patting the scarred bat clamped onto his bike's frame. "All set." He nodded. Quickly losing his grin as he swayed in his seat. Craning his neck to peer around Zoltan. "Where's Tobias?"
"Near the back." Zoltan replied with a jerk of the neck. "Didn't wanna force his trike through here."
'Ugh.' Jordan internally sneered before turning back to the crowd. 'Disgusting.'
"Here's the freq for our party." Zoltan continued with a wave of the hand. Prompting the packets of information to begin clouding Jordan's vision even more. "And, in case you want to meet up sometime after the start, here's our rest stops."
Jordan silently studied the information for a few seconds before connecting to their channel and waving the local maps away. Allowing Zoltan's conspicuous pose to remain in the wake of Choece's digitally tainted landscape.
He stood in place in between, and off to the side of Jordan and Gelos. His clublike arms folded over his chest with his palm cupped his elbow as if it were hurt. Zoltan's entire upper body wrapped in a bleached sweater that seamlessly matched a pair of joggers. Tucked into a pair of high-top running shoes. Also bleached-white.
'He really does these things on foot.' Jordan chuckled incredulously to himself before gesturing towards Zoltan with his chin and asking. "What's with the sweater? And all the white?"
Zoltan only replied with a curt nod to his zenith before grunting out. "The daylights."
Jordan squinted at the Ganymedean in confusion for a second. His eyes darting between the ghostly hands protruding from his gray sleeves and the perpetually grimaced face blankly blinking back at him.
'Ah.' Jordan nodded to himself a moment after the proverbial pieces to the puzzle belatedly fell into place. "Albinism is exceptionally rare in this era." Jordan pointed out with blatant admiration. "Is it from a real gene?"
"Of course!" Zoltan scoffed. "I'd have augmented my skin if it wasn't."
"Fair enough." Jordan laughed. 'But very interesting.'
A few moments into their consequent silence, Gelos threw his hands forward in a gesture towards the startline. "I think it's time." He announced. Seconds before a loud foghorn split the air at the seams and the red, digital shield collapsed at the center. Leaving a green ring around the already crowded exit.
As expected, the signal elicited an audible storm from the majority of the crowd. A chaotic amalgamation of cries, screams and cheers that reverberated alongside the visible undulations of violence. Driving the once-docile crowd into a frenzy and cranking the once-gentle murmur of the base-levels up to a pulsing roar.
As the wave reached their position, Zoltan seemed to turn towards the two others, his mouth agape as if he were prepared to say something. Noticing his companions reactions; or lack thereof, he instead curtly swallowed his words before moving to position his back to face the wall.
Reaching between his legs, Jordan pulled his bat from its mount and readied it on his shoulder. Inadvertently tapping the rounded tip against the wall behind him.
"I find it strange." Tobias' voice crept from behind Jordan's ear. Impossibly from behind the airless cargo module beyond the surface. Despite the shady tone and invasive feeling crawling along Jordan's neck, Jordan knew from both instinct and their connection party that the trike rider was still in his presumed position. Hundreds of meters away, near the back of the crowd. "I come back, and Zoltan can't seem to shut up about you." He monotonously claimed.
"Does he now?" Jordan incredulously asked. His eyes still focused between the mass of bodies stuffing themselves into the tunnel and the mass of bodies writhing forward around them.
"He does." Tobias nodded in Jordan's mind's eye. "Sometimes, he says your talented. At others, your skilled. Always unreadable though. Always interesting."
'Could've fooled me.' Jordan snorted to himself.
"I know what he thinks about you." Tobias continued. "But, I'm curious as to what you think about him."
"He makes good drinks, for starters." Jordan shrugged. "But to be honest, I'm not really sure. I haven't known him for that long. You two are blank slates, in my eyes."
"Well." Tobias sighed out a tinge of disappointment. "All I know is that you claim to have… unique, ambitions. And that your strength and combat experience far exceeds mine. Which tells me you Europans must truly, only care about fighting. That you all actually spend your childhoods training and competing like adults do."
"Don't Ganymedeans?" Jordan derisively snorted.
"No." Tobias bluntly replied. Unnoticing or uncaring of Jordan's sarcasm. Visibly deflating the Astros. If only a bit. "We learned how to build and design machines." Tobias explained. "Drones, cars... This trike. As well as how to operate them."
"Interesting." Jordan absentmindedly nodded. More to himself than to Tobias as he noticed a lone man turning towards their group. Practically drooling at the mouth as he stared at Gelos' bike with wide-set eyes. A collapsible baton clutched tightly in his fist.
He set himself on his heels before lunging forward into a sprint. His baton-wielding arm cocked across his chest. He managed a few strides before Gelos seamlessly rolled forward with a kick. Landing the heel of his foot just under the man's knee in mid-stride. Comically toppling the wide-eyed Ganymedean onto his face before Gelos promptly wheeled around to run over his thigh. Pinning them leg beneath the frame of his bicycle.
Without pause, Jordan leaned forward. Swinging the bat down onto the man's shoulders and back without pause while Gelos relentlessly continued kicking him in the spine. Eventually catching Zoltan's wandering attention. Who turned away from securing their surroundings with a sadistic grin and proceeded to step forth to stomp them in ernest.
Suddenly, the crowd surged around them again. Considerably sparsing out the herd and bringing about an abrupt end to their bruising session.
"Regardless." Jordan continued over the comms. Making sure to at least make a moment of eye contact with Zoltan as he talked. "We'll get to know each other better through the course of these races. If you become inducted in the Clan and we explore the Powers together, that's fine. If we stay friends and agree to see each other when we see each other, that's fine too. Or." He grunted. "We can work do these races and part ways whenever we agree to. Whatever your choice is fine with me."
Zoltan only shared an understandably confused look with Jordan before the latter sped off towards the exit like a mad lad. Wildly swinging his bat around at anyone who came too close as he converged with the crowd near the exit.
"That's fair." Tobias' reply echoed through the basin shortly after Jordan passed the official line.
Ignoring the now-distant words, Jordan peddled hard through the steep incline of the escape tunnel. Frustratingly at a crawl as he struggled to swerve and weave around the sluggish or crashed racers on the curved walls.
Eventually, they were spat onto the surface of the lower-levels through an antiquated sewage-like port near the spires main entrance. The digital paths below them bending tightly to the left. Guiding them along wall of the structure before continuing on in a straight line after it's edge in the direction of the spin. Towards the low rolling hills on the curved horizon.
While he had no intention of winning, Jordan wouldn't pass up the opportunity this race granted him in testing the absolute limits of his flesh. How far he could maintain peak physical exertion while strictly regulating his breathing was something he'd been curious about since his first run out of Bronio; a run that granted him nary a point, assuring him from any unneeded points. A seemingly small event that already seemed like a lifetime ago. One that seeded an urge to understand the peak of his abilities. An urge that grew each and every time he found his body upgraded.
With all the gears on his bike, it was more than easy for Jordan to pick up and maintain speed. Something that, along with his respirocytes, allowed Jordan to continue on at a brisk pace for hours on end. Following the digital markers with nary a thought clouding his mind.
Save the occasional, off-handed interruption by someone on their chat; or a passerby drifting into his bad.
Long after the daylights went out and their comms party began lighting up with location and status requests, Jordan continued pedaling on. Desperately against fatigue.
In the early evening of the second day, Jordan took his first break. With his bike and himself perched beneath a tree, he allowed for himself a few hours to snack up, hydrate and watch the scattered competitors laze by in the distance before responding to the group with his position and intended path, as well as a simple text that assured everyone that he was uninjured before continuing on his way.
After another night of riding at near-full speed, Jordan neared the halfway mark around the habitat's circumference and began losing time.
It terrified him, thinking of how many times it'd happen before he'd noticed how the environment would jump around him. He was first riding along a bridge. Then, after a period of... darkness. A city. with citizens and vendors lazily passing by. Then; most eerily to Jordan, a curiously empty forest with wrist-thick trees that echoed hoots and hollers, beckons and calls and slurs around a somnamblically swerving Jordan.
The verbal onslaught seemed to pause; become muted in Jordan's awareness, before darkness began encroaching on Jordan once again.
Followed by a shard of lighting that bolted Jordan's heart with fear. Ripping his eyes open and singeing his artificial retinas with the harsh, brown and green wavelengths of light glowing all around him and sending spasms throughout his body. Forcing the bike beneath him to contemptuously fight against its users inaptitude. Using violent shakes to bring Jordan's body upright as if in protest before seemingly giving up.
Allowing its rider to lazily bump into a tree before toppling to the side. Inviting Jordan to a long and cold rest on forest floor.