Zeirdin could not hear anything over the deafening roar of excited people, not even his voice. Every one of them had come to realize a dream, to change their lives, and their excitement showed. The final processing room was filled with people of all backgrounds, from escaped slaves to prostitutes, beggars, and even royalty.
Zeirdin stood at the back of the crowd and guessed that there were about 1200 people, but the room could fit easily quadruple that. The square room was barren concrete and roughly half a kilometer wide and 10 meters high. The industrial fluorescent lights cast a harsh, sterilized white light on everything below. The jovial atmosphere harshly contrasted with the bleak surroundings. He had finally made it to The Tower, where dreams, teens, and the filthy rich came to die.
After generations, upon generations of stories and legends, The Tower had finally become a legend of its own. From stories of vast riches, powerful weapons, tomes of ancient magic, and orphans becoming legends, The Tower had captivated generations. While these stories had truth in them, the reality of The Tower was much harsher than most wished to believe. Zeirdin’s father discouraged him through stories of harsh realities, which would have worked under normal circumstances. Things had changed since then, he had come to The Tower as a last resort.
The overpowering roar of the crowd was pierced by a robotic voice and the voices died down. “Welcome to The Tower of Axarion. My name is AICS-13, Artificial Intelligence Combat System, but you can call me Ike. I am the tower admin.” The voice came from a metallic figure standing in from of the crowd that Zeirdin swore had not been there a minute ago. No one made a sound, and all that followed was palpable silence. The reality of the situation was starting to set in. Nearly no one knew what was ahead, perhaps of course excluding the wealthy. Expensive manuals describing much of the lower 30 levels of the tower were available for vast amounts of money.
Ike looked around the room, “If you’re here, you probably already know there’s only one exit in The Tower, and that’s floor 108. But, If you're here for wealth and power, you're in the right place. Here in the tower of Axarion, everything is a commodity that can be bought with Dynats.” Everyone’s eyes glimmered greedily, Zeirdin’s included.
He shifted nervously during the speech. He would be starting over from zero in The Tower. He had hit rock bottom half a year ago. Powerless against the termination unit sent by Gistern’s democratic council, he had lost everything right in front of his eyes.
“Dynats can be earned through killing monsters, androids, competing in competitions, selling items, and just about everything you can think of.”, The android continued. The whole orientation was more of a formality, most of the information Ike’s projection was relaying was common knowledge. “To progress, you must clear floors by getting to the exit point. It might sound easy, but let’s just say that Axarion’s legacy is guarding each floor.” The android said, its cheerful but mocking tone starting to get on Zeirdin’s nerves.
“You may have noticed that we may have forcibly installed biometric monitors on you during the 'decontamination process'. These monitor all sorts of things, importantly, your Combat score (CS). To check your biometric info, you must visit a terminal at an outpost or town. Most floors have one.” Zeirdin felt the red spot on his left wrist throb. Earlier, during the decontamination process, the machine had pricked him, which now finally made sense.
“You are dismissed, you may continue to floor one.” The android finished and the far wall started sliding open. Dust fell from the ceiling as the ground shook slightly from the heavy doors opening. It was a feat of engineering that no living country possessed. The room roared into motion, everyone excited to live out the legends they had heard. Hundreds of people dashed towards the newly formed exit like an avalanche.
Before he did anything else, Zeirdin wanted to check his Tower Profile. Everyone who entered The Tower would receive a Tower Profile, which was valuable in the outside world. It was impossible to forge, which gave it credibility, as well as allowed for unique opportunities. Those with high enough numbers could apply for high-paying positions in the military.
The strongest of the strong could apply to be a Battle Saint, someone with enough tactical value to turn the tides of war. Zeirdin had only ever seen one person with a Tower ID, as people who left the tower alive were quite rare. They had been a relatively famous yaeger in Northern Gistern where Zeirdin was from.
Following the crowd out, Zeirdin climbed the stairs up to the central plaza of the town. At the top of the stairs was an archway with a sign that read ‘Welcome to Splinter’. The metal green sign was rusted and crooked, Zeirdin smiled inwardly. It reminded him of Vilya, his hometown. The sound of many feet on concrete filled the air as he shielded his eyes from the white light. Looking around the buildings in the main square, it was clear to see that everything was filthy. Even for Northern Gistern standards.
Only the main square was paved, the rest of the main roads leading to and from it were gravel. All the buildings around the plaza were concrete, old and dirty. They had been perfectly constructed by androids hundreds of years ago but were slowly deteriorating. Even the artificial sky was a light gray shade, matching the theme of the buildings. Other than some ancient technology, everything seemed to be years behind what most cities in Gistern had.
Zeirdin made his way through the crowd towards one of the three-terminal booths in the central plaza. They were made from lost technology, predating The Cataclysm. Each was connected to SeraphNet, an information network from the same era as the terminals that predated all established countries in Laurentia. There was only one terminal in Vilya, and Zeirdin had never used it.
Zeirdin waited for the lanky man dressed in military gear to finish with the terminal. He shifted the weight of his heavy travel pack from either foot until it was his turn. A few minutes later it was his turn. He walked up to the metal green booth and stuck his chipped hand under the scanner. The terminal’s screen flickered into life, displaying his current profile.
SERAPH INDUSTRIES
Tower ID: #17538237423
Anomaly detected
LEVEL: 0
Age: 15, Weight: 150 Height: 5’7” Eyes: Red, Male
CS: N/A, ECS: N/A, HIGHEST FLOOR: 1
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Zeirdin didn’t know what the anomaly was, the machine might’ve botched it when it had injected him. The rest of the information was all stuff he already knew. Other newcomers started lining up behind the terminals and Zeirdin awkwardly left.
The first order of action was food, lodging, and then information. People were still filing out of the tunnel from the large concrete room and this time he saw people handing out guild applications. As tempting as it looked, Zeirdin wanted nothing to do with exploitation and politics.
***
Even while following the map he found in the plaza, it had still taken Zeirdin over an hour to find an inn that was cheap enough. Standing outside the inn, it was evident to see that Joe’s House had seen better days. The Green paint was peeling off the old machine concrete, and the O in Joe’s was barely still attached to the building.
He had found the cheap-looking in while lost in a long alleyway, not too far from the main road. The inn was as cheap as Zeirdin expected and he paid for three nights. His room was a concrete box devoid of any decoration. The bed was the only object in the room excluding his belongings. He honestly didn’t care if it looked like a prison cell.
After a restless night, Zeirdin awoke to white light from the ceiling window streaming down his face. The smell of dust and concrete hung in the air. Before wandering the town, Zeirdin decided he should talk to Joe first. The meshed metal stairs creaked as they descended to the first floor. Zeirdin was about to open his mouth when Joe grunted from behind the counter, “Save it, just buy a tower manual.” Zeirdin was surprised for a second that Joe knew he was going to ask a question but realized it was good advice and decided not to mull over it. Joe wasn’t talkative. As Zeirdin was about to ask where he could buy one, joe grunted again, “Go to the plaza.” This time he didn’t even look up from his tablet.
Zeirdin got lost on the way to the plaza. The bustling streets were full of movement, a stark contrast to what he saw yesterday on his arrival. There was an almost festive atmosphere with lots of chatter. Once he was out of the residential district, street vendors and shops were everywhere. Many were the old machined concrete, while many newer ones were made out of sheet metal and other junk, probably the only building materials that could be found outside the safe zone.
Zeirdin was looking for a general store since many vendors seemed to specialize in one product. There was a man with a cybernetic eye that sold “upcycled” BioTablets. They were made out of garbage, but a few seemed to work. There was also an abundance of food stalls, with many offering very suspicious meats, or a hybrid of meat and fungus.
Zeirdin continued on, trying to go in a straight line. However, this was difficult due to the sometimes diagonal or complete disappearance of a walkway. The old concrete buildings were built on a grid and were the only thing keeping any semblance of order in Splinter.
Zeirdin trudged along, heavy boots making dull thumps on the dusty ground with every step. The sensory stimulation was overwhelming. While most clothing stayed on the darker and more dirty side, the smell was intense. It was a combination of iron, sweat, machine oil, and dust. Only the main road was paved, the smaller paths were either gravel or packed dirt. With the constant foot traffic, the orange dust was constantly swirling around the ground and into the air, coating everything. If it ever rained, it would be miserable with most paths turning into complete swamps.
Zeirdin continued through twists and turns but was able to stay in the direction of the plaza by following the old concrete buildings as they got larger. They were the tallest around the plaza. Every so often there was a weapon shop. Some sold motor saws and energy blades, but what really interested him were the long-range weapons.
His father was a gunsmith, specializing in anti-android weapons. Jammers were the most common way of combating rogue androids. The less common way that his father favored was using zinnium to generate vast amounts of energy very quickly. It could either be focused into a beam or used to launch a projectile very fast. While meant for use against androids with thick armor, zinnium weapons also worked very well on organic matter, for example, humans. Gistern’s government became very interested in his father due to this, and one day, a man knocked on their door and his father disappeared.
Somewhere along the line, Zeirdin had made a few wrong turns and had ended up in a very seedy area. The crowd here was much thinner than where all the commerce was, and there were no concrete buildings. Everything was constructed out of junk, and sheet metal. The smell of raw sewage was overpowering. I guess there are poor people everywhere. Perhaps people of the slums had been injured while out of the safe zones and could not earn money anymore. Or maybe they were first-generation tower residents who did not have what it took to climb. Zeirdin pondered on, but it was impossible to know what people had been through.
It took him a while to realize, that someone was following him. While they were trying very hard to be inconspicuous, it was quite easy to tell due to their bald tattooed head. It stood out among the helmets, hats, and scarves that most people wore.
He hoped that they didn’t want to rob him, but that seemed unlikely because he was sure they started tailing him once he reached the seedy side of town. Looking at himself, it was probably really easy for a long-time resident of the tower to tell that he was a newbie. He wore no obvious combat equipment, and his bright blue pants practically made him a target compared to the more muted clothing of most people on the street.
Zeirdin was starting to become nervous. Compared to the streets near the main road, the slums where he had somehow managed to wander into were barren, and the man was still following him. Zeirdin rested his hand on the zinnium blast rotator on his belt and flicked the safety off. His father had modeled it after the infamous Seraph Industries Polaris, from centuries ago.
Powered by zinnium, it had a rotating cartridge that held eight tungsten pellets. In a pinch, it could fire a concentrated beam of energy, but this was highly inefficient, and quickly used up the very expensive zinnium. Outside the tower, civilians were not allowed to own zinnium, but as his father described it, one ingot the size of a pinky nail cost the same as three months of food for an obese family of four.
“Fuck.” Zeirdin swore. It was a dead end. Hand on his gun, Zeirdin slowly turned around, heart pounding in his ears. The bald man slowly turned the corner to face him with a Vibroblade in hand. He had geometric facial tattoos and a burn scar that went from chin to collarbone. The man had a facial expression that showed he was very experienced in violence.
The man brandished his Vibroblade. The blade had a faded sky blue paint job. It had small pipes and dials along its length. “Drop the pack and run.” Zeirdin didn’t do either, as he slowly tightened his grip on the gun. The man didn’t seem to register the bulge on his belt as a holster as he ignored it.
After waiting and seeing that Zeirdin made no effort to comply, the man flipped a switch on the blade and it whirred to life. The blade vibrated hundreds of times a second and could cut through steel like butter. It was favored among scrappers and warriors equally for its destructive capabilities at a low cost.
The man slowly walked towards Zeirdin, the blade buzzing like a mosquito. The man was four meters away and approaching when he suddenly switched to a sprint. The man's long legs covered much ground. Zeirdin’s world suddenly slowed to a crawl as his brain worked double-time to survive. Finger already on trigger, yanked the gun out of its holster, the world still in slow motion. Not bothering to properly aim, he pulled the trigger. There was a small pop a fraction of a second before the main blast as the cartridge rotated.
Then a bang rang out as the alleyway was lit up with blue light from the barrel of the gun. The recoil violently shoved the gun into Zeirdin’s stomach. The sprinting man was pushed back as if a rope had suddenly pulled him back from the neck, and he collapsed to the ground lifeless. There was a fist-sized hole in the man’s neck that went through his spine. A gurgling sound could be heard as the air escaped his lungs for the last time, the man's blood flowing out and soaking into the dirt.
Zeirdin fell to his knees, heart-pounding, and vomited. He retched, the sour acidic taste filling his mouth and nose. He knew that he would have to take a life at some point. The Tower’s welcome was brutal.