“When you say costume… what do you mean?”
Though I asked the question, I got no answer out of Isia as she hurried along up flight after flight of stairs. The air was stale in the corridors of… whatever place the Sewer Rats called home (though I could guess it was probably underground). There were a great deal of empty rooms and moldy smells all over the place.
“Come on, the others are already asking questions, so we’ll get you to the motel.” She insisted, face split into a borderline manic grin. “It’s going to be awesome!”
Despite my best efforts to keep my thoughts focused on the problems ahead, Isia’s hyper-enthusiasm was contagious, and it left me with a bit of trepidation. We trailed our way further up, four flights of stairs, before reaching a small garage with a very familiar busted-up truck.
Her eyes flickered, a momentary shift in attention towards her neuralink, and the trunk popped open. It was empty.
I stared at the trunk, then at her.
Isia’s lips curled into the most shit-eating grin yet. “Come on now, hop on.”
My brows furrowed. “You’re kidding me.”
“Trust me, this is the best way to do this.” She did not look apologetic, in fact, she was grinning. “Until Vesper gives the go-ahead, you need to be kept in the dark about where our base is.” Her lop-sided smirk only grew. “Alternatively, we keep you here like our own little house-sitting pet.”
I very much wanted to call bullshit on that and complain that they had no right to treat me like this. And on the other hand, I had my own secrets that I was keeping close to the chest.
“At least this isn’t a cargo locker… again.” I sighed as I sat down, thinking back to some of the things I’d have to do for the sake of Baconado management…
“Atta boy.” She cackled. “Remember to hold on tight.”
“To what!?”
Isia slammed the trunk shut.
----------------------------------------
The trunk opened to blinding sunlight. I stumbled out, legs shaking, grabbing hold of the closest object I could just to keep the world from spinning into a hole. “Your driving is… bad.” I mumbled, fighting to hold my breakfast in.
“No it’s not.” She replied with a deadpan, having donned the full-body weather gear again. “It’s just more fun.”
“Were you being chased by something?” I asked, reconsidering my perceptions of Isia. She was a demon in human skin, probably a menace to society. It’d been like getting stuck inside a rock-tumbler set to ‘earthquake’, and then tossed down a hill. “Getting run over by a car again is a tempting prospect right about now.” I glowered, fighting to keep myself properly balanced. “At least the car would be quicker.”
“Pah.” Isia shook her head dismissively. “Look, the gang’s still a bit spooked over what happened, so I get to be your ride and protection all day.” Though her face was obscured by the helmet, the smile was clear in her voice.
“I really hope you don’t usually drive like you just did, or else the protection I might need would be from you.” With a heavy breath, I combed my hair back through my fingers. “I’m going to take a minute. But after that…”
“Costume, camera, action!” She cheered.
“...yeah.” I smiled nervously. “I’m guessing you’ve been coordinating with the others?”
“You bet! Now go do your thing, I’ll wait for you out here.” She made a gesture at the car. “Without Quinn’s drones, I’m not leaving this beaut alone on the street.”
Stepping into the chilled air of the motel, I put my thoughts in order.
“Good day, Axel Garcia.” Grills greeted me with a simple wave, head following me, unblinking, as I approached.
“Any messages for me or visitors?” I asked.
Her fans spun up for half a second, metal jaw opening and closing as the voicebox spoke up. “No new messages or visitors! The last visitors were the friends you left with!”
The statement would’ve been more reassuring if I wasn’t absolutely sure Grills was in desperate need for repairs and a security update. “Thanks.”
Hurrying along to my room (and ignoring the way Grills’ head swiveled to track me), I found the chair on the floor a few feet away from the door, but neither the chair nor the door with signs of forced entry. The question of how they might have gotten into the room without bashing the door down was put aside as I went to check my stuff.
My backpack had been left intact, my pictures, Bulstra, and everything else right where I’d left them. A sniff test confirmed the only scent present was my own, which raised the question on whether my nose was good enough to catch any traces from the others. Going about the room carefully, I began to sniff at random stuff.
There were traces of that damp moldy smell from the Sewer Saint’s base, as well as slight variations. I couldn’t pin down exactly what made them different, but there were three in total, all of them more heavily present in the bathroom.
+Senses: 5+
. .∟Smell: [07%] -> [11%]
“Thanks, I guess.” I muttered, proceeding to check the room for any other sign of anything out of place. With nothing else popping out at me, I pulled out the communicator Moreau had given me.
I pushed the green button and waited.
After a minute of silence and a trickle of nervousness, I pushed again.
Nothing.
Maybe she was busy? “Or maybe she’s dead,” I said with a grimace before quickly dismissing the thought.
I’d just need to try again later… right?
Shadow of a Doubt (1): Survive 7 days.
Progress: 2 / 7.
The system very emphatically reminded me that I couldn’t just sit and wait for Moreau. There was the option of the communicator’s red “emergency” button, but I didn’t know what it would do. Supposedly, it was to be used if I was ever kidnapped, but for all I knew it could just be a bomb or could call in a merc squad.
Too many unknowns.
Pushing the green button again, I got no answers.
Pulling out the picture of my father and aunt, I lingered on it for another moment. “I’ll just prepare whatever I can.”
Loading up on AP was a good first step, and I’d need to find monsters with some useful skill that might help. Beyond that… Maybe there was some way to dissuade the shadow from attacking me in the first place? Another first step: find out who “shadow” was.
Changing clothes, putting everything back into place, and getting my Bulstra, I looked around one more time and headed outside.
“Have a good day, Axel Garcia!” Grills waved as I closed the door.
Isia was inside the busted-up truck, fiddling about with a gun before noticing me as I approached. “Great! I was about to check-up on you. Here.” As I took shotgun, she tossed me a scrap of cloth. “Your costume.”
It was two triangles of fake leopard print, each one no larger than my palm, and tied together with a piece of synthetic leather. I gave it a look, proceeded to fold it, and give it back. “No thanks.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Tch, had to try.” She gestured at the back seat. “Your costume is there.”
It was a paper bag with several items… or more specifically, two items.
One was a set of black shorts that were really short, the sort that wouldn’t even make it half-way down my thigh. The second was another leopard-print piece of cloth, except this one was… “This is a loincloth. This was not in the agreement.”
“If you recall, the agreement was that we’d help you. This is us, helping you.” The amusement was thick in her voice even through the distortion from the helmet. “Quinn’s bringing a wicked fake-bone-mask they printed so your face’s not all over the net. And paint, because we can’t make a good-old caveman barbarian without war paint!”
“I’d like to-”
She stepped on the pedal and the truck lurched forward as the speakers screamed with some fake engine noise. I immediately snapped the seatbelt in place before realizing the straps were half-rotten and partially torn.
“LET’S GO!!!” Isia screamed, swerving out of the way of an incoming drone-delivery truck.
----------------------------------------
“Someone should remove manual driving on that thing.” I grumbled under my breath, stepping out of the truck and into the ruined buildings that were the ‘Well’. Vesper and Quinn were already there, geared up in weather protection, having brought a busted-up van that looked right at home amongst the partially or totally torn buildings.
“Only reason it has manual is because the automatic got fucked up beyond repair.” Isia chimed in, merrily hurrying along to the van and opening its back. “Now go get changed! Shoo!”
I glanced at Vesper, she shrugged, pulling out a folder sheet of paper from her pocket and handing it over. “We have a script for you, but we’re keeping it simple.”
“Can’t I just… punch things normally?” I grumbled.
“You could. But if you want to go anywhere, you need to find a gimmick or at least a theme. The algorithms just toss the stream to the discard pile otherwise.”
My shoulders slumped. “Does it make that much of a difference?”
“If the algorithm doesn’t pick you up, it’s impossible for strangers to find the stream. Not even word of mouth would be able to alleviate that.”
With a heavy sigh, I snatched the paper and went to get dressed.
----------------------------------------
“Before we begin, a disclaimer. I can do the things I am about to do because I-” I breathed in and sighed, thankful that my face was hidden behind a mask. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to even stand here if I didn’t have at least that much. “-because I was gifted powers by the God Unga and Goddess Bunga. Monsters are no joke, and to puny humans, they can be far more dangerous.”
The earpiece hidden under the mask cracked up with the sound of several people snickering. I was sure this had to be, partially, Quinn’s attempt to get back at me over what I’d done to their precious “Cecilia”. Isia was the sort that felt like she’d go along with it for the laughs, and Vesper… I wasn’t sure.
Seeing what I’d been made to put on, my revenge would be without mercy.
The “caveman cosplay” was about as cheap as it could come. Sneakers that’d been dipped into brown paint, a black pair of shorts (that were very short) underneath a synthetic leopard-print loincloth, torso devoid of anything other than blue paint, and a plastic wolf-bone mask. My weapons of choice were the Bulstra on my back, alongside a crowbar that’d been painted the same brown as the shoes.
To say I felt out of place would be an understatement.
Strangely enough, this wasn’t the most embarrassing thing I’d done for work.
“Now remember to thank the sponsor.” My earpiece chimed up with Vesper’s voice. She and the others had set-up shop away from the combat area. Isia and Quinn were overwatch while Vesper herself had a finger on the stream’s pulse. The feed had a delay to it, and she was the one in charge of making sure to cut it if something went amyss.
“...and thanks to FRUIT: Shadow Flavors, an epic collection of unique taste-texture combinations right in your mouth.” Shoulders slumped, I began walking into the Well, loudly banging the crowbar against the rebar to make some noise, hopefully draw in some monsters sooner. “Out of curiosity, how many viewers do we even have right now?”
“Two.”
“Oh, hi.” I waved at one of the drone cameras.
“You can ignore them. One’s a moderator bot, the other’s FRUIT’s lawyer-bot keeping an eye that we don’t breach contract.” Isia huffed.
Was it wrong to feel good from having no one watching me lug around a caveman cosplay? I was going to go with yes. “If there are no viewers, how come we have a sponsor?”
“Shitty brands trying to get their name plastered all over for perception points. They pay everyone. And I mean *everyone*.” Vesper quipped in. “Might as well get some free cash while we’re starting up. Hopefully a real sponsor will show up sooner rather than later.”
“I guess I see the point.” I glanced around for a moment. “Is it me or are there fewer monsters than last time around?”
“We’d cleaned the area a week back.” Isia chimed in. “Thought to give you an easy pace to warm-up.”
SKREAAAAH
SPLAT
I frowned at the goopy frothing bits that remained of the mouther corpse, then looked around, not a sign of another monster to be found.
“You were supposed to play it up as it being hard.” Quinn quipped in annoyance. “The point of the stream is to stretch it out, wait until there’s more of an audience before you start on the serious stuff. To avoid burning yourself out early.”
Normally, I would agree.
But there were too many things on my mind, and I needed those points.
With a sigh, I shook my head.
“Isia, could you please point me somewhere more active?” Twirling the crowbar, I started to jog.
“Why? Wanna make your cherry-popping stream more memorable?” She laughed, earning an audible groan from Quinn.
I just nodded.
“I want bonus pay.”
----------------------------------------
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“You sure we shouldn’t have told him there are already a hundred viewers?” Quinn asked, fiddling with the controls and settings of the various moderator-bots. The cyborg took a pained look at the input streams and grimaced. “Camera two keeps glitching. Are you sure there’s no mirage-monster there?”
“Not seeing anything through either of my scopes. Maybe it’s just broken?” Isia muttered from her perch in the underpass. “Also no, those viewers don’t count, they’re mostly the gang. Also also, our cutest new recruit’s attention-shy.”
Quinn rolled their eyes. “All corpos like attention.”
“Corpos also don’t like getting their hands dirty.” Isia pointed out right as their newest member was splattered in monster-gore. “He grimes up well.”
Vesper’s voice came hesitant. “Grimes… up?”
“You know, how some people ‘clean up well’ when they look good after putting on a suit? That, but in the other direction.” Isia explained. “Bathe him in a gallon of monster blood and damn, he could knock down my room’s door any day.”
The techie of the group sighed loudly, rolling their eyes. “Vesp, could you tell her to stop? Last thing we need is the troglodyte turning into another Johnathan situation.”
“First you say he’s a corpo, then you say he’s a troglodyte.” Isia needled on.
“You need to be stupid to be a corpo.”
“Point.”
“Both of you are idiots.” Vesper sighed. “Isi, Quinn’s still right. We need this to work.”
“You’re the gonks.” She huffed. “I’m perfectly capable of-oh my!”
The conversation came to a halt as their newest gang member proceeded to thrust the crowbar into an F’s socket, breaking the skull as the weapon came out on the other end. Then, hefting the now limp corpse, tossed it at the next F-class before it evaporated in fizzy steam. In the tangle of limbs and claws, Axel’s crowbar met the skull of his next victim. A display of raw brutality, with just another two full swings before the monster had gone limp.
Quinn suppressed the urge to gawk. Just trying to fathom the amount of industrial-strength cybernetic upgrades they’d need to compare… it was a daunting proposition with many zeroes.
It just didn’t make sense. How could anyone be able to exert that much force without either being a meguca or being more chrome than flesh!? “Think how shit would’ve gone down had Johnathan been able to bend crowbars.”
Axel wasn’t even breathing hard as he headed for the next victim.
“Yeah, ok, fair.” Isia hurried to answer.
Satisfied that at least this little bit of stupidity had been snipped, Quinn got back to fixing more of Cecilia. Barely sparing a glance at the four separate chat-instances watching the stream. The audience had doubled, and clips were starting to circulate in the broader net… at which point their metrics hit the paywall.
They weren’t worried much about that. If they went district-viral the viewer count would reflect that in short order. Right now, setting up a base of core fans was more important than the potential ad revenue.
“By the way, we need to restart the surveillance rotation again.”
They didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. “Why?” It would mean a lot more time doing nothing moving around the district and sending out swarms to scan the place.
“The shush-monster.”
With a sigh, Quinn shook their head. “And what will we do if it shows up? Throw our caveman at it while we run?”
“Axel’s impressive, but anything that can stand up after being hit by Bear is something I’d rather avoid entirely,” Vesper said quickly. “That, and word on the street is that Bear’s offering good creds for any leads. I’m sure she’d come running if we had confirmation.”
“I bet she is. Monster escapes in her own territory? Live? No proof of elimination? There’s already gonk-chatter that Polar-Paws are going weak.” Quinn’s movements stilled as they carefully connected two wires and began checking the readouts. “Not that it’s anything but stupid gonks. The Paws are still racking in views out of the whole thing, I heard they went viral enough to hit third-district news.”
Quinn paused their work for a moment, frowning at drone camera two as the image twitched again. The drone kept bumping RAM consumption randomly and dropping the frame-rate, making the image stutter. Probably a buffering issue they’d need to debug sooner rather than later.
“Man, I wish we had our own shush-monster encounter.” Isia muttered wistfully. “Shows up, kills monsters, doesn’t hurt humans? That’s some preem old-school cryptid meme material right there.”
“I swear if you make an aliens and probing joke I’ll strangle you in your sleep.”
Isia cackled. “Oh Quinnie, I thought you’d never ask!”
“Slut.”
“Prig.”
Quinn scowled. “Where did you even learn that word?”
“I’ve a ‘word of the day’ calendar app.” Isia boasted. “It was yesterday’s word. Prig: a self-righteous gonk that-”
“I know what a prig is!”
“Guys.” Vesper cut off, voice sharp. “Don’t want to spoil the fun, but we’ve got a situation. Perimeter ping. Three E’s incoming.”
“Shit.” Quinn and Isia cursed at the same time. Activating combat protocols, the cyborg bumped up internet-feed access for their drones in preparation for a potential clusterfuck.
While they were all panicking, Axel had caught the monster’s scent in the wind, and was looking forward to the stress relief.