Chapter 19 - Factions

Regrettably sober, I wandered back in the direction of the Residential Towers. I wanted to be alone, even if that meant crawling into my empty little tube and dwelling on what had transpired. This world was an assault on the senses. Information overload. I needed more time to process.

I reached the concrete quad creeping beneath the overhangs of the khrushchevka-style high rises. I watched a few anonymous Volunteers riding the cage elevators up until the bleak buildings swallowed them. I had an idea. Before I retired, I should test out my new skill.

Stepping into the center of the gloomy quad, towering buildings surrounding me and only pale street lights illuminating the hard ground, I took a deep breath. No eyes were watching me, as far as I could tell.

How do I activate this thing?

Mentally, I concentrated on my internal skill slots, recalling them to the forefront of my mind’s eye. There they were. Four cubes, able to be rotated into any configuration I wished. Three were vacant. One had a sort of icon representing the Clurichaun skill, the same green and red hue as the pre-fused data card.

I tried to reach out into space to grasp the icon, but touched only air. My menu wasn’t open. This was a different process. I could try to open my menu and manually select the skill, but in the heat of battle that would be wasted seconds. There had to be a way to instinctually activate the skill, similar to how I had learned to materialize and dematerialize equipped weapons.

I focused on the Clurichaun skill, imagining that I was highlighting the box in the same way I would highlight an object or something in my menu to view more details. The outline of the cube shone. I had selected the skill. Just a little more…

Shooom.

[Clurichaun skill activated. 30 seconds remaining]

[Energy: 0 remaining]

A few feet in front of me, an image of myself appeared. A perfect replica. I had not been concentrating on where to project this image as I was so focused instead on whether I could activate the skill at all. Amazed, I slowly walked in a circle around the projection.

It was me. Well, it was ‘me’, anyway. A vaguely familiar human simulacrum with skin the color of raw almonds, generic androgynous features, a horizontal slot in the back of the exposed neck, not a strand of body hair beyond eyebrows and eyelashes, and a pretty cool hairstyle if I do say so myself. This figure wore a white t-shirt, overlaid with a black ballistic vest, black tactical pants, and matching boots.

It wasn’t a static image, but stood in the posture I had stood in when activating the skill, ever so subtly moving and swaying with the illusion of life. I wondered, could I choose the posture, or even control the movement of this projection? I would need a lot more practice. Maybe a higher Adeptness or Protocol would enable me to manipulate the projection.

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I paced the quad, admiring my handiwork from different angles until the timer ran out, and the image dissipated into a wisp of nothingness.

[Clurichaun skill elapsed. 30 seconds until recharge]

Regardless of the cooldown period, I couldn’t practice using the skill again because my Energy was zero. I realized I had never experienced zero Energy before. And I felt it. A heretofore unknown lacuna. Like a crash after riding an extended caffeine buzz. My stamina was sapped. And shooting up with a 250 Crypt Replenisher Injection to gain only 10 Energy back didn’t seem cost effective. Perhaps there was a way to forge some consumables that would restore my Energy reserves. Otherwise I would have to wait for the next Cycle.

However, an unintended side effect was that 30 additional metabytes of storage were temporarily freed up. Good to know that in a tight spot, I could burn a skill in exchange for extra space. Alright. Enough of this. It was time to return to Plan A - crawl into my capsule and brood.

“Hey you!”

I froze. That voice was familiar.

Two men in black denim and leather decorated with cobra patches stepped into the quad. One had a reverse mohawk, black marble eyes, and a steel jaw. The other was pale, with buzzed hair, a silver grill, and one shiny metallic hand. I hadn’t remembered seeing a metal hand on him before. New upgrade?

I materialized my revolver and pointed it at them. They were unarmed, for the moment, and slowly approached with their hands raised in the air. Razor and Buzzcut. Buzzcut wouldn’t meet my gaze.

Take one more step and I’ll shoot!

They stopped. Both looked at the ground now. Razor spoke for both of them.

“We’s not ittying to spar. Our leader has commanded us to come gives our appy-polly loggies.”

What? Apologize? You’re here to apologize?

Razor nodded, eyes still downcast.

I carefully walked forward, training my revolver at the goon. Why wouldn’t these dram buzzards just leave me alone? My trigger finger was feeling unusually itchy.

“Our leader commands us. He wants to meets with you to make veshches right. He’s inviting you to our domy for an audience.”

Your leader? The leader of the Serpents?

Razor nodded again. He turned his head as I brought the barrel of my gun closer and closer. To my astonishment, both men got down on their knees before me, eyes averted. Feeling bold, I pressed the barrel against Razor’s forehead. He flinched, but remained kneeling subserviently.

I’ve been warned about him. Your leader. Heard he’s dangerous. Why would I go with the likes of you anywhere?

“The bolshy chelloveck swears you will not be harmed. And he never lies. Never. He just wants to govoreet. As a sign of goodwill, he offers a gift.”

Slowly, Razor held out his open palm before me and materialized a small handful of Crystals. I quickly counted ten.

“A downpayment. Another ten if you come. Kopat?”

Then I heard Buzzcut speak. His voice was soft. Did I detect a trace of fear? So totally different were their demeanors from our previous encounters.

“Please. He commanded us to privodeet you back. If we don’t…”