I… will go out and use my new limbs to seize what this new world has to offer! If rewards and danger are proportional, I'm in for a massive reward if I went out now and somehow survived the heat (Rangers lead the way! Pathos +1).
“Mm. Your resolve is acceptable,” Seras commented. I wasn’t sure if it was an observation or a compliment. I didn’t even know what she was comparing me to.
Instead of being distracted by her cryptic statements, I performed a quick functions check on my rifle and my sidearm, and adjusted my rifle sling to a comfortable combat-ready length that made the rifle hang close to my shooting shoulder pocket for quick and easy transitions when engaging a target. In my prime, the Standard Critical Task Evaluation Combat Drill, Rifle Now, would take me only eight seconds to complete. I could snap my rifle to present at a target from the low-ready, land 30-rounds center-mass within a 3-inch circle, tactical reload, and land one in the head; that was almost half the time for the standard Special Forces Operator.
But with my new limbs?
I fumbled through a tactical reload. Luckily, most of the reloading tasks were performed by the supporting hand, in this case, my left, so it wasn’t too bad - a total of four seconds. Enough to pass an infantry course, but not even close to a Ranger’s standard.
I took a long, meditative breath to clear my mind. Self-doubt and second-guessing would only get me killed on the battlefield. I needed to trust in my training, however long ago it actually was. I marched up the stairs and reached for the door with my left hand, so I could maintain control of my rifle with my shooting arm.
I stopped a single inch from the metal door knob and used my new limb instead. Burning my hands on opening a hot door was not the start any sane person would want. My combat gloves should have added a layer of thermal protection, but I wasn’t going to risk it. I grinned in satisfaction when I felt absolutely no discomfort after wrapping my new fingers around the knob and pulling it open. I flinched at the sudden wave of heat as the first of three insulation buffers were broken. I had three thick, metal doors that led in and out of my basement. Just opening the first one was enough to burn my eyes. I threw open the second one with reckless abandon and grit my teeth. I took a few breaths to grow accustomed to the temperature, grateful for all the austere conditioning training the Rangers forced me to endure. Finally, I ripped open the third and final door like ripping off a bandage and immediately started gasping and struggled to climb up the stairs and into my living room.
Thick mist filled my vision and fogged my sunglasses. It was like stepping into an oversaturated sauna. The water I left running through the house created a pervasive cloud of steam when it was hyper-heated by horrific temperatures. My house wasn’t the sturdiest thing in Texas, but it was still built using modern insulation techniques. A quick look at my wall-mounted thermometer told me it was at 210F, the barest limit for human survivability. The hottest sauna in the world was around 250F and you were only allowed to stay for 10 minutes. I needed to find a way to cool off or I’d fucking die of heat stroke. Hairline fractures littered all my windows, meaning at some point the temperature outside had to be at least 100F higher than indoors.
Going outside wasn’t an option. I could get to my car, blast the AC, and hope the double layer of home and vehicular insulation would be enough to survive for an extended period.
First, I went to check on the door. I gently waved my supporting hand back and forth to clear through the mist when I heard something skitter from the direction of the kitchen.
I spun, dropped to one knee, snapped my rifle up into my shooting shoulder, and flipped the safety to semi-automatic. The mist made it impossible to see any further than two feet in front of me and using thermals would just blind the shit out of me with how hot it was. Shining a light was just as pointless; the mist would reflect off all the moisture. That left me with one option: I strained my hearing.
The pitter-patter against my tiled kitchen floors muted to long drags along my carpet. Whoever or whatever it was closing distance toward my position.
“Stop.” Training took over. My voice became commanding and robotic. I went through measured steps to de-escalate the situation. “My name is William Fletcher. This is my house. Under Texas law, I am entitled to Castle Doctrine and Stand Your Ground! I am ordering you to identify yourself or I will-”
The skittering suddenly increased in intensity and volume. Holy shit! They were right in front of me!
I flipped my selector lever to three-round burst and squeezed the trigger just as a gigantic, hairless rat the size of a fucking Great Dane lunged into my field of view. It fell back with a yelp as three bullets of 5.56 tore through its skull and upper torso. I switched to semi-automatic and tapped the skull one more time to be sure. Screw hors de combat. International law didn’t apply to giant mutant fucking rats with teeth the size of a KA-BAR.
“What the fuck?!” I reloaded my magazine as a wave of confusion and fear set in. Another giant rat leaped over the corpse and charged me. I shot it dead with another four rounds but they suddenly kept coming. How many were in my fucking kitchen?! Did they gather here because it was cooler in my house?! Did they come from inside the walls?!
I snapped my selector lever to full auto and began to strife my point of aim across my narrow field of vision while slowly backing toward my front door. Giant rat bodies started to pile up in front of me, creating a wall of flesh that cornered me into my tiny foyer. My back hit the door.
Fuck! I can’t go outside!
My rifle clicked and I botched a reload. The magazine fell to the floor and so did the rats as they scurried over their dead brethren to bite at me. Out of sheer reflex and countless hours of ingrained training, I switched my rifle to safe with my off-hand and drew my M18 handgun with my shooting hand. Time slowed as I unloaded 21 rounds of 9mm into the closest of the rats, killing five.
Only three remained, but they were enough to tackle me into the door when I tried to reload my sidearm.
Energetically, I will meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them with all my might. Surrender is not a word I know!
That mantra saved me countless times, and so it did again.
“Eat shit!” I poured every ounce of my anger, hatred, sorrow, confusion, frustration, and pain into my new leg and roundhouse kicked one rat so hard its skull splattered against the wall. I paused in shock then grinned viciously.
My limbs are literally-fucking-metal!
Before I could reorient my tactics to take advantage of my newly acquired weapon system, the other two rats pinned me to the ground and tried to tear into my body. I grabbed my rifle with my left hand just in time to use it as a shield against the jaws of one rat. Out of sheer desperation, I had to use my right forearm to occupy the other’s mouth.
They bit, clawed, and tore with reckless, starving abandon. We entered a brutal tug-of-war stalemate, but it wouldn’t last very long. The two giant rats were slowly prying my rifle and my right arm apart to expose my soft, meaty torso.
My combat knife wasn’t suitable to kill rabid, medium-sized animals in a fight like this. I needed something bigger. Longer. I looked up for any improvised weapon within reach. Like any good Texan, I had a solid steel bat stationed in my umbrella holder right behind my front door. But my eyes were drawn to my old kriegmesser, a curved German longsword. It was a bit of a collector’s item I bought for about $2000 due to my love of HEMA before I joined the Army. I left it close to the door ‘just in case’ someone untoward tried to force their way into my house, but it was eventually forgotten along with my old adolescent hobbies.
I focused on the rat pinning my right arm with its fangs, isolated one of its hindlegs, and heel-smashed the knee joint. I reached for the sword when it recoiled in pain. I swatted its head with my newfound weapon to shut it up and to toss off the scabbard. The blade hummed, not having been drawn in years. I thrust it into the eye socket of the rat still mindlessly nibbling on the rifle I clutched in my left hand. It fell to the side with a death twitch.
I kicked off the corpse with my foot and rolled up to a fighting stance as the final rat tried to limp away on its broken leg.
“I’m bottomed out on mercy, Shithead.”
I lunged, recalling all of my old HEMA techniques, and brought my blade down in a decisive, overhead slash, my right arm providing far more leverage than I thought possible. The sword sliced cleanly through the rat’s spine and halfway through its stomach. I retracted the sword and finished off the half-dead rat with a downward thrust into its skull.
“S-should’ve… called an exterminator last week…” I fell flat onto my face as the adrenaline drained from my blood. I needed to get to the basement and post myself against my portable AC. But I’d probably collapse on my way down the stairs or trip on all the rat corpses. I wasn't sure I'd get up if I fell.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Heat stroke. After all this bullshit, I was going to die of fucking heat stroke.
“Objective,” I repeated the Ranger creed. “What’s my objective?” I fought through the brain fog to recall my primary objective.
“Car. AC. Car. AC. Car. AC.” I crawled toward my garage. I didn’t know how long it took. I didn’t care. At some point, I pulled myself to my feet and staggered toward my car. I groped for the door through the haze and opened it only to be assaulted with another wave of heat. I almost fell backward but I forced myself to hang onto the doorframe. I knew if I fell now, it was over.
Instead, I collapsed into the front seat. My car was tailored to my disability so it automatically turned on with an easy press of a large start button. That was good. Fine motor function was beyond me.
“Alexa, AC. Max. Now!”
“Yes, Will. Turning on the vehicle AC now. How are you doing today?”
“Dying! Point air vents at the driver's seat!”
“Will, the garage door is still closed. Remaining in the vehicle is dangerous. Should I open-”
“No, god damnit!” I screamed. “Shut the driver's seat door!”
“Closing the driver's seat door.”
The door gently closed and locked. I unbuckled my helmet, stripped my body armor and my combat shirt, and shoved my face into the nearest vent to inhale the sweet cool air. I choked and gasped, but took as much as I could into my lungs. I lost the strength to keep my body up so I just leaned my weight into the dashboard. I couldn’t stay in the car. I’d either die of carbon monoxide poisoning or the engine would overheat once it ran past 300F. I could already see steam starting to leak from the hood.
Somehow, even after only a few minutes of soaking in the AC, I was already feeling worlds better. Even my sweating stopped.
I allowed myself ten more minutes to recover then shut off my engine before the car could suffer more heat damage and dragged my ass and my gear out back into my basement. I recovered enough to shuffle down the stairs and shut the doors behind me. Though it was still around 170F, my basement was over 60F cooler than the house above it. I collapsed by the AC and marveled at the miracle of modern technology. Power was still running, which meant the electrical grid was still functioning, at least for now. I had no idea how long it’d take before that stopped. I could only hope it’d be long enough to survive until the temperature dropped.
I just needed to wait until the next phase of the apocalypse started: the endless hurricane storms. Hundreds and hundreds of millions of tons of ocean water were undoubtedly circulating through the atmosphere after this flash heat wave and once it started to rain, it wouldn’t stop for weeks. That would be my shot; I’d need to get to high ground: Guadalupe Peak would be my best bet.
With a plan in mind, I found my eyes too heavy to keep open. I closed my eyes only to see the System appear, clear as day, through the darkness.
“Seras, what the fuck?!” I snapped my eyes open and searched for the silver-haired beauty but saw no trace of her. My Status option was glowing and out of morbid curiosity, I mentally commanded it to open.
Status
Name
William Fletcher
Level
1st
Class
None → Gunblade
Health
0/14
Mana
10/10
Attributes
Strength
12
Wisdom
12
Dexterity
12
Intelligence
10
Constitution
12→14
Charisma
10
Aspects
War-Forged (Unique)
E
None→Indomitable (Unique)
E
None→Marksmanship
E
None
-
Skills
Augmented Body (Organic)
The user’s right arm, left, and right leg’s attack and defensive power now scale off of the user’s Strength and Constitution. This Skill is lost if the limbs are amputated or removed.
Source: War-Forged (Unique)
None→Environmental Resistance
The user’s resistance to environmental effects is further enhanced by their Constitution and the Rank of this Skill's Source Aspects.
Source: War-Forged (Unique), Indomitable (Unique)
“Now, this here’s some high-speed, low-drag shit!” I whistled at my Status window. All these upgrades to my Status were probably because I chose to venture out into near-certain death. Environmental Resistance caught my eye. So that’s why I was feeling so much better. My Class was now Gunblade, which was probably because I chose to use a sword at the very last second. Given the option, I would’ve favored something that emphasized ranged attacks, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I’d have to improvise, adapt, and overcome as always.
“Are you satisfied with your reward, William?” Seras' voice cooed into my mind. The System disappeared, replaced with Seras lounging in my armchair. She was still naked as the day she was born, and now that the shock and awe were starting to subside, I found myself growing more and more attracted to her womanly charms. She posed a bit so I could get a better look at her body and elegantly tucked her hair behind her ear, holding a disarming smile the entire time.
“I’m learning more about the type of girl you fancy. Do you like it?” She batted her eyes.
I swallowed hard. I hadn’t had sex in fucking years - not since my disability - so she was clearly preying on my sexual frustration to get me to lower my guard. Instead of answering, I changed the topic. It was my turn to sit on the workbench while she reclined in the chair like a queen.
“Let’s say I’m interested in this little game of yours,” I started with a grin. This was the first time in a long time I had true physical, emotional, and mental agency. My life as a disabled veteran was now over. I planned to seize this second lease on life with every ounce of my new strength.
War-Forged. Indomitable. Those were damn good descriptors of how I felt right now.
Seras' lips curled enough to show her teeth. She was reading my thoughts.
“What’s in it for me?” I finally asked.
“Prestige. Money. Women. Even Magic. Power. You can gain and lose many things. But most of all, William, there is freedom. If you survive, you will be free of the shackles that bound you to a life of… whatever it was you lived before.” She waved an idle hand as if dismissing all of my struggles up until now like they were the mist that crept into the basement. She uncrossed her legs, stood, and mounted me, her legs wrapped around my waist and her arms laced behind my head. Despite my body armor and my clothing, I felt her bare skin grind against mine, as if we were both stripped and she was dry-humping me.
“Mmm, William, what will you do now?” She nibbled on my ear.
I…
1. A) …Licked my lips. My dick was dry for far too long and I had plenty of time to kill until the temperature went down. Hologram. Illusion. Hallucination. It didn’t matter. Seras felt real. “I’m going to fuck your brains out,” I purred into her ear. (Pathos +2)
1. B) …Pushed Seras away. “I got nothing but time. I’m going to grill you for more information.” (Logos +1)
1. C) …was going to prepare myself while I still could. I left my kreigmesser in my house and I needed to do some weapon maintenance on it if I was going to use it as one of my main weapons. Once the storms started, the roads would be flooded up to my waist. I needed to pack as much as I could into my truck before the 2nd phase of the apocalypse started or I'd be stuck up literal shit-creek without a fucking paddle. (Ethos)