‘Riko Zero. That cannot be your real name. You’re joking with me right? This is a joke and you’re making fun of me?’
‘It’s the name that you’re getting. Would you like me to run through your psychological profile or would you prefer to keep trading barbed words?’
‘I would prefer. Miss Zero, if you would tell me exactly what you want from me.’
‘Ms. Not miss. You can call me Riko or Mariko. Forget about the Zero. To make it simple, I’m here to help you recover your intellectual property and get revenge.’
‘Really.’
‘Yes, and you should be thankful that anyone is willing to put in the effort to help you out given how you like to stare at people without a single smile. Are you an idiot all the time or just today?’
I immediately put a smile on my face. Putting aside my mixed emotions for the moment and my confusion about why someone would be willing to put in the effort to help me I tried my best to keep calm and collected.
‘Better. You should smile at people more; you look far too serious. Now back to business, I’m here to help under strict instructions to do so. The uniform belongs to a group that I’m part of, are you aware of the term PMCs?’
‘Mercenary. Fighting for money.’
‘Dear, we all fight for money. It’s called work. Soldiers get paid and in turn, they have trained and have to enter combat on occasion. Please, don’t call me a mercenary. It would not be appreciated on my side of the fence I assure you.’
‘Ok, you’re a PMC. A private army then.’
‘Better. Don’t forget that smile now.’
I smiled at her across the table.
‘So, I’m here to offer you three things; support, revenge and field testing.’
I felt my body freeze for a moment. Tan-staf-el. There isn’t any such thing as a free lunch.
‘You want field testing?’
‘We are a military organisation. My role however will remain as support. Oh, wait, tolerating you. Try and find someone else who can do that.’
‘Rude.’
‘Honesty cuts more than harsh words. You are difficult to tolerate aren’t you.’
‘I’m sorry for being a human being.’
‘Good, you should have more humility.’
She reached out her hand across the table towards me.
‘Do we have a deal?’
‘I’m not a fan of touching others but I’ll make an exception in your case.’
Fifteen years of my life had cost me to develop a lifetime's ambition of imagining a fantastic dream. I’d started at the age of six.
I recalled being a little kid watching a cartoon about these two men and a woman who wore powered exoskeletons, and a computer on board an orbiting space station would beam down weapons and rescue components to them so they could either fight off the baddies or rescue people from earthquakes. One of them worked on the land, one on the sea and the girl flew through the air.
The orphanage had it on the communal tv and for those who behaved, followed the rules, did their homework, and ate our vegetables it was a nice treat to have. Saturday and Sunday morning cartoons were a way for other kids to escape their situation, for me it was a chance to plan how I’d make my life and what I wanted out of it. What can I say? I was a precocious kid.
As a six-year-old with no family, I loved the idea of it, having your space station that would beam down the equipment so you could take on these massive challenges and become this amazing person who would save everyone. I loved it; the idea was just fantastic.
Childish yes and not quite realistic but I was a six-year-old who grew up surrounded by kids who mainly came and went except for a few who I became a bit closer with. Becoming a firefighter or working in earthquake rescue was my ambition. The cartoon men and women with the armoured exoskeletons were part of my self-education and early introduction to future possibilities. I was a pretty smart kid but tried my best to keep it low-key. Standing out doesn’t always help you in a crowd of faces.
The fact that the characters kept fighting these mutated animals that a crazy bald scientist who was half dinosaur didn’t interest me so much. I loved the scenes where the main characters would use their skills to save people from accidental mudslides or these massive coastal tidal waves caused by a mutated whale shark/frog hybrid.
Sadly those scenes passed quickly as the cartoon was all about physical action and fighting. Believe me, for those short moments my entire focus was on the screen when a group of helpless people were rescued and dumped to safety aboard a rescue vessel that appeared out of nowhere.
Punching and blasting weren’t my things back then despite some of the kids who cheered on either the heroes or the villains. I just saw it as a complete waste of resources and time, especially when the scientist would always escape at the end in his hot air balloon powered by these giant mutated jellyfish. It didn’t have to make sense when it came to cartooning makeshift technology.
The other girls and boys around me enjoyed it so I’d try my best to join in the laughter when we could. Happiness wasn’t in ample supply in a setting where you could be rejected by your foster parents r be rejected.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
My heroes didn’t end up fighting villains but rather rescued people, that was who I wanted to become. Those who risked their lives to save people in need from natural or people-made disasters struck me as the bravest human beings who had ever lived.
The exoskeleton suits were just the technology that enabled them to do better, to be better at saving people. Plus teleportation and a sentient space station with a sassy attitude just looked like a world of fun.
In the real world, there were no larger-than-life baddies who wanted to take over the world or hold countries and regions to ransom. Yes, there was a crime but that was a matter for the police and global arrest authority to deal with. For me, it was a case of people who wanted to do some good in the world and those who wanted to make their way by harming others, either directly or indirectly.
I was desperate to be one of the former. I’d never grown up in a loving family having grown up in an orphanage and never adopted. Not that I’d tried hard to make any parents want to take me in. Some of the kids that did get picked up were good at developing this amazing smile and ability to just connect with people from a young age.
They had been the lucky ones from their perspective, to leave the orphanage and get a home to move into with caring parents and more stuff than we were given. I never got jealous of them and the issue was never raised by the adults who ran the orphanage.
It was assumed that I was a pleasant child who was a little bit quiet and focused but otherwise polite and followed the rules without getting into serious trouble. We were taught ethical lessons about how it was wrong to steal and to belong to a caring family we’d need to learn to fit in and be on the side of the good guys.
The cartoons along with some of the old vehicle and aircraft magazines that had been left around by previous staff who had worked in other occupations but switched to working as teachers for our orphanage made for a strong boost to my imagination. I’d spend hours reading through these magazines with illustrations and information about all types of cars, planes, and trucks.
Some of the pictures didn’t look so good though and when I handed them to one of the teachers telling that it made me feel uncomfortable, they said that I shouldn’t have been reading that kind of junk and it was thrown into a large trash unit outside the back entrance.
During occasional free playtimes outside when we made up different stories and games, some of the kids told me that the building used to be a secret research laboratory with a hidden workroom full of this sticky grey stuff kept in vats. They used to run experiments there and sometimes the kids were taken there to be tested. I hadn’t believed a word of it as I might be gullible sometimes but not that bad.
Lonely kids end up developing great imaginations to deal with the real world given that most of us kids were left alone outside of classes and became a little starved for more attention.
Playtime resources weren’t great, but we’d try out best with what we had. I remember a huge box full of old notebooks, paper and pens had been dumped on us one time and we were told to make our toys. It took some time, but I got used to it.
It made a lot more sense to me why the orphanage had left me alone with my books, pens and paper and improvised research notes. One of the staff had been a failed engineer which meant that he had gone to one of the top universities and ended up dropping out due to the pressure or stress of the work. He still had a lot of enthusiasm for my ideas though as a kid and always encouraged me to write them down and keep them in a folder.
When I became a teenager and still focused my energies on the same concepts it was considered as odd and my teachers in my local high school asked me to channel my efforts into more academic concepts. Then I’d be asked to participate in group sports, I may not be the best player but joining a group dynamic stopped others from questions from causing me any grief throughout high school and eventual graduation.
It had been at the age of eighteen that I’d finally left the orphanage. It turned out that they offered a university grant to the very few children who stayed there long enough and got good enough grades to attend higher education. I was one of the lucky ones who stayed the course and did well enough compared to the others.
The other kids I lost touch with the, but I always remembered their names and faces. I always hoped that they would find their passions and happiness in life as I had. I said goodbye to my home and thanked the teacher and staff for their patience with me then moved on to my university accommodation and accommodation.
I worked out the real-life cost of actually building a space station and the concept of beam technology was so far out there that I didn’t have a clue. Military funding that couldn’t produce viable examples meant that applying for funds didn’t give me any results.
After a point, unless you could offer deliverables, it was highly recommended that I apply my skills and experience to a field that mattered. Research and development would take you in a different direction each time.
Instead, I switched to the idea of the exoskeletons that they possessed, the concept of building a suit that enhanced your physical strength so you could carry the weapons systems on your body.
The idea was interesting but frankly, it just wasn’t offering the versatility that I wanted. The power supply was something that gave me a headache as well. If it was used for military use, then you would need to supply an external battery which would be a direct target or make sure that the charge lasted long enough to get the job done. In short, if you wanted to build a suit for the military that enabled a soldier to carry heavier weapon loads it wasn’t feasible.
I had my initial idea when I had imagined three different things, one was an ink printer, steam from a kettle and a model set of toy plastic bricks which you could build into three different vehicles: a car, a helicopter, and a boat. The water cycle was a simple concept that made me think about how something could change into different states. Liquid into vapour in turn into solid. The printer made me understand how you could a machine could be used to produce a specific copied image.
All of my savings, time, sweat and tears in exchange for an empty warehouse that had been stripped bare. I had been left with my initial prototype that was out of date and only consisted of the bare minimum of nanobots which could barely achieve anything besides function as a clue towards the location of the rest of them. I called them nanobots anyway, the actual word for them might have been different but when you end up reading old science-fiction books then you want to stick with it.
Oddly, it was Mariko who enabled me to understand how I could use my limited technology to change myself physically. Although the power came at a cost to my body and mind but the after-effects were minimal after a few tests runs she told me that it would be the same if I was a formula one racing driver.
The stresses that are placed on their bodies when they race around the track at incredible speeds means that they need to continually strengthen and take care of their physical and mental health. To put it simply, the average human wasn’t designed to be put inside a metal box and subjected to wind and speed resistance, not to mention the vibrations caused by the engine.
I had explained to her how during my time in the hospital I had been told that I had recovered far faster from burn damage than a normal person. She asked me if I thought that it made me special and rather than nod my head, I shook it immediately.
‘Nikolai. You should take it seriously. Being able to heal a few months faster doesn’t make you into a superhuman machine. Given the right training, any military or private security operative can move at incredible speeds. Ever seen fast-twitch musculature? I can even give you a private demonstration if you ask nicely. No, I’m not flirting with you. I said I’m not. Idiot.’
She then explained to me specific martial arts and combat techniques along with a quick run-down of human biology and the limits that could be broken with resources and correct training. Most of it went past my head and I think that she could recognise that as she simply sent me a delivery of textbooks with a note that read roughly and said I needed to read through everything or there would be consequences for my pain threshold. Lovely stuff.