I stood in a state of stupefied disbelief, transfixed by the enigmatic man before me. The cacophonous echoes of the ongoing clash between rival Couriers served as a discordant backdrop to our confrontation.
This middle-aged gentleman, likely in his late fifties, sported a substantial beard that concealed the lower half of his face. Yet, his eyes, still vibrant with life, twinkled with an aura of affability. Notably, his face bore the telltale signs of cybernetic augmentation. The intricate design patterns and pristine materials of these implants suggested an extravagant price tag.
As we locked eyes, he bestowed a gentle, almost fatherly smile and spoke with an air of gravitas.
"I gather you must be the victor here."
Tentatively, I inquired, "Cleo Hano?" invoking the name of my intended target.
"In a manner of speaking," he replied, the corners of his mouth curling upwards. "My name is Noah Cole, and you, my young friend, are on the precipice of altering the very fabric of our world."
My attention was drawn to a peculiar object in his hand. A small, translucent, and self-illuminated die-like contraption commanded his focus. He remained motionless, save for his fingers, which engaged in an intricate dance with the enigmatic object. All the while, that ever-present, knowing smile clung to his lips.
"I came for the Gold Tier, but..." I began, my voice trailing off, uncertainty gripping me.
"I am aware," he interjected, obliterating the device into a cascade of radiant particles with an effortless flick of his fingers. The minuscule fragments danced and swirled around his digits, ultimately succumbing to absorption into his skin.
He closed his eyes with an air of solemnity and, as if expelling his final breath, whispered:
"And so it begins."
I found myself immobilized, unable to process the surreal tableau unfolding before me. It was a bewildering confluence of contradictions — was this the Gold Tier subscriber? What was the significance of the alternative name, Noah Cole? And most perplexing of all, had this man just taken his own life?
As I grappled with my myriad questions, the entrance to the apartment violently splintered open, revealing the presence of another Courier. His left arm appeared grievously mangled, emitting discharges of arcing electricity, and a crimson cascade of blood marred his eyes, which darted incessantly between Noah and me.
Without affording him the opportunity to react, I sprang to my feet and swiftly connected my receptacle to the Subscriber input embedded in Noah's body. As my consciousness wavered and the tendrils of a throbbing of the usual headache took hold, I glimpsed the infuriated Courier. In a fit of impotent rage, he unleashed his wrath upon the wall, shattering it into pieces before vanishing from the scene.
I had won.
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My vision dissolved into an inky abyss, and my head throbbed with an intensity far surpassing the customary discomfort associated with downloading a Soul. Rapid flashes of foreign memories bombarded me, each image fleeting and disjointed. I was plummeting into a void of chaotic imagery, each frame marked by searing agony.
I instinctively reached to touch my head, but my tactile senses betrayed me. It was as though I had no physical form. The memories cascaded through my consciousness, disjointed and elusive, as I hurtled down this disorienting vortex of experiences for what felt like an eternity.
Desperation seized me, and I tried to shout, to release the panic welling up within, but no sound emerged from my wordless voice. My body had betrayed me. I was falling further into a chasm of enigmatic images, the pain intensifying with each passing moment.
Then finally, in an instant, the turbulent maelstrom of visions ceased, replaced by the sensation of floating in an otherworldly expanse. Eerie, distant lights shimmered like stars in the cosmic sea, while iridescent tendrils of amorphous color ebbed and flowed. I remained disembodied, a mere wisp in this surreal realm, devoid of substance.
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Pain again, shocked me with violence, as if my mind was teared apart in every direction. I tried to hold back.
A spectral figure coalesced before me, a quasi-ethereal manifestation of Noah himself. Drifting closer, he extended a calming reassurance.
"Remain calm," his spectral voice urged, "allow it to unfold. I assure you, there is nothing to fear, you'll survive this."
Strangely compelled to heed his advice, I relinquished the impulse to resist. Miraculously, the tormenting pain vanished, and with newfound clarity, my vision began to reconstitute.
It felt like an eternity spent in the void, travelling as I saw my memories dissolving before my eys.
Children kicked a soccer ball around, their laughter light and carefree, echoing in the distance.
My gaze shifted to the freighter from just a few days ago, its hulking frame still fresh in my memory. The smoke from my cigarette lingered in the air, curling lazily at first, then swirling and fading, erasing the scene in front of me.
I was letting it all go.
Eventually, my vision returned along with my heads-up display. My cybernetic system had evidently undergone a complete reboot, akin to the sensation following a session at a NeuroDoc's. I found myself sprawled on the floor, a thread of drool marking my recent stupor. As I gingerly stood up, a resurgence of my prior headache bore down on me. Swiftly, I ingested a Beta-Blocker to temper the thumping pain echoing within my skull.
As I surveyed my surroundings, Noah's presence had inexplicably vanished. Time felt distorted, and I couldn't discern how long I had been in this mysterious state. I was besieged by a barrage of questions. What had happened during my absence? How long had I been locked in that peculiar void? And more importantly, where was Noah's body?
My watch displayed the time—2:12. Four hours lost in that bewildering expanse? It was unfathomable.
A deluge of unanswered questions besieged my consciousness. Was this the customary course of a Gold Tier encounter? Who was Noah Cole, and why did the name Cleo Hano surface? Had someone seized the body while I was incapacitated?
The agony in my head surged once more, forcing me to sit on the floor and cradle my throbbing temples. This wasn't like any other Soul retrieval. Even the Beta-Blocker failed to bring full relief.
Droplets of crimson tumbled from my nostrils onto the floor. I hastily wiped the blood away, but the nagging suspicion remained—had my receptacle suffered damage?
I initiated a self-diagnostic, a capability fortunately provided by the MainFrame Receptacle OS. The progress bar crept forward, culminating in a display of results.
"Receptacle status: Online/Connected/No Damage detected
Receptacle Space: 100%"
One hundred percent? How was that feasible? I had just extracted the Soul. Could it have been misplaced or stolen? Puzzled and increasingly uneasy, I quickly surveyed the room in search of any signs of intrusion, speculating whether someone had managed to abscond with the Soul during my unconsciousness. However, such an occurrence was theoretically impossible. Once a Soul was safely downloaded within a Receptacle only MainFrame possessed the capability to retrieve it. No Courier would ever dare to tamper with or damage a competitor's Receptacle once it housed a Soul—that would be a direct violation. Doing so would invite the full wrath of MainFrame Security. It was suicide.
This perplexing scenario defied logic and reason. Resolving to delve deeper, I initiated an advanced diagnostic for the Receptacle. The procedure extended over an interminable duration before finally yielding a response.
"Receptacle status: Online/Connected
Board Status: 100% - All Clear
Mainframe Soul Chip Status: 77% - Minor Damage - Maintenance Needed
OS Version: 6.11185b
Receptacle Space: 0.4%
Stored Soul ID: N1110VVH11"
I noted the presence of a stored Soul, a detail previously unaccounted for. Was this a glitch from before maybe attributed to the Soul Chip damages? The peculiar configuration of the stored ID arrested my attention. Such a profusion of the numeral '1' was exceedingly uncommon. Typically, these codes consisted of more random sequences. Could this anomality be attributed to the Soul's Gold Tier status?
The relentless agony in my head intensified, forcing me to take an unprecedented step and swallow a second Beta-Blocker. It was only then that the pain began to recede, offering me a semblance of solace.
Shakily, I clambered to my feet and plotted a course for the nearest MainFrame Depot. My head felt oppressively heavy. While the reward for securing a Gold Tier was an astonishing 250,000 Credits, I couldn't help but wonder about the mysteries that still eluded me.
As I moved toward the windows, my heads-up display showed me that the depot loomed tantalizingly close. I made a feeble attempt to activate my overdrive legs, only to discover that the system was offline.
"Damn it!" I exclaimed to an empty room.
The overdrive had been damaged beyond repair during my last jump. I had no choice but to traverse the streets on foot in my journey back to the depot. I trod toward the shattered remnants of the entrance, gingerly navigating the damaged wall that the last Courier left behind, and began the descent to the ground floor via the elevator.