"I need to go with Scout Torch-"

You need to go with Scout-

"You should stay here and-"

Two voices and a box collide to what I can only imagine is Scout Torch's confusion. She looks at me open-mouthed, then back at Broom. Meanwhile, Broom and I are uncomfortably locking eyes, her expression judgemental at my sudden vehemence, and I have the unpleasant mental sensation that Box is doing the same.

I thought I was going to have to convince you to-

Okay, maybe Box is more pleasantly surprised than judgemental.

"Sky, you don't have the training to-"

"I have to do this to protect the village," I declare to both of them. "I'm the only one who can. Wires died to put me here."

Well, him and my creator both, among countless other variables in this reality, but don't let my math interrupt your hero speech.

My cheeks flame up like twin furnaces.

"...you're not an Idiot, Sky," Broom says, shaking her head. "You may have survived last night, but I can't let you go. You don't have the mindset to willingly endanger yourself in service to another. That's why we picked Wires."

"I... you thought I was going to be an Idiot?"

"You were a born Idiot, Sky," Broom scoffs. "You just ended up thinking books mattered more than people."

I didn't think my cheeks could get any hotter. And all this time Great Grandpa was assuring me I was all but guaranteed to be the Memoriam due to my responsible nature! He at least has the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed.

...no, wait, he's just coughing again.

"...Leader Broom?" Torch eventually manages. "What do we do?"

It is highly likely this is reality's local anchor, Sky. We need to investigate, and you are the only one equipped to do so properly. Try to convince her to let you accompany them on the followup scouting mission. I suggest an appeal to her inquisitive nature, followed by-

"I'm going," I insist, trying to stare down Broom.

...I don't know what I expected.

"No, you're not."

I don't think my intimidation tactic is working, so I try a different approach.

"Look," I try not to whine, "if we're dealing with, you know," I hitch my shoulder at Torch unobtrusively, "then I'm the only one who can do it. You saw what it was like. You know that, uhm, the stuff, uhm..."

I trail off, mouth flopping open and closed like a beached fish.

You are-

"-astonishingly bad at this, Sky," Broom finishes, covering her face with one palm. "You're like a brand new Idiot reporting for their first day." Behind me, Torch stiffens to an upright posture, despite the discomfort it causes her, and snaps her hands to her sides.

"I request an immediate update on any pertinent information, Leader Broom, especially if I am escorting a new Idiot trainee, Leader Broom!"

Broom lets out a slow woosh of air that sounds like she's expelling a decade's worth of trouble.

"...fine. Sky, you may accompany Scout Torch and her team on the followup investigation, because I just know you're going to find a way to tag along regardless of what I tell you, and I don't think I can stop you."

Impressive foresight for a barbarian.

"However," Broom admonishes me, unaware of my internal interruption, "if you... 'feel' like the situation has escalated into something untenable, you are to immediately inform the rest of the team so they can take proper precautions. Immediately."

"Absolutely," I agree, heart thumping rapidly. Am I excited or scared? I can't tell. At least I'll be able to plant some more trees for Wires.

"Scout Torch," Broom continues, shifting her attention past my shoulder. "I apologize for everything about this, but I am sending you out with the rawest, most supremely untrained Idiot to ever grace our self-destructive ranks. You and your team are to protect the Idiot unless there is a very compelling reason to do otherwise. You'll know what I mean when you see it," she adds, palming her face once again. I look back and Scout Torch seems to be frozen in her posture, her not-quite-a-grin focused slightly above Broom's head.

"Understood, Leader Broom," she snaps out in a neutral tone. "Standard exploration team?"

"Take whoever you trust," Broom replies wearily. "If I'm not mistaken, we're about to enter the Archives with guns blazing. Teach us what you can."

Somehow, Torch makes her previous stillness look like the excited bouncing of a little one five minutes before lunch.

"Understood," she says in a much quieter voice. "Remember what we find."

"We will," Broom promises in the same solemn tone, and I look back and forth between them in confusion.

Standard warrior culture exchange when faced with a non-viable mission. Broom doesn't think her people are coming back from this, but she needs to know whatever they can learn. She assumes we will fail, and that I will return any pertinent information as a side-product of keeping you alive. Torch is unhappy with her perceived imminent demise, but is committed to her job regardless, because she assumes her life wouldn't be spent casually.

...what to the what now? Broom thinks she's sending us out to die?

Luckily, with my guidance, no one needs to die today, Sky. If the reality anchor is revealing itself so soon, it is either an ad-hoc conglomeration, or an extremely weak intrusion, both of which we can deal with handily. As long as you keep us from succumbing to immediate damage, it will be trivial for me to dispatch the violations. This is actually somewhat fortunate for us.

"You're sure this is necessary?" Great Grandpa asks Broom plainatively, and she gives him a firm nod.

"Sky was the second choice for the generation, Axe. You know this, and you know we're down an Idiot with Wires' passing. Based on the demonstration," she tries not to shudder, "if Sky thinks it's important to be there, I'm willing to back it as a necessary risk. We've survived this long, right?"

Great Grandpa clutches his blankets around himself tighter.

"Then all I can do is ask you to be careful, Sky," he says to me in a quavering voice. "Listen to Torch, please, and don't risk yourself unnecessarily."

"I will, I won't," I don't quite swear, still caught up in that body-thumping rush of whatever feeling this is-

It's adrenaline.

"-but I'll do my best to make sure no one else from the village gets hurt. I promise."

Behind me, Torch lets out a long sigh that doesn't quite cross the line into overly insulting. I turn and glare at her, and she shrugs noncommittally.

"Let's go then, rookie." She shrugs her thin backpack and rifle into a more comfortable position. "We've got our orders. Try and keep up, if you can. Otherwise you're off the team."

She swivels on one heel and sprints out the door, ignoring her earlier exhaustion. I spend a couple seconds swearing, then I'm scrambling up after her.

"Good luck, Sky," Great Grandpa and Broom call as I barrel out of the Archive room, but I'm too focused on chasing the flash of legs in front of me to answer. If I can't catch Torch before she leaves the Archives, I'm pretty sure I'll lose her.

Fortunately, my body moves more fluidly than I've ever felt and I track her down as she's about to burst out the front entrance.

There's nothing 'fortunate' about it. I'm an integrator, and that means I integrate all of your body's current capacity.

Wait, my current capacity? I nearly stumble rounding the Archive's tree trunk, feet flying across the village's interior forest floor.

Yes, Sky. As you absorb more reality, we can access more infinities. Why would you willingly remain an inferior outcome?

I'm not sure how to respond to that yet. I never though of myself as inferior.

Ahh, the innocence of youth. Once you realize what we face, what we must become, you'll look back and laugh about this.

...that doesn't sound very encouraging. Torch looks over at me as I draw even with her, and her eyes narrow. She puts on a sudden burst of speed and I keep pace effortlessly.

"Well... aren't... you... the... over... achiever..." she huffs out, arms pumping next to her sides. Bemused, I look back at her. It feels like I'm barely jogging.

That's because her speed, while decent for someone not integrated, is too slow, Sky. Remember how quickly the violation attacked you and Wires? Remember how fast the Corporate Marauders moved before you found me? Remember the chaos of what happened when the two met?

Knife-edged memories slide out of my recollection, ambushing me mid-stride. This time I do stumble, but an unnaturally graceful step saves me from face-planting in the dirt.

I'm not trying to make you feel bad, but if we're running to confront violations, this isn't a fight Torch is equipped to handle. It's not a fight anyone around you can handle. We're the only ones able to deal with what's threatening your village.

...who's the one making hero speeches now?

Just delivering facts. Ahem. Anyways, I've broken down your body's infinite potential into three distinct categories. The first is Power, which is an amalgamation of your fast twitch muscle fibers, brute strength, raw hitting power, and hundreds of other variables. Investing in Power will increase your close-range combat options in a variety of ways.

...combat options?

You're going to be involved in a lot of fighting from here on out, Sky. I already told you that. The next category is Technique, which includes fine motor control, enhanced perception, and general finesse, among others. If you want to reach out and touch something at a distance, and keep it at a distance, Technique is going to help.

Why do I need to know this? It sounds overly complicated.

I'm actually simplifying it immensely, and it's because I can't collapse fine-tuned reality wave-forms like humans can, Sky. It's a deliberate safeguard built into integrators, and it's why I need you to make it as far as you can before you lose your sanity. Once your mind goes, I'm stuck with whatever infinite possibilities you managed to unlock. If you don't make us strong enough, me and your village are food for the next Combat form that comes along.

Torch leads us to the northern outskirts of the village, now examining me carefully in between measured inhalations.

"You... don't... run... right..."

I ignore her, focusing on my conversation with Box.

...infinite possibilities aren't enough? Also, I don't like this assumption that me losing my mind is a guarantee.

There are infinities, and then there are infinities, Sky. I integrate you with reality, but only as much as you can imagine. I can help you nudge the boundaries of that imagination, but individual perception is one of the few constants when it comes to the multiverse. If you can't comprehend it, you can't perceive it, and if you can't perceive it, you can't use it to alter your environment. Those infinities still exist, and they can still affect you, but as far as you know, it might as well be dark matter affecting galactic gravitation.

...and this is the dumbed down barbarian version?

It really is, Sky. Sorry. There's only so much reductionism the multiverse can take, and it zeroes out well above quantum physics.

This is a lot to think about. I turn my attention back to Torch.

"So what are we supposed to do, then?" I ask as she staggers to a halt in front of a neatly kept cottage on the village limits. She glares at me, gasping for air, hands on her knees.

"I'm... going... to get... Dirt... as soon as... I catch my breath... and then... we're going to run... more..."

She stops talking, her exhaustion outweighing her pride. Weird. I don't feel tired at all.

Last category - Endurance. It's a combination of mental and physical willpower that allows you to, well, 'endure' in the face of extreme circumstances. Consider it the defensive option, for as much as a picosecond-combat multiverse allows for 'defense.' Your infinities skew heavily towards Endurance, in case you weren't aware.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

...makes sense. I don't like getting hurt.

There's 'I don't like getting hurt,' and then there's 'I don't like regular pain but if I think it's worth it I'm a fucking berserker howling at the moon' like you showed last night, Sky. Big fan of that version of you, by the way.

...what's a 'moon?'

Something that got replaced with a gravity generator two thousand years ago due to an encounter with non-causal violations that did not go well. Anyways, I've told you this before, but if you want to survive, you need to think offensively. Endurance isn't what you want to make numbers go up.

But you said you're the one who's going to be attacking everything. All I have to do is keep us alive.

Torch bangs wearily on the door of the cottage.

"Dirt! You there, you piece of shit? Got something really spectacular for you today, so come on out. You're going to love it."

A lugubrious face peeks out at me from beneath one of the hedges bordering the sides of the cottage, melting into existence in a chaotic swirl of leaves and soil. If it hadn't moved, I never would've known it was there.

...that is an impressive camouflage protocol. I would like to know more.

"Tell Torch I'm not here, okay?" the face whispers. "It's my day off."

"Dirt Idiot," Torch howls, unaware of my interaction with the ambulatory bush now scuttling towards the corner of the cottage, "you get your sorry ass out here right now. I'm calling in my favor!"

The bush pauses, then seems to wilt. In sad slow motion, it wobbles back towards us. "Really, Torchie?" it complains, sidling to a halt next to me. "This is my day off."

"Gah!"

I try not to laugh at Torch's sudden exclamation of surprise. Wasn't the moving bush obvious to her?

Your Technique, while not quite abysmal at the moment, is more than enough to identify such a deception once you've been made aware of it, due to my integration. For a non-integrated human, though, he is quite skilled.

"I told you not to sneak up on me, Dirt," Torch complains, rubbing a hand across her bloodshot eyes. "C'mon, grab your gear, we need to go be Idiots. Say hi to the rookie," she adds tiredly, waving a hand. "Rookie, this is Dirt. He's good at hiding."

"Nice to meet you-" I begin, but the bush is somehow gone.

Very impressive for a non-integrated human. He noticed your earlier penetration of his outer layer of obfuscation, anticipated your predictable response to a predictable social query, and was already moving to secure the primary objective before your baseline senses noticed. If I had considered him a hostile, it would have been trivial to track his movements, but I am still calibrating your general situational awareness.

"What the fuck, Box?" I sigh under my breath. I'm pretty sure it was unnoticeable, but Torch's eyes linger on me for a bit longer than seems normal as she scans the cottage grounds for Dirt.

"He does this all the time," she says unconvincingly, still peering around. "I'd trust him with my life though. He's really smart, even among the Idiots."

"Awww, thanks, Torch," says a gently mounded patch of grass next to her left foot.

"Gah!"

As Torch is busy trying not to collapse on her fatigued legs, the pile of grass rises up, revealing itself to be a short, slightly pudgy man with gently rounded cheeks. He reminds me of a chipmunk wearing an oversized green hooded coat made out of moss.

...of course, most chipmunks don't come with as impressive an array of killing devices strapped to their body that are visible beneath Dirt's grasscloak. There's at least three pistols, five knives, some sort of heavy rifle I haven't seen before, and his backpack is bursting at the seams with-

I am so sorry, Sky. This is the human that should have hosted me. Oh, what we could have been.

"Got my gear. Hi, I'm Dirt," he says shyly, waving at me. Hesitantly I wave back.

"Nice to meet you, Dirt."

He beams at me, then turns to Torch.

"What's the disaster?"

"Potentially hostile super-Glowbeast fauna excursion with an assumed Archival records level rating, and," she tosses her head at me, short black hair swishing across her brown eyes, "unknown variables."

Dirt's face falls slightly.

"Oh my."

"Yuuuuuuup. Now c'mon, lets go, we've got about an hour at a heavy trot and there's no way this rookie is making me look bad again."

"Oh my," Dirt says again, this time giving me a considering look. He smiles genially as we move away from his cottage into a steady run through the forest, his heavy pack and weapons bouncing slightly beneath the cloak. "You made Torchie mad. I like you already. Just know," he leans in closer, smiling wider, "If you can't keep up, I'll have to kill you. It's not personal, but Torchie wouldn't use her favor unless the world was ending. If you're supposed to be here, you better not leave us hanging."

I gulp nervously, still not feeling any exertion from the pace.

Relax, Sky. Like Torch, Dirt also believes he will not return from this encounter, and wishes to reassure himself that it was worth the sacrifice by gauging your apparent value. We will keep him safe too.

"...I'll be fine," I try to reassure the both of us, leaping nimbly over a tree root. "You don't have to worry about me not wanting to do this."

Dirt regards me thoughtfully, then turns his attention back to the run. I feel like his lack of answer is probably the strongest indictment of this plan yet, but I try not to read too much into how grimly they're both regarding our chances of survival. Maybe they're just trying to scare me with how much they've seen as Idiots. Yeah, that's probably it.

The next forty minutes-

Because I was counting.

-pass in relative silence, the only disturbances Dirt and Torch's steady huffs of air. The latter's grow increasingly more strained, until I finally demand that we call a halt.

"Scout Torch. You are not okay. Why haven't you said anything?"

Torch rolls her eyes, wheezing like a bellows as she all but collapses against a slender outskirts tree, one of the wild growth ones. Even Dirt is panting hard, but I feel like I'm just getting warmed up.

"Sorry... it's just that... pulling an emergency run... in full gear from the Final Pass... back to town... then doing it again thirty minutes later... is slightly taxing." She forces herself upright with an obvious effort of will. "I don't know... what your secret is... but unless... you're offering to carry my gear... there's nothing else to do... except keep running." She moves abruptly, lurching back into a wobbling gait. "I'm an Idiot. There's no way I won't make it. Try and keep up."

We could carry her with our limb. Though she might complain about that.

As we set off from our impromptu rest site at the edge of the forest towards a distant foothill, I contemplate the idea for longer than I probably should. Picturing Torch's uptight face screaming as an undefinable intrusion hoists her alongside us like a bouncing sack of potatoes, gradually withering away her sanity beneath an open sky of endless stars does have a certain appeal.

...no, no. That wouldn't be fair to Torch.

We'll find someone more deserving to do it to, then. We can carry her packs if you really want to help her.

I look over at Torch's laboring form, the gradually rising slope an obvious torture for her exhausted frame.

"Torch."

"...nghhh... hnghhh... yeah... what... want? 'lmost there... keep... going..."

And just like that she collapses, eyes rolling back into her head, body toppling forward like deadwood.

As fast as she falls, as fast as Dirt lunges to try and catch her, my limb is even faster, plucking her away from the stony ground an inch before her face would have impacted; a grotesquely defiant gesture of reality that makes me burp at the sudden taste of rotting fish.

"...bleagh. That tasted horrible, Box."

Side effects of keeping your mind intact. Should I have let her break her nose?

"...no, no. Saving her is fine. What's the problem, Dirt?" I ask, one of Box's nerve-deadening cocktails pouring through my veins as I carry the unconscious Torch beside me with my limb. Dirt is focusing intensely on me, one of his pistols out and steady at my head even as we continue our run, but it doesn't rattle me.

"Unknown variable. Explain."

I give Dirt the basics as we work our way up the hillside, warning him not to look at the limb holding Torch unless he likes drooling catatonia. Thankfully, he's one of the smartest Idiots I've met, which means he's probably one of the smartest people in the village, and he heeds my warning while asking a minimal amount of questions. I convince him to put the pistol away after Box lets me know I can do backflips while carrying Torch at the same pace Dirt is running, and I demonstrate it to him.

Turns out he just wanted to know if I was capable.

After that, Dirt's more than happy to discuss leaving any potential close encounters to me, preferring the role of something called 'overwatch,' and is absolutely fine with me talking to myself. "I do that too," he confides before ranging out ahead, leading the way to where Torch claimed she spotted the causal violations. Apparently the Idiots have an entire coordinate grid planned out for the valley, and quite a bit of the unknown past it, which makes traveling to exact locations easy for them.

It's called 'basic navigation,' Sky. Now that you're integrated, you can do it down to the centimeter... the florpdong... analyzing foundational memories... really? A top shelf mental health suite for what might as well be eternity, but all they gave you was fuzzy math? No one bothered to come up with a standard system of measurement? Not even imperial?

"A scrumble's always been the length of a scrumble, Box. Why would it not be a scrumble?"

...I believe I have mentioned that this tutorial experience is the worst. Watch out for that rock.

I neatly vault over the head-high boulder, continuing my momentum into another sprint up the slope. Dirt is pulling away from me a bit and I can't have him leaving me behind.

"Hey, this Power stuff is kind of fun, Box," I exclaim as I launch myself into a darting run that avoids the loose gravel dotting a steeper slope, my limb still cradling Torch at shoulder height. She's snoring softly. "What's that like?"

With enough focus on those specific infinities, not only could you reduce these obstacles into dust with any close combat weapon you care to name, you could do so while moving through it like it wasn't even there. I am more than happy for you to focus on Power infinities, Sky. Technique is equally acceptable. Just, please don't pick an Avoidance-non-damage-number-goes-up stat ever again, or at least until I tell you it's optimal.

"I like Avoidance, Box. Getting hurt is dumb."

Avoidance doesn't mean you stop getting hurt, Sky. It just means you can get hurt longer until you quantum collapse a death state. Did you not realize that?

...although, perhaps 'Avoidance' is a slightly misleading category name. I can see where the confusion might arise.

"...Box, I no longer wish to focus on Avoidance."

"...dumb choice," Dirt mutters from the top of the hill, his green moss cape somehow now transformed into a brown and grey mottled pattern that's indistinguishable from the hillside rocks and withered scrub. I crawl up next to him in a spider scuttle, following his flicked hand signals to lay Torch down somewhere below the summit. Hand cant is a requirement for anyone even thinking of leaving the village outskirts, and I was always a good student.

"...why's that, Dirt?"

"Avoidance is me up here."

He smiles as he points down the other side, and I gaze down at the hollow boiling with unnatural shapes. I notice he's not looking directly at the seething mass of wrong, and I revise my opinion of Dirt up yet again.

"Avoidance is support."

He pats me lightly on the shoulder.

"You are not avoidance. You are the one who attacks the throne of god to ask why things aren't better. Good luck."

I want to protest, but as I look down at the disgusting stain spreading across the hollow beneath us, I realize Dirt is right.

I am the one who attacks. Wires should still be alive.

We are their end.

Box and I descend on the oily horde of violations like a storm, and I'm not sure why I'm charging into a mass of dead-flesh serpentine horrors, I just know that it needs to happen. My limb whips into existence next to my right arm, fuzzing bone-chitin impossible edges holding the pistol like another part of my body and already firing. Dirty ichor spurts into the air, impossible shots from this range but they're happening.

"...Box?"

...told you... leave the fighting... to me... focus... keeping us alive...

Initializing local control of Dash.exe

A glistening pseudopod flashes at my face, and I instinctively trigger dash. The world flickers, and then I'm in the midst of the monsters, Box unloading our pistol at regular intervals. The initial strike misses, but another lashing whip catches me as four of the creatures surrounding us squirm and fall still.

reality buffer: 17%

Current Life: 110/150

Burning pain erupts across my left side, hot wetness pouring down my side.

Redistributing biomass... projecting biomass totals... projected 62% remaining biomass after Life restoration

...don't... charge into... crowds of... violations... idiot...

reality buffer: 34%

Current Life: 130/150

Box keeps firing the pistol in our limb and dropping monsters without surcease, buying us a brief window of time amongst the thrashing nightmares. I try to ignore the gradually fading pain in my side, along with the flush of inadequacy at Box's words. Maybe Broom was right. I don't have the instincts for this kind of slaughter.

...voidshit... we attack... together... why we... integrated... focus... keep us safe...

Current Life: 150/150. Current biomass: 62%

Another chthonic not-tentacle hammers towards my face, and this time I dash towards an open space, trying to claim Box some time to clear out the nearest targets. Viscous blood flows from irrational corpses, then both disappear, leaving the brief memory of a perfect gunmetal sphere before it's sucked into my chest.

reality buffer: 89%

...almost... verge... another infinity... don't stop...

A howling wall of madness descends from all sides, the entire hollow collapsing on us in a spasm of squirming brutality. I scream my terror as I try to dash to ever-shrinking sanctuaries, the boom of Box's pistol overwhelmed by the otherworldly sounds of reality's hounds, but no matter how many horrors Box takes down, there's always five more to take their place.

reality buffer: FULL

Restoring access to non-causal expressions

...finally... Sky... choose a target...

Trying not to hyperventilate, I point my finger at the heaviest collection of nightmares currently threatening to rip my soul from body.

Executing HipDraw.exe

The god of thunder replaces Box's pistol shots, and eye-wrenching holes of gnashing teeth tear open the writhing mass of creatures, quickly replaced by blinding spheres of obliteration that dissolve anything caught within their gravitational pull into a fine mist. The spheres contract, then pulse once in an overwhelming burst of force and light that jolts the ground like an earthquake that somehow leaves me unaffected. When I can see again, that section of attackers is completely gone, and half the hillside is on fire.

reality buffer: 46%

Now our mobility's back. Almost done, Sky.

I dash towards the gap as Box keeps clearing the space around us of thrashing monstrosities, looking frantically for the next safe spot to move to. However, it quickly becomes clear that whatever it was Box used earlier wiped out most of the creatures, and the ones left are moving slower now, easy pickings for the pistol. I dodge the few that manage to get close enough to make me worry, but I don't end up needing to dash again, and finally the pistol falls silent.

reality buffer: FULL

Aside from the charred craters dotting the hillside, the hollow bears no trace of the swarming tide that just infested it. I find myself gasping for breath even though I don't feel physically tired. I feel... untethered, as if the violent maelstrom I just charged through is only now sinking into my awareness. I drop my hands to my knees, trying to still my shaking legs. Saliva wells up in my mouth and I spit, then again, trying to keep it from turning into full-blown puking.

Relax, Sky. It's over. We won.

I spit one last time, then force myself upright. I need to check on Dirt, and Torch, make sure they're okay.

Well, we won for now. The reality anchor is still nearby.

I may be the only one who can handle these things, but I'm starting to understand why Box thinks I'll lose my mind.

...we'll talk about the anchor in a bit. Let's get you calmed down, and clear the buffer.

I stagger away from the invisible carnage. Will I ever get used to this?