The holohost gestures to the Drop Ship filled with my squad members, all rigged out in metal combat suits like my own.
“Welcome back, bruhfam! We’re still on the Drop Ship with BootSquad#421. We’re having some trouble getting a straight answer–or any answer–from new recruit Vish Naman here. Why do we care about this particular rec out of all the other meatbags out there in the UAPA? I’ll tell you why!”
The Gnats swarm around me, their micro-lasers lighting me up so the microcams can capture my malnourished, skinny assed “Gandhi” bod in all its 97-lbs weakling glory.
I ignore them, staring dead ahead into the far wall of the fuselage of the Drop Ship and through it, to the lower atmosphere of Predator Planet.
I don’t give a fuck about how I look to the millions of channel surfing couch rats out there on infinite versions of our Earth watching this shitshow.
I’m focusing on the drop that’s only minutes away, where I get abandoned on a strange, hostile planet where unknown things are likely to kill me within minutes of landing on its surface.
“For those of you just surfing in, Vish Naman an outcaste street sweeper’s son from a Mumbai slum who lost his father, then his brother, and spent his teen years struggling to eke out a survival level income to help support his struggling mother and younger sister and keep them safe in the aftermath of the greatest global disaster in human history.”
The holohost drones on, retelling my sob story to their viewers. Probably because the Mega-AI shows that I stand a fractionally better chance of getting engagement than most of the other typical hardcore soldiers out there.
Well, boo fucking hoo.
Cue the orchestra of tiny violins.
Holohost turns the full glare of their limelight on my face, forcing me to blink to re-orient my vision.
“So tell us, Vish Naman, how does it feel to be landing on the same Predator Planet where your elder brother died only a short while after his own boot camp training began a few years ago? Do you feel the pain of his loss? Does it make you wonder if it’s a family curse? That you’re going to go out the same way? Or do you think you’re going to buck the odds and survive longer than he did. Maybe even survive the first day? Tell us, Vish Naman, do you feel lucky or do you feel lucky!”
I turn my head to stare at the cluster of Gnats that seem to think they have the most engagement-triggering angle on me.
I hold my gaze, stony and unrevealing, giving away nothing.
Am I going to spill my guts to this holohost reporter and their viewers on multiple Alphaverse versions of Earth?
Nope.
No way.
No how.
Never gonna happen.
I’d rather die unknown and unsung than tell that fucking sob story.
“Fuck off,” I say now, watching my Social Rating tick down.
“Fascinating!” holohost’s smile doesn’t waver a millimeter. “The recruit commits PR suicide before his career even started! Have you ever seen anything like it, bruhs? Is he just feeble-minded or socially ignorant? Does he know the amount of potential sponsorship and advertising dollars he just missed out on? Probably not! One thing’s for sure now. Whatever else happens to this guy, this SlumDog ain’t gonna become no Millionaire!”
“Shut your traps and stow the chitchat!” The Mega-AI cuts through everything. “Hyperscience signature detected. Battlemage incoming. Look sharp, Marines! You bunch of lowlifes are about to rub shoulders with the pride of the Alliance!”
[Reality Breach Imminent]
Timeline: Converging
Dimensional Stability: 47%
Your Stability: 12%
Note: The fever helps you see
Through the viewport, space itself begins to twist.
The movement sends a wave of nausea through me—or maybe that’s the malaria, or the hunger that never really goes away.
The metal restraints press against my ribs, each one a point of aching cold against feverish skin.
I can count my ribs through the suit’s inner lining. The doctor at Fort Campbell wasn’t wrong about that.
[Neural Enhancement Active]
Sensory Input: Heightened
Pain Integration: Processing
Reality Recognition: Expanding
Special Note: Suffering is also a teachable moment
A rip tears open in the fabric of reality, and They burst through: Battlemage Keras astride dragon partner Eclipse, their forms wrapped in crackling energy.
At once, I’m triggered, my past lives trauma sending me hurtling back through my multiple-world memories into my twelve year old self, crouching behind an asbestos sheet at the Chhatrapati Park Mela as a malevolent necro-dragon opens its mouths to immolate everyone I love.
Mega-AI roars in our heads: “Battlemage incoming! Show some respect, Marines! You’re looking at one of the veteran superstars of the Alliance!”
Through a purple rip in the sky, they emerge. Wardragon and Battlemage, mount and rider bonded together in a power pair that can manipulate the very grain of reality.
The only beings formidable enough to confront and, in sufficient numbers, overpower even the fearsome might of the Necro-Dragons.
Sheathed in a purple lattice of power streaks, the great dragon and its rider stabilize after their emergence, flying smoothie alongside us the way an F-16 might fly beside a troop carrier back on our Earth.
Except that this beast and its rider are far more formidable than any jet fighter our technology ever invented.
The enormous beast barely seems to move its wings as it keeps pace with our nuclear powered Drop Ship, riding invisible ley lines of power as easily as a bald eagle might ride the high air currents.
The sight reminds me of the temple paintings Aai used to show me of Vritra, the ancient Indian mythic forebear of dragonkind.
“Holy shit,” Ghost whispers. “They’re really real.”
[Memory Trigger: Active]
First Death Pain: Phantom
Emotional Response: Integrated
Power Source: Activating
The dragon’s scales shimmer with impossible colors.
Its bulk is intimidating.
It’s bigger than our entire ship.
I’m thankful it’s on our side but its presence is triggering to my many death memories.
The Battlemage’s armor pulses with mage science circuits.
They call it sorcerience.
As they draw closer, I see how their energies mesh—human and dragon essence flowing together in patterns that hurt my fever-bright eyes to look at.
My hands shake as I grip the restraints, knuckles white beneath skin that’s too pale, too thin.
The suit tries to compensate, nanofibers tightening to steady my grip, but some weaknesses go too deep for technology to fix.
[Biometric Warning]
Muscle Density: Critical
Skeletal Structure: Compromised
Cellular Integrity: 34%
Evolution Path: Opening
Then Eclipse turns its head, and our eyes meet through the viewport.
curiosity/recognition/assessment
[Neural Bridge: Forming]
Connection Type: Enhanced
Fever Effect: Amplifying
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Reality Perception: Expanding
The alien thoughts crash into my mind like a tidal wave, stronger than before, amplified by my fever-heightened senses.
The metal restraints feel like brands against my skin now, burning cold while my core temperature soars.
Through the delirium-edge of consciousness, I see flashes of impossible memories:
Soaring through storms of dark magic
Burning entire armies to ash
The deep bond between dragon and rider
The vast network of minds across realities
The cold dark thing waiting at the center of it all
[Warning: Neural Load Critical]
Brain Temperature: 40.1°C
Consciousness: Wavering
Reality Lock: Failing
Note: Your weakness is sight
“LISTEN UP, YOU PATHETIC EXCUSES FOR SOLDIERS!” the Mega-AI booms. “YOU’RE ABOUT TO WITNESS HISTORY! PLATOON BOOT421 WILL ATTEMPT THE FIRST-EVER COMBAT DROP IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING A DIMENSIONAL JUMP! CURRENT ODDS FAVOR A 40% SURVIVAL RATE FOR THE DROP ITSELF! AND DON’T FORGET TO SMILE FOR THE FOLKS BACK HOME–REMEMBER, YOU’RE ON HOLO 24/7 FROM NOW ON. BETTING POOLS ARE NOW OPEN. SPEAKING OF WHICH, YOU CAN GET IN ON THE ACTION TOO, MAGGOTS. LIFE IN THE UNITED DEFENSE FORCE IS ALWAYS A GAMBLE BUT AT LEAST YOU CAN PROFIT OFF YOUR OWN DEATH!”
The ship lurches as Keras and Eclipse begin their work.
Reality fractures like breaking glass.
Through the spreading cracks, I catch glimpses of other worlds—some burning, some dead, some overrun by the Necromancer’s forces.
I see New Delhi in flames, dragons with rotting wings circling its ruins. Mumbai’s towers transformed into spires of black crystal.
Somewhere in that infinite maze of parallel Earths is our target, Predator Planet, waiting.
The jump hits like a sledgehammer to the soul.
Colors that shouldn’t exist sear my retinas.
My bones try to occupy the same space as themselves across a thousand dimensions. The wooden charm burns against my chest like a coal. The fever spikes, and suddenly I’m nine years old again, burning in dragon fire, watching my family melt—
Time loses meaning. I see fragments of other jumps, other platoons, other versions of ourselves scattered across infinity. In one reality, we’ve already died. In another, we never lived at all. The boundaries between what is and what could be blur like wet paint.
Through it all, I cling to Aai’s teachings, to Krishna’s words.
Do your duty without attachment to the fruits of your actions. The struggle itself is our dharma.
Even here, between moments, between worlds, between breaths of scalding air in a freezing suit, that shloka still applies.
In essence, Krishna’s timeless words to his disciple Arjuna are not that dissimilar to the mindset of an American soldier, which is what I am now, thanks to my taking Senator Harrison’s deal and becoming a citizen of the United States of America, courtesy the Draft Immigration Act.
Follow orders, kick ass, and leave the rest to God, soldier.
“WAKE UP AND SMELL THE MONSTER BLOOD, SHITBOOTS!” The Mega-AI’s drill sergeant tone cuts through my thoughts.
Reality snaps back with the force of a punch to the face.
Through fever-bright eyes, I see our destination: Predator Planet.
Our equivalent of Boot Camp. Basic training under fire.
“DROP COUNTDOWN INITIATED, YOU SORRY EXCUSES FOR SOLDIERS!” the Mega-AI bellows. “HATCHES OPENING IN 10... 9...”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the holohost addresses their audiences in perfect sync, “you’re about to witness history. Platoon BOOT421 will attempt the first-ever combat drop immediately following a dimensional jump. Current odds favor a 40% survival rate for the drop itself. Betting pools are now open, sponsored by—”
“Hey Gandhi,” Tank calls out, his voice shaking. “Try not to die too quick. I got fifty CAP riding on you lasting at least an hour.”
“8... 7...”
Iron almost drops his rosary and stops reciting to curse.
“6... 5...”
Havoc’s laughter has turned to hiccuping sobs.
“4... 3...”
Wraith begins a prayer in Spanish.
“2... 1...”
The floor vanishes. My stomach lurches into my throat as we plummet into nothingness. The suit’s heads-up display floods with numbers:
[Altitude: 47,392 meters]
[Terminal Velocity Approaching]
[Multiple Suit Systems Critical]
[Formation Integrity: FAILED]
We’re supposed to maintain delta formation during the drop.
That plan lasts exactly two seconds before the wind tears us apart.
Bodies tumble through the sky like broken dolls.
The Gnats somehow maintain perfect formation around us, capturing every moment of terror in 16K resolution.
Other dropships are dropping their squads all around us, filling the sky with flailing bodies, rushing towards their deaths.
My visor screen flashes the names of my fellow recruits as I look at them, the augmented vision automatically zooming in to focus on whatever I look at.
I know none of these people personally but we all went through the same intake process together at Fort Campbell, which makes us comrades at arms, I guess.
A recruit’s scream cuts through our comms.
He’s spiraling, arms flailing, trajectory carrying him straight toward a dropship.
I watch in horrific detail as his enhanced body hits the intake vent of the ship’s engine.
The vent vacuums him in. Blood sprays in an arc across the sky, fine red mist catching the morning sun. His vitals flatline on my HUD with a single harsh tone.
[Alert: Recruit Thompson - Status: Terminated]
[Cause of Death: Massive trauma]
[Viewer Engagement: Spike detected]
[New betting pools opening...]
“Stay in formation!” A platoon sergeant’s voice crackles through the comms. “Level out! Level—”
His words end in a gurgle.
Something big and dark with sharp beaks and razor claws snags him with a swipe. His body cartwheels away, leaving a trail of sparks and blood.
Rodriguez is next.
She’s among the strongest of our platoon, body pumped full of military-grade augments, but strength means nothing in free fall.
She tries to activate her suit’s stabilizers, but we’re coming in too steep.
I watch her slam into the glass side of a metal tower.
The impact turns her lower body to pulp instantly. She hangs there for a moment, still alive, hands scrabbling against the glass, leaving bloody streaks as she slides down fifty stories.
[Alert: Recruit Caracas - Status: Terminated]
[Cause of Death: Catastrophic impact trauma]
[Time of Death: 27 seconds after first impact]
[Viewer Count: 6.2M and climbing]
The Zhang twins try to reach each other, their synchronized movements finally breaking after twenty years.
The older twin’s stabilizer misfires, sending her into a spiral.
Her sister attempts a mid-air rescue.
Their fingers brush, just barely missing.
One disappears into a bank of clouds.
The other’s scream echoes through our comms until static takes her too.
Williams doesn’t even make it that far.
His suit malfunctions.
The battery sparks and flames out, sending fifty thousand volts through his suit.
The electricity cooks him alive inside his armor.
I smell burning meat through my own filters.
[Warning: Multiple recruit signatures lost]
[Current Survival Rate: 37% and falling]
[Impact with surface imminent]
[Recommended Action: PRAY]
Cooper’s mad laughter bubbles through the comms. “Don’t you get it?” he shouts as he tumbles past me. “We’re all just entertainment! We’re—”
His words cut off as something snatches him out of the air even before he hits the ground.
The sound of the unseen enemy crushing his armor reminds me of my father once cracking a walnut shell with his back teeth, just to prove he could do it.
I remember him spitting out bits of walnut shell and grinning as he took the ten rupees the other guy had bet against him, then winking at me.
My own suit screams warnings I can barely process.
The ground rushes up to meet me at an impossible velocity.
[Critical Alert: Impact in 3...]
I think of Aai’s words about duty. About fighting because you must fight.
[...2...]
I think of Krishna’s teaching about action without attachment to outcome.
[...1...]
[Survival Probability: 6.2%]
[Impact Force: Lethal]
[Last Will & Testament Recording: Initiated]
[Viewer Count: 7.1M]
[Betting Odds Against Survival: 157000000:1]
[Final Status: BRACE FOR IMPACT]
The mist-shrouded ground rushes up to meet me.
Time slows.
The Gnats are clustered around me again, appearing out of seemingly nowhere.
They’re bunched tight together now, forming a contiguous smooth surface roughly shaped like a mirrored egg, probably to make their rapid descent aerodynamic so they can keep pace with me.
If they’re here that means the Mega-AI has calculated the odds of my dying are above 99%.
Which makes me, wait for it, a One Percenter!
I laugh bitterly.
Oh yeah. The Great American Immigrant Dream for real.
The egg-shaped surface of the bunched Gnats creates a convex mirror, like the ones in the funhouse at the mela where it all began.
I see my grossly distorted reflection in the transparent surface—a skinny boy in an ill-fitting battle suit, about to become another statistic.
Another Draft Immigrant who didn’t make it.
Another bloody show for the masses.
Okay then. Watch me die and be entertained.
I shoot the Gnats a double birdie to show them how much I care about my ratings and popularity numbers.
Right before I hit the ground like a bag of bricks.
[Update: Recruit: Vish]
Survival Rating: Critical
Combat Level: F
Physical Condition: Severely Undernourished
Current CAP: 50
Active Viewers: 7.1M
Special Notes:
* Anomaly detected in genetic profile
* Unauthorized neural sync recorded
* Additional monitoring protocols engaged
* Current betting odds against survival: 157000000:1
* Platoon BOOT421 Status: 13/30 recruits still transmitting vital signs
* Highest viewer engagement of any drop sequence this quarter
* Multiple corporate sponsorship inquiries pending
* Death compilation trending on multiverse social media]