3.1 What's a company?

Nautcham’s User in the Spotlight: Infinity Girl

What’s up Nerdchams? Nautcham here to give you my take on the hottest Will Users our lands have to offer. This week we have Infinity Girl, the world-famous spy. How does one exist as a famous spy you ask me? Well, I have no clue.

This elusive agent currently works for the United Land’s Secret Operatives Commission. She’s besties with Eyeshot, an Officer from the Department of Defence. Beginning their careers in the same guild, the two have become a semi-popular duo, although since then, their career paths have somewhat forked.

Infinity Girl’s speciality is Creation, and her Concept is an infinite inventory of objects, tools and weapons that she can conjure at any moment’s notice. She’s kind of like a walking 3D printer! But as is with any User, there’s limited information on the true depth of her abilities. And although her Creation Concept seems second to none in the realm of object conjuration, I can’t help but feel a little…underwhelmed? Manifesting weapons from scratch as opposed to enhancing existing ones always means they’re less powerful, ever heard of Corporeal Law?

Infinity Girl excels in adaptability and the wide use of her inventory, but there’s an inherent disadvantage in regard to mastery there. I’d give her a good A tier. What do you guys think, am I totally wrong? Hah, I’m sure you’ll let me know.

That’s all from me this week folks. Keep learning!

Nautcham.

Port North. The Reserve’s transport vessel looms ridiculously high over the wharf. It’s a striking metallic blue, sleek and angulated. No radio towers or pipework exposed, everything is hidden, sharpened to various edges like a cut gemstone. Running up to it are two long gangways and vast wooden bridges that stretch far beyond the shoreline. It stands out amongst the yachts and fishing boats, even the luxury cruises.

She rolls her suitcase to a blue sail, passing variety stores and juice stands with queues behind them. It’s so bright. She doesn’t own sunglasses.

“Here for the Reserve?” says the volunteer sitting at the camping table. She’s dressed in a navy polo and beige slacks and has a stack of paper by her hands. Behind her, others are sifting through storage buckets filled with A4 envelopes.

“Name, please.”

“Maeven Riel.”

The lady scans the paper in front of her, tracing its contents with the back of a pen. “Ah, number fifteen, Riel, you’re the one that didn’t go to your physical examination.” She marks her name with a cross.

Hm.

Part of her was hoping nobody would notice that. They had physical exams at the Academy. She really didn’t want to know how much she’s devolved after her Will Block.

“Sorry,” she says.

“You’re an assigned company leader too Riel. You’ll be responsible for overseeing four teammates of assignment numbers sixteen to nineteen,” the volunteer tells her.

What?

“What do you want your company name to be? Anything you like long as it isn’t taken.”

Company? Maeven blinks at the woman, processes, then glances around. Name? There’s a group of seagulls on the beach, little webbed feet running from an incoming tide beyond. She answers at the same time the thought comes to her.

“Ocean.”

The lady sounds it as she writes. “Ocean,” then after a pause, “Company.” She hands her an envelope filled with papers and laundry tokens and as Maeven takes them she feels a pang of regret. That was the least creative thing she could have said.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Left stairs,” the woman tells her.

She heads for the ship.

Physical examination…nobody cares if I missed it, do they? She’s a Larosa graduate, a Will User. No further information necessary. Maeven took a good long examination in the mirror the other day anyway, tugged at her shirt to find a bulge where her abs should be, fat where her thighs should be. She was still the same height, just between short and average. Crust traced her almond eyes, and as she wiped the gunk with her fingers, she swears they were supposed to be a deep, wispy grey, now darkened a shade closer to the black of her hair.

The strands tickling her neck is an unfamiliar feeling as she steps up the gangway, thick and a little frizzy from baby hairs. It had grown down to her elbows until last week, when she chopped it in a straight line under her ears then more until it was even; both for the sake of practicality as well as a sudden impulse to change something, anything about the way she had been looking for the past twelve months.

Inside the ship in the dorm room hallways, it’s just as sleek as its shell. With smooth, metallic walls, it almost looks like an air vent, and everything smells like someone had just taken the plastic off of it. Around, applicants are sitting, chatting, many with their doors open.

When she finds her own dorm, the door is closed. She can hear voices coming from within, some laughter, she can’t yet make out the words.

Male voices, she realises, stilling with her ear angled at the metal. She’s not used to being around males. Back in the Academy they were typically separated by a tall black gate, and every Monday morning before the school week, that’s where her and her brother would part ways after Mum dropped them off. She remembers when they were younger they would wave from the two sides, the gate bars scrolling between them. They thought it was funny.

The VR is known to attract males in particular so it shouldn’t really be a surprise to Maeven. She knocks on the door. She probably doesn’t have to.

“Alright boys, let’s see who this ‘leader’ is.”

That part she does hear, followed by a clap and the sound of hands rubbing together as it nears the door. Don’t adjust, don’t over-straighten. You don’t owe them anything.

The door opens to four male applicants, one who’s opened the door, the others leaning on the bunks, all staring at her. It looks like they’re coming to terms with who the hell just stumbled upon their door. Nobody knows who’s supposed speak first.

“Hi!” greets the boy on the back right. His voice is somewhat prepubescent, his hair is orange and curly and ears are sticking out from the top of his head.

Dog ears she realises, coated in matching fur and turned in her direction. A unique modification, she regards it as instinctively.

“You’re number 15?” says the man holding the door. He’s tall, fair-haired. There’s a tenseness to his eyes that makes him look like he’s waiting for her to upset him, or that she’s already upset him, and a line is carved on the side of his buzz cut. She glances at the applicant number on his breast pocket. 18.

“Yes,” says Maeven, plainly. She motions to enter, and he steps aside.

“Middle bunk on the right,” says buzz-cut.

“Hi!” repeats dog ears as she rolls her suitcase over. “My name is Forrest Xin. I am sixteen years old and I’m from the East Empire.”

“Hi,” says Maeven.

The boy asks, “Do you speak Chinese?”

Collapsing the suitcase handle she answers, “No.”

“Gunner Halcutt,” says buzz cut with his hand on his chest. “This is Callum.”

“Hey. Callum Mcray nice to meet you.”

Callum, who’s sitting opposite to Forrest is applicant number 19. A stocky man with a brute expression and scarred pockets on his face. Looks thirty something. His voice is deep and abrasive.

“That’s Forrest but you already know that. Don’t mind the ears. Over here’s Win.”

Dark hair, eye-bags, a grey cap sitting low on his forehead. Win is number 16. He gives a wave, looking like he’d rather be somewhere else.

“What’s your name Fifteen?” asks Callum.

“Maeven,” she says.

“How old are you?” says Gunner.

“Seventeen.”

“Huh.” Gunner pauses, his tongue in his mouth, still standing by the door. Changed the whole dynamic, it seems. Nobody’s really sure what to do with it.

The room is simple. Two triple bunks are installed against the left and right walls along with a pair of closets. There’s a uniform folded on the top of her bed. She sifts through a navy jacket, slightly rough with the number 15 embroidered on the breast pocket, matching pants, a black undershirt, and a belt to hold it all in like a jumpsuit. They’ve all changed into them by now.

Callum says, “We’ll step out Maeven—”

“It’s okay,” she replies. “I’ll find the bathroom.”

Silence follows after she’s uniformed and sitting back in the dorm, periodically broken by cranks of the swaying ship and the voices of applicants settling in the other dorms. She’s sitting on the floor between the bunk and the wall, knees up and fingers laced.

There was something strange she found in her suitcase when she was putting away her clothes. Hunter left her with a piece of Willed paper and attached to it, a sticky note.

Just in case! Please use it if you can. I’m scared of it.

Love you,

H.

She has no idea what to do with the artefact, and she’s still bothered by the idea that he managed to sneak into her bag. For now, she’s just slipped it back where she found it.

Static emits from a corner in the ceiling.

“Good morning applicants. Welcome to Peacemaker, the primary vessel during your time here at the Voluntary Reserve. We all hope you are settling in well. At exactly 1100 hours we expect to see you all gathered in uniform for a welcoming congregation. Assignment numbers 1 to 500 shall meet outside at the deck of the ship. Assignment numbers 501 to 1000, please wait in the Main Hall. See you all then.” It goes offline with a crack.