Anne and I had grown accustomed to caring for Paul. We would check his vitals, swap his urine bag, swap the glucose feed, and run through all the checks.
I checked on Paul with Observe every day. On most days, the status didn’t change.
After a couple of days, Paul developed a new condition:
PRESSURE SORES: DUE TO PROLONGED PRESSURE ON THE SKIN, -3 HP/DAY.
Fortunately, a simple use of First Aid cleared it up quickly. We changed Paul’s position to prevent the sores from forming again.
Truthfully, the bed did most of the work. If we did something wrong, it would beep and tell us.
We managed to get hold of Dr. Gomez and sent him the reports. The situation in the hospitals was still bad; although there were ‘only’ eight thousand dead, there were thousands of people who needed long-term care, and every hospital was struggling with an insane caseload.
Dr. Gomez was quite frank about Paul’s situation. “We have no data on what’s affecting him,” he explained over the video call. “The diabetes is under control, he should wake up from the coma any day. A simple cleaning and turning the patient should prevent sores in the meantime. However, we really can’t tell when, or what’s causing him to stay under.”
“What about the Q-phase blast effect?” I asked.
“I’ve checked with multiple doctors from different specialties,” Dr. Gomez replied patiently, “and they’ve never heard of any such condition. It might help me if you gave me the source of this - unique diagnosis.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t disclose that.”
Dr. Gomez shrugged. “Without a specific definition, it’s just a random term. I must advise you against taking any advice from unqualified people claiming to have medical knowledge.” An expression of annoyance flickered across his face. “Please let me know if you get any other information from …. qualified medical personnel.” With that, he cut the call.
Anne shrugged. “We knew he wouldn’t believe us about the Q-phase thing.”
“I still needed to try.” I sighed. “Well, time for work. And for you, school.”
I was still working out of the warehouse. The rain had not let up the whole day, and the site outside had turned into a sludgy, muddy mess. In that kind of weather, people slipping, falling, and dropping things was common.
So when I heard the crash, I thought at first that a crate had fallen over.
Curious, I set aside what I was doing, and headed towards the source of the noise.
As I stepped outside the warehouse, I could see a bunch of workmen gathered at the gate.
Let's see, most of the senior technicians, Morell, Dixit, an armoured man….
I did a double take.
It was a man in some sort of futuristic combat armour. And he was carrying a rifle.
Not alone, either. Behind him were at least four others, each with some sort of advanced weapon.
Observe.
GRUNTER LIEUTENANT
FACTION: GRUNTERS
LEVEL 11
HP 400/400
GRUNTER SOLDIER
FACTION: GRUNTERS
LEVEL 9
HP 300/300
GRUNTER SOLDIER
FACTION: GRUNTERS
LEVEL 9
HP 300/300
GRUNTER ROOKIE
FACTION: GRUNTERS
LEVEL 7
HP 250/250
Crap.
Why were the Grunters here?
I slowly inched back into the warehouse.
A gang coming to the site wasn't good. The fact Dixit, Morell and the others were assembled together….
It was looking like it might become a fight.
Better be prepared.
I grabbed a face shield. The dark screen would hide my face. Then I hefted one of the sledgehammers and a nailgun. With a good supply of nails.
If it came to a fight, I wasn't going to rely only on hand-to-hand skills.
ARMOR EQUIPPED: FACE SHIELD
WEAPON EQUIPPED: SLEDGEHAMMER.
TWO HANDED MELEE WEAPON, REQUIREMENTS: STR 15.
DAMAGE DEPENDS ON STRENGTH.
DAMAGE: 48/BLOW.
I briefly glanced at the nailgun with Observe.
SECONDARY WEAPON: NAILGUN.
RANGED WEAPON, REQUIREMENTS: DEX 9.
DAMAGE: 30/HIT.
MAGAZINE CAPACITY: 100. RELOAD AFTER FIRING.
HP: 120/120 PP 228/228
MP: 272/272 CP 220/220
AP: 132/132
$0.00 XP: 820/3000 Ethics: +7
Both options were far better than just my fists. And if I was going into combat with multiple high level enemies, I was going to take every force multiplier I could get.
I snuck back out of the warehouse, trying to see what was happening.
Hopefully there was a chance this didn't spill over into violence. Hopefully. But just in case….
The Grunter soldiers were encased in all-surrounding armour. Fair enough. If a face shield could protect me, then theirs would doubtless protect them.
It took me very little time to sneak up to the back of the crowd. The gang members paid me no attention - one more workman wasn’t noteworthy. I noticed that some of the men had spanners and hammers in their hands.
Brave, but not up to fighting armoured men with guns.
I could hear Dixit trying to persuade the Grunter lieutenant:
“.... and I’m telling you, we don’t have that kind of money. This is a government contract, they set the rates.”
“Protection is not negotiable,” the man buzzed. (Really, the sound coming from his helmet sounded like a robotic buzz.) “You should have thought about that before taking the contract.”
“Look, we don’t want trouble. If it’s that much of a problem to you, let us pack up and we’ll vacate the site.”
“Not before you pay what you owe,” the man buzzed again. “This is not a discussion. You pay what you owe or we take it out of your equipment. And your skins.” He hefted the rifle, pointed it at Dixit. “Back taxes are due.”
“Taxes?” exclaimed a voice from the back. “Y’all ain’t no government!”
Oh crap.
I recognized the voice. It was Billie Joe.
The Grunter lieutenant paused, then stared at the crowd. “Who said that?”
“Leave it be, please,” Dixit begged. “Look, we’ll pay you what we can today and the rest tomorrow.”
“You’ll pay today,” replied the man. “But first I want to know who said that.”
Nobody answered.
Crap. This was devolving fast.
Morell spoke up. “Listen, it doesn’t matter, we’re paying you. Just let us go back to work. We’ll pay the money.”
The Grunter Lieutenant turned to look at Morell. Then he pointed his rifle at Morell’s knee and pulled the trigger.
Red light exploded out of the barrel.
Morell screamed. He collapsed to the ground, unable to stand.
The rest of the workmen fell back.
One of the Grunter soldiers clubbed Dixit on the head with his rifle, knocking him to the ground.
It was at that moment that I realized that the others had retreated, leaving me standing in front of the Grunters and Morell.
The other soldier looked at me. “Hey,” he buzzed, “who’re you supposed to be?”
No time to think, anymore.
I charged.
Before the second soldier could think, I was in front of him with the sledgehammer. I swung, and infused it with the power of Deadly Blow.
The impact of the sledgehammer sounded like a cannon going off.
DEADLY BLOW! GRUNTER SOLDIER -240 HP, STUNNED, KNOCKBACK.
The gang member’s armour cracked. The force of the hit knocked him backwards.
I hurled myself at him again, this time swinging the sledgehammer in reverse. The backstroke smashed into his helmet, knocking him down.
HIT! GRUNTER SOLDIER -48 HP, BLEEDING, -1 HP/SEC.
I yanked the nailgun out. The Grunter rookie was only a foot away - a nail smashed into his arm.
HIT! GRUNTER ROOKIE -30 HP.
The Lieutenant and the other Grunter Soldier had turned to me and were yelling. Their voice recorders couldn’t make it out well, though, as the yells came out as a disjointed buzz.
I barrelled into the Rookie and started laying in at him with the sledgehammer.
HIT! GRUNTER ROOKIE -48 HP.
CRITICAL HIT! GRUNTER ROOKIE -96 HP.
HIT! GRUNTER ROOKIE -48 HP, STUNNED.
The Rookie’s armour was almost in pieces, falling apart. He tried to parry the sledgehammer with his weapon.
Fun fact - rifles, even the most advanced laser rifles, are incredibly delicate compared to the engine of destruction that is a sledgehammer.
The rifle splintered into tiny pieces.
The rookie fell back, surprised, then turned and ran.
A high-pitched whine and a bolt of red. The Grunter Lieutenant was firing at me.
At this range, if he’d aimed, he would have hit. He didn’t. The first time.
I charged him.
In hindsight, that was stupid. He had time to aim.
The laser beam hit me in the chest.
It felt like my entire chest was on fire.
DAMAGE TAKEN! LASER BURN -40 HP.
HP 80/120.
YOU HAVE SUFFERED THE STATUS EFFECT: BURNED, ENRAGED.
I screamed, and closed the distance to the Lieutenant, swinging the sledgehammer as I came, and infusing it with another Deadly Blow aimed directly at his face.
DEADLY BLOW! GRUNTER LIEUTENANT -240 HP. CONDITION INFLICTED: DISORIENTED, CRACKED JAW.
Backswing, and the sledgehammer came down on the Grunter’s helmet, which shattered.
CRITICAL HIT! GRUNTER LIEUTENANT -96 HP. CONDITION INFLICTED: STUNNED, BLEEDING, CRACKED SKULL.
Another swing, again at that damned jaw.
CRITICAL HIT! GRUNTER LIEUTENANT -96 HP.
The man flopped on the ground like - like a dead man.
Which left me facing the last of the Grunters.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Who had his rifle steady, and aimed at me.
“I don’t know who you are,” he buzzed, “but you’re a dead man.”
He fired.
I used Dodge Bullets.
In a fraction of a second, I had weaved out of the way. The beam zipped by me harmlessly.
The man’s eyes widened.
I rushed towards him.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t a newbie. He reoriented his gun and started firing rapidly.
Most of the shots missed.
One didn’t.
The impact hit me straight on the face.
DAMAGE TAKEN! LASER BURN -20 HP.
ARMOR REDUCES DAMAGE BY 50%. ARMOR POINTS REMAINING: 20/60.
YOU HAVE SUFFERED THE STATUS EFFECT: FLASH BLINDED. TIME REMAINING: 00:05.
White lights danced before my eyes.
I couldn’t see what I was doing. I could only keep rushing at the man, hoping that he didn’t move.
I felt myself graze him, but he slid out of my grip. I stumbled and fell.
I was down. My hammer slipped.
As the seconds ticked down, I could sense I was on the ground.
Giving my enemy time to recover - never good.
I swung back to my feet as the timer ticked down to 00:00. My eyesight returned.
Only to find the Grunter standing twenty feet away, pointing his rifle at me.
“You die,” he buzzed.
Dixit slammed into him with a full-body tackle.
The two men went tumbling in the mud, Dixit punching the gangster’s armour ineffectually, but keeping him from getting up.
I grabbed my hammer and waded into the fray.
Dixit was a smallish man, and the gangster took only a few seconds to push him off. Seconds that allowed me to reach him.
As he looked up, I slammed the sledgehammer into his head with the full force I could muster.
CRITICAL HIT! GRUNTER SOLDIER -96 HP, CRACKED SKULL, STUNNED.
Another blow.
CRITICAL HIT! GRUNTER SOLDIER -96 HP.
And another, and another.
CRITICAL HIT! GRUNTER SOLDIER -96 HP.
CRITICAL HIT! GRUNTER SOLDIER -96 HP.
I staggered back.
My face shield was still smoking. The Grunter, however, was dead.
I could feel the burns to my face and body stinging. The wounds seemed cauterized by the laser fire.
Dixit got up. He was covered in mud. “Who are you?” he whispered.
“I….” I hesitated.
“Never mind,” he hissed. “We need to get their bodies out of the way and pack up. The other one will be back with reinforcements.”
“I… Bodies?”
“You killed them good, that’s for sure,” he grunted. “Morell? You okay?”
Morell groaned.
“They won’t be sending anyone,” called another voice.
I turned. Half a dozen workers were standing there, with an unconscious man in cracked armour held between them.
The rest of the crew. They’d chased down the running Grunter rookie and caught him.
And beaten him up quite thoroughly….
No.
I snapped off an Observe.
GRUNTER ROOKIE CORPSE
The man was dead.
Another three men dead at my hands?
I looked to the first man I’d charged - the first Grunter soldier.
GRUNTER SOLDIER CORPSE.
He was dead too? I’d stopped hitting him when he fell down.
Bleeding, I’d inflicted Bleeding on him.
Bleeding was -1 HP per second….
Twelve seconds and he’d bled out. Damnit.
“Haul them away,” hissed Dixit. “Quickly.”
The workers picked up the corpses and headed towards the office.
“You,” hissed Dixit. “Come with me. Quickly.” He turned to the others. “And don’t say a thing about what happened, any of you.”
They nodded.
The office was a converted container with windows and a few computers within.
I helped Morell climb the stairs as we both followed Dixit in. All of us trailed mud and sludge past the door, but there was little we could do to help it.
Dixit turned to me. “Sit him down and close the door.”
I helped Morell sit as Dixit pulled out a medical kit and gauze bandages.
Before he got started, I remembered something. “I know first aid. Would you be okay if I tried to help him?”
“Morell? You okay with that?” Dixit asked.
Morell groaned but nodded.
“Be my guest,” Dixit shrugged.
I looked at the wound Morell had.
Observe:
NIKLAS MORELL
CLASS: CONSTRUCTION FOREMAN
LEVEL 4
HP 80/120
STATUS EFFECTS: CRIPPLED KNEE, BURNS.
Could I get more information on the status effects? Would First Aid help them?
BURNS: HP REGEN REDUCED TO ZERO, DOUBLE DAMAGE FROM COLD.
CRIPPLED KNEE: -4 DEX, CARRY CAPACITY REDUCED BY 75%.
Crap, an injury like that would finish Morell’s career as a construction worker.
I tried First Aid. My MP dropped to 252.
NIKLAS MORELL
HP 82/120
The Status Effects didn’t change.
I tried again. My MP recharged fast, and this was a better use of it than repairing machines.
After twelve more doses of First Aid, Niklas’ HP was up to 106/120 and he was in a lot less pain.
Dixit watched as I worked.
Finally, I stepped back. "I've done what I can to heal him," I replied, "but I can't fix the burns or the crippled knee. Sorry."
"Don't apologise," rumbled Dixit. "You didn't cause it. Hell, you probably saved his life." He applied an ointment to the knee, then handed it to me. "Here. Use some yourself. Your face looks bad."
I Observed the ointment.
BURN CREAM
REMOVES CONDITION: BURNS. +5 HP IF USED ON DAMAGE CAUSED BY BURNS.
Wait, could I use this on Morell?
WARNING: YOUR CURRENT SKILLS DO NOT ALLOW YOU TO USE THIS ON OTHERS. REQUIRED SKILL: CURE LEVEL 2.
There was a skill called Cure? Sure, why not.
I applied the cream on my face. The status effect BURNS vanished, my HP rose to 65 immediately and began its slow process of ticking upwards.
Dixit was staring at me. “Does that thing you just did work on others?”
“What thing?”
“The sparkly stuff you just did. You lit up with a sort of glow and the burns vanished.”
“I glowed?”
“It was very faint. And golden. You didn’t know?”
“No.” I shrugged. “I’m a bit new at this.”
“I figured,” grunted Dixit. He looked at Morell. “You swore that he wasn’t an ultra.”
“It didn’t make sense!” Morell grumbled. “It still doesn’t! He was happy with twenty-four an hour!”
“Huh?” I looked puzzled. “What does my pay have to do with this?”
Dixit looked exasperated. “You really are new, aren’t you? Just got your powers a few days ago?”
“Uhh….” I hesitated. “During the attack, actually.”
“You fought in the attack?”
“Only a little bit. Mostly hid. Killed one alien.”
Morell whistled. “You killed one of them? What type?”
“It was a Sarnak - a foot soldier. Blunt nose, reptilian eyes, carries a heavy plasma gun.”
The two of them exchanged glances. Finally Dixit said, “You fought and killed an armed alien - by yourself?”
“Yes…. I’m sure others do it. I saw videos of Lady Lumina and Viking tearing apart dozens of them.”
“Yes,” Dixit said, “and that’s why they charge a hundred thousand an hour.”
“Wait. What?”
“You are incredibly new,” Dixit commented, “and you saved our lives. Morell’s for sure, probably mine as well. So, I’m going to tell you some things, and I want you to take them seriously. Ultrahuman or not. Okay?”
“Uh… sure, boss.”
“I’m not your boss. Most ultrahumans charge ten thousand or more dollars an hour for fighting. Those who have successful kills against aliens charge twenty or more. The few - the very few - who are as top-tier as Viking, or The Flying Storm, generally charge five figures. For each hour of high intensity combat with aliens.”
It took me a moment to absorb that.
“You,” Dixit continued, “are an ultrahuman, and a pretty powerful one. In the last battle, it took fifteen to twenty Grunters armed with their combat armour and laser rifles to take down even a single alien. You took out four of them with a construction sledgehammer and a second-rate face shield. You’ve also fought, and killed, alien soldiers. If you had evidence of that - and you’d given it to the city within a day or two - you’d have earned at least twenty thousand dollars for a single kill.” He shrugged. “I take it you didn’t know any of this.”
“No,” I sat down. “I had no idea.”
“Where do you think ultrahumans get their money from? Governments pay ultras for combat duty. They’re the reason most battles end with the aliens retreating.”
“I told myself an ultra wouldn’t work for twenty-four dollars an hour,” muttered Morell. “Guess there’s always a first time…..”
“You suspected?” I asked.
Morell shrugged. “Nobody repairs machines that fast, kid. Inventors - ultras who are good with machinery - they work in high-powered corporate labs for a thousand dollars per hour, or they set up their own gangs and make millions.” He shrugged. “Like Grumman.”
“Grumman?” The villain who’d started the fight that killed Anne’s mother? “What does he have to do with all of this?”
“Every time you talk,” grumbled Dixit, “you show how little you know. Grumman owns the Grunters, boy. He makes their armour, their laser rifles, and their voice synthesizers. He picks loyal men, trains them, and sends them out to fight aliens - or other gangs.”
“That’s why they’re called Grumman’s Grunters,” added Morell helpfully.
I sat down on the chair.
Every time I thought I’d gotten this world figured out, something new hit me.
I hadn’t known that Grumman - the villain responsible for Anne’s mother’s death - was still alive. I had, naively, assumed that he’d been captured or driven off.
Instead, he’d been running a gang, successfully, for years. Equipping his soldiers with powered armour. Sending them to fight battles for him.
While Anne grew up without a mother and Paul Drake was battling for his life.
“Does the government pay villains who fight the aliens, too?”
“They pay all ultras the same,” replied Dixit. “It doesn’t matter what else you do, if you fight the aliens the government pays you. Ten thousand for a rookie to support and help with search and rescue. Twenty for a proven alien-killer. A hundred grand per hour if you can fight multiple aliens at the same time, and win.”
“But…. with that kind of money, why would any ultra need to commit crimes? Why were the Grunters here anyway?”
“Grumman needs massive amounts of money to make armour and rifles. Plus, alien attacks don’t happen every day; the Grunters need a steady stream of income. So, they shake down businesses that don’t pay protection.”
“What protection?”
“Protection from the Grunters coming in and smashing you up,” Dixit explained. “They charge fifty per cent of whatever we earn.”
“Fifty percent of profits?”
“Fifty percent of revenue. Which means, to meet their demands we’d have to cut everyone’s pay in half, use half the equipment, and skimp on protective gear.”
“Folks say they have someone in city hall,” Morell added. “They knew exactly how much we were paying everybody, and what our contract was worth.”
“That’s not for you or me to speculate,” retorted Dixit sharply. “Talk like that gets people killed.” He paused. “Well, gets more people killed.”
I suddenly realized that there were four corpses outside. “What’re we going to do? The cops will be here any minute…”
“No cops,” Dixit interrupted. “We take care of our own. You’re not going to be standing in front of a bunch of people who weren’t here telling you whether you should or shouldn’t have acted in self-defence.”
“Plus, you really don’t need attention from the Grunters right now,” pointed out Morell.
“He’s right,” Dixit continued. “What the Grunters don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“Won’t they realize their men didn’t come back?”
“Not for a while. By then we'll have things sorted. And I suggest you make yourself gone before that.” He pulled out a wad of cash from a drawer and handed it to me. “Here. I know it’s not as much as you should charge, but it’s all I have on hand now.”
I stared at the cash. I didn’t need to count it to realize how much it was.
Three thousand dollars.
“I can’t accept this,” I murmured.
“Think of it as severance pay,” Dixit replied. “You need to stay away from here, for everyone’s safety. We’ll be wrapping ourselves up by the end of the day.”
“You’re going?”
“Dixit Contracting can’t handle a second round of ultra attacks. We’ve got to look to the safety of our people. I was thinking about wrapping up the site soon anyway.” He folded his hands. "The Grunters'll be back, anyway, and I won't have the money to pay them off. And that's assuming no one cracks and tells them about their men."
"But… where'll you go?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Dixit's voice was sympathetic. "We're an out-of-state company. That's why all the senior workmen are from out of state. And why we pay cash. Cash payments mean no local taxes, and no need to hire local union men."
"Who're usually lazy sods anyway," grumbled Morell.
I hadn't understood the complexities of Dixit's business; fair enough, I hadn't cared to research. "Is that why the Grunters came?"
"Grunters shake down everybody, eventually," Dixit explained. "We expected them to ask for five or ten per cent. Not fifty. That's an insane rate." He sighed. "But it's the rate for work done now. Which means our contract's done and we move away."
“What about the police? Won’t they stop you from leaving after this?”
Dixit’s smile was crooked. “Not if they don’t find the bodies. The crew will... dispose... of them.”
What had I gotten mixed up in?
Still, it seemed a better choice than having to deal with the police again. Killing four people once might be understandable; killing four more could strike the police as a habit.
And that wasn’t even counting on retribution from the Grunters.
“Does it bother you?” Morell asked.
I shrugged. “Not particularly. They attacked us, we defended ourselves. What are you doing with the Grunters' kit?”
Dixit and Morell exchanged glances. “Do you need to know?” Dixit asked.
"I was wondering if I could take the broken stuff they left behind.”
Dixit’s eyebrows raised. “You want the remaining rifles and armour?”
“Yes please.”
“You’re welcome to all of it,” shrugged Dixit. “As long as you’re aware it probably has built-in trackers.”
The autocar had a spacious boot. Large enough to fit all four sets of Grunter armour and rifles.
Were there trackers in them?
Analyze said no. Plus, at this point any trackers were probably in pieces….
The sledgehammer had certainly done a number on the armour. And the rifles.
I rode back home, wondering how I’d explain this to Anne.
Three thousand dollars, plus the nearly two thousand I’d earned from fixing machines, should last us for a while. Maybe three or four months? Hopefully Paul would wake up in the next couple of weeks or so.
If wishes were horses…
On the ride, I went through the notifications I’d received. My power had some sort of inbuilt learning, because after repeated - and continual - irritation, it had stopped showing me popups for MP or AP drain - or XP gain - in the middle of my field of vision. The notifications now appeared in the lower right corner, and I could read through them when I had time.
Quest Alerts and enemy HP damage, however, still appeared in the middle of my view.
The notifications I’d received in mid-combat - that had stayed minimized - were interesting:
+200 XP FOR DEFEATING GRUNTER SOLDIER.
RELATIONSHIP WITH FACTION GRUNTERS LOWERED. RELATIONSHIP IS NOW HATE (-4).
+175 XP FOR DEFEATING GRUNTER ROOKIE.
+300 XP FOR DEFEATING GRUNTER LIEUTENANT.
+200 XP FOR DEFEATING GRUNTER SOLDIER.
ALL WITNESSES ELIMINATED. RELATIONSHIP WITH FACTION GRUNTERS RESET TO UNKNOWN (0).
Interesting, so I could convert my enemies to neutral if I left no witnesses alive….
YOU HAVE KILLED ENEMIES, BUT ONLY IN RESPONSE TO THEIR AGGRESSION AND IN THE DEFENCE OF YOUR COMRADES. NEGATIVE IMPACT ON ETHICS NEGATED.
Wait, why didn’t that kick in when I defended myself at home?
…. In defence of your comrades.
Also, now that I thought about it… technically, I had thrown the first punch when the Crawleys attacked, and here I had responded to the Grunters firing the first shot.
YOU HAVE GAINED THE SKILL: BLUNT WEAPONS.
BLUNT WEAPONS: BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA IS YOUR FORTE. YOU SMASH, SHATTER AND BREAK THAT WHICH OPPOSES YOU. BONUS TO DAMAGE FROM BLUNTED WEAPONS, INCLUDING SLEDGEHAMMERS, MACES, MORNINGSTARS, BASEBALL BATS, HOCKEY STICKS AND WARHAMMERS. LEVEL 1: +10% BONUS.
SKILL GAINED: CRUSHING BLOW. 3X DAMAGE WITH BLUNT WEAPONS, 20 AP.
Two new skills. One that made me even more dangerous in combat… With this, the sledgehammer would let me do 53 damage in each blow. Crushing blow would also be useful, since it was a lot cheaper to use than Deadly Blow - my current challenge was running out of AP too fast.
FIRST AID HAS LEVELED UP. FIRST AID IS NOW AT LEVEL 2. REMOVES STATUS EFFECTS: BLEEDING, SHOCK, STUN. +3 HP TO TARGET. COST: 20 MP.
Huh, so levelling up First Aid allowed me to remove more status effects. I had a thought - could it eventually repair Q-phase blast effect?
Or was that the domain of the skill I’d seen hinted at - Cure?
Bleeding, Stun and Shock were all short-term effects. Crippled Knee, which Cure Level 2 would remove, was a long-term effect. I resolved to use Prophet’s Roulette to figure it out that night.
When the autocar finally drew into the garage, I was surprised to see that Anne was already back.
She was surprised to see me back, too. “Work finish early?”
“It’s a long story,” I replied. “What about you? School gave out early?”
“How about you go first.”
When I finished telling the story, Anne was not happy. “You can’t just keep getting into fights and… and killing people. Even if they are gangsters.”
“I don’t exactly choose these situations.”
“What if the police find out? This is the second time in two months…”
I sighed. “Dixit’s going to hide the bodies.”
“But you got the armour and weapons back… that’s evidence.”
“Only if they find the bodies. And I’m pretty sure the construction crew know how to hide four corpses.”
Anne scrunched up her nose. “Do I want to know?”
“No, and neither do I.”
“Well, will they talk? Reveal who you are?”
“Dixit is deleting all records of my existence from the site computers. All our pay was in cash, fortunately. Very few of the crew knew me by name or by face, and I wore that face shield the entire time I was in combat.”
“Could they see through it?”
“It was a welding face shield. Darkened glass, so you can’t actually see the person’s face through it. Half metal, too, and only the front panel for the eyes allows a view.”
“Well, that’s something. There’s some more bad news, though. We got a summons.”
“A summons?”
Anne handed me a thick, official looking document.
I was being asked to appear at a preliminary hearing, to explain the matter of four deaths - specifically, the deaths of the Crawley gang.
QUEST ALERT!
A PRELIMINARY HEARING HAS BEEN CALLED INTO THE DEATHS OF THE CRAWLEY GANG. YOU MUST ATTEND AND CONVINCE THE JUDGE THAT YOU ACTED IN SELF-DEFENCE.
YOU WILL BE ASSIGNED 1 ALLY FOR THIS QUEST - A PUBLIC DEFENDER.
REWARD: +500 XP, NEW SKILLS UNLOCKED.
FAILURE: POSSIBLE FILING OF CRIMINAL CHARGES.
“This day just keeps getting better and better,” I muttered. “I have to appear for a preliminary hearing. I may need a lawyer….”
“Do we have enough money for a lawyer?”
“Even if we did, I don’t know any good ones. Well, I’ll be assigned a public defender according to the quest.”
“.... You got a quest out of this?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“It’s on next Tuesday. You shouldn’t be skipping school. …. Say, why did you get home early anyway?”
“Umm….” Anne handed over another paper. “I need you to sign this.”
I took the paper. It was a note from the school principal.
As I read it, I felt disbelief. “You’re being suspended for fighting?”
“You just have to sign it,” she said defensively.
“I think I need to go meet your principal first!”
“Just sign it!” Anne yelled. “I have enough trouble without you trying to act like my dad!”
… What.
I paused. Took a deep breath.
Anne was crestfallen. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
TEST OF WISDOM: PASSED
ANNE’S WORDS DO NOT ANGER YOU, AS YOU HAVE THE WISDOM AND MATURITY TO SEE THAT THERE ARE OTHER THINGS ON HER MIND.
… Nice to know that my power thought me wise.
I took a deep breath. “Anne, I’m not angry at you. And you’re right; I’m not your dad. I am, however, the nearest thing to an adult in this household, and I do have a responsibility to you.
“When your dad does wake up, I want to be able to look him in the eye and tell him I took good care of his daughter. Made sure she stayed healthy and safe, ate properly, attended school and got good grades. That’s my responsibility. It’s what I took on, the day I accepted the name Andrew Drake. It’s also the only thing I have to do in my life now, since I remember nothing from before.
“So, will you trust me and tell me what’s actually going on?”
Anne was crying silently when I finished. Then she got up and hugged me.
I held her for a few minutes.
She finally recovered her composure, then sat down. Took a deep breath. “I’ve… been facing some problems at school.”
“Tell me.”
“Wanda Mears is back. She’s been telling everyone that I’m a …. a slut.”
“Go on.”
“She accused me of… of trying to take Brad away from her. Then she said… she said I’d run away, slammed the door shut, and left Mrs. Delft and the others on the roof when the ship attacked. She said it’s my fault they’re dead.”
“Have you told anyone about Wanda pushing you off the roof?”
“No. Nobody’d believe me anyway.”
I was starting to really dislike this kid Wanda Mears and her maybe-boyfriend Brad. “Did you hit her for that?”
“No, I didn’t. I … I tried to ignore it. Then one day she said it’s a pity that Dad ….. That Dad hadn’t gone the same way as Mum in the attack, then I’d have a matched set.”
“.... And that’s when you punched her?”
“.... That’s when I punched her.”
“I can’t say you weren’t justified, but when the teachers asked, did you tell them what she said?”
“The teacher didn’t believe me, and Wanda’s friends backed her up.”
Right. “Is Wanda a popular girl with a lot of friends?”
“Yeah - how’d you know?”
“I’m making educated guesses. How does she do, academically?”
“Uhh…. I’m not sure, I think she gets good grades.”
“And you? How are your grades?”
Anne looked a bit defensive. “I…. got a B minus in my last test. I thought it went well.”
“Which subject?”
“Math.”
“Others?”
“Umm, mostly C’s. I get by, though. I’m doing well in history.”
Figures.
Popular girl, with good grades, complains about a loner whose academic performance is just above the minimum?
It was pretty obvious who the teachers would side with. Or believe.
I might be uncharitable here - I could sense I’d never been a teacher - but this did require an adult to intervene.
Well, that meant me.
“Anne, I’d like to meet your principal tomorrow. I’ll try to convince him to let you return to school.”
“.... All right, but Mr. Johnston is … hard to convince.”
“I’ll do my best to persuade him.”