City-21 “Kyiv”, UNSA Protectorate, Avril Dominion
Polytechnic Institute, ‘Artificial Intelligence and Applied Robotics’ club
Daria Vasilevskaya, August 12, 2049, 4:33 PM
“Admit it, Dashka, this is overkill, even for you!” The thought flickered through her mind, quickly replaced by considerations about the data format of the Informatorium’s API. Not lingering a second, her attention leapt like a frantic squirrel to the task of urgently unloading the drones from the platform and setting Moira up there instead.
Dasha even jumped over the chair back to the control console but then stopped short.
“Why haven’t I ever told Max... about this... about... me?!”
The girl froze momentarily, then caught herself intently watching a stream from Vasiliy, and annotating it in her analytical app.
“Oh… damn. Overdone it… and no med kit.”
Staggering, she headed to the closest bathroom. Opening cold water, she carefully touched it and winced.
“Brrr. Cold! Don’t wanna!”
“You have to, Dashka!”
“But I don’t want to!”
“DO IT!!!”
Realizing her thoughts had already raced ahead to solve a data exchange optimization between the Ravens, Dasha, not allowing herself to pause, impulsively thrust her head under the stream.
“Aaaaaahhh!!!”
A pulse throbbed through her temples, breath caught in her throat, and a shiver swept across her body. The sensations were harsh, but it momentarily released her from the grip of her “battle frenzy.”
“That’s it, no more ‘synth-five’ for me,” she mused sadly, drying her face with a paper towel and squeezing out her braids. “Played too hard…”
This scenario was all too familiar for Vasilevskaya – unfortunately, it was not her first time. Her brain, supercharged by “synth,” seeks a fittingly complex – preferably insoluble – challenge. Failing to find one because in such a state it’s practically impossible for Dasha, it starts cycling through everything that comes to mind, faster and faster. In this phase, it’s nearly impossible to focus on anything, and behavior becomes distinctly impulsive.
A neurologist would say that using a vape and concentrated “synth” exacerbates attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. Yes, the symptoms match closely, although Dasha had her own views on that. Now, having managed to apply the “Cold Head” technique during a brief moment of clarity, she feverishly dug into her backpack. Hidden inside was an emergency stash for just such occasions. Pulling out a packet with a disposable syringe-tube, she ran back to the bathroom, to the mirror.
Tearing open the packet, she quickly pulled out a disinfectant wipe.
“I've got just a minute to get this done!”
Once again, the girl chose to inject herself in the deltoid muscle, as she had done earlier on this harrowing day – these injections always seemed to go the smoothest for her.
She rolled up the sleeve of her t-shirt, cleaned the injection site on her shoulder with a sterilizing swab, and glanced morosely into the mirror.
“Look what you’ve gotten yourself into. Max is going to kill me.”
Preemptively pulling a couple of paper towels from the dispenser, Dasha placed them on the edge of the sink.
And then gave herself the shot.
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After it was over, her trembling hand struggled to lift from the floor, finally grabbed a towel, and wiped her tear-soaked face.
The pain was intense. Total ten minutes of a hellish torment.
Dasha stood up, cursed very harshly – a rarity for her – tossed the used towel into the sink, and staggered out from the bathroom.
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Vasilevskaya settled onto a chair, her gaze darkening, looking at the platform before her. It seemed occupied, yet it would all be consumed by Moira. Even the recently discovered dev kits for assembling drones would have to be strapped around the edges.
The roboticists surely had more useful things left… now all these treasures forsaken in haste. Heaven knows what they might suddenly need later... Bringing back to life their AI, repairing Alisa’s chassis, and helping Nika too. And then, perhaps, there was the impending, long journey across hazardous lands...
But her legs were still shaky, quivering. She’d fallen twice just returning from the bathroom. At that moment, as if reading her thoughts, Max called.
“Hey, WonderStar, why no video? Is Moira loaded yet?”
A heavy sigh was her only reply, enough for him to piece things together.
“Popped a Velox Subsisto, did you?” he asked after a short pause.
The video flicked on, revealing her sad, tear-streaked face framed by damp, dark hair.
“Going to scold me, aren’t you?” sadly asked Dasha, timidly poking her index finger into her palm.
“Cried a lot, I see?”
“Yes. Sorry... It’s been a scary day. I couldn’t reach Dad. And... too many deaths around. I... I shouldn’t have put a ‘five’ in the vape, I know. Especially after pulling three all-nighters straight... umm… that is… I mean, after working hard, yeah…”
“Oh, you foolhardy thing, WonderKid. What else to say.” Max sighed deeply, sending her an emoji of a comforting pat on the head.
“Maxie…” she managed a shy smile.
“I’ll still scold you. But later. Can you walk?”
“I’d rather not.”
“You have to, WonderStar. I know it’s tough, but time’s not on our side. Noticed how long till curfew kicks in?”
“There’s… a reminder thingy in front of my eyes,” the girl replied dolefully. “Shut down the Quantum Core, ready to load.. There are also Accelerators, Libraries, to get everything else onboard, to attach the drones – it’ll take about thirty minutes, tops... Probably. Then just four and a half kilometers to you by truck... We can do it, yeah!”
“Dashka, my dude, get it together! Even by your optimistic estimate, we’re short on time!”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Yeah, you are right. I’m actually feeling a bit better now. Not even nauseous... Ugh… I’m sorry, really... I didn’t mean to...”
“Gosh... I’d talk some sense into you, but you already know everything,” Maksim dismissed with a wave of his hand. “We’re leaving the mall now and heading for the parking lot. Just, please, don’t vape anymore. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“Uh-huh,” she squeaked meekly.
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After loading everything up, Dasha pondered how to secure all the load, so nothing would fall during transporting. She also didn’t want to tip off the cameras that they were hauling a powerful quantum core along with a “whole cartload” of related hardware.
“This... darn, how should I… fasten… or rather wrap all this?” She stared thoughtfully at the heap of blocks on the platform. “Nothing suitable in the club. And… who do we have next door, that might have something useful?”
She stepped into the hallway and looked around. The floor was mostly filled with startups related to AI and programming. Then it clicked.
“Right! We have ‘NextGen Mega-Bots,’ ‘NeuroNetics,’ and those, what are they... ‘Android – something… – Innovations’ nearby. Maybe they have some straps with carabiners, or elastic cords, or even some plastic wrap to secure Moira?”
The girl dashed down the corridor with urgency, her desperation mounting as she tried each door.
First door – locked!
Second door – locked!
Third – still locked!
“Shit, how can this be?!”
But then, the fourth door wasn’t just unlocked – it was swung open invitingly. Dasha darted into the room and paused to survey the chaos surprisingly.
The place was a shambles – tables overturned, chairs strewn about, only wires remained where monitors once hung. Cabinets stood ajar; their contents spewed out beside them as if in a hurry. Obviously, the club members hadn’t wasted time for an orderly departure – the valuable equipment had clearly vanished, leaving only nonessentials in disheveled mess and heaps of debris.
“Wow, they must be renouncers too. Packed and got out fast – I’m almost jealous,” Daria mused as she eyed the remnants on the floor. “Lucky for me, they left behind some extra cords and packaging film rolls... Looks like they chose specifically non-transparent black one... typical renouncer moves!”
As she was leaving, something caught her eye on a personal items shelf – a large sports bag in the yellow and blue of “Kyiv Dynamo,” once a prominent football club that had played at the central stadium. Of course, it had long shifted to e-sports, a fact denoted by the twin joysticks that now accompanied the club’s emblem on the bag. Yet, fans still flaunted their scarves and memorabilia in distinctive vibrant colors.
“Always tripping over you in the lecture hall, huh?” Dasha knew that bag all too well; it was an ever-present obstacle in her path to the back seats, where she preferred to sit. Terenty, her usual neighbor, was a quintessential techie – skinny, pale, and introspective. He never failed to snag all the engineering 3D-modeling grants and ace academic competitions. His bag, a constant companion, was often strategically placed in the aisle, seemingly lying in wait for Dashka’s distracted stumbles. Considering her tendency to daydream, or even go someplace while in VR, more often than not, she would be the one to fall victim to the insidious trap.
One would assume it was no coincidence that he somehow always happened to be nearby, but the girl had never given any thought to it. She wasn’t interested much in socializing with people besides her father and Maksim.
“Seems fate has offered a shot at revenge for last month’s bruised knee,” Dasha declared with a dramatic flair, pulling the bag from its place. “What’s he packed in here? It’s ridiculously heavy.”
Inside, she found wires, fiber optics, a powerful engineering tablet. There was also a portable holographic projector on a tripod, a pile of smart cables, a 3D scanner, and a professional stereo camera for volumetric filming. At the bottom lay a bottle, nestled within a semi-transparent, light-gold plastic case – a data array controller and several storage drives beside it. Overall, nothing that seemed immediately useful...
“I wonder, will we even need all this specialized tech? But then,” she reasoned, recalling the TACTA’s store documentation, “with component manufacturing and even molecular assembly soon to be at our disposal, having the gear to create detailed 3D models might just be a strategic advantage…”
“I hope I’m right about this,” Dasha snorted, looking around for a suitable cart to carry the heavy load. “But if you’ll be a pain, I’ll throw you out! Okay, time to get Moira and leave the uni!”
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City-21 “Kyiv”, UNSA Protectorate, Avril Dominion
The shopping mall “Gulliver”
Nikola Kowalski, August 12, 2049, 5:21 PM
Nikola surveyed their makeshift little caravan with a wry smile. “Now this is what I call shopping with flair.”
Big One was laden to the brim, stretched to its weight capacity. On either side, massive bags hung; the top basket was so overstuffed that items clung on solely by virtue of the rubber cords with carabiners, thoughtfully packed by Maksim.
Redhead had a massive backpack on her back, with all the found crossbows and both of her blades attached, and another, smaller backpack in her hands, stuffed with knives and other combat essentials. Plus, a large bag brimming with personal items and cosmetics from Teen’s Republic. Loaded like a packhorse, and, especially given her sport blades instead of normal legs, the challenge was quadrupled.
The electric cart was a mound of purchases taller than a human’s height. Fortunately, the control “Pseudo-AI” of this “miracle of marketing thought” was too dumb to be infected by the Protectorate virus. So, Nika could operate it remotely, hands-free.
By now, Maksim had made his way from the stadium, and was cautiously closing to their meeting point, so Redhead took a different route. She didn’t just walk; she scanned her surroundings vigilantly, in fact, not only for threats.
“Nika, I’ve checked that area. Scene of a skirmish, a few cars damaged, but otherwise it’s clear. Nothing left to scavenge. Go ahead, Swifty is scouting ahead, Big One’s covering you.”
“Roger. Hey, what’s the mater with Daria?” the girl inquired, walking around a scorched share-car.
“That little WonderFool got herself a synthetic cascading ADHD from a ‘synth’ overdosing; managed to inject herself with a ‘Quick Stop’ shot in time, though. And that stuff is real shit – clears your head just great, but the side effects are brutal.”
“Yeah, I know this Velox – damn it – Subsisto,” Nika muttered under her breath, “Had to fill all its charm before.”
“Then you understand, I had to be there to comfort and reassure her. On the upside, she did load Moira and a heap of DEV kits onto the platform. You’ll have plenty to do in your spare time, building out various flying and other drones.”
“You think we’ll have that? Spare time, I mean?” Redhead smirked, cautiously peeking behind a corner of a building. “You know, normally, I–”
“Watch out!”
“I see it!” She halted abruptly, setting down both backpacks and the bag. “Holy shit!”
“Checking now,” Maksim confirmed, drawing closer, navigating around their sudden find – a police electrocar, unmistakably marked and partially buried under debris and concrete fragments from a rogue missile that had obliterated a nearby monument.
“It’s empty inside!”
“I’m digging through, hold on,” Nika said, equipping her crossbow just in case. “Cover the area with Swifty please.”
“Yeah, cars like this have a weapon box between the seats!”
“Yup, that’s where I’m gonna look. Everything else is buried under the crap anyway.”
“Go ahead, I’m watching over.”
“What if?” Redhead thought, already easing through the car’s rear left door, scooping out chunks of concrete with her hands.
“Gotcha! Max, it’s fuckin’ jackpot! Oh, kurwa, zajebiście!”
A heavy-duty Defender shotgun of the twelfth gauge, normally secured by a biometric lock only releasing under emergency protocols, was now loose thanks to the shattered concrete that had damaged its locks. Normally, protection was supposed to secure the weapon dead in place and lift only when the officer put their palm on it after the activation of the “dire situation” system status.
This was a standard police safety measure in the majority of large cities. The practice came from Western states, and it limited the use of heavy lethal weapons for police patrols in densely populated areas.
But a corner of the concrete slab had ripped a few welds, and one side of the lock was loose. Nika only had to pry with a piece of rebar and pull, and the Defender was in her hands!
The barrel was clean; no one had used it after all – apparently, either the patrol team had promptly retreated, or the car was empty to begin with. Six Magnum shells were in the magazine, with six more on the sidesaddle. Not nearly enough to achieve certain victory, some might say. But Nika had seen the killing power of these small green cylinders during her training.
A very serious weapon in close quarters. Hitting a “mantis” in the head with it would be more than enough. Plus, the ammo is pretty easy to come across, considering it’s a standard-issue police gun. In addition, Nika was certain that underground markets would spring up soon, where you’d be able to purchase or trade for anything, including ammo.
Her luck didn’t end there. Digging deeper, she found a police-issue Vector S1 pistol in its holster, complete with two full magazines of 9mm Parabellum rounds.
There were potentially other useful things left in the car, but there was no time to dig it out of the rubble, unfortunately; they needed to get a move on. Just in case, Nika saved the location of the car, returned to her things, and put the rucksack back on.
“Check this out, Max, I’m not just a Joan of Arc now, I’m a bit of a Terminator too.” Redhead smiled at her reflection in the remnants of a shattered display.
“Yeah! An up-and-coming post-apocalypse star.” Maksim chuckled back. “We truly hit the jackpot with these guns. Let’s move now.”
“Uh-huh.” Nikola nodded, slinging the shotgun across her chest, grabbing the bags, and heading towards their meeting point, ready for whatever lay ahead.