“And they let kids play this game?” Reggie asked incredulously.
He was panting, trying to no avail to unclasp the buckles that held the helmet-like device to his cranium. Reggie’s fingers were as clumsy as if he’d been out in a blizzard without gloves. There was all the numbness with none of the cold.
Nurse Mallet came in, pushing a wheelchair. She smiled when she saw Reggie trying to extract himself from the pod. “The manual says to allow 10-30 minutes for post-game adjustment. You’re better off either waiting it out or letting me help.”
Reggie considered telling her he’d damn well do it on his own. He wasn’t an invalid, just a psych eval case. He’d be bleeped if he was going to let a game emasculate him.
Wait…
Had Reggie just thought the word “bleep” in his own head?
He took a steadying breath. “Yeah, fine. Unhook me, and wheel me out of here.”
Lying back in the pod, Reggie waited while Nurse Mallet fiddled with straps and punched codes into the pod’s console. Eventually he was free, and a side door he hadn’t even known about popped open. Nurse Mallet leaned down and pulled one of Reggie’s arms across her shoulders.
Leaning heavily on the nurse for support, Reggie did his best to climb into the wheelchair. He slumped down with a sigh once his butt was in the seat.
“The recovery time will get shorter as you get used to the transition,” Nurse Mallet promised. She had an infectious perkiness that just exuded from her. Reggie didn’t even feel like a helpless idiot as she lifted his feet one by one and set them on the footrests.
As they left the pod room, Nurse Mallet pushing his wheelchair, Reggie lolled his head back to look up at her. “Can we stop by a bathroom? I can’t remember the last time I pissed.”
“Of course.”
Reggie took for granted that she was a nurse. Once they reached a handicap-accessible bathroom, he was so drained that he hadn’t realized what was happening before Nurse Mallet had his pants down and was assisting him onto the seat. She left him enough privacy to step out of the stall while he pissed sitting down.
It was all so surreal. In-game, he was a commander again, admired, looked up to, powerful. Here, he needed a slip of a girl to help him take a piss. His limbs felt like posable clay, needing to be forced into position with no muscle of their own to help.
“Done?” she asked when the noise ended.
Nurse Mallet retrieved Reggie and wheeled him back to his room. The decor was different, but in a lot of ways, it was like the fake hospital aboard the House Virgo command ship. Even though he could barely move, there was a timer of sorts before he’d be back in control, and a gorgeous nurse was trying to pamper him in the meantime.
“Anything else I can get you?” Nurse Mallet asked.
He listened for it, but Reggie couldn’t detect the whiff of double-entendre he’d gotten from Iris and the nameless AI nurse. Reggie suspected that his options were limited to medical needs, positioning, and possible a meal order.
That was fine by him.
“Hamburger?” he asked hopefully.
Nurse Mallet smiled. Reggie imagined that she didn’t smile at the other patients like that. It was a nice delusion, even if it probably wasn’t true. “I’ll see what I can do.”
A short while later, Dr. Zimmerman arrived carrying a cafeteria tray. He set it down on Reggie’s bedside table. “Feeling any better?”
Reggie flexed his fingers and made a fist. “Coming back. Weird as hell, not being able to control your body and being stone sober.”
“The game rig redirects neural signals that would have gone to controlling your voluntary muscle actions and interprets them as game inputs. For the duration of your stay in game, your muscles receive no signals. Some players use this to get more restful sleep. Others view it as an annoying side effect. Most play during hours where they would otherwise be sleeping.”
“Shitty way to kill time,” Reggie observed. He sniffed and smelled the grilled beef wafting from under the cover on the tray. Reaching out a hand, he looked to the doctor for approval.
Dr. Zimmerman spread a hand. “By all means. Go ahead. I already ate.”
Reggie tore into the burger with fervor. The meat was overcooked, but burnt from the grill was better than anything off a fry top.
“So,” Dr. Zimmerman said in his breeze, professional way. “How are you finding your time in Armored Souls?”
Reggie didn’t pause to swallow, talking with a mouthful of burger. “Not bad.”
“I see you’ve made level 2, and that after using Command as a dump stat, you put both points and a perk into it this level. I’m assuming that has to do with your promotion to platoon leader. Early for a new player, but given your background, not surprising.”
Reggie eyed the doctor warily. Not taking his gaze off the psychiatrist, Reggie swallowed. “Yeah. How’d you know that?”
“This is a therapeutic account,” Dr. Zimmerman explained. “I am the account-holder of record. I don’t get an in-game camera on you or anything of the sort, but I can see your stats. I can also see your juggernaut names. Daisy was an interesting choice, I must say.”
“Non-combat issue,” Reggie assured him, then took another bite of the burger. But something else had caught his ear. “Dump stat, huh? You actually play Armored Souls or something?”
The first smile he’s seen from Dr. Zimmerman appeared as a twitch that lasted less than a second. “I had to check it out before I consented to use it as a therapeutic tool.”
Reggie was sure it was strictly professional diligence. “Uh, huh.”
Dr. Zimmerman tapped a few notes into his tablet, then pressed his thumb to the bottom as Reggie continued his meal. “Well, then. I’ll let you enjoy the remainder of your lunch. You’re welcome to return to the pod whenever you like. Call for Nurse Mallet if you need assistance. Group therapy starts at 7:00 sharp, so if you’re looking to avoid it, make yourself scarce by then.”
Reggie took another bite of his burger as Dr. Zimmerman left.
Was it his imagination, or was the good doctor packing Reggie off to Armored Souls to lighten his own workload?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The outdoor temperature read -40°C. Howling winds carried through the cockpit speakers of the Sandpiper as dry snow blew from drift to drift across the windshield.
The interior of Reggie’s rental was cool but comfortable. Ice rimed the edges of his view, but all major systems were functioning optimally—better than optimally, in fact. Usually, just running around with the Beam Cannon-S powered down was enough to rate a 0.5 on the heat controls. Sure, the heat sinks could keep up with that in their sleep. But now it was no load on the heat sinks at all.
“Everyone knows what to do,” Reggie radioed. “Stick to the plan, and this one should be easy as last call at the bar.”
“Remind me again just how easy that might be,” Iris radioed back on the platoon-wide channel.
Kim snickered over an open mic.
[Primary Objective: Destroy Listening Post]
[Secondary Objective: Destroy Enemy Juggernauts 0/2]
[Secondary Objective: Destroy Enemy Gun Emplacements 0/4]
[Secondary Objective: Destroy Transmitter Before Enemies Can Signal For Reinforcements]
“We got it, boss,” Cooley radioed. He was their new fifth member, riding in a Jackal loaded out with beam cannons. He was a level-5 Sniper, which Reggie had discovered was a long-range accuracy specialist. Iris and Kim were Gunners, which was more of a volume damage spec.
As much as he hated to admit it, Reggie had picked Cooley out specifically with this mission in mind. If he didn’t pan out, so be it; he wasn’t officially a member of the platoon yet, just a try-out. But Cooley’s Jackal was poorly equipped. Not that it lacked firepower—in fact, if anything, it had too much. It was a juggernaut loaded out to overheat. Cooley couldn’t fire all those lasers on it for more than a few seconds without having to stop and let his heat sinks catch up.
>
That Jackal was either a fool’s juggernaut or an expert’s. Reggie aimed to find out which he was dealing with.
“5 klicks to target,” Reggie announced. He only knew that from the drop coordinates. Unlike the forest mission, this time they knew where they were heading. Visibility in the blizzard was next to nothing. Beyond 100m, there were accuracy penalties aplenty.
They rode in companionable silence to the two-kilometer mark. Reggie wondered whether the lack of banter was creeping professionalism eking into the platoon or it was just Iris still being sore at him about last night. Maybe her fake ‘Reggie’ lover-bot had brushed her off, too. Even before boarding the drop ship, he’d been unable to get a read on her.
“All right,” Reggie radioed. “The rest of you slow to 10 kph and ease up to the embankment at Kilo seven-seven. I’ll make the approach to light your target.”
Reggie had sprung for a magnetic spectrograph for his rental Sandpiper. With it equipped, he’d be able to make out metallic structures through the snowstorm.
The white-out conditions had the Sandpiper traipsing through the snow watching its footing as Reggie navigated by map. He circled to the eastern side of the listening post, careful to avoid any areas that might have a clear line of sight should there be a sudden break in the storm.
Once Reggie took position, he cracked his knuckles and opened a radio channel to the platoon. “Engaging E-M spectrograph. Fire as soon as you have a target.”
Reggie’s windshield went from whiteout to a psychedelic palette of oranges, purples, and greens. Fuzzy shapes took form. Most notable among them were a radar dish aimed into orbit and a pair of Rhino-class juggernauts.
The data transferred to the Sandpiper’s mini-map, and Reggie tapped on the transmitter dish.
TARGET DATA SHARED
Reggie kept an eye out on his console and saw the missile count on the two Chi-Ris drop. Seconds later, the transmitter dish exploded.
[Secondary Objective Complete: Destroy Transmitter Before Enemies Can Signal For Reinforcements]
“Nice shooting,” Reggie radioed. “Now, let’s earn our pay.”
The two Rhinos moved out, backtracking the trajectory of the missiles to a rough direction of where they’d originated. Neither of them had seen the Chi-Ris. That much, Reggie was certain of. This whole battle had been predicated on maintaining superior line of sight.
It would have been foolish, under normal circumstances, for two slow, heavily armored juggernauts to go out into the field away from the protection of the base’s gun emplacements. But under fire from unseen foes, they had little choice.
“OK, Cooley,” Reggie radioed. “Time to see what that blowtorch of yours can do in the snow.” He tapped on the two Rhinos on his mini-map.
TARGET DATA SHARED
“On it,” Cooley yelled back. The Jackal shifted to the next hex over on the mini-map, no longer in cover.
Even through the blizzard, Reggie could see the stabbing, blinding rays of columnated blue light. An orange glow at the far end could only have been melting steel under the focused heat of the laser.
Cooley didn’t stop. Whether he was overheating his juggernaut, Reggie couldn’t tell; his platoon status didn’t include that level of fine detail. But Rhino[2] was turning red at the torso.
An explosion rocked the icy landscape as the Rhino’s reactor exploded.
[Secondary Objective: Destroy Enemy Juggernauts 1/2]
“Woo! Yippee-ki-yay, mother bleeper!” Cooley shouted into the radio.
Rhino[1] fired its Mass Driver, but there was no damage to Cooley’s Jackal. It had been either a blind shot or an educated guess. Either way, it had missed.
Barely taking his finger off the trigger, Cooley switched targets to Rhino[1]. Like its counterpart, the juggernaut didn’t last long under sustained fire.
Rhino[1] exploded.
[Secondary Objective: Destroy Enemy Juggernauts 2/2]
“Nice job, kid,” Reggie said. There was something about Cooley that made Reggie pretty sure that he was underage. Maybe it was the way he stared shamelessly at Iris’s chest. Maybe it was the artful avoidance of alcohol at the crew lounge. But putting the two of those into one package really only came up with the one plausible identity: kid.
“I’m not a kid,” Cooley snapped. “I’m in grad school.”
Sure you are, kid, Reggie said to himself. Pack that kind of punch, you can be an astronaut bullfighter kickboxing model, for all I care.
“Scatter,” Reggie ordered. “With no friendlies, those artillery pieces might blind fire. Pick out separate locations within range and await further targets.”
Without juggernauts to scout for them, Reggie had his leisure to tag the gun emplacements for disposal by missile.
[Secondary Objective: Destroy Enemy Gun Emplacements 1/4]
[Secondary Objective: Destroy Enemy Gun Emplacements 2/4]
[Secondary Objective: Destroy Enemy Gun Emplacements 3/4]
[Secondary Objective Complete: Destroy Enemy Gun Emplacements 4/4]
A few shells detonated out in the frosty wasteland, but none came close to hitting the platoon once they’d scattered. The Cold Brotherhood lived up to their (probably nonsensical) name and completed the mission without so much as a scratch on anyone.
“Pack it in,” Reggie ordered. “Signal for salvage. We’re getting paid a little bonus today.”
[Mission Successful - 2290 XP - 8,000Cr]
CHAPTER NINE
Reggie arrived back at the crew lounge pumped up and ready for another mission. The rush of completing a mission flawlessly and bringing all his boys back alive and intact had him almost giddy—almost giddy enough to remind himself that one of those boys was a girl.
The bar was raucous once again. It was peak playing time, and House Virgo was out in force. A few of the higher level players congratulated Reggie for his mission’s success.
“How does everyone know?” Reggie asked the fifth one to mention it.
Someone directed Reggie to a faction status board. It had a listing of all the platoons and divisions currently deployed in the service of House Virgo. Among the recently completed missions was the following listing:
[Cold Brotherhood - Ice Outpost Demolition - All Mission Objectives 100% - Casualties 0]
A swell of pride filled Reggie’s chest. This game was checkers compared to the chess he played out in the real world. He browsed up and down the list, and his was the only recent mission with that 100 percent rating without any casualties.
Reggie was startled from his inner glow by a hand clapping down heavily on his shoulder. “Good work out there, King. Just don’t let it go to your head.”
It was Specker. Reggie had never met the commander of his initial mission for House Virgo, but the nameplate “Specker, Commander 20” didn’t leave a lot of room for misunderstanding.
“Thank you, sir. I won’t,” Reggie replied. Specker was a hardened, middle-aged sort, with iron gray hair and a patch over one eye. Thin scars, long since healed, crisscrossed a face that was weathered tan.
Specker snorted in amusement. “Go ahead and ask. I see you staring at it.”
“None of my business, sir. Didn’t mean to stare.”
Specker broke out in a grin. “I bought it at the in-game store. Completely non-functional. I can see through it like it isn’t there.” He cuffed Reggie on the arm. “You noobs take this game so seriously.” Specker gave Reggie a wink and mingled back into the crowd.
“Reggie? There you are,” Iris called out. “I gotta jet. Pilates class before work today. Nice job out there. Gonna be thinking all day how to spend those credits.”
That half-intact Rhino had been a plum bit of salvage. 50kCr divided five ways made for an extra 10kCr in Reggie’s pocket. He hadn’t even racked up a repair bill, leaving him sitting on a cool 22,400Cr including his prior savings and a half share of the mission reward, minus his rental fee.
What could Reggie do with 22,400Cr?
He cou
ld save it. He could add to it. Scraping by with the Sandpiper was working out fine thus far. All he had to do was avoid the temptation of some shiny toy convincing him to spend money in the meantime.
“Hey, boss,” Cooley called out, weaving through the crowd with a mug of root beer in hand. “Thanks for bringing me along today. You guys have your bleep together, unlike my last platoon. Think I can join officially?”
“It takes three votes,” Reggie hedged. “And I don’t have three around right now to approve you. But I’ll bring it up when I’ve got everyone rounded up. You did good out there, kid.”
“Call me Chase, and I’m not a kid,” Cooley said. “Like I told you, I’m in grad school. I’ve got a class in a couple hours on how to build bleep like we’ve got in this game.”
Reggie nodded along. “You don’t say.”
“Yeah. I’m a tech genius. I play Armored Souls for the theory crafting and inspiration for my thesis work. This laser load-out is the next broken thing that’ll be popping up on the forums. Just you wait and see. You got to see God Mode out there because of the sub-zero temperatures, but this spec is designed to hit and run. The Jackal is maneuverable enough that it can choose its engagement range with heavy and medium juggernauts, and it comes with one more heat sink in the base model than the Chi-Ri.”
Reggie blinked. He followed most of that, but it had come like a downpour on a sunny day. Reggie hadn’t been carrying an umbrella. “Mind explaining that a little slower? I’m still new at this.”
By the way Chase’s eyes lit, Reggie knew he’d made a mistake.
“Sure! You see, lasers pack a punch, don’t require ammo, and have good range. The only two downsides are having to aim manually and the fact that they throw heat like a bleep on a bleeping car fire. You can mitigate it with some extra heat sinks but only to a degree. You just can’t fire all the weapons all the time. But what juggernaut can, really? Missiles take time to lock, and you carry a finite number of them. Mass Drivers are even harder to aim and take so long to reload that you don’t want to miss. I play Diablo as a hit-and-run sniper. Take the shot, duck behind cover, cool down. Repeat.”
Dead Mech Walking: a mech LitRPG novel (Armored Souls Book 1) Page 8