Proxima Riven: (Book Seven) (Sci-Fi LitRPG Series) (The Feedback Loop 7)

by Harmon Cooper

  Talk about hubba hubba. Talk about the kitty’s roar.

  I’m pretty sure she’s trying to get back at me in her steampunk anime girl costume, but I know better to bite, so I instead turn my attention to Rocket, who wears a black tuxedo jacket with a popped collar over a peppermint cravat tucked into a dark blue waistcoat. Below the belt he wears a pair of super tight skinny jeans with perfectly proportioned holes at the knees. “What am I forgetting … ” He snaps his fingers and a shiny train conductor hat takes shape on his head. “Did you see the boots?”

  I nod.

  “They’re the X-23s.” Rocket kicks back on the heel and two sharp blades shoot out from the foot. “Just in case I need to kick some ass! P.S. I’m an alchemy user these days, but I still can and will kick ass upon request.” Glitzy hieroglyphs cascade down his arms. They stop at his wrists and buzz with intensity.

  “What kind of spell is that?” I ask as I equip my steam pack, item 564, and thread it into the port on my arm.

  “It isn’t a spell at all; I just did it to look cool!” His cuffs-o-magic quickly dissipate. “Pretty sweet, Q-Bert, right? Am I right or am I right or am I right?”

  “Why am I already regretting logging in?”

  “Because you aren’t doing it right!”

  I turn to find the Dream Team’s War Faun in a world appropriate tactical vest with tons of pockets and a fully-loaded bandolier for a belt. He’s armed to the teeth with shooting irons – two are holstered on either side of his waist, two under his arms, one tucked into the front, a Springfield M1903 slung over one shoulder, a Beretta Pico strapped to either leg, an M4 carbine on a single point sling and likely another gun hidden somewhere. Over his right eye, partially illuminated by the golden indicator over his head, is an eye patch with an advanced reticle on it that reminds me of the inner workings of a clock.

  “Have fun playing dress up, Doc?”

  “Dress up? This isn’t dress up; it’s an assignment!” He takes a little spin and flicks his little goat tail at me on the way back around. Looking good by the way, Aiden.”

  “Not bad yourself, Doc. Glad to see you kept the faun avatar.”

  He turns and shows us his little goat tail. Sure enough, a Glock is tucked into the back of his bandolier. “Where are we anyway?” He swipes away the Steam prompt. “And why am I already at such a high level?” he snorts. “Just kidding. I know Ray Steampunk hooked me up and is probably watching me right now? Ain’t that right, Ray?”

  Sophia: The five of you are in the same place we spawned earlier, southwest of Locus not far from the Crown River.

  “Ah, so that’s what that smog covered, over-populated stain on my vision pane is!” Doc places his arms on his sides and gives the city a look. His perky little tail drops as he sees a potential hostile approaching from a different hill.

  He’s on his belly seconds later, his Springfield M1903 ready to go. His reticle eye patch extends a few inches away from his face and settles as it locks onto the target.

  “Need a spotter, Doc?” Aiden takes a knee next to the War Faun.

  “I’ve got him.”

  “It’s one of those strange bicycles!” Rocket says.

  “A penny-farthing or … at least, an all-terrain version of one.”

  This ain’t your granddaddy's penny-farthing, no siree. The penny-farthing approaching us – and soon to be part of my list after Doc gets a headshot in – has studded all-terrain tires. The guy peddling is a sweating beast of a man, with more muscles than an inflated Reaper outside of the Revenue Corporation’s headquarters at their annual Asshole of the Year Picnic.

  “Must we always resort to violence?” Frances asks as her cute little steam pack takes shape on her back. She lifts into the air before Doc can tell her ‘we must’ and once she’s up, she makes a beeline down from our spawning hillock to the approaching pedal pusher.

  Doc doesn’t take his focus off the pedalist.

  He clicks the safety off, steadies his breath, and readies himself to pull the trigger. Frances lands, they speak for a moment, and she is up and out in a jiffy. The cyclist turns away, his big form going back up the hill the way he came.

  Frances lands and hands me a telegram. “It’s from Ray Steampunk.”

  “For the love of … ” Doc huffs and he gets back to his feet. “Well?”

  “This has to be some sort of joke,” I mutter as I look the letter over. “Why can’t we just get what we need from Ray and skedaddle? Why does it always have to entail some sort of quest, some sort of dramatic entrance? We could literally spawn in Morlock, clean up shop, and be back before Doc’s afternoon snack.” I wave the telegram at Frances.

  “Don’t look at me!”

  “Oh, I’m getting my afternoon snack, you can bet your bottom dollar on that,” he grumbles. “What’s it say?”

  I clear my throat and speak in a clipped, 1920s radio broadcast voice. “Ahem, an airship will arrive shortly. You will be taken to the Lost Pines, not to be confused with the Pines of Palafitte, and from there, you will make your way to the Prison City of Akrasia.”

  Sophia: The Prison City of Akrasia is a cesspit located on the easternmost edge of Morlock and is separated from the city by three walls, Wall Maria, Wall Rose, and Wall Titan. Convicted felons from Morlock and military prisoners from the Boilerplate Army are sent there to serve out their sentences. Going through the Lost Pines is one of several ways to enter the prison city, which is a popular tourist destination.”

  Doc clears his throat. “I think, and I hope I’m right here, Ray is trying to save us trouble by telling us to go through the pines. He may know something we don’t know. There’s the airship there.” He points at the orange sky.

  “What should I do with the telegram? I’d rather not clutter my list with something so useless.”

  Frances snorts. “Clutter your list? Says the guy who has a cherub-shaped church key and a Peter Griffin mask.”

  “Item 57 and item 283. What’s your point?”

  “A Poppy Troll collectible figurine; a bowling ball signed by some guy named Walter Sobchak,” adds Rocket.

  “Yes, items 357 and 106, respectively.”

  “Don’t forget your hand-cranked meat grinder and your case of stink bombs,” adds Aiden.

  “Item 173, which I yanked from the Chef; item 405, which I stole from some anklebiter who was in the abandoned amusement park. Look guys, I’m a changed man, or more accurately, a changing man. Give me a break already!”

  “Is the telegram signed by Steampunk?” Rocket asks. “If so, I’ll take it. Those things are worth mad shillings.”

  ~*~

  About three minutes in, Doc and I have had just about enough of the oooohs and aaaahs from Frances and Rocket to equip industrial-strength ear plugs. I have a pair, item 445, which cost me a pretty penny. Who am I kidding? I stole them from Two Face Tommy. In another one of those ‘days on repeat’ stories of mine, Two Face Tommy was having his big party. Glitz, glam, doll-faced dames with eight inch high heels and little knives strapped to their thighs – you name it.

  Tommy had just had a custom pair made for him by none other than The Loop’s goodest weapons dealer, Dirty Dave, and boy was it a nice pair. Contained in a case of solid gold, ol’ Tommy, who had trouble sleeping at night, kept the earplug case in his nightstand.

  Let’s just say the Tooth Fairy paid him a little visit that night and robbed him blind instead of leaving him a fiver.

  Talk about silencio. I can’t hear a damn thing with his earplugs in, not even the report from my Tommy gun!

  “You got that look on your face,” Aiden says.

  “Which one?”

  “The one that says you’re thinking too hard.”

  “Better than thinking too flaccid!” Doc laughs at his own joke. The Steam Faun leans against a large crate. Aiden is next to him, flipping through a scrollazine he picked up in Tritania called Goblin Holes. I have no earthly idea what the hell he’s looking at, but the occasional chuckle from Doc
and the fact that there’s an orc chippie in full monty on the cover tells me that it ain’t your typical 7-Eleven rag. Euphoria already gave MA the stank eye for it; luckily she’s over by Rocket, both of them looking through a rectangular window at scenery below as if they’ve never seen a Proxima World before.

  “What’s for dinner tonight, Doc?” I recall the delicious-looking BBQ brunch he was noshing when we arrived. What I wouldn’t do for some BBQ right about now.

  “Tonight? Well before Operation Daughter Snatch … ”

  Aiden snickers.

  Sophia: Gross.

  “What?” I ask the ceiling. “It was a good joke and you know it.”

  “I’ll be enjoying a pork roast with gravy, oven-baked red potatoes seasoned with onions and rosemary, along with a medley of broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots. I cooked it up in the crockpot before we left home and got five meals out of it! For dessert you ask? Probably some Blue Bell. I brought a pint of homemade vanilla, rocky road, and mint chip.”

  I lick my lips. “Damn, that’s some good eating.”

  Frances scoffs. “Heart attack on wheels.”

  Sophia: Don’t worry, Frances, I’ve already ordered us some food.

  “You mean on hooves.” Doc shows her the bottom of his caprine appendages. “And you two can keep the gerbil food to yourselves.”

  “I agree with, Doc,” I chime in.

  The airship rattles. Doc has one of his guns in his hands faster than Rocket can say, “This sure is a bumpy ride!”

  A quick looksee to the window and I see that we’ve entered a small lightning storm. Nothing to write home about, and I’m pretty sure our gilded and Fabio fanfic-looking bromigo Ray Steampunk wouldn’t let us die anyway, but I’ve yet to meet a person whose heart doesn’t skip a little during a heavy storm.

  I stand from the barrel I was sitting on and scoot up next to Rocket, watching as the sudden rain slaps against the airship’s windows. “How’s my body?” I ask him. “Looking all right?”

  “Looking bodacious, Q-Rip. I took a few selfies with you though; put some lipstick on you too.”

  Doc snorts. “Forward a few of those to me. I want to make sure I have something to share with you every time you’re acting like an asshole.”

  “Acting like an asshole? When was the last time I did that? It’s impossible to put lipstick on me,” I tell them both, “I have a breathing apparatus in my mouth!” The furtive glances between the three that turns into deep, braying laughter says it all. I grunt and return to my barrel. “I get no respect,” I mutter under my breath.

  Lightning strike again the storm suddenly dissipates, as if it were being scrubbed out by a giant eraser. Blips of light peak through the dark clouds and I get that itching feeling someone is watching us. Just to be sure, I slowly curl my hand into a perfectly formed middle finger.

  That’s for you, Ray.

  Lightning cracks one last time and the airship drops a few feet in altitude, tossing my avatar to the deck.

  ~*~

  ~~Prepare for debarkation! Prepare for debarkation~~

  “Is Ray Steampunk making up words again?”

  “It’s an actual word,” and Doc is just about to explain the word origins when the floor of the airship gives way.

  “Here we go!” I shout.

  Rocket is the first to fall out; as alchemical symbols twist and flitter up his body, a pair of translucent yellow wings form on his back. Of course, Aiden has his steam-powered jetpack on faster than I can give my list a quick scroll, and like a good for nothing bastard, he captures the falling Frances in his arms and lands safely at the edge of copse of pines.

  I go for Doc, who clearly could have handled himself, and together, as Doc curses in my arms, held as if he were my newlywed bride, we descend to the pines below.

  Sophia: Speaking of screenshots...

  “How romantic!” Rocket laughs as I land valiantly with the Combat Faun in my arms. All business, Doc hops out, grabs two guns and he and Aiden secure the perimeter.

  “I was going to, um, rescue you.” I tell Frances so only she can hear it.

  “Aiden beat you to it, and besides.” She gives me a look that would freeze the chivalry right out of Prince Valiant. “I don’t need rescuing.”

  “You know what I mean, not trying to be misogynistic or nothing.”

  “Try harder.” A saber pistol with a pearl grip appears in her hand. With the weapon at her side, she joins Doc and Aiden in securing the perimeter.

  “You could have rescued me,” Rocket says as he places an arm around my shoulder.

  A dark shadow hovers over the Lost Pines. I don’t know if it is always like this so close to Morlock, but I got a feeling that Ray Steampunk was going for the Mordor vibe when he oversaw the design of this part of the continent. Everything has a burnt look to it, even though the pines on the pine trees are actually green.

  I wave my hand in front of my face. My skin tone has changed ever so slightly as if the color has been stripped out of it. I look to my teammates; they aren’t quite black and white, but this place is definitely lacking color.

  Frances Euphoria’s face illuminates as her atlas sphere floats into the air.

  “I thought those were only good at finding logout points,” I say.

  Sophia: They’re also useful for navigation and illuminating dark spaces.

  Sure, the forest is dark, but that’s nothing for my heavy duty MagLite with a flare in its grip, item 398. It’s supposed to shoot a frickin’ laser, but I can’t figure out how to make that happen, and I’ve been meaning to ask Dirty Dave to take a look at it for a while now.

  “Nice one,” Doc says as he takes in the beam of my light. “Is that the Barnes Mag 250?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Pfft! Both of you put your bright toys away. Equip something less noticeable.”

  Rocket chops the air and arcane magic twists up his arm. “Illuminate vision!” His eyes glow and return to their normal color.

  “If that’s how we’re doing this … ” I go with my Reaper skull, item 551. As soon as I put it on, gridlines appear and the option to toggle between various viewing modes take presents itself. I go with NV and the dark forest turns green.

  I turn back to Frances to find her with an equally impressive mask on that looks like something out of the DisNike Tron reboot from the 2030s. Her atlas sphere is still with her, but she’s disabled all light functions from it.

  “Are we done playing dress up?” Doc gives the signal for us to follow. “Stay frosty.”

  The Faun of Steam scuttles ahead, his shootin’ iron trained on the dark pines. Aiden holds up the rear, a Remington ACR at the ready, leaving the three of us in the middle.

  Me: Rocket, right. Frances, watch overhead, I’ll hold left.

  Rocket: Roger that, Steamboy.

  Me: Dammit, you.

  Sophia: Would you guys like to know more about Akrasia?

  Me: No.

  Frances Euphoria: Sure.

  Rocket: What Steamboy said.

  Doc: What Rocket said.

  Sophia: Rumor has it, no one has ever broken out of Akrasia.

  Frances Euphoria: If no one has ever broken out, how are we supposed to get in?

  Sophia: Anyone can enter Akrasia; not everyone can leave. Prisoners of Akrasia wear similar restraints to the ones that bleached people wear, although the restraints are on their ankles, not their necks.

  Me: So Ray Steampunk is preventing people from logging out?

  Sophia: No, he’d never do that! He’s a great guy, a legend, really.

  Doc: What part of stay frosty do you people not understand?

  Sophia: Sorry, Doc! But to answer your question, Steamboy, the ankle band that the prisoners wear is similar to something that a person under house arrest wears. It prevents them from leaving the city. Prisoner PCs can certainly logout, but they must serve their sentence when they log back in. The Akrasian authorities only count the time that they are in Steam as part of
their sentence. Some have fifty year sentences – pretty much lifers and no, before you ask, they can’t just do the resetter thing. Duh.

  Me: But aren’t people technically free to move around Akrasia? It can’t be that bad, can it?

  Sophia: That’s a stupid question. Have you ever even looked at pictures of Akrasia? It is a vile, sinful place. The worst of the worst take residence there. Zedic and I once met a contact there – worst experience I’ve ever had in Steam.

  Me: Sounds like my kind of place! But seriously, I thought you said it was a tourist destination.

  Sophia: It is. For some reason, people still enjoy it.

  “Psst, Aiden,” I whisper. Morning Assassin flashdances and is suddenly next to me. “Akrasia is Steam’s version of The Loop.”

  A wolfish grin forms on his face, evident in the way his mask stretches. “Good.” With that, he’s gone, back to auditioning for the role of Nightcrawler in the newest reboot of the X-Men franchise, X-Men: Wolverine Good, Magneto Bad but Likeable.

  Sophia goes on for another few minutes about Akrasia lore and about the famous walls that surround the city. About the only thing I take from her dissertation is the name Wall Rose, which sounds like it could be either a great album title for an experimental post-rock R&B Tejano band that I’d like to form with Aiden someday, or something that is in reference to something else that is somehow related to the steampunk genre.

  I’m going to go with the latter.

  “Weapons up!” Doc takes cover behind a pine just as the ground shakes.

  Rocket is tossed off balance, but manages to catch himself. With a whirl of his hand, the Dream Team’s boy wonder zips to the tree next to Doc.

  Frances and I head right and the ground rumbles and of course, Aiden already has his brown ACR tucked under his arm as he unloads a magazine at the approaching force. Doc joins him. The sound of trees and roots and the clank of rocks being cut in half add to the metal symphony being played by Doc and Aiden.