Gun Princess Royale: Awakening the Princess, Book One

by Albert Ruckholdt

  “…shit….” I whispered, then less than calmly buttoned up my dress, and fixed up the short necktie that was part of my uniform’s ensemble.

  After a handful of extra deep breaths, I fumbled for my phone, retrieving it from a dress pocket. Opening up the notepad function, I typed out a message and then held the phone up before my eyes.

  GHOST - CAN YOU READ THIS?

  “I can indeed, Princess.”

  I typed away. WHAT AM I?

  “As I explained before, you are the essence of Ronin Kassius, memories and soul transferred to a temporary body referred to by its designers as a Simulacrum.”

  CUT THE RELIGIOUS CRAP. WHAT AM I? TELL ME THE TRUTH!

  The ghost was quiet for a long, telling moment. “Very well. You are the mind of Ronin Kassius mapped from one neural container – your original brain – to the semi-organic mind of the Simulacrum.”

  A SIMULACRUM?

  “Yes. It is a human body not born of woman, but instead born from a maturation tank, thus grown through artificial means. However, as per the definition of the word, it is a poor substitute for the real thing. At least, that is how they used to be. Over the last few decades the technology has improved tremendously.”

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN IMPROVED?

  “The current generation of Simulacra last longer, are stronger than the humans from which they are copied, and some are engineered with special features such as flexibility of design and functionality.”

  I thought about my reflection, and the rather fetching breasts I now possessed.

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN FLEXIBILITY OF DESIGN?

  “In your situation, the ability to alter the body’s structure. For example, the fact that you possess a Bee-cup bust, your waist is narrower, your legs more slender and shapely, and your hair is longer. All of which I implemented in order to better disguise you on your quest. After all, the more believable you look the less negative attention you will attract.”

  That may be true but it had become nigh on impossible to convince people that I wasn’t a girl.

  I stiffened and reached up to touch my hair, before typing: HOW MUCH LONGER?

  “Thirty-two millimeters at best, but it is better than nothing. With more time, I could make it grow to shoulder length.”

  NO! PLEASE DON’T.

  “As you wish, Princess.”

  I swallowed hard then typed: WHAT ABOUT DOWN BELOW?

  The ghost made a creaking noise but otherwise didn’t reply.

  WHAT ABOUT DOWN BELOW?

  “…I made things a little more convincing….”

  I had no intention to check if this was true. Instead, feeling a wave of nausea wash through me, I sat back on the toilet seat, and took slow deep breaths with my eyes tightly closed.

  “Princess, I believe I should tell you that I can reverse out all these changes. They’ll just take a little time.”

  After a couple of failed attempts, I opened my eyes and stared up at the toilet room’s ceiling visible above the walls of the stall.

  Taking a deep breath, I straightened on the toilet set, and resumed typed away.

  YOU SAID SIMULACRA ARE COPIES OF HUMANS.

  “That is correct.”

  I hesitated before writing: THEN I’M A COPY?

  “Yes, you are a copy of the original Ronin Kassius, currently deceased or rather in stasis. As I explained earlier, your body suffered structural decay when exposed to the effects of Limbo.”

  LIMBO?

  “That is correct, Princess. Nothing alive can exist within its realm.”

  WHY DO YOU PERSIST IN CALLING ME PRINCESS?

  “Because that is what you are, a Gun Princess, and a new entry into this year’s Gun Princess Royale.”

  ARE YOU SAYING THAT I’M A PRINCESS MEISTER?

  “No. You are a Gun Princess.”

  I blinked slowly in thought, the gears in my mind turning over like those of the Difference Engine.

  THE PRINCESS ROYALE IS A VIRTUAL GAME. IT’S NOT REAL. HOW CAN I COMPETE AS A GUN PRINCESS?

  “The Gun Princess Royale is very real. It is conducted within slivers of reality translated into Limbo or into remote locations across the world. It is not a virtual reality or holo-VR game.”

  My fingers hesitated over the phone’s touchscreen before I took a chance on a hunch.

  IS IT LIKE THE GAME?

  “Yes.”

  I blinked twice very quickly.

  SO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE GAME?

  “I do.” The ghost paused for a moment. “Before I continue, allow me to quantify that statement. I am aware of the game, and I am versed in the mechanics that brought it to life, however, I do not know why you were in the game. That is to say, I am not privy to the machinations that put you in the game.”

  HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE GAME?

  “Because I have access to your memories. More precisely, I was able to view your memories as they being transferred from your human brain to the simulacrum’s brain.”

  WHY?

  “Because I was part of the monitoring process. It was my responsibility to check for data inconsistencies and corruption between the source and destination.”

  My throat felt tight as I nervously swallowed, feeling that the more questions I asked the more the ghost’s answers dropped me deeper down the rabbit hole. It sounded insane, ludicrous, and implausible, yet what if it was all true. At the very least, I could accept that my body – this body – was not normal. So I felt it would be a mistake not to keep an open mind.

  I resumed typing on my phone.

  WHAT CAN YOU TELL ME ABOUT THE GAME?

  “Based on what I saw through your memories, that game employed the same technology that makes the Gun Princess Royale a reality. You were initially trans-located, that is, transported to an environment created with Sliver technology, and populated by Simulacra. In other words, it was quite real and not a virtual simulation.”

  I leaned back against the toilet tank and stared up at the ceiling. My heart raced as I remembered the horrible experience of fighting my way through the three stages of The Game. Looking down at my left hand, I remembered the warmth of the little girl’s hand in mine.

  IT WAS REAL?

  “Yes. It was real.”

  THE ZOMBIES? THE PEOPLE I SAVED? THE LITTLE GIRL, ERINA? AND TABITHA? THEY WERE ALL REAL?

  “All of them real, as far as Simulacra can be, constructed to enhance the simulation that you think of as The Game.” After pausing for a moment, the ghost said, “If I may be so bold, your performance was admirable. You demonstrated hand-eye coordination well beyond the bell curve. Your ability to track targets and choose optimum firing patterns was also on the money, indicating your mental abilities exceeded what your human body could deliver. Your talent will put you in good stead as a Gun Princess, and I am certain that Project Mirai will be a success.”

  PROJECT MIRAI?

  “Yes. It means ‘future’, and an apt name considering you will be the next generation of Gun Princess to take part in the Gun Princess Royale.”

  I looked down at my body. WITH THIS BODY?

  “Oh no. Definitely not. Your Gun Princess body is a thing of pure beauty.”

  THERE’S ANOTHER BODY? I HAVE ANOTHER BODY?

  “You do indeed. The Simulacrum you are using now would never survive a Princess Royale match, no matter how much stronger it is in comparison to your human body.”

  I looked down at myself again, in particular the very noticeable mounds on my chest.

  BUT I’M STILL A COPY?

  “That is true. However, your mind, that is, your neural map was copied with extreme precision from the source to the Simulacrum your consciousness currently inhabits. To that end, while it is true that you are a copy, you are very much the original.”

  I took a deep breath, unable to ignore the obvious any longer.

  BUT WE DON’T HAVE THAT KIND OF TECHNOLOGY.

  “Correct. Your humanity do not possess the technology to create Simulacrums nor trans
fer a neural map from one brain to another.”

  WHAT? THE ALIENS?

  “The Heavens forbid. Most certainly not. Do you believe if that was the case humanity would have pushed their feeble kind to the ropes?”

  THEN WHO? WHO MADE MY BODY? WHO MADE THIS BODY?

  “Humanity did. Of that, you can rest assured.”

  BUT YOU JUST SAID—

  “Not your humanity. Not the humanity you are aware of.”

  I sat back slowly and frowned.

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

  “Allow me to give you a hint. What do you think Limbo is?”

  I shook my head weakly.

  LIFE AFTER DEATH? NO, AN ETERNAL NOTHING LIKE PURGATORY.

  “Princess, Limbo is the space between universes.”

  My frown slowly deepened. Huh? What does that mean?

  The not so gentle knocking on the stall door startled me, the phone jumping from my hands and clattering on the floor. As I scrambled to pick it up, I heard a girl’s voice from the opposite side of the door.

  “Hey, are you all right in there?”

  “Y—yes.”

  Picking up my phone, I hastily pocketed it, then flushed the toilet behind me. When I opened the door, I saw a girl around my height with long, pale blonde hair tied into a ponytail with a colorful scrunchy.

  I gave her a smile that was a mistake since all my tension seemed to project through it.

  The girl blinked, then frowned at me. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look too good.”

  “…uh…really…?” Suddenly I couldn’t keep up the smile, and my body sagged where I stood. “It’s been a really bad day.”

  “A bad day?” Her eyes widened. “Oh. Have you taken anything for it?”

  “Huh?”

  “For the cramps. Have you taken anything for them?”

  I blinked slowly, realizing heartbeats later what she meant. At times like these I was grateful to having been raised by a teenage sister. “Ah, no.”

  “Maybe you should go to the infirmary. I’m sure the nurse will give you something.”

  “Oh…okay….” Somehow, the girl’s misguided concern for me touched me deep inside, and I smiled at her faintly. “Thank you.”

  She nodded shallowly. “Well, can I use the stall?”

  “Excuse me?”

  She pointed off to a side and grimaced broadly. “It’s been kind of busy over there…if you know what I mean….” She waved a hand before her nose.

  “Oh, sure. Sure.” I stepped out of the stall, giving her room to pass by.

  She smiled at me gratefully. “Don’t be late for class.”

  “I won’t.”

  Looking down at the phone in my hand, I pocketed it and then walked up to the washbasins. The light makeup was still in place on my face, though my hair was a little messed up. I brushed it a bit, then decided to leave it as it was and gave myself a long look. As far as I could tell, I was still me, though my eyebrows looked thinner – probably the ghost’s doing – and the light makeup made my eyes appear larger, helping them stand out a lot more. My hair was definitely longer, and the pins helped keep it away from my face.

  Since there were other girls in the toilet area, I kept my voice to a very soft whisper. “I really do look like a girl. Not pretty, but kind of cute.”

  Admittedly, I was being overly critical and unwilling to accept that I looked quite attractive because to do so would be to betray myself, though it was hard to deny that I made a better girl than a boy, all the more difficult when the ghost sounded pleased with it considered its handiwork.

  “You do indeed,” it stated agreeably. “I am rather delighted with how well you turned out. Then again I had an excellent foundation to build upon. Had you been a man amongst men this would have been a lot harder—ah, then again, we wouldn’t be in this situation now would we….”

  Its voice trailed away when it realized the magnitude of its faux pas.

  I ground my teeth together while keeping a lid on my simmering emotions. “If I could hit you I would,” I grumbled in a whisper through clenched teeth.

  Washing my hands, I dried them using the blower, then stepped out of the girls’ toilets and into the first level corridor. Retrieving my phone again, I called Tobias but received no answer other than his voice mail. I quickly checked his phone’s location, glanced at my watch, then typed a message on the phone’s notepad feature.

  CAN YOU REVERSE THE CHANGES?

  “Yes, but it will take an hour or so, especially for your hair to lose some of its length.”

  WHAT ABOUT MY BUST?

  “I should have you back to your old self in under an hour.”

  I NEED TO GO GET MY UNIFORM.

  “Ah, that may be a problem.”

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

  “Your classmate has done something rather harsh.”

  MEANING WHAT?

  “Well, amongst my many diverse talents is the ability to access nearby photronic infrastructure.”

  HUH…?

  “Computer networks.”

  OH. AND?

  “I was able to tap into the school’s spy network—sorry, I meant security grid—and located records of Mister Praetor the Third angrily disposing of your uniform in the Recycler approximately twelve minutes ago.”

  I dropped my phone and fumbled to catch it before it hit the corridor floor. Grabbing it a heartbeat before it landed, I straightened quickly and tapped away furiously on the screen keyboard.

  HE DID WHAT?

  “Yes. I believe you should never have baited him the way you did. It is quite apparent he is having significant difficulties reconciling the overtly feminine you with his effeminate friend. In other words, the more he sees you as a girl, the more emotionally unhinged he becomes.”

  I started to grind my teeth together. WHERE IS HE?

  “I advise not confronting him while you are in this highly emotional state—”

  “Where is he?” I growled.

  The ghost was quiet for a telling moment, before I heard an audible sigh in my ears much like a solemn breeze. “You will find him in the cafeteria.”

  I closed the notepad feature, dropped my phone back into a dress pocket, then walked with boiling fury over to the nearest stairwell down to the ground floor. I chose not to run because as soon as I moved with any considerable speed, my chest bounced rather noticeably, or rather girlishly, and I had to slow down. I also noticed that when I moved too quickly I drew the attention of the male students, who gave me more than just a passing glance as they measured me up. If I hadn’t been so incensed at Tobias, I might have given into the feelings of faint revulsion and annoyance those glances kicked up within me.

  Arriving at the cafeteria allocated to the high school students on the north wing of the Academy, I walked in without hesitation, slipping in between chairs, tables, and hundreds of students as the clock on one wall inexorably ticked toward the end of the lunchtime hour.

  “Outside on the balcony,” the ghost said, sounding defeated and weary.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, and made my way onto the wide, curved, spacious balcony with tables and seating for two hundred students. “Which way?”

  “The table at the north eastern corner beside the guardrail. Look for a party of two.”

  “Two?” I whispered tersely. “You mean he’s not alone?”

  “No, he is in the company of another,” the ghost replied in a downhearted tone.

  Following its directions, I walked briskly between tables and seated students to the east end of the cafeteria balcony, arriving at a table in the northeast corner with two students on opposite sides – one standing and one sitting down. Despite my seething emotions, I noticed the diverging expressions they wore, and the evident tension in the air between them, yet it didn’t stop me from charging toward them. On the contrary, the sight of Tobias and Monique Valjean inflamed the fury I’d been restraining, and I could no longer hold it back. However, had I held onto it better, I would have pai
d closer attention to the note lying on the table and Tobias pointing at it while staring accusingly at Valjean who grinned thinly up at him with her arms crossed under her breasts. Perhaps I would have stopped to listen to what they were saying. Instead, I erupted upon them with a furious kick that sent the chair behind Tobias spinning into the air and over the guardrail where it sailed in an arc before falling out of sight below the balcony.

  Tobias first whirled around in abject shock, then stared at me as though he was seeing a ghost.

  “Cass—?”

  I didn’t even notice he’d called me by my hated nickname until after I’d grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him close to me with a strength I didn’t know I possessed.

  “Why?” I hissed at him, for the moment ignoring Valjean in the corner of my eye who was observing us with a faint smile. Again, not thinking clearly, I failed to notice the lack of surprise she was demonstrating at my sudden arrival.

  Tobias stared at me with eyes so wide you could see all the white around the irises. “Cass, what are you—?”

  “Don’t play games with me, you bastard. Why did you do that to my uniform? And you’re back to calling me Cass?”

  “Your uniform—!” He froze and then regarded me incredulously. “How…how did you know—?”

  I jerked him hard and growled. “I have a ghost watching out for me, you asshole. Did you think you could hide it from me?’

  “A ghost? What are you talking about—?”

  “Why did you burn my frekking uniform?”

  He shook his head in disbelief, but after the initial shock, he was regaining his composure in the face of the anger I was showering him with. “I can’t believe you came down here. I thought you’d definitely not have the stomach for it. This place is crowded after all—”

  “You mean because I look like this?” I asked. “Are you testing me, you prick?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Sucking in air, I squared my shoulders. “I asked you before if the way I look bothered you.”

  “And I told you that’s not what bothers me at all.”

  “Bullshit.” I pushed him away, releasing him at the same time. “You keep telling me to be honest. You should follow what you preach.”