by Tao Wong
You are poisoned!
-13 HP per second (after resistances)
Duration: 00:0:33
Pain erupts from the needles, as if acid is spreading from the needles throughout my body. I snarl, noting the duration, and change directions. In passing, I throw a grenade at the twitching form of the stuck melee fighter, focusing instead on the one that poisoned me.
You’d think a poisoner would look, I don’t know, devious and evil. Slimy perhaps. What I see though is a flamboyant, thin creature dressed more like a swashbuckler with a colorful, patched half-cloak. Very humanoid-looking too, other than the single eye that dominates his whiskered face. Running forward, I throw a Blade Strike, forcing d’Artagnan to duck even as he throws a pair of spikes at me underhand. Those, at least, don’t pierce my Soul Shield, though the shield suddenly shifts to a sickly-green color.
Soul Shield Corrupted
-15 HP per second
“Boy-o, they’re retreating. And teams one and two are on their way back. I’ve got team one on my screen already. They’re making damn good time,” Ali updates me.
I snarl slightly, covering the last few feet as my damaged and worn shield finally gives way. I lunge forward, my sword caught and pushed aside by d’Artagnan using one of his spikes. What he doesn’t expect is for the sword to disappear, throwing his balance off just long enough for me to step forward and cut up, bisecting his abdomen and chest. Even as he screams, I conjure a sword into my other hand to finish the job, lopping off his head. As he dies, I swipe my hand through his body and dump it into my storage space, glancing back at the burnt and twitching body of his compatriot, the worms making a mess of my attacker.
“Remind me to buy a cure for those mines,” I send to Ali even as I run to put the poor man out of his misery.
The Spirit pops out of the earthen wall a moment later, flying toward me as he flicks a small screen up in front of me. The remnants of the group I recently engaged slow down as they link up with the second group even as the first group to leave town appears on the edges of my map. It’s clear that they aren’t coming at me piecemeal anymore, gathering together for safety.
“Can I reach them?” I send to Ali, wondering if maybe I can pick off a couple more from the consolidated group.
“The running group? Sure. But they’re likely to play for time, bog you down,” Ali says.
A quick glance at my Mana level and its hampered regeneration shows that I’m running dangerously low again. That’s why I chose not to use Blink Step earlier, knowing that the Skill is expensive. Better to save a little just in case I need to run.
“Recommend you get out of the nano cloud at the least, boy-o,” Ali sends as I dither.
Nodding, I jump onto the roof of the nearest building, using Sabre’s jump jets to help cover the distance. Not that I couldn’t do it just using my stats, but the jump jets and anti-gravity plates make it a lot easier. As I fly through the air, I refresh the Soul Shield, wincing as my Mana drops again.
“Time to go,” I say and suit words to action.
Better to get out of here before they gather and try to track me down. I might be able to win, but getting encircled by a group of Advanced Level fighters worries me. No guarantee they don’t have a plan to get some real players in. Without the QSM – my Quantum State Manipulator which lets me phase partly into another dimension - my options for running away have decreased, so better to draw this out and keep hitting them one after the other.
Anyway, I’ve struck my blow. Now for the next part of my plan.
Chapter 15
A day and night later, I finally relax. Sons of bitches had someone with tracking Skills on their side, so I’d been forced to run and fight against the consolidated groups, reinforced by another hunting group that didn’t originate from the city. While I had no idea which one of three I managed to kill in our last encounter had the tracking Skill, I was finally confident that I had lost them. Either that, or they’re laughing their asses off while I hide at the bottom of this lake.
Once again, I go over the gains in my mind. There’s something to be said about fighting multiple sentients—the experience gain is definitely better than what you’d get killing monsters. I’m now three quarters to my next Level and I earned another seventy thousand Credits. Sadly, most of the equipment I looted is less than useful—some mediocre personal weapons, some damaged armor, and the usual slew of Mana and Healing potions. However, there are a few interesting things.
Triffgits Leeches of Poison Neutralisation
Guaranteed to remove most Tier V and IV poisons if applied within two minutes of infection. Do not store in System inventory.
I stare at the tiny bottle of writhing leeches, my face twitching in disgust as I stare at the black-and-green creatures. They really do look similar to Earth leeches, though I’m promised they feed on poisons rather than blood. Still, I’d have to be pretty desperate before using these.
Q’saex Nano Swarm Grenade
This specially designed nano-swarm will not directly damage your opponents but will instead constantly reproduce, using the ambient Mana in its surroundings to multiply the swarm. This will reduce all Mana regeneration in the affected regions during this period.
Affect: -40% Mana Regeneration
Duration: 20 Minutes
“That’s dangerous,” I mutter, staring at the pair of grenades in my hand. I slip them back into the external storage locations for Sabre.
“Worried about your grey goo scenario? Don’t be. The nanites are programmed to shut down after twenty minutes. And even if they weren’t, the System would shut them down soon after,” Ali reassures me as he darts around the lake, chasing a few barracuda-looking fish. At Level 3, those things aren’t dangerous to me and supposedly make good eating.
“How sure are you?”
“Very. It’s pretty well-recorded that the System has defenses against nanite encroachment. In fact, a lot of studies show that the System hampers nano-machines and reproduction, along with out-of-control AIs,” Ali says.
“So I noticed it says forty percent here,” I say. Of course, it might be that the group all just had different toys, but this seems like something the team might have pooled money together to purchase as a group.
“Forty percent based off Galactic Standard, remember? We’re in a Mana-rich environment in a Dungeon World, so the effect is less,” Ali sends back.
“Right,” I say, listening to the echo of my voice in my helmet.
I draw another breath of recycled air and I swear, I can taste my own unbrushed breath. I know it’s psychological, that the helmet and Sabre’s environmental filters have removed it all, but I’ve been here for hours. Still, I force patience on myself again. Two more hours, that’s what I promised myself. Two hours and I’ll be out.
We forget how big Canada is, when the roads are perfect and the weather is great. While the weather today is nice—a warm summer day with a light breeze blowing—the roads themselves are a mess. There’s an entire stretch on the 5 between Merritt and Hope where the ground is a swamp, the road buried under murky waters where things reach out to grab at Sabre. I’m grateful I picked up the anti-gravity plates for the PAV, allowing me to traverse the sudden change in environment with ease.
When the roads are great, we forget the size of our country thinking that a three-hour drive is a reasonable thing to do on the weekend. It’s something more than one overseas acquaintance has pointed out, that the same amount of time would put you into a new country in many parts of the world.
But without roads, with monsters and enemies all around, what should have been a few hours’ drive takes me days. Alternately, driving alongside the road, or in some cases, diverting entirely away, I find myself finally nearing the Lower Mainland. Not Vancouver itself, but Mission as I switch to the 7.
A part of me wonders if I’m entirely insane, going directly into the lion’s den. Of course, it is insane, but I’m banking on Ali and Shrunken Footprints to make it less s
o. Ingrid could do this better, sneak right in and stab someone to death, but she’s got her own job to do. Between my stealth Skills, the Class Skill, and my ability to run away really fast, I’m the best choice for entering Vancouver. Or at least, that’s what I keep trying to convince myself on.
Once I near Mission, I get off the road. Traveling takes longer off-road, since I have Sabre stored away and am on foot. I weigh the pros and cons of keeping on my skintight, high-tech armor and eventually go with on. While I’m not sure how many humans in this area might have it—certainly, everyone in Whitehorse took to wearing a variation of it as a matter of course—it’s black, doesn’t make much noise, and offers some additional passive protection. Rather than take that away, I just opt to take more time sneaking in.
Alleyways and side roads do well for me, leaving me with few encounters and none of note. Ali’s ability to sense others means that we can swing wide around potential problems long before they see us, leaving only a few low-Leveled monsters that we can safely ignore. Not that we see many sentients anyway, other than the occasional scavenger party breaking into abandoned buildings, looking for necessities.
Curious, and nearer to downtown Vancouver itself, I make my way into an abandoned office building, this one once hosting individuals that used to sell million-dollar shacks. There’s an irony in watching the very people that the realtors used to prey upon ransack those same structures. I watch the scavenger group through the windows, curious to see what they take. Food sometimes, jewelry of course, but more mundane items are common too. Toilet paper, menstrual pads, books, LPs, and DVDs are more common.
It takes me a while to puzzle that out. Consumables and jewelry sure, but the LPs and DVDs only make sense after I realize it’s culture. Music. Things we can’t get or produce anymore, that comfort in times of stress and uncertainty. A wave of sadness washes over me with the realization that we might never get another ZZ Ward, Meatloaf, or Whedon creation. All that we have, all that is made, that’s all we’ll ever have.
After a time, I push down the grief and focus again on their scavenged goods. In a nuclear war, we might be scrounging for oil and food, but here, food is all around us. Oil is useless since most of our machines are dead and Mana engines are so much more efficient. Guns—non-System registered guns—are laughable toys that barely affect anything other than the lowest Level vermin.
No, in this apocalypse, the most important resource is Levels. People create Levels, so people are important, but a single high-Level individual is still more important than a series of low-Levels.
“You know, the System is a bit of an elitist,” I whisper to Ali, rubbing my nose as I hunker down, watching the group on my map as they move to another building. This time, they’ve decided to leave someone on watch. When Ali sends me a mental huh, I explain my earlier thoughts.
“Talk in your head. And of course it is,” Ali says. “That’s the System for you. But don’t tell me you thought your society was fair either. At least with the System, you’ve got a chance to Level up.”
Rather than argue with Ali about the merits or demerits of democracy, I ask him another question that has been bothering me. “Whatever. Can’t change it, can we? Tell me something else. What’s to stop a really rich or powerful group from loading up on Shop-bought Skills, making them invincible?”
“Mmm… nothing? Or well, practicality, I guess. Obviously Mana regeneration limits the passives,” Ali sends, waggling his fingers. “And since you can’t really stack most Mana regeneration-boosting Skills, there’s no way to get around that. For the active Skills, you’ve got the problem of Mana pool to worry about. Easy enough to get a ton of different Skills, but if you can’t afford to use them, they aren’t much use. But yes, there are people who pack a lot more punch for their Level than they should have because they’ve bought a bunch of Skills.”
I slowly nod. In the end, those with money and influence have a head start, whether in the System or our old world. Add in the fact that we’re working a knowledge deficit compared to the rest of the galaxy, and us humans are at a severe disadvantage. But that’s okay. As my dad once said, even if you have to work twice as hard to be half as good, most people aren’t willing to put in the work to start.
What I see before me, from my map and the occasional glance out the window, tells the truth of that too. The Sect members I’ve fought are decent, smart and experienced. But compared to the human teams at the same Level, especially those from Whitehorse, they’re missing something. An edge, a drive, that we have. I can even see it in these kids, the way they move and scavenge. Come to think of it, the Yerick have it to a slightly lesser extent too.
If we survive, if we manage to make our way through the colonization of our world and not fall into despair, we might just do okay. To do that though, we have to have to our own areas of control, our own cities. And that means beating the hell out of the Thirteen Moon Sect. Settling comfortably again, I wait for the group to get moving so that I can get back on task.
My first big hurdle is the Pitt River. Rather than cross it along the actual bridge, I swing north for a bit, running in the dead of the night through empty streets till I hit an abandoned golf course. From there, I swim across the river in the early morning light and hide out in someone’s expensive and torn-up home. Whoever built the house was a fan of the typical West Coast design with lots of windows, which meant that when the monsters came, there was nothing sturdy to hold them out. I ignore the months-old signs of struggle, grateful that the scavengers have removed the bodies.
After that, I scavenge some old clothes. Blue jeans and a T-shirt with a goth girl with an ankh design on it replaces my combat gear. I keep the sidearm and a beam rifle though, wearing both out in the open, along with the combat boots. While the weapons might be a tad more expensive than normal, everyone’s packing these days. A quick discussion with Ali has him shifting some information on my Status. He can’t do much about the Level, but I now read as a Level 39 Guard. High enough to raise more than a few eyebrows, but at least to all casual scans, I’m just a Basic Class.
Working my way towards downtown Vancouver the next evening is easy. Making sure to come in with the scavenger groups means I’m just another dot on the Sect’s sensors as I walk in through the streets of Coquitlam. That’s the thing about the Lower Mainland and Canada. While we might have lost ninety percent of our population, Canada’s population has always been concentrated in a few major cities. Even ten percent of a million is a lot of people, and with all the towns around the city abandoned, the survivors have concentrated significantly. All those people need to hunt, farm, build, and otherwise improve themselves. Which means hunting parties, scavenger parties, farming groups, and more. The Sect might own and run the place, but they don’t have the numbers to check out everyone.
That’s the next thing I notice. Roxley had his guards in his livery to make themselves easy to notice. Policemen normally are noticeable; after all, it helps keep the rabble in line. The Sect members do the same here, mostly by just being different than us humans. It takes only a short while for Ali to point out that not every single alien is a Sect member though. After that and a bit of grumbling, he adjusts the aliens’ descriptions. Now, every Sect member who publicly displays his allegiance—which is likely all of them—is marked above their heads via their Status bars as well. That’s good, because I really don’t want to kill an innocent.
It’s interesting to watch the reactions of the other humans to the other species. Few humans talk to them. Even fewer seem friendly with any of the aliens. Oh, some are worming their way into the Sect’s good graces by toadying up, but whether it’s because they suck at that or are just exaggerating for the aliens, picking out their motives is easy. But for the majority, the silent edge of resentment and anger is there in the sidelong glances and twisted lips when the Sect members aren’t looking.
Not that the Sect members are helping matters. Most act like the small-time bullies they are, giving a shove her
e, a shakedown there. Lording it over the humans wherever they can.
“They’re making this too damn easy,” I send to Ali, glancing at a pair of beast-like creatures shaking down a scavenger party. It also explains why most of the humans use normal bags rather than their storage. Though I’m curious how the Sect is stopping people from sneaking things in via storage.
“Auditors. They’ve got the ability to look into your storage, with your consent or without if they’ve got enough strength,” Ali says, answering the implied question. “Go right here. There’s a group of Sect members coming down the street who are looking bored. Better to skip around them.”
“Got it,” I say, sighing. I’m not the only one who does that, though most who duck out are ahead of me, I notice. Pissing off the humans they guard is definitely helping me blend in, since no one wants to meet the Sect members if they can help it. “Not many Serfs here.”
“We’re still on the edges. They’ll keep the Serfs close on hand. Don’t want them running away,” Ali says.
I nod, rubbing my chin absently as I assess the areas. Truth be told, so far, the city looks much like the towns I’ve seen. Windows and doors broken, abandoned cars rusting on the streets, occasional monsters popping up then hiding as they sense the Level difference. On occasion, a few utterly insane monsters attack and are put down. More cars of course, a lot more cars on the major roads, abandoned and useless, but I don’t stay on those byways much.
But in time, I spot the differences. The Mana flows in a big city are more concentrated and grow greater as I head deeper into the Lower Mainland. While Coquitlam might be a “Village,” it could easily be considered a Level 10-20 zone, with a few of the wooded parks and neighborhoods jumping up another zone level again. Monsters grow and populate around here, seeming to thrive on the unregulated flow of the city.