by G Aliaksei C
“This is your second day on the Rings, isn’t it?”
I kept eating, considering the question, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Listen carefully.” She leaned in, leaning on the bar. “Stay by the strongest Defender they have. Aim for the largest target. If you see a Shadow, run.”
I continued eating but listened intently, absorbing the wisdom suddenly being thrust upon me.
“Stay close to the ground if there’s wind. Stay with the group. Don’t move at the end of the group. If you see something you don’t understand, move at least ten meters away from it - most Anomalies don’t kill you outside that range. If you see ruins outside of inhabited towns, stay away from them. If you see floating islands, stay away from them.”
I raised a finger, pausing her. “Are ruins and islands dangerous?”
“Not by themselves, but they often host Beast nests.”
I nodded for her to continue.
“Take everything the team offers you - weapons, Gems, armor, equipment. Always volunteer if there’s a chance.”
“Always volunteer? That sounds like a sure way to get killed.”
She shook a finger at me. “That’s the wrong way to think about that! You’re immortal, and your current body is worthless, so you don’t care about death. It is, however, a great way to earn a bonus and get some experience in non-standard situations. Plus, it’s fun.”
I realized the Innkeeper was enjoying her lecture. It was as if she felt an urge to teach the random stranger renting her room, to share a fraction of what he knew. I wasn’t about to stop her and having torn through my food in two minutes I kept listening, pretending to sip the half-empty cup of coffee. Finally, when it seemed like the Innkeeper was done, I got up.
“I must explain one more thing, because no one else will.”
My trust towards the woman tripled over the last few minutes, and I felt confident that whatever she had to say had to be heard. I stepped back up to the bar.
Four pen-shaped rectangles slid across the table. Each had a button on the back. The words written on their sides were too complicated for me to understand in my current state.
“As you are, you will die very quickly in the field. Your body is Class 1 - fragile and weak. These” - she pointed at the pens - “are injectors for body upgrades. One will reinforce your skeleton to be more flexible and durable. The other will amplify your muscle output. The third will grow a layer of reinforced tissue under your skin to protect you from radiation and burns. The fourth will harden your eyes, improve their resolution and add protection against radiation flashes that would normally blind you. These” - two pills slid across the table - “will make the process faster, no longer than an hour, and less painful. All this will only upgrade your body to Class 2, but should help you survive out there. Such upgrades are bound to your current body, don’t carry over after death, and are often more expensive than armor and weapons. Not these though - these are cheap, but effective enough. Does that make sense?”
“How do they work?” I pocketed the pills and looked over the rectangular pens. The button on the back caused a tiny needle to extrude from the front.
“Nanites, genetic manipulation, programming alteration. Depends on the race.”
“I see, just minor changes, then. How much do I owe you for these?”
“It’s considered good etiquette to help and teach those who are willing to learn. These cost nothing - a gift. There’s also this.” She slid over a final pill.
“And this is?”
“Suicide implant. On mental command, it will instantly kill you.”
“What for?” Suicide was not something I would have considered viable in this new world of immortals.
“You might be immortal, but I’m sure you are also familiar with the concepts of torture and rape? You can feel pain if you are alive.”
“I see.” The pill went into a different pocket. She didn’t need to know that I had no need for such a pill - I could stop my own heart with but a thought.
Thanking the Innkeeper again, partially for the food, partially for tolerating me, I disappeared down the staircase. In my room I ate the pills and made four injections into my neck. Only the effect of the pills was notable - my body went numb, all sensations snapping off as if a switch was flipped.
Minutes later, my joints began to crack with every move. The orchestra of popping caused by my every motion was both loud and disconcerting.
Emerging a few minutes later in my disjointed, lackluster gear, I felt the need to constantly stretch. My skin crawled, even through the effects of the painkiller, and my bones cracked with every step. The noise created by my bones mixed well with the crushing of snow under my boots.
The weather outside hadn’t been a coffee-deprived illusion - it really was below freezing today.
The Waste Ring’s meteorologists must earn a lot, formed the adjusted version of my previous thought on the topic.
Making a circle around the Gate I found the bunker we had first visited with my aliens - the armory where we sold what was left of the Raider’s gear. The mechanic stood next to the shop door.
“You are back. What do you want?”
“Food, med-patches, repair kit, grenade, and pouches.”
Sensing my rush the mechanic quickly brought out pouches, hooking them onto my armor’s shoulder, belt and thigh skeleton. He started filling those pouches, shoving rations into my shoulders, grenades on my hips, and medical packages into my new thigh compartments. A case - what I assumed was the repair kit - went onto the back of my belt. There was a certainty in the shopkeeper’s movements, no pause to the decisions on where to put what. I suspected this was a common configuration for gear distribution, one that likely made sense in this environment.
“Buy better Gems for your armor. It can handle the power. The weight is going to take you down before the enemy does.” He slapped me on the back, and I stumbled under the mass of my gear.
“Thank you. How much?”
“Six hundred. Unless you want more grenades?”
“No thanks.” I pulsed the man the CC, recalled the breakfast, and pulsed the Innkeeper 15 CC for the food, with an oversized tip included for not killing me on sight.
The man pointed at my minigun. “Do you really want to go out there with that… primitive noisemaker?”
“Until I can afford something better, yes.” The comment soured my excitement about the freshly upgraded weapon.
Shaking the mechanic’s hand, despite my discomfort, I quickly headed for the Gate. As before I stopped before the map engraved on the rock next to it and tracked the path I would need to take to reach where I was going. Only a dozen or so Gates.
I took a bit of time at each transition to look around and rest - the gear was really starting to press down on me. Every city had minimalistic, fortified buildings with few windows and many weapon emplacements. Banners and flags alternated across every gate, but most had a uniform, blue stripe across them - the mark of some sort of alliance called the Union that spanned most of the Ring.
The town occupants were always serious, harsh-looking beings, far tougher than most I had seen on the Acid Ring. Almost everyone I saw was armed and armored to the teeth, what thousands if not millions of warriors and soldiers seemingly taking no comfort in their number or the safety of the energy dome overheard. I had trouble imagining how a society that consisted mostly of combatants could sustain itself economically. Who made their gear, their supplies? Who managed the agencies and bureaus? Were they soldiers too?
The trip made me appreciate the harshness of the Hades Ring in another way, too. Almost every Gate had some sort of hellstorm overhead. The most common were flames, tornado-like dust storms, and hail that consisted not of round ice but of sharp icicles.
Finally, I reached my destination. I was another ‘final’ location, with only one Gate in the center of the plaza. The town itself, however, was slightly larger. Several groups of armed creatures idled around. It was early morn
ing at this location, judging by the motion of the plates above.
I stomped my way towards the wheeled transport sitting nearby. Two hover tanks hummed in the air in front and behind it. On top, a slime-like blob of vaguely Humanoid shape was talking to several warriors gathered around. The whole group was equipped for a small war, of course, all of them glowing, humming and gleaming with danger. Approaching, I tapped a Cockroach on the shoulder.
“Yes, Human?” The alien turned around, looked up to see my face. A glance at my forehead was followed by an alien expression of surprise. “Corporate?”
“Where can I find Rarus and Pessi?”
“The bosses are going to be here soon. Are you Mr. Frost?”
“Yes.”
Someone in the gathering crowd swore, and money was exchanged. Clearly bets were made on my not showing up.
“An honor to have you, Corporate, but… you are more than an hour early for the meetup.”
I checked my Menu. Less than an hour had passed since I had stepped out of the Inn, which was strange considering I was sure the trip took at least an hour…
Different length of an hour. I mentally facepalmed, remembering I wasn’t on a sixty-minute-hour anymore, nor on a sixty-second-minute. The stretched time increments would take a while to get used to.
The Slime above slithered closer. “Honorable Corporate, we are blessed by the void for your coming here on this fine day of our eternally more blessed lives! Truly, we cannot fail with your will among our mighty wills! If you would wish to step inside, I shall provide your exalted might with the mass of destruction!” The colorful tone made me immediately dislike the creature. I frowned, trying to see beneath the lengthy sentences, true meaning diffused across an excess of words.
“My armor is only Class 2. I am straining to move.”
“While the steel may be soft, the core is eternal! The power of greater Energy Marbles may flow through the motors with ease!” The Slime let out an untranslatable gurgle, sliding down the transport and inside the open rear doors. A long tentacle extended out, reaching for me. Fifteen sizeable Gems fell into my open palms.
Setting down my gun I began replacing the Gems in my powered armor. As I plugged the last port with the new, shinier sphere, the whole suit growled, lifting me up. The steel, previously dead weight sagging on me like a coffin, lifted to match my form. My movements become smooth and strong again, despite the masses of filled pouches.
Placing the older Gems into the extended tentacle I stood tall, flexing my shoulders to test the armor. The Menu confirmed that my armor was now powered by Class 3 Gems, a seemingly free upgrade simply for showing up.
Free stuff, not a topic for complaints.
The transport groaned under my combined mass as I stepped inside. Looking through the supply crates I began stuffing my pouches with items. All were purple-painted, like the tanks and transport, and I figured it was a form of team color. When my bags were full, a massive tube-like weapon was handed to me with another flurry of words. Securing it and a bag of huge bomb-like shells on my back with a strap I picked up my gun and jumped out of the transport, landing with a crashing sound that dented the ground under my armored boots.
This felt like a hunt rather than a military operation. Relaxed people, light weather, bright eyes, excited chatter, and equipment seemingly more adept at shooting tank-killing-bear than other sentient beings with guns. A sports event one could take their kids to.
The next hour was spent sitting around, nodding back to every passerby who spotted my horns (which made for nearly everyone in the town) and doing research on the side of a hovertank. This town had a free Waypoint, allowing me a connection to the Ring network and making the hours fly by. The assembling teams gave me room after several glares, not daring to bother me in my reading. My research focused on ways to make money, and the type of job I was about to participate in now. The modern equivalent of the Wikipedia made this a simple, engaging task.
It was really quite basic, a simple kill task on a roaming mob of local Beasts in the vicinity of a town. The town was paying Rarus for the extermination, in addition to the loot we could collect on the field. Loot, in this case, consisted of Gems powering some the Beast’s weapons, as well as any less valuable materials within their corpses.
A particularly interesting article educated me on the fauna and flora of each Ring. Someone put serious effort into creating a seemingly self-sustaining, incredibly exotic environment on each Ring. It put into perspective the hellish nature of the Waste Ring - all the others seemed cozy and comfortable in comparison. Do plants in your home country migrate in thousands and eat large animals for sustenance? Do your bears have the strength to beat one tank with another, while giving HEAT shells a rate of deflection that would make a rubber ball jealous?
The floating island I had seen near my monument was actually a byproduct of trees. Except those ‘trees’, when reaching maturity, levitated up and brought along with them a massive chunk of dirt and rock. These then roamed the Ring for hundreds of years, and several well-known outposts were built atop such islands.
The prime, wide-spread occupants here were Shadows. They divided into three main categories - weak but numerous Shimmer, Human-sized and intelligent Shade, and vastly powerful Dark. A small note was dedicated to a White Specter, a rare and terrifying fourth Shadow that was seen several times in the high-Class hotspots.
There were also several types of more focused, secondary ‘infestations’ on the Rings. The Waste Ring primarily featured hotspots of biological nightmares and rampaging, self-replicating war machines.
So, there were plenty of enemies for the occupants of the Rings to fight, for fun and profit. Did that stop them from fighting each other?
Absolutely not! A short search gave me an endless, ongoing list of wars. The middle Rings were a zone of constant skirmishes, while the outer Rings, run by several superpowers, sometimes engaged in more sizable, lengthy campaigns. But with death being temporary thanks to the Black Box system, all wars ended when troops became bored, and when supplies ran out.
It was so much better than what it could have been, I decided. Small, controlled wars with no casualties, practically for fun. What a heavenly arrangement.
I was eventually ambushed by two hands slapping my shoulders from behind, a third hitting my back, and a fourth reaching over to hit my chest. No, I wasn’t quite surprised - the unmistakable sound of metal crushing rock and the tilt of the tank when the Inson climbed it to flank me were a dead giveaway, but I chose not to blindly shoot the sound. I whirled around, glancing two purple patches on my shoulders as I turned. Rarus stood there, giving me a thumbs up with her claws.
“I am exalted at your presence, Drake. It is thrilling to have a Corporate on the team. I shall assign you to Pessi’s squad, on long-range duty.” The Cockroach waved at me from behind the massive Inson. Both were wearing the same armor as before. Pessi’s cannon was replaced with an even larger, deadlier looking weapon. Rarus’s bardiche was gone, and two claymore-sized swords took its place. That is, they were claymore-sized for her. If next to the tank-sized insectoid the swords looked large, then next to me each weapon was like a telephone pole.
I could probably deadlift one of those swords in my current state. Once.
“What are we killing today, my alien friends?” I patted the tube on my back. “This thing they gave me reads as a Class 5, but I could only upgrade my gun to a Class 2.”
The Cockroach came closer. “Class 2 will do fine for hunt. Focus on taking down big targets. Stay next to a Defender at all times.” The Innkeeper’s words rang in my head. So far, everything she told me was correct. “Next time bring better tracking. Who gave you the Class 3 Gems for suit?”
“The Slime in the transport. What exactly are we fighting?”
“Class 3 and 4 spawns, local fauna. We deal with them, the town pays, and we get loot.”
I nodded. It seemed standard.
Rarus clapped her four hands together fr
om atop the tank. “Who are my Defenders?” Limbs rose above the crowd. “Who’s my support?” Another set of limbs in the air. “Alright, team up!”
By some social whim the aliens divided into groups of four to six people. Pessi quickly dragged me over to his little gathering.
The whole crowd, somehow retaining group cohesion, began piling into and onto the parked vehicles. Several lightly armed and armored Humans climbed into the tanks. Rarus, with terrifying ease and grace, climbed the troop transport, forcing the whole machine to tilt to one side. Pessi waved for me to climb onto the tank armor with him and several other weaponeers.
I rode on the front of the lead tank, holding onto the barrel as we drove out of the town gates. Several townsfolk gathered on the street, waving at our convoy.
I only realized what we were getting ourselves into when my tank passed though the environmental energy dome covering the town. As if dipped into an angry, dry soup, the convoy slid into a hellish sandstorm. Unable to even keep my eyes open I held onto the tank, trying not to get blown off. I could not imagine how any of the others were faring any better than me until someone passed me a dust mask and goggles. Managing to put the items on with one hand I resumed my helpless clinging to the tank while my nanites removed the fine sand particles from my eyes. The wind battered against my bare neck, jabbing away with a constant stream of fine sand until, making it painful to look around.
Before and behind us, barely visible, were the headlights of the nearest vehicles. Beyond that was a dark, howling storm of incredible strength. The multi-ton war machines moved at an angle to counter the strength of the material wind, and I could feel the servos of my suit straining to keep my hands locked on the tank’s railings. Pessi, clinging on nearby, kept a hand on me to ensure I didn’t fly off. I forced myself to stare into the wind and could only see the dust smashing against the armored glass and digging into my bare forehead. Pinging on my horns reverberated through my skull.
Pessi yelled to me through the howling wind. “Mr. Frost, why must you be so massive? It is a bad feature for a gunner!”