“They give you toys. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. ‘Jackal, you have a handcannon that can disintegrate tanks. That’s not a toy!’ And you’re right. It isn’t. But that’s not how it feels. You do a thing, you get a reward, you get a bigger toy. It’s a cycle, and your little AI buddy doesn’t even hide it.
Damned useful though. And we do get to play with the best toys.”
-- Interview with Marie ‘The Jackal’ Hunt. April 2051
***
My world was still spinning a little. It made walking quietly hard. It was still worth the effort to try, even after all the noise I made earlier. Some miracle had prevented the other aliens, the Model Threes, from coming around to have some Cat for lunch, but I didn’t want to push my luck.
My luck was... I didn’t know. I was a Samurai. It was enough that I wanted to laugh. I had laughed at the idea, way back when me and Lucy were younger and still had some optimism left in us. We had talked about what it would be like to be one of the elite, to fly around and kill aliens by the thousands.
And she...
“I need to get to the others,” I whispered. How long had I been back there bleeding out? I’d lost track of time at some point. My HUD’s clock gave me the hour, but I hadn’t been paying attention before. “Fuck, I need to move,” I said.
You lost a somewhat substantial amount of blood. I advise caution before entering another fight.
“Fuck caution, the kittens, they... I need to help them.”
An admirable sentiment! In your current condition you would successfully distract a Model Three for approximately twelve to thirty seconds.
I stumbled to a stop. It was right. I wasn’t in any condition to fight. But, but still. I started stumbling ahead again. “Then fix me,” I growled.
You could purchase some tools to alleviate that with Class I Medical Utilities. Two solutions seem prominent. A Class I Nano-Regenerative Suite. At fifteen points this utility would allow you to begin restoring some of your damaged internals. Hemo-Restore is a five point liquid utility that you consume orally. It replenishes up to a quart of blood naturally in the space of approximately two hours.
“That’s how it works, huh?” I asked. I’d heard some things about how Samurai got their awesome powers, their incredible weapons and tools. Everyone had. Still, I trusted the information I’d skimmed off the net about as much as I trusted my own ability to run a marathon just then.
Essentially, yes. Upon unlocking a Class Catalogue you can purchase any of the items available in that speciality. Prices are constantly adjusted.
“Yeah, cool,” I said. I stopped by a cement pillar and just leaned against it for a moment to catch my breath. I wasn’t hurting, in fact, my body felt like it should have been light. The reality was that every motion took some effort, just like moving underwater the few times the orphanage had brought us to places with swimming pools. “I need something that’ll let me, uh, fight.”
Fighting wasn’t something I was used to, not at the best of times. It was frowned upon at the orphanage, for obvious reasons, and it just wasn’t something I liked. Not that I hadn’t been in a scrap or two, but being the one-eyed one-armed girl usually meant that any fight ended in someone else’s favour.
I can suggest a panoply of weapons and tools that you could use to defend yourself. Unfortunately, at your current point disposition, most of the better solutions are outside of your reach.
“Story of my life,” I said.
There is one solution. You have sixty-five points remaining. Using fifty you can unlock a Class I tech tree that will provide you with the ability to purchase a Class I weapon. I suggest Kinetic Handguns or Simple Melee. That will leave you with fifteen points. Spending ten of these would provide you with a very basic weapon. Your final points can be spent on a combat stim.
I licked dried lips and shoved off the pillar I’d been using as a crutch. “What’s a combat stim? No, don’t answer that. I’m not an idiot. I mean... what sort?”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Based on your current situation... Mind Krank Ultra. A highly addictive, habit forming, lightly poisonous drug available for five points.
I paused in my slow shuffling walk. “You’re not making that sound appealing.”
For five points you could also later purchase Cleanse. A nanite-infused neuro cleaning agent that would remove any damages caused by the previous drug.
“Right,” I said. “What’s that... Mind Krank shit do?”
It will make you feel invincible, heighten your senses, improve your perception of time, vastly enhance your reflexes, and will increase your pain and fatigue tolerance. Humans who used this drug have gone on to fight for upwards of thirty-two hours without pause, or until their cardiac system gives out.
“Are you bugging me? That shit sounds dangerous.”
You have lost contact with the Model Threes in the surroundings. The likelihood that they have reached the people you wish to protect increases every passing moment.
I worked my jaw. The damned thing was right. How long had it been since I’d seen the others? Two minutes? No, longer. Ten? They could all be long dead. Maybe they were lucky, there were only four of the monsters, and a lot of kids.
Those were shit odds.
I heard a faint, distant scream that was barely an echo across the open museum floor. It was a scream that had to compete with the wind humming past the new hole in the ceiling and the half dozen displays that had little repeating voice-overs. Still, I heard it.
I felt a chill run down my spine. “Damn it,” I swore. “Do it, give me... give me whatever.”
As you wish. Do you have any preferences in terms of weaponry?
Did I want to be up close to the aliens or did I want to shoot them from afar? Stupid question. “Guns, give me a gun.”
I’d never shot a gun, but we had toys, and I’d played a sim or two in my time. Point towards baddie, pull trigger. Easy.
Then I suggest Kinetic Handguns Class I.
“Sure!” I said in a hurry. The need to do something, to move, was growing, gnawing at me.
Class I Kinetic Handguns unlocked!
Points reduced to... 15
Well done. Now... as for a weapon.
“Just anything!” I said.
As you wish. I will pick something best suited to your situation from the current catalogue. There are only eight hundred weapons available at your current price point. This is a Hummingbird Mark I-D.
I felt something pushing at my hand. When I raised it palm-up a gun dropped from out of thin air. Not a proper gun. This looked more like a toy. The barrel was a large square with three dozen needles poking out of the end. The handle was barely curved back at all, and the trigger was more of a squared button than anything. The case looked like brushed aluminium, which didn’t fit with the heft of the thing at all.
New Purchase: Hummingbird Mark I-D
Points reduced to... 5
“How do I--” I began, only for my vision to go wild for a moment as my eyegear refreshed. I soon had a large circle floating off to the side. It didn’t take much experimentation to see that it followed wherever I was pointing the gun.
Aim at a target, wait for the reticule to go red, pull the trigger. So simple a child could use it. The Hummingbird’s target lock will do most of the work.
“Right,” I said. “The... the drug?”
Arriving. Please look down.
New Purchase: Mind Krank Ultra
Points reduced to... 0
A box appeared by my feet. No bigger than a matchbox, square, made of some cheap plastic. I bent down, almost lost my balance as my head swam, but managed to open it.
A single bright red pill sat on a gauze cushion.
“Damn,” I muttered.
I placed the Hummingbird down, took the pill and just stared at it for a moment.
Another scream came from the distance.
I tossed the pill back.
The world burst into clarity.