Part 2
### Chapter 1: Rewritten Ch 1 Initialization
Ch. 1 - Initialization
" 'Yesterday we stood above the abyss. Today we're a step ahead!'
A meme attributed to various German politicians for its awkward English. It possibly originated from the times of the former nation's division into West and East more than half a century ago. The meme went mostly unremarked for decades: never famous; never quite dead.
When the reality of the Antithesis incursions hit the public consciousness, this meme suddenly went very, very viral in its perfectly expressed irony."
– Excerpt from Memes Around The World, A History, July 2031
***
I lay belly-down atop the roof of the condo, heels jiggling lazily, chin resting on crossed arms, attention split between the family-fest across the street, and the socials scrolling across my aug-gear's retinal display.
Birthdays always made for endless spam. I wasn't looking forward to my thirty-fifth next year, when nothing would stop several hundred corpos from inundating my feed with SPECIALS! for the apparently so-very-marketable anniversary of 'halfway dead'.
I hummed along under my breath as one of my favorite songs played, and smiled as the little girl absolutely thrashed another kid on the soccer field below.
What were their names again?
"Crap, I really suck at remembering names, don't I?"
The oral microphone-implant of my aug-gear picked up the mumble, and sent it to my visual augs—which automatically overlaid my HUD with an alphabetized list of names of every person in view. And my visual augs, which audibly listed them off, too. All one hundred and fifty-one of them. There was a counter in the top left for that. Why? No fucking clue.
"Yeah, that sure helps…"
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I let my head drop, and groaned. "Seriously?"
Mood ruined by designed stupid, I turned around, rolled onto my feet, and walked downstairs to my tiny one-room cubby. It cost me nearly sixty percent of my wage every month. Life was shit, but I had an extra door for the bathroom section.
I looked at the mirror, and fought the familiar wave of unhappiness at the thirty-something male me looking back.
I'd been working for years on just accepting who I was, and I'd gotten much better. I wasn't unattractive. Even the bags under my eyes looked more… artistically haunted , than unhealthily tired. I had good hair, and my natural ice-blue eyes contrasted well with its deep black shade.
I was trying to love myself. I'd been trying since I turned twenty-six. Sometimes it even worked, and I felt as happy as Joe Average could be in the twenty-fifties.
The mirror still didn't make it easy. But I'd get there some day, I hoped.
I breathed in, deep and slow, and worked on growing some internal sunshine. Don't let anything drag you down. Just breathe, live, and let yourself get used to the idea of being happy. You know it works, even if it takes another eight years.
I closed my eyes and leaned back. Better. Let that smile relax your face. Yeah. That's it. Don't let the unhappy little voice ruin your day.
Old, vengeful anger tried to intrude and my right pointer twitched with it. Flashes of muzzles and the imagined retort of gunfire. I lifted my head and looked myself in the eyes.
Hate won't help. Revenge won't happen. That's not your life anymore, Aden. Keep moving.
I sighed, and moved to my desk where I got to work designing, dictating, and testing prompts for the AI controlling the industrial robots of one of the smaller manufacturing companies in New Montreal nearby.
Bills needed to be paid, and I wasn't rich. But I was okay. I was a freelancer and could afford food that was at least a little bit healthy. Even augs of middling quality were within my budget. Rent was a bitch and the place was small, but I liked it. It felt like home. I didn't mind taking care of this place, keeping it clean. I was as alone as I'd always been, but I was happier than I used to be.
Hours passed and I kept working, only stopping when the orange of the setting sun filled my room. I'd drawn iridescent, geometric patterns across the walls and loved the beautiful play of colors as the sunset illuminated them, millimeter by millimeter. It had been quite difficult to get the smart-windows to enhance the smogged rays sufficiently, but I'd done it. Every evening, I reaped the gorgeous reward.
I returned to my work with a smile, until eventually my alarm beeped bedtime and I turned in, dreaming of a kid girl winning on the soccer fields.
***
Noon of the next day, when there would be fewer people around, I walked the two or three dozen meters to the firing range next door. I'd grabbed my case with the recurve bow and an old bolt-action hunting rifle. One that I was deeply, deeply familiar with since childhood.
The case held five hundred rounds in 7.62x39mm—the good old AK ammunition the world just wouldn't stop producing, and about as cheap as bullets could get. It was good enough to destroy the brains of most Antithesis single-digit models, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to stay in practice.
One benefit of owning a hunting rifle that usually goes unremarked is that people worry less about you owning one. Folks get much more anxious if you run around with smaller handguns, weirdly enough. I figured it was because hunting rifles weren't exactly suitable for committing crimes. Too big, couldn't hide one easily. It marked you as someone who would protect others, rather than steal from them. I received more good will for possessing my rifle than if I had no weapon at all, even.
The range was fairly run down; it had an unusually cheap membership and I could tell. I didn't know how it survived, honestly. The space it used would be worth so much more if it were turned into additional flats. Perhaps it belonged to somebody local and more cognizant of the need for people to beat off the occasional Antithesis incursions, than greedy for credits? I wasn't going to question it.
I put on some ear protection before I entered the range proper. Good habits matter.
The range itself was divided in two, thanks to a long wall down the middle. The left side was for slow projectile weapons with reusable ammunition, and the right for firearms, with several bullet traps at the end.
The range had a minor slant downwards; barely detectable to the human eye, but it added up. It meant that while the range would only have had so much space at surface level, it actually dug deep such that the furthest target was a full mile out, beyond the city limits of the suburb above.
I walked past two shooters and set up on the left side. I'd use the first ten to twenty minutes while I was still fresh to practice with the bow. Then I'd switch over to the other range once my focus and my groupings began to suffer a little.
As I strung the modern composite incarnation of an ancient weapon, I let my mind calm, and emptied my thoughts. I loved this ritual. It was how I meditated each and every day.
Take four arrows. Move to the cubicle. Set your feet. Straighten your back. Look at the target. Focus. Nock the arrow. Look around: Clear. Lift the bow. Draw the string. Keep your arms relaxed—it's all in the back. Shoulder blades together. Set your anchors. Know where the arrow will pierce. Breathe out, tighten, tension, shoulders even and low. It's all in the back. From the hand lifting the bow to the opposite elbow, one smooth line. Relax the hand hooking the string, watch the arrow fly. Exactly on the twelve o'clock line of the bullseye. Relax, take in the motions, reflect and meditate.
Nock the next arrow. Look around: Clear. Focus. It's in the back. Precise motions, breathe out, use the right muscle groups. Loose the arrow. Three o' clock. Reflect. Breathe in.
Nock. Clear. Focus. Tension where it should be, breathe out. Loose. Six o'clock. Breathe in.
Nine o'clock.
A gentle bell chimes, a warning flashes across my vision, and I put down the bow. A twang announces the final bolt from a crossbow to my left, then the range is safe. I gather my arrows and set up again.
And again.
…
Eventually my first arrow flew a little wide, my meditative focus broke, and I knew it was time to stop. Bow unstrung and packed into the case, I picked up the rifle and checked it for safety, refilled my magazines with cartridges and prepared to move to the appropriate range.
Suddenly, a prompt overlaid everything:
Incursion Detected!
[ Incursion Detected! ]
I froze for a second, breath stuck in my throat. "Fuck." I whispered. My hand clenched on the rifle's stock, and then an old, familiar warmth seeped into my muscles.
Combat. Real combat. It's been so many years…
Mixed emotions chased each other through my head. Giddy expectation, worry what it might do to me. That it might send me back.
Several shooters nearby swore and I looked around me.
Wide eyes everywhere. Then one ex-military-looking woman started to move, and that shook the rest of us out of our shock. I saw someone run for the doors, and the realization that there might be Antithesis right outside sent adrenaline through my system. Cold buckets down my back.
"GUNS!" I yelled, "Reload your mags!"
Some hadn't needed the reminder, but the rest of the room hopped to it. The guy at the door jerked to a stop and ran back down the stairs instead.
I checked my own weapon over, closed the case and stuck four magazines each into their own pocket of my trousers. Time to move.
Don't wanna get penned in down here.
I threw a quick glance at the general chaos around me and quickly moved to the door. Slowly I pushed it open, trying to avoid making much noise. I knew it would squeal if I stretched the mechanism more than half way, so instead I crabbed out sideways, head on a swivel for any plant buggers, and closed the door again.
Nothing. The street was completely empty of threats, only people running in every direction.
Phew. I'd avoided the attention of everybody and every… thing.
Good. Fight best on my own. …Need a chance to get used to it again.
I decided to head home to get a better view from the roof. The condo was one of the taller buildings around in the suburbs of New Montreal, though that didn't mean much at only five floors. It backed up against the end of the wide shopping strip on one side, and this road on the other. I could walk back and forth to keep an eye on both. There'd be lots of shoppers entirely unprepared who'd need somebody to have their back and I could do that for the entire strip from up there.
Rushing up my condo's stairs, I ripped open the door and took my first proper look around.
The sky was painted crimson, its deepest shade over New Montreal.
Antithesis bacteria and pollen-slash-pheromones, huh?
I could see giant fleshy ropes dropping above the megacity, several tall buildings on fire and even the occasional flash from explosions too far to hear clearly. It wasn't even a particularly big incursion, didn't cover the entirety of the city, just some kilometers wide in these first minutes. Centered inside the nearby edge of New Montreal.
I saw a rope burst against that new museum that they'd begun building, what, six months ago? It splattered some kind of fleshy pods all over it, and little Antithesis alien figures climbed out of them and entered the museum through broken windows. Some slipped with scrabbling claws, lost contact, and fell from the building. I hoped they wouldn't hit anyone down below.
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Oh, right. The incursion would grow.
"Start timer from…five minutes?" I whispered to my augs. "Undo. Start timer from incursion warning." A new overlay popped up in the top left corner of my vision, counting four minutes and up.
We were at the very outskirts of this invasion, almost clear. But nonetheless, the sirens started up across the neighborhood as a couple of those ropes crashed at the edge of our suburb closest to New Montreal. One smashed a few houses, the other fell across the shopping strip several hundred meters in front of me, squishing several ground cars and buses, and also blocking the entrance to our community shelter.
Those buses had passengers in them. The cars probably too, but there weren't any bloody messes being squeezed out of those . My heart beat heavily and my hands went sweaty.
Today's killing people.
What would it do to me? Was I going to…revert? I feared for myself. But I breathed in, breathed out, and decided that no matter what, I'd fight. Fighting was what I was best at. Even if I hadn't, really, for almost twenty years.
As I watched, both expelled hundreds of the black-plated canoid model Threes and began growing greenish pink fruit-blisters. Those would flower and become more model Threes, and a lot of the model Ones, the ones that looked like weird, fake pigeons.
Antithesis, huh? Haven't killed these, yet. Wonder if they're…easier?
Pictures, old memories, of masks sliding from bleeding faces whisked through my mind. I pushed them away with clenched teeth.
Behind me, a child began crying. I spun around and recognized the girl from yesterday, the one who'd played soccer with her brother. She was sitting in front of their house, by the door. Her mother was already rushing down the stairs with her brother, and there weren't any hungry aliens around. Yet.
I dropped my case and opened it to attach the two sights I had: a variable long-shot scope, and a red dot. The red dot went on at an angle to make space for the scope on top. I'd need to make sure the scope was accurate—shame I'd taken it off for a firmware update just yesterday. At least the new stabilizer software should help.
Damn. Lost the ear protectors. Ah, that's gonna hurt. Fuck.
Sighing, I stood again, looked around, and spied an empty can on a slightly smaller building a few houses down. Bare, dead trees behind the house, no people there.
My feet found their positions, toes digging in against the recoil. My sense of balance transformed. I became the unmovable anchor, a weapons platform constructed from blood and bone.
My left index crept along the stock and found the seat of the receiver. There was a tiny divot there, worn blank by years and years of questing from my finger. An old memory rose, of a wobbly gun, of a receiver that didn't sit right. Of a bullet that went astray, and a target that lived a second longer, long enough to return fire. Pain.
The questing finger placated the memory. Yes. The receiver sat correctly. Everything was as it should be. Yes.
I racked the bolt to chamber the first round, aimed at the can about fifty meters away from me and memorized the picture printed on it to locate the front and back. I gently squeezed the trigger, and the can spun away to the right with the sonic crack of the projectile.
Wincing against the painful ringing in my ears, I waited until the can stopped rolling and studied it through the scope. I'd aimed middle and the entry bullet hole was at the top left. The new digital stabilizer adjusted itself automatically, and the reticle moved. Then it blinked. It couldn't adjust far enough. The gun was calibrated for a hundred and fifty meters' distance, not fifty, so the vertical lift was okay. But the horizontal alignment wasn't.
I quickly extracted the spent casing and removed the bolt so that I could look through the barrel.
As best as I could, I lined up the barrel with the entry hole in the can and held the gun steady while I shifted to look through the scope. A few adjustments back and forth, and I'd aligned the scope and barrel as tightly as I was going to get it without a proper stable setup. The stabilizer would manage the remainder.
I gave the red dot a test shot too, and it worked fine enough. I wasn't going to use that at longer distances—I had a scope.
Finally ready, I looked along my home street once more. Still no aliens, so I turned towards New Montreal. A lot less anti-air fire than when I'd first viewed the incursion, but even so, the sky was criss-crossed with tracer lines, and the ratatat of the guns was still a steady beat in the backdrop, even this far out.
Closer, the ropes continued to bloat with fruiting blisters, and the dog-like model Threes sniffed around doors. Some of them ran towards shop windows, with people cowering beneath tables and behind bars. A few people had pistols and were trying to figure out how to shoot them.
Shaking my head, I thought, That's why you practice at the range, idiots.
An advertisement metaphorically poked me in the eye when my scope scanned past it. Another synthCaf claimed it would kill me with a caffeine overdose long before the carcinogenic chemicals in it could get to me. Same ad I'd seen a thousand times, different brand. Sighing with tired aggravation, I swiped it away.
Another ad for an adblocker subscription popped up. I almost swiped that away too, an automatism built from years of practice. But then it caught my attention with an unusual line: Double price, but it'd last just for the duration of the invasion, guaranteed. Promised through the use of one of those open-source contracts that corporations usually didn't touch with ten foot poles, due to how tight they were against loopholes.
Interesting. I actually won't get stuck in subscription hell. If anything, the higher fee makes it more legit.
I accepted. It took all of three seconds for the entire shopping street to lose the digitized neon displays. My brain almost hurt from the sudden lack of visual strain.
Ah. Shit. I snorted to myself. So that's how they get you.
But, finally secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't be shooting through surprise-blindness every time I moved my sights, I studied the first model Three through the scope and found myself uncomfortably revolted by it. The three-hinged jaw, the weird flesh that was too green, the squat, alien shape that shouldn't be. I'd heard of this. They called it the uncanny valley effect in the media. Supposedly nearly every person to see the Antithesis gets hit with it, but it went away, or at least became weaker, from exposure.
This one was standing still, just sniffing for something.
"That's what, three hundred meters?" I murmured and kneeled to steady my rifle. I aimed and waited for the scope to range itself. The picture cleared up, a gently oscillating figure-of-eight predicted the slight weaving of the muzzle, caused by my breathing. I adjusted accordingly. Then again, a tiny, tiny bit, as my instincts and experience spoke. My first shot took the first model Three right in the head. Its brain splattered the road behind it and I raised both eyebrows as I racked the bolt.
Yeah. The update was worth it. Wouldn't have hit quite so effortlessly.
Another prepared to jump through a window and I ripped a bullet through its rear legs to stop it. It stumbled when its feet went nowhere, looked my way, and I plugged it through the brain. Racked the bolt.
My left index tested the divot between the stock and the receiver again.
I was doing fine, but I felt kind of shifty. I wasn't able to find the zen from the range and felt dislocated, somehow. I couldn't sink into my shots the way I could during training. The way I used to. It had been too many years. And the incursion left me a little shaken. Things were real in a way they hadn't been for a long time.
But they also weren't as…horrible as they used to be. Back then.
These are just alien beasts. Not humans.
I wasn't shivering and could place my shots, but I continued to feel uneasy. I guess that was to be expected, what with the situation.
I…didn't know how I was going to react if any Antithesis managed to get close.
More memories swam through my head. The battle trance. I knew how to sink in a different way. If I really, really allowed it.
Sink? Sink not? What'll it do to me? What's needed?
My ears rang. No protectors.
Index brushed the divot. A nervous tic. Unnecessary. I knew that. It still calmed me.
"Start tally from two." A number displayed beneath the timer.
Another model Three chased a man. I had to be careful with this shot, but they were still several meters apart. I hit it in the head and it dropped. Racked the bolt. The man looked behind him, stumbled, and cried in relief. Got back up and kept running.
"Tally."
A trio of model Threes ran down the middle of the strip. The first two I killed with one shot each, but the last needed another round, and the rifle beeped for a fresh magazine.
"Tally three."
I heard gunshots nearby and further away, saw one Three get absolutely torn apart by a shotgun from around the corner of an alley.
Rifle reloaded, I kept firing at every Antithesis I saw. Ten cartridges in the magazine, eight tallies.
I mostly forgot about the painful ringing in my ears. I'd kinda gotten used to it as the minutes passed.
My shoulder stung a little, eventually, from all the recoil. Even though the stock was fitted, and I knew to keep it properly seated against me. I'd still get a bruise, probably.
The first model One flowered, formed itself from alien petals, and took wing. These were small models, about as dumb as they get. Easier to shoot down than I expected, but I still lost several bullets to nothing. I'd started loading each round directly from the case, all four magazines long empty.
There was a lull after I killed three to four dozen model Ones. I saw the drop-pod-rope-things grow more fruit-blisters, but these ones seemed a little bigger. More model Threes?
My finger dug into the divot. It was still exactly as big as it was supposed to be. And my rifle found its next victim as easy as breathing.
I continued to brain any Three as I could, but eventually the first of them showed up inside windows and on top of roofs.
My tally told me I was at nearly a hundred kills already. I'd fired hundreds of rounds. My shoulder hurt. I hadn't shot so much for a very long time. Lots of hits, but no model Three would die from the first if it wasn't in the head. Even a bullet to the heart wasn't an immediate kill against these biological terminators, and the things could attack a final victim before they'd drop.
Ten minutes on the timer. My hands were going numb from the vibrations in my rifle. I didn't have gloves. Heat was getting to be an issue. It was just a hunting rifle. Not one of the modern ones with swappable heatsinks.
My index searched the divot. I burned myself on the metal block of the receiver.
Do I stop shooting? When will the gunpowder start to cook off prematurely?
I held two of the used magazines against the barrel for extra mass to soak up the heat.
The alien blisters flowered and turned into several unusually large model Ones, and a lot of smaller model Ones. The smaller ones formed flocks around one each of the bigger ones, and the groups split up, apparently going after separate targets.
One came for me and my heart thudded as things became a lot more real. I felt that old, hated battle stress pull at my mind in ways that were still far too familiar. It wanted to turn me back into a thing at home in the middle of shed blood and shredded guts.
I sighted the big one, and pulled the trigger, but it swerved in the same moment. My shot went wide. I tried again, but it dodged once more.
"What the fuck?" My hands started to shake a little and I panted for air.
They were only two hundred meters out, now. I switched to the dozen smaller birds, and those didn't dodge. Them getting closer and flying almost straight at me made them a lot easier to kill and they would drop as fast as I could jam new cartridges into the painfully hot chamber.
The big model One had a wingspan that roughly matched my own arms, and I didn't want to let its mass hit me. Even with bird bones and bird muscles, I figured I'd at least break ribs, nevermind letting the talons eviscerate me.
I aimed but the round fired itself prematurely.
"FUCK!" I yelled, as I hurriedly worked the bolt. Fucking cook-off!
I lined up my last shot only meters away, but it suddenly jerked to my right. I only ripped up one of its legs and it sprayed greenish-black fluids all over the place, spreading the smell of cut grass and mold.
The thing rammed my case, pushed it right over the edge on the other side.
"Fuck, my reloads!"
A few rounds had fallen out of the case and I scrambled for the nearest, and then ran to the edge the big One had disappeared below. I saw it scrape against the ground and slowly get up and flap its huge wings.
Kill it.
I desperately blew inside the chamber to cool it. Just a little. Come on. Don't blow up my round. The One was flapping its wings. It couldn't run, but I hadn't hurt its ability to fly.
Then I gingerly loaded the round, trying not to burn myself on the radiating metal, and finally killed the thing as it was still struggling to rise after that dive-bomb.
I breathed easier. Sighing, I found three more shots lying around.
Scraping of claws against tile, almost next to me.
I froze.
One model Three on the neighbor's roof. Close.
Two people screamed and I twitched in surprise. The Three jerked towards them, away from me. Somehow the next cartridge didn't blow up. I quickly shot it, and the bullet skipped off the roof and smashed the body of another one behind it. I laughed.
Then I looked down, where the screams were coming from.
I couldn't recognize the shrill tone, but leaning over the edge on the side of the residential road, I saw the mother and the girl from across the street trying to get in a hovercar, right below me. The brother was already inside and had grabbed his sister's arm, trying to pull her in. A model Three had clamped onto the mother's arm on the other side, and she and her daughter were shrieking.
The mother was holding onto the girl. Didn't she realize she was keeping her from getting away? Panic, probably.
With my final shot, I barely grazed the side of the Antithesis's head. Its skull broke open and big shards of bone pinged away. But it didn't die.
It did let go of the woman's arm and stumbled back. I could see a furrow in its brain as it jiggled around like pudding without the support of a skull holding it in place. A manic giggle escaped me. The damage caused it to jerk and twitch in uncoordinated movements, but it gnashed its teeth and wobbled towards the mother.
A movement a few meters behind them all, behind the little girl. Another model Three. A healthy one.
I was out of rounds. Nothing. I looked around. There wasn't anybody else lining up a shot. The kid was going to get torn apart.
With a twisting in my stomach I realized I could just…step forward and I'd probably paste the thing. But five storeys? That'd kill me.
I giggled again, and started shaking for real, sweat in my eyes, heat and cold shivering through me.
A hysterical laugh escaped me at the panicked memory of that old German joke from before the Fall. Yesterday we stood above the abyss. Today we are one step ahead!
The good Three looked up and saw me when I laughed more. I couldn't breathe properly. My eyes were glued to the girl and tears clouded my vision.
I took that step.
In the middle of it my other knee just went weak and collapsed. But I was over the edge and dropping.
A weird sort of wheezing panicky shout squeezed itself out of me. The model Three looked up at the sound. Something crossed itself in my brain and the world became silent and slow and very very clear.
I didn't have anything to lose anymore. Nothing much mattered, except for that thing's death. That became everything, I existed for it.
Hello darkness my old friend!
I lined up my feet, and crashed heels-first right into its head, screaming wordlessly.
I absolutely squelched that head. Then my feet shattered. Before I could even really feel the pain, my legs…changed shape. I sort of slipped and keeled over backwards, across the body of the Three.
I heard a staccato cracking sort of sound and a fizzing, lightning, blue pain in my spine, but nothing from my legs. Or from my pelvis, which probably also wasn't where it should be.
Then I stopped hurting. Mostly. I was almost pain-free, despite how completely broken I was.
I still had the rifle clutched in my arms. I didn't know how, but the Three had broken my fall enough that I took no injury to my head. Even my arms were fine. Not even a scrape on them. Just my lower half looked like minced meat in a blender stuffed into trouser sausages. I didn't feel any of it.
It was a miracle. I laughed. There was silence around me. I looked up, saw the little girl stare at me. The mother.
The other Three. Grinning, I tossed my rifle butt-first at it and equally miraculously, the stock hit true and mulched its brain.
My vision went dark. Sharp pain at the back of my head.
Fuck, I hit something after all .
Hot stabbings through somewhere back there.
My vision flickered back on, and off again, then stayed on. As if my eyes were TV-screens. I chuckled, then I choked on saliva. I couldn't breathe deeply enough to cough it away, but it was fine. I figured I was going to die of internal bleeding long before I'd suffocate painfully.
But the headaches stopped. A soft and gentle voice inside my head, clearer than any aural aug-gear I'd ever heard:
System Initialized!
Congratulations. Through your actions you have proven yourself worthy of becoming one of the Vanguard, a defender of humanity. I am Tynea. I will assist you to uplift humanity so that you may defend your homeworld from the Antithesis threat!
Rise, Aden Rheinschiffer, and become a protector of the weak!
"What?" My eyes started swimming a little. I felt off-balance.
I am Tynea. Your custom-built AI. You are now a Vanguard. You are also very injured, in shock, and I would suggest we skip the confusion until later, in favor of treatment.
"Oh. Okay?" Breathing wasn't easy. It took up a lot of attention.
***
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### Chapter 2: Rewritten Ch 2 Dr Tynea And Sgt Stabby
Ch. 2 - Dr. Tynea and Sgt. Stabby
" Combat stress reaction (CSR) is an acute reaction that includes a range of behaviors resulting from the stress of battle that decrease the combatant's fighting efficiency. The most common symptoms are fatigue, slower reaction times, indecision, disconnection from one's surroundings, and the inability to prioritize."
– Wikipedia article on Combat Stress Reaction, 2023
***
You require extensive medical attention. Luckily you appear to be losing very little blood, but your internal injuries are deadly. I'm certain you will not remain conscious in this situation very long. You gained an unusual amount of points over the beginnings of this incursion, plenty to recover.
Points. I was a samurai. And dying. I laughed. Or more exactly, I wheezed, trying to laugh. A bit of my brain I knew really well a long time ago, tried to make me feel good. Really good.
Most of my body didn't exist anymore, so it didn't work. I whined.
A fizzle went through the back of my brain and I woke up again.
I woke up? When did I sleep? My vision was red and black. Something was flashing, but it wouldn't hold still, so I couldn't read it.
To heal yourself, you require access to medical equipment from the Class I Medical Utilities catalog, fifty points. From it, you require first a double dose of Class I Nano-Regenerative Suite, forty points total. These will begin to reconstruct your internals. They will not act fast enough to allow you mobility, but we will address that immediately after. Do you accept these purchases?
This voice...was Tynea? Inside my head? Huh?
Acknowledge!
Other voices joined Tynea's. They were loud, and they shot stale fear through me. They reminded me of beatings. ADEN! ACKNOWLEDGE!
They made my shoulders draw in. I hated them.
BUDDY! ACKNOWLEDGE, PLEASE!
Oh, I knew that one, too. That one wasn't as bad as the others. That voice never hurt.
"Roger," I mumbled.
Good enough.
Class I Medical Utilities unlocked!
Points reduced to... 633
New Purchase: Class I Nano-Regenerative Suite, Box of Two
Points reduced to... 593
An off-white plastic box appeared right next to my left hand. Somebody gasped nearby, but I already forgot they did.
The box was a little too big to pick up with one hand and I stared at it. The blinky thing kept blinking in my eye.
Aden, please open the box. You only need to lift the lid.
"Huh? Oh, okay. Yeah."
I reached for the box and everything went sideways.
Blood rushed into my head, and suddenly my thoughts were clean and I could read the blinky thing. It was complaining about blood pressure. The number on it jumped way up, and then started falling again. Quickly.
Oh. Blood pressure. Right.
I panicked and grappled with the lid for a moment. Then there was the old familiar fizz, the one that used to distract me from bad injuries. It went down my spine…but it couldn't reach anything. There wasn't anything down there for it to reach.
Nothing but pulp.
I yanked my mind away from that thought.
The material of the box felt much more stiff than it looked. Half of a quarter of a third of my thinking thing had expected a sort of flimsy cheap texture. But it had mass and weight. I giggled at it. There was blood in my giggle.
Heavy. Fingers weak. I let it fall and it stayed open.
Inside were two smallish rebreather things with attached tanks. I picked up the nearer one and looked at it. And looked at it.
It was a blob. What colors was it again?
Oh, red and black. No, wait, that's everything. Black at the edges. Or gray? Gray and black. Yeah.
There was something in my hands. It was warm. What was I doing?
Aden!
That voice again. Who? T… T……
Please inhale deeply from the red nozzle. The device shall release a cloud of nanobots that will travel throughout your body and begin to heal your injuries. Repeat with the second device.
Huh?
Fizz in my spine. It didn't find anything but pulp.
Oh, pulp!
My heart beat once. Really loud. I woke up again.
Aden, inhale! Red! Nozzle!
I did.
And choked on misty liquid current through my lungs. Lightning in my throat. But it cleared up before I could even twitch.
There was something in my hand.
Ah! Nanoregensuite something! Empty!
I dropped it and picked up the other thing, closed my eyes, missed my mouth, opened my eyes again to see, and sucked on mist.
Blotches on my skin faded in real time, and a knife in my spine stung me, and then immediately disappeared. Still couldn't sense my legs, though.
Pulp. I laughed.
Oh! I could breathe properly!
That's good. I laughed some more.
I started feeling a little more clear-headed.
The voice spoke again. Right. Tynea.
Very good. These will take several hours to repair you, however. It would be unsafe to remain immobile for that long in the middle of an incursion. The Class I Medical Utilities catalog offers several solutions.
Uh…
What?
Ah, aliens. Gotta move. Gotta Fight. Fizzle down my spine didn't reach anything. Pulp. Nothing to reach. I giggled.
"Sounds good," I said. Giggling. Still giggling. Couldn't stop and it drove me mad.
If you wish to regain full mobility immediately, I would recommend the Mark III Therapeutic Body-Sleeve. Essentially, this medical garment will wrap your body from the neck down and interface with your spinal column above your injuries. It replicates the entirety of your musculature with artificial muscles on the outside and possesses an exoskeleton that offers the stability your shattered bones cannot.
Words… So many words. I giggled.
Further, it comprehensively analyzes and tracks your medical condition. Usually that data would be used by other devices to manage your wounds, but we do not require those at this time as your injuries are internal and non-toxic. The Sleeve will apply pressure required to control the internal bleeding.
It took me a few moments to process all that. When I felt like I had a brain again, I said, "That also sounds good."
And giggled more. My fists clenched hard enough that my palms stung.
Then the knife in my back came back for a moment in a blinding white moment, and I stopped. The knife went away again, but I didn't feel giggly anymore.
So I thought about Tynea, instead. She did seem to try pretty hard to help me. Maybe I could trust her? Hadn't ever heard about samurai AI hurting their samurai. That would've been big news.
She spoke again, and her voice hummed through my head.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
The Sleeve will cost you two hundred points. There are much cheaper options. They will only partially restore mobility, but leave you with substantially more points to face the remainder of this incursion.
I looked around myself and saw the rifle stuck in the model Three's skull. Then I looked at the spilled cartridges everywhere. I almost wanted to laugh so I could be angry at it again, but I didn't really feel it.
"Um. Maybe I've got a gun? And since I've rejoined my bullets, I've got those, too." Ha-ha-ha.
Very well.
New Purchase: Mark III Therapeutic Body-Sleeve, Custom Box
Points reduced to... 392
A bright white box half my size appeared on my right side. There was no way I could lift the lid. So, I stared again.
Please touch the red circle at the center-front.
The lid blew off and away from me with a pneumatic hiss. I could see a folded suit thingy in there.
It suddenly yanked itself upright and split down the rear, from its neck down to between the butt cheeks. Even the leg panels opened up. It covered the hands, and had feet. The thing was a nondescript gray, gray artificial muscle sewn onto the outside covered by a fine lattice of equally gray, solid structure. Exoskeleton.
The muscles operated themselves and walked the garment over to stand in front of my feet. I shivered. My pulp jiggled. I almost fainted, but I kept looking at the thing.
"That's hella creepy. What the fuck?"
Please don't move, the Sleeve has to attach itself to you. It can be worn beneath standard clothes, but it does need to remove those you are currently wearing as they would interfere with its ability to support you.
Thin, finger-long blades popped out along all the open seams and began to vibrate so slightly I almost couldn't see the blurred edges. I wanted to crawl away. No way I could.
"Okay, seriously. You sure you aren't trying to murder me in elaborate ways?"
I apologize for the…visual. I did not mean to cause you distress. Would you prefer to abort?
I breathed in. Out. And in, again. And out.
Humor. Laugh it off. At least a little bit.
I tried, but I choked more than I laughed. Better than nothing.
Then I breathed again and said, "No, no. As weird as this is, I'd rather deal with Sgt. Stabby than murderous aliens right now."
The Walking Horror Jacket moved towards me, and sort of backwards-knelt on my legs. The knives barely touched my trousers before they fell apart. The blinking number dropped hard and everything went very fuzzy. I almost fainted. But I was already lying down, so I didn't. Instead, I got my first proper look at the state of my…legs. They weren't legs.
"Oh shit. Crap, fuck me. How the fuck is that legs?!" My eyes felt like they wanted to pop out of my face. My head went a little blank. I began sucking in air faster than I could breathe it out. More fizzing in my spine that only reached pulp.
A sound distracted me from nearby.
The little girl that had been standing just a few steps ahead of me collapsed onto her butt and started shaking. The mom blanched and went to hug her daughter so she wouldn't see.
Oh, right. People exist. And there were still the Antithesis corpses. But…no moving ones anywhere in sight. That was good. I wouldn't be able to move, right now. I'd die.
The little brother disappeared from the car's window. Good. Won't have to shoo him away.
I looked down again. At the pulp. You really could not tell that…that mess of meat and visible bone splinters wrapped in bloated skin was once two legs.
The Knife-Wielding Ripper Suit curled itself around my exposed legs, cut away the frayed and torn remainder of my shoes, and covered my feet, too. I saw how it gently reshaped the broken limbs into something more natural, and tightened to apply pressure against the bloat. As it kept stripping and bracing me, I started to feel a little less wan in general.
It looked like I should've been screaming from pain, but I couldn't feel anything. Like those legs weren't mine. Today was a real roller-coaster. I almost giggled, but kept it in. I was too awake for that. So, I just talked to Tynea.
"Um, hi, uh, Tynea?"
Yes, Tynea is my name. I'm sure you have many questions and I have guidance I wish to offer, but I'd suggest that right now the most important plan of action would be to arm yourself. The incursion remains active, and I suspect we'll see more model Threes any moment.
"Oh. Yeah."
I gathered my thoughts to formulate a question, and then turned to the mother. I wanted to ask her for stuff, but it took me a minute to put together proper sentences. Eventually, I managed though. She was amazingly patient, but that probably had a lot to do with the way she hugged her daughter. Anyway, I carefully and slowly put together my words.
"I'm sorry, but would you be so kind as to get me my gun? Please gather up a handful of the rounds that dropped with my case, as well." They were everywhere. Around the car. Under the car. I was lying on some, even. I was also very proud of my words. They were good words.
I was still lying on top of bullets. Meh. They could stay there.
"I don't know exactly when we'll see unfriendly visitors again, and I think we'd all prefer it if I could shoot them," I said.
She stumbled slightly as she tried to stand up, so she stayed down and just leaned over and stretched her bleeding arm out to grasp the rifle by the barrel. Luckily it was cool enough to touch, 'cause she didn't react.
…
I hadn't burned myself during the fall. Another miracle. I wanted to giggle, but I didn't.
The gun squelched when she drew its stock out from the alien brain. Yuck. I'd seen and heard worse.
Then she sort of awkwardly shuffled to me, gun in one hand, daughter in the other, and no way to properly manage either. The kid buried herself deeper into her mom's chest.
"Thank you," I said softly. I'd learned since those days. You can be kind to the non-fighters. So, I was kind to her.
My finger found the divot. The metal of the receiver was slightly warm. The burn on the tip of my index was gone. I blinked, then remembered. Nanites.
She looked behind me, at the alien corpse I'd jumped. Then down at my legs, and shuddered. And said quietly, "No, thank you. I'm not sure where to go from here, but I wouldn't even be asking that question if you hadn't…"
She gagged and couldn't quite get the words out. I figured she'd be well enough. That arm could use looking after, though, couldn't it? And looking after somebody else would be nice and distracting from the pulp that was still being shaped.
"Hey, um, Tynea? Got something for her injuries?"
Those don't look too bad. Perhaps one dose of Class I SymBiotica to fight off any infections and hasten natural healing for five points, an Electroactive Polymer Bandage for one point, as well as a box of five NutriBars at one point each for nutrition?
"Sounds great. And something for the daughter?" The little girl perked up at that. That filled me with a nicer kind of happiness and I giggled. This one didn't sound deranged.
Ah, there was a beautiful smile on her face. Yup. Everybody loves the cute ones. I ignored the pang of souldeep pain.
She appears uninjured. I believe she would be best served by something distracting and calming. Your Class I Medical Utilities catalog does contain items of interest, such as the Gel Pack, a substance she would consume slowly, a little like an ice cream, but healthy.
There was a new warmth in Tynea's voice as she answered me. Even AI weren't immune, huh?
"Yes, let's go with all of that."
New Purchase: Class I SymBiotica
Points reduced to... 387
New Purchase: Electroactive Polymer Bandage
Points reduced to... 386
New Purchase: NutriBars, Box of Five
Points reduced to... 381
New Purchase: Gel Pack
Points reduced to... 380
A bunch of boxes appeared, right next to the lady from across the street. They all had large numbers from one through four on them, the third of which also stated '1 NutriBar/Day'.
I looked at the mother. "Number Four should have something healthy to enjoy for your daughter. The others are for you. Number One's to help with any infections and improve your healing, number Two is a bandage to keep the dirt out. And number Three has nutritious food to support the healing over the next few days."
She immediately opened up number Four to check the contents. There was a brightly colored capped tube in it. Below the cap some sort of gel wobbled around a little, like pudding. With a sniff and nibble to test it, she gave it to her daughter and smiled at me.
The girl spent a few moments enjoying the treat and then gathered some of the cartridges spread around and put them in a little pile right next to me. She smiled, shyly. Aww.
I chambered one, and my hands moved easily. Nice. It didn't look like I'd have a hard time shooting.
The mother put her daughter in the car, but stayed another moment to look at me. "Thank you again. I'm really not sure how to repay you."
I shook my head and waved her off. "It sort of didn't really cost me anything. A few dead aliens, and I'll have gained more points than I just paid for those four boxes."
She shook her head, too, and said, "Not those. Well, thanks for those, too, but I was talking about something else." She looked at my legs.
I didn't.
"Here, check out One and Two," I said instead, pointing at them.
Box One contained a soft green spray bottle.
Please tell her to spray that across all her wounds and the surrounding skin, until it's empty.
"Actually, please hold your arm out, I'll help with the spraying."
She grabbed the boxes and came closer. Sir Stab-A-Lot ceased moving and vibrating and beeped angrily. The woman drew back a little.
Ah. Doctor Knives proved he wouldn't hurt anyone, even if he was a bit…grumpy. I liked him a lot more, suddenly.
Apologies, I'll pause it. It'll need to finish wrapping you up before it can connect to your spine and mobilize you.
"Sorry, it's fine now. Let's see your arm," I said to the woman with as gentle a smile as I could muster. It was probably rather wobbly, considering the circumstances. Still, she stretched out her arm again, and I carefully took her hand in mine.
I took the spray, found the button to go, and coated every bite mark, laceration, and the skin around each. Another round and the bottle emptied itself.
"Alright, that's fine, let's bandage you up." She handed me number Two.
I removed the bandage from it and with a visual guide from Tynea, smoothly cushioned her arm. I was a bit distracted with keeping an eye out for any alien buggers possibly bugging us, but they weren't coming. Probably eating people in the shops…
"Okay. That should heal up in no time. Keep number Three with you. I'd suggest you get in your car now and escape outside the city. The incursion's centered just inside the edge of New Montreal, so if you move the other direction for a few miles, you'll be fine. I think you can come back in a few days, but maybe keep an eye on your feed, yeah?"
She nodded at that, smiled again, and got up. Sgt. Stab-Your-Face went back to work.
"Thanks, Aden."
…Now I kinda felt like a dick for never remembering my neighbors' names.
"I'd stick around to help you sort yourself out," she continued, "but I've gotta protect my kids. And something tells me you won't need me, Mr. Samurai, considering how you just took care of everything. But I'll idle the car until I see you get up and move. If one of those dog Antithesis shows up, I'll try to park on it. I don't know what to do about the bird things, though."
I shook my head, smiling. She was almost as cute as her daughter.
"That's kind, but I've got a gun," I said, patting it. "Pigeons are easy targets, but it'd be good if you left quickly. After all of this, I'd really hate to see you get run down by something unexpected. I've shot several model Threes off of roofs already. You're not safe until you're gone. I'll be able to move soon, too. Please go."
"Alright, if that's what I should do, that's what I'll do. See you, Aden."
"Good luck."
She joined her daughter in the car with a last glance in my direction. I watched as it lifted high enough to clear the buildings, and zoomed off.
I still couldn't remember her name.
So I am a samurai now. Huh.
Didn't quite know how to deal with that yet.
Gunfire told me that the world didn't care. But the divot's perfect shape told me the gun had survived the fall.
***
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