A/N: Whoa, trying to keep up the daily update thing's getting a bit hard.
But enough with my inane complaints. There are other "whoa" points I'd like to address here. Like the fact that I got 9 reviews, 257 hits, 6 favorites and 10 reviews in mere three days. You have no idea how much this inspires me to continue writing. You guys are simply awesome. All of you.
Now, onto the story. I must note that the "main cast", so to speak, of the story hasn't been yet introduced. They'll be introduced, however, by the end of the prologue part of the story, meaning either the next or the fifth chapter.
Now, without further ado…
Wiles of Safety
My eyes flash open, revealing once more the rather bland texture of the roof above me. This has happened twice before, actually: Yesterday and the day before that. But somehow, there was something different about them today.
Still not bothering to move before figuring out that mystery, I decide to recap the past few days: Survived Torfan, had a two-day ride to Bekenstein on board an Alliance Cruiser with something that resembled food, first day at the refugee camp: Medical checkups. Second day at the refugee camp: Kafkaesque psychologist.
Ah, that's right! The tests finally ended yesterday, and we were finally free to roam Bekenstein besides the refugee camp.
And with a renewed vigor, I finally get up, albeit to the still existing protest of my traitorous left leg. Hmm, come to think of it, it was healing pretty rapidly. Guess I've got the futuristic medicine to thank for.
There was no need to change. The Alliance didn't bother providing us with a second set of clothes. Or additional credits. But if anything, the camp itself was decent, if understandably militaristic.
Many of the barracks-like quarters inhabitants are still sleeping from what I can see. I can't blame them. If their shrinks were anything like mine, it was a pretty tiring experience.
"Are you sure you are who you say you are?"
Damn, I grimace at the memory. I was asked ridicules questions like that for five hours. Five hours! I guess that the fact I didn't enter a psychotic episode qualified me sane enough in shrink's book.
And then, out of nowhere, yet somehow expected, comes the wake-up ringing of the alarms. Following it, I can hear at least a dozen equally loud groans. I merely sigh, and not completely in annoyance. This means that they're serving breakfast. Which, despite the quality of the meals (or rather, the lack of such), is still a good thing.
And so, I start walking out of the barracks and into the hallway. I can see the inhabitants of the other barracks joining me in my conquest of bread. Or rather, paste – Since they didn't bother serving actual food.
The crowd's actually orderly, and don't actually seem all too hastened to get to the mess hall. I'm unsure if this is the militarism of this place rubbing off, or the taste of the paste. Maybe a combination of both?
And while we continue walking toward the mess hall, I can notice a certain amount of better mood on the face of the survivors. At first, I'm puzzled by this, but soon enough I realize what's going on: For many of them, relatives and friends are coming to pick 'em up.
Not me, though. I have no relatives. Or friends, for that matter. And there goes my mood. Lovely.
In the mess, we each pick up the plastic plates, and the cooks pour us each our ration of the paste. I would note the taste of the thing, but I already did that like ten times since coming here, and it isn't improving, so I don't see any point to doing the same thing again, so I eat the thing in peace.
And the rest of the breakfast went without a single incident.
With breakfast out of the way, I could always explore Bekenstein. But right now, I simply don't feel like it, since there's little I can do without any credits. In the name of every deity in existence, I don't even have an omni-tool!
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And so I decided to go to the docks. Allegedly, the Platoon that came here with us was leaving, and without having anything better to do, I decided to watch the Platoon boarding shuttles and leaving.
That was two hours ago, and I still haven't come up with any sort of plan. Gah, I hate it when surviving a battlezone is easier than figuring out what to do next. I guess surviving the peace is going to be harder than surviving the war.
And while I did appreciate the alone-in-the-crowd feeling I got from staying out of the Platoon's way and watching them leave, I finally got bored and decided to listen in on some conversations. Not the kindest, most well-mannered thing to do, but mind you, I had a peace to survive!
I scanned the docks for anyone interesting… And certain woman attracted my attention. Hmm… Where have I seen that face? Nah, I'm probably just imagining it.
Still, she's close enough, so I listen in to her conversation with another trooper.
"… I'm telling you Dan, that's not the last of the batie slavers we'll see in a while." – She says.
"Well, I can hope." – Dan replied.
"No you can't. We're in the 3rd Platoon, remember?" – She retorts.
Dan just gives up, apparently, as he throws up his arms in the air and says while leaving:
"Fine, fine! Way to be the party breaker, Ramirez!"
Wait a second, Ramirez? Hmm… Ramirez, was Ramirez not the name of that soldier that rescued me back on Torfan? And the face… Well, I'll be damned.
And now onto the question on whether or not I should approach her. Does she even remember me? I couldn't have been the only civilian on that mission.
Eh, what the hell. She's the closest thing to a friend I have here.
And so, I abandon my previous position, and start advancing towards her. Being a soldier, she notices this right away. At first I can see confusion written on her face, but few moments later it is replaced by a smirk.
"Well, well, well!" – She says. – "Is it not the Civvie I've saved back on Torfan!"
I too smirk at this. Heh, never before have I realized how good it is to have a mildly familiar face within sight!
"Glad to see you made it off that wretched planet!" – I reply.
"I know, right? So am I." – She says, only half-jokingly. – "Good to see you're in one piece too. I would've hated to see all that effort I put into keeping your ass alive was for nothing."
"It wasn't. The batarians ambushed us when we were evacuating, but I got through." – I say. – "Most of the others… Weren't so lucky."
As my smirk drops at this, so does hers.
"Yeah. I heard what happened to the first batch." – She replies. – "We'll make those bastards pay."
I guess I can't argue with that. But, I also have some quite current concerns she might be able to help me with.
"Hey, did you happen to hear any job offers or any way I could earn some credits?" – I ask.
"Sorry, nope." – She answers. – "I've heard how much the Brass gave you Civvies. Pathetic, if you ask me. I know we're in a recession, but still, what are hundred credits worth?"
Despite not previously being aware of this recession, I nod in agreement.
"Exactly." – I reply.
"You could always do an extranet search for jobs." – She points out, before realizing the crucial factor that prevented this. – "But of course, the batarians stripped you of yours and the Brass didn't instruct us to give you any."
I merely nod, not having anything useful to add to her statement. I could always point out that I never had an omni-tool to begin with, but I don't want to end up in a mental institution so that's a no-go.
She sighs, and closes her eyes before replying.
"Look, I can't help you with creds." – She says. – "But I might be able to help you with your omni-problems."
Wait a second… Did she just suggest giving me an omni-tool?
As if to answer my unasked question, she reaches to one of her armor's many pockets and pulls out a watch-like instrument and hands it to me.
"T-Thanks," – I reply, more than a little startled. – "But, why? Why help a stranger like me?"
She merely looks at me with a sad smirk before replying:
"I've followed protocol one time too many and got many of you civvies killed. If I get a chance to help, I'll take it." – She says, before continuing. – "Plus, don't thank me yet! Military-grade's a myth, that omni-tool's a piece of shit!"
I nod in thanks. I've seen my share of deaths in the past few days, but I don't really know what's it like to actually kill someone – So I don't really understand. And I hope never to – As much as I, thanks to Torfan, understand that's an inane hope.
Then an unknown voice sounds off from the distance:
"Ramirez! Get your ass here, your squad's leaving!"
Ramirez turned to face the source of the voice, and shouted back:
"Aye aye, Boss! Be right there!"
"Guess this means you've got to go." – I point out the obvious.
"I guess so." – She replies, before waking away.
"You stay safe out there!" – I yell after her.
"It's not like I've got much of a choice!" – She yells back, with the smallest bit of annoyance in her voice.
Well… That went far better than I expected. I place the omni-tool on my left wrist, the mechanism for doing so not much different from a watch. And suddenly, in what has to be the most glorious moment of my time here, the thing flickers to life, its orange light shining right into my eyes.
"Welcome, user! No accounts detected, please create one." – The plain text says simply and unceremoniously. Gah, a way to ruin the moment!
I guess the lack of accounts means the omni-tool was Ramirez's reserve. Good. I don't want Alliance Navy hunting me down because I happened to be given an omni-tool filled with military secrets.
Plus, Ramirez is likely to get in trouble for this alone. Though, come to think of it, that trouble will be nothing compared to the trouble I'm in, being displaced, well, here. Still, it'd be wrong not to acknowledge that Ramirez has been more than helpful, first with saving my life, and now this…
Now, I press the button saying "Create Account", and… The omni-tool turns red, with exclamation marks everywhere, and then closes off completely.
Oh my god, who programmed this damned thing? Microsoft?
As I restart the omni-tool with a push of an actual button on the tool's casing, I take notice of the logo. It's "Microware Incorporated". Ramirez wasn't kidding.
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Oh god, the skycar's about to land! It-It's coming in too fast! I can tell! This is when my luck finally runs out completely, and I get killed in a gruesome acci…
Wait. The thing just landed. And it's opening its doors. Whoa. Damn. I'm not doing that again if I can help it…
Alright, I guess it's time to step out and see that famous Apollo Square the extranet Codex entry of this planet bragged on about for several paragraphs. Oh, that reminds me. Nothing here is free. At all. To get access to the extranet for a week, I had to pay ten credits. And that was after I paid fifteen credits to upgrade my piece-of-shit omni-tool to an edition that actually doesn't crash every five seconds (the improvement is that it now crashes every five minutes).
And then I discovered that the Rapid Transit System wasn't just a gameplay element in the games but actually a fully automated taxi system. I was actually quite excited to try it out, and then as if to ruin the mood, I discovered that I have to pay twenty credits to go anywhere with it. That's 45 credits of my hefty capital of hundred credits spent already. Well, there goes my hope to visit that famous bar… Wait, what was it called? Galaxy? Universe? Something like that. Anyway, that ruined my hopes on getting my hands on some whiskey. And I don't even want to know how much a shot of the good old liver burner would cost me. I mean, I know there's a recession going on, or something, but this is ridicules.
Oh, enough with my rants and internal monologues – It's past time for me to face the Apollo Square.
And so, with as fluid of a motion as I can muster, I exit the skycar. My heart is still pounding like crazy from that landing, but nowhere near as bad as when I was running for the transport back on Torfan… Actually, I'd rather not remember that particular episode of my life, with the butchered civilians and sacrificing soldiers and all. Gah, I'm already doing it!
And, back to present, here I am – At the famed Apollo Square. I can say that it's nearly everything they said it would be! The place is huge! Far larger than any urban metropolitan square I've ever been! Huh, humanity certainly made some progress.
Skycars – Ugh – Are flying in the aerial "roads", countless humans roaming around, minding their own business, flashy ads all over the place, and the famous Starcluster Bar towering above it all. It's still day, but I can only imagine how spectacular it would look during night.
If I'm not careful with my credits, I won't have to imagine, though.
So, I'm here. Now all that's left is figuring out what to do. And to do that I have to determine my utmost problem; and that would be credits.
Now how do I get credits? I get a job. How do I get a job? I either search the extranet and sort out the frauds and phishing scams or I go to the Public Jobless Bureau and find myself an actual, scamless job. I choose the latter.
Huh. Searching for a job. Some five days after I got ripped from my life and transported to Torfan. I almost feel like I'm abandoning my former life and the hope of getting back there completely. But I can't afford that sentiment to get in the way of my better judgment. Not now, when I'm low on credits. Once I secure myself a constant stream of money, I'll worry about the rest.
With that tough choice out of the way, all I have to do is find out where the Bureau is located. And since I can't afford to pay for a map, I'll just ask around. Alright, generic random citizens, here I come!
So, whom do I ask? Maybe that man over by that walkway? No, seems too suspicious for some reason. That woman? No, looks too uncooperative. That average looking civilian right in front of me? He'll do just fine.
"Hey, excuse me!" – I yell out at him. – "Excuse me!"
He turns back to face me, giving himself a comfortable second before replying:
"Yes, how can I help you?"
"You see, it's my first time here on Bekenstein, so I can't find my way around. Could you point me to the Jobless Bureau?" – I ask.
"Sure thing." – He says. – "See the Starcluster Bar? Go to it, then turn left and walk for about a hundred meters. There you'll find the Bureau. Can't miss it."
"Thanks!" – I reply.
"No problem." – He says. – "Though you may want to change those clothes of yours."
Alright, now I'm torn between considering him a helpful one or an asshole. I mean come on, I get that military issued dirty clothes aren't fashionable, but there's no need to be a dick about it!
But whatever. One incident irrelevant to my current situation isn't enough to stop my march to employment and credits. So, what did he say? Take a left turn at the Starcluster Bar? Simple enough, for once.
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And in the future, alternate dimensions or whatever they still have long waiting lines? Didn't we humans fix anything besides technological primitivism? Couldn't have I been transported to some utopian moneyless society where I wouldn't have to wait through all of this?
"Next!" – Says the secretary to the guy in front of me. Argh, this is going to be a long wait. Are there this many unemployed on the Alliance's most industrialized colony or did these people come here in hopes of finding a job?
And about a minute later, much to my surprise, I see the man leaving the line, with a displeased look on the face. So much for the future equaling a utopia.
"Next!" – The secretary says once more.
I step forward hoping my conversation will go better than the other guy's apparently did.
"Good day, sir. How can I help you?" – The secretary says with a trained, uncaring voice.
"I'm looking for a job." – I reply simply.
"As are many these days." – She says as a matter-of-factly. – "Please extend your arm so I can scan your ID."
Oh, the ID chip crap again. Great, just what I need.
"Uh, you see, I'm not an Alliance citizen." – I say.
She looks upon me as if I was crazy.
"That will lower the already low amount of job opportunities." – She notes. – "Do you happen to have any galactically recognized degrees?"
Unless the schools I attended back home still count here…
"No, I don't." – I reply simply.
She simply nods before replying.
"That won't go to your favor." – She points out the obvious. – "Still, let me input that into the terminal. This might just happen to be your lucky day."
Yeah, that would be a radical change of my luck.
I'm surprised at her surprised expression as she reads something off the holo-screen.
"It seems to be your lucky day, sir." – She says. – "I found one job offer."
"Just one?" – I ask incredulously.
"Two actually, but the second offer is from a bankrupt firm." – She replies nonchalantly. – "I'll transfer the relevant data to your omni-tool. Now, if you'd please open up your firewall…"
And I open up my omni-tool, hoping it won't crash on start. As the orange light flickers into existence, I see that it, for once, won't. Now, all that's left is to figure out how to open up the firewall.
…
And after roughly fifteen seconds of trying and failing, I can hear a tiered sigh coming from the secretary.
"Sir, if you'd please open up your firewall, I'd transfer the data." – She reminds me.
"Uhh, sorry ma'am." – I blurt out quickly. – "I recently bought this omni-tool model and I'm still not used to the interface."
Well, that's close enough to the truth. I can still hear at least a dozen groans of frustration coming from others in the line.
She, on the other hand sighs, and says:
"Just hand me over the thing, I'll open it up myself."
I quickly comply, taking off the tool from my left wrist and handing it over to her. She then proceeds to open up the firewall and transfer the data within five seconds. I would be thankful to her, were it not that she made me feel totally useless and idiotic.
As she hands me back the omni-tool, she notes:
"Microware model? You must be in quite the creds shortage."
"No kidding." – I reply. – "Thanks for the help."
"Just doing my job." – She replies. – "Next!"
And with that, I exit the waiting line, going back to the waiting area that was right behind the line.
Taking a seat on one of the currently unused chairs, I quickly reopen my omni-tool to check out offer. Alright, this should be simple... Okay, log me in. Okay, let's go into Recently Transferred Data… No, no! I don't want to upgrade to Microware PhantomX V23.54 for twenty credits, close, back into Recently Transferred Data. Oh there it is, obviously labeled "Job Offer".
Okay, I click open and let's see the offer… I hope it's good.
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Bekenstein Pizza Industry Offer
Bekenstein Pizza Industry is offering a job of a delivery man for all those interested.
Wage: 360 Credits (Monthly payment, fixed wage)
Working Hour: 12 Hours (Possible overtime)
Requirements: Physical capability for working (determined during the job interview)
Contact: BKN-032-576/554-3257 (Omni-tool ID)
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360 credits per month? With the prices as high as they are, how am I supposed to survive with that? And twelve hour workday for that? What in the rotting hell?
If I wasn't screwed before, I'm completely screwed now. The refugee camp won't stay there forever, and the only job I can find is… I have no words to accurately describe it. No swearword in existence could do this situation justice, so I won't even bother to try.
So, I survived the massacres on Torfan for this? To starve to death? I guess I don't get any unemployment benefits since I'm not a citizen, so basically… I'm screwed. And the saddest thing is, I'll likely have to accept that miserable excuse for a job offer.
I close my omni-tool and simply let my head fall as much as my spine would allow it and then I simply stare at the floor for a few seconds before closing my eyes. How am I going to get through this? Is getting through this without resorting to crime even possible? Is that what how low I have fallen? To a criminal wanna-be?
I… I just need to rest for a second.
"I assume you're having trouble finding a job?" – A powerful voice suddenly booms over me.
I jump, and not a little. This guy just scared the living shit out of me! As I recover, I look at him, with suspicion. Why would he care?
"You could say so." – I reply, and I think I made the suspicion a bit too obvious in my voice, as for a split-second I can see a frown on his face.
"It is like that these days, ain't it?" – He says.
I merely nod.
"Look, I think I can help you with getting a job." – He says.
Oh great, now I've got Pizza Industry officials chasing me all over Bekenstein. Thanks life, that's precisely what I needed.
"If you're from the Bekenstein Pizza Industry…" – I begin, but that sentence doesn't get that far, as I get interrupted by an amused snort.
"Let me tell you this, the Pizza Industry is one company to which I don't belong!" – He says, a bit too cheerfully for my taste. Then again, I am in a sour mood. – "How about we go outside and I give you an offer?"
Hmm… This guy rubs me in all the wrong ways, but maybe he has a good offer, who knows?
"Alright." – I shrug, and get up at roughly the same time he does, and with a few dozen steps, outside we are.
"So, you said you had a job offer?" – I ask.
He shakes his head as he says:
"Not precisely me, but my boss does."
"I'm listening." – I reply.
"I'm from an organization that pays well and is now more in need of fresh blood than ever." – He says.
Hmm… Maybe I'm paranoid, but this is something that's simply too good to be true.
"What's the catch?" – I ask.
Instead of giving me a straight answer, he asks:
"Have you heard of a private security organization called the Blue Suns?"
… I'm being recruited by the Blue Suns?
"Wait a second, aren't you guys like illegal in Alliance space?" – I ask on a hunch.
"We were deemed illegal by the same government that has left you in poverty." – He says with a sigh. – "If you're interested, there's a rally of potential recruits at…" – He says while typing something in his omni-tool. – "This address."
As he says that, my omni-tool pings, informing me I got a new message.
"What makes you think I won't sell you out to the cops?" – I ask.
"And then do what, get hired by your Pizza Industry?" – He replies with his own question.
Apparently thinking he's done his job here, he leaves without any farewell, and I am left with conflicted thoughts on this whole thing.
Am I even seriously considering joining up with the Blue Suns? If Mass Effect 2 is anything to go by, they're far from being good guys. They're downright worst criminal scum, after perhaps batarian slavers. Or that mad salarian, Saleon.
But, as much as I hate to admit it, that merc made some good points. The alternative is going in for 360 credits a month and having a piss-poor life.
And his alternative was going out on the battlefield, fighting people whom I likely don't want to fight every day to earn varying amounts of money.
But as I have noted myself, I survived far easier on Torfan than here, on the peaceful Bekenstein…
I snort humorlessly, as I realize that there is, indeed, no going out of this situation without resorting to crime.
By the power of Whiskey, what am I going to do?
Is there even a choice here? Or can I merely do what I have to do: Survive?
A/N: And, there you have it, the third chapter. I hope that it is on par with the rest. Also, thanks for reading!
