NEO World of Advent Chapter Five
It had been several days since Light had been approved for a position in the Neo Arcadian military. What exactly that position entailed, however, was still being kept from Light. He leaned back into his comfortable reclining chair as he gave his room a quick sweep with his eyes. The shelves, mostly barren save for the few sentimental articles he deemed worth keeping were haphazardly stacked against one side of the wall. A solitary picture of three people, a boy with raven-black hair and a girl with hair the color of rust stood at either side of Light, grinning. He quickly turned away.
There really wasn't much to his room, honestly. After the "Incident" as he kept referring to it in his head, he made a hasty journey to the Big City. It was a big change, the huge spires of steel, raw energy sparking like wildfire at their peaks. It was certainly different than an endless sea of dunes, where the odd cactus was considered a landmark. Light's thoughts strayed to his old home and the flash of a blue helmet. He shook the thoughts away and focused on the gnawing of his belly.
In his storage unit, food consisted of a few main staples - sim sausages, sim chicken, sim ham, sim pork, and, if he was feeling especially fancy, sim turkey. Real food was an expense in the city, where mass production of food they swear tasted "just like" the real thing were made in factories from piles of flavored goop and shaped into something the politicians could label edible. Light hated it.
Sure, the city may have its accommodations like an unlimited source of energy and a lifespan over the age of thirty five, but there was just something wrong about eating sim chicken when he had tasted the real thing. He doubted any of the stuff had ever come from a real animal. Light checked the label - "artificially flavored" - and set the package of sim chicken down gingerly. Sim food wasn't soul food, that's for sure, but it didn't kill the budget. All the same, Light thought sourly, his briefing was scheduled for later that evening. He would rather not go on a stomach filled with lies.
Light made a quick glance at the clock, figuring that it would still be some time before rush hour for the shops ended, wanting a more peaceful atmosphere if he were to murder his account balance for the sake of something lacking "sim" in its name to eat. He amused himself in the meantime by going over random military advertisements, editing them with pictures of cats.
Once he was done with his masterpiece of irreverent redistribution of soldiers and kittens, he made a quick site where prints of a cat wearing a helmet under the large emblazoned word "Hope" could be downloaded for free, making sure it was untraceable in the off chance his supervisors didn't share his refined sense of humor.
Light turned off his computer with a quick jab of the off switch and stretched, arms splayed out as he relinquished the comfort of his armchair. His stomach growled, prompting Light to grab the set of keys that led to his personal sanctuary and open the door. He was met by a fresh ocean breeze and the squawking of sea rats, er seagulls. Light gave the beady-eyed creatures a wide berth, remembering the last time he let his guard down around them. It had taken hours of scrubbing to get the stains out and the smell still lingered to this day.
Having successfully convinced himself that "Mass Tastebud Suicide" did in fact count as an emergency, Light accessed his emergency fund from a nearby ATM and retrieved the last of his credits. He would be receiving his proper job soon, and with it, a better pay than whatever earnings he could get from betting on himself at local fight clubs. Still, the three red '$0.00' displaying his net worth made him a little uneasy. Deciding that the pursuit of finer things in life, namely food that wasn't born on an assembly line was still worth it, Light pocketed the change and made for the direction of a shopping plaza.
Light had always enjoyed browsing the various shops and people that did the shopping in Neo Arcadia. Alongside the colorful assortment of goods and carefully packaged luxuries an equally colorful crowd of customers picked them up and placed them in their cart. Light had found a game on an online forum where it said to make up a story for the person based off of the contents of their cart. So far, the man with seven packs of peanut butter, "protection," and dog biscuits made for the most interesting story. And the most disturbing, Light thought.
He had browsed too, of course. There were some interesting quality-of-life items to be found, like razors that didn't cut too deep or a subscription for premium broadcasting, but Light had never had the funds to spare for unnecessary expenses. Something he had always lingered on was the mall's food court, which held a single shop with tantalizing smells. The fumes alone were enough to guide Light to it. The shop in question wasn't much to look at and as far as "real food" restaurants went, it wasn't the fanciest, but it did the trick. Light found himself eyeing the menu like a drowning man would a life preserver.
"I take it you don't do this often," the cashier, a woman in her mid-thirties said with a smile. "It's a lot better than that sim stuff, isn't it?"
"You can say that again," Light said with fervor. "I think I'll have the fried chicken platter. It's been awhile since I had something smothered in grease."
"Sure thing hon," the woman said. "That's going to be thirty-five credits. Will you be paying with cash or card?"
"Cash I suppose," Light said, forking over the bills, noticing how much thinner his wallet was. Oh well; his wallet's loss was his stomach's gain.
"Thanks so much," the woman said cheerily. "Your order will be ready in just a few minutes."
Light thanked her and took a seat at a booth where a television program broadcasted the news. The reporter was out at sea, talking with an official-looking reploid with several gold stars on his coat. Even the sight of the boat's rocking made him uncomfortable, but Light found his eyes gravitated to the screen all the same. Although the rumble of nearby conversations drowned out the sound of the reporter, a helpful series of captions was displayed on the bottom of the screen. Apparently, they were on the scene of one of Fairy Leviathan's ships, where her daughter, the Advent named Mist, was in charge.
Sure enough, the scene shifted to where Mist was in full view. Her hair was a light blue color, fitting for an aquatic Advent, Light thought. She had fair skin and an admirable amount of curves even if her uniform did its best to hide them. She was speaking about a recent shortage of recruits for some program due to a strict requirement, but how she would be receiving a promising class soon.
Light snorted softly; no amount of money in the world could convince him to do her kind of jobs out at sea. If flying overboard wouldn't do him in, his chronic seasickness would. Light stuck around, idly wondering who she managed to sucker into the job, lazily fingering his communicator, which now displayed the number 154. Light couldn't help but recognize the number from earlier in the broadcast and felt a cold sinking feeling, like an iceberg being dragged down to the pit of his core. Swallowing nervously, Light convinced himself that it was a large class, he was sure. The number didn't mean anything. It was probably just sent to everyone being appointed to a designated division. That didn't necessarily mean that the division had anything to do with water. Right?
Light's despair was held at bay by the sudden arrival of a plate of steaming food that he could for once inhale more than just the aroma. Light savored the crispy skin and the juice that dribbled down his fork, all thoughts of impending doom abated by the glow of a full stomach. Confident now that the number wasn't 154 at all, Light made a leisurely walk to the recruitment center where he would be placed as a part of an assigned squadron. It was still quite some time before it was scheduled to start and Light spent the walk thinking about all the different numbers that broadcast could have been talking about. Like 153 or 155.
The streets were lined with the bustle of civilians honking cars in aggravation and traffic, a more peaceful set of people strolling along the sidewalks with purpose until they pulled into a certain shop. Reploids could be seen directing the flow of traffic, special vests given to grant them the authority to ease the flow of the many cars clogging the roads. It was a familiar rhythm, one Light had grown used to by now. It was different from the laughter of a bonfire made in the dunes, but had a similar sense of energy. It had taken some time to recognize that.
Light found the recruitment building, the four symbols for the four different branches of Neo Arcadian military held together by one unique emblem proudly displayed upon the front. Inside, the decor was rather austere, with a few benches and chairs found in the waiting room beside a single receptionist. He gave Light a curt nod before shuffling some papers he held in hand.
Light waited before the man set down the stack of papers before approaching the desk. He introduced himself as being told that he should be here at 5. The man made a few calculations on his computer, asking for his name.
"It's Light," he said. "No last name. Unclaimed, I suppose. Advent. Class 154."
"Ah," the man said. "I see you now. Class 154, Advent, blood type A?"
"Yes," Light said, holding out his communicator. "Do you need any further form of identification?"
"Yes," the man said. "Just a prick of blood for verification purposes. It won't hurt. He placed Light's index finger under a slender device that clamped around his finger. A slight prick later, Light rubbed the droplet of blood away and waited for the man to proceed. "Everything seems to be in order, Special Case," the man said. "You know, most people have to do months of training before they get approved for the physical training bit."
"I trained as well," Light said offhandedly. "Just in a different way. And for more than a few months."
The man shrugged. "Well, whatever the reason, they think you're good enough. Show 'em that Advents deserve a spot in the ranks."
Light raised his eyebrows. "Are you an Advent?"
The man shook his head. "No, but my daughter is. She's always talking about 'that Advent with the pretty blue hair.' I suppose she's going to be your captain."
Light held back a very unprofessional groan of dismay. "You aren't talking about Mist, are you? Fairy Leviathan's daughter?"
"Oh yes," the man said. "You've been assigned for a naval squadron. Is that a problem?"
"No, not at all," Light lied. It was too late now to back out, he figured. "Where do I go from here?"
The man pointed him to the end corridor and wished Light luck. Light was too preoccupied in thoughts of a turbulent sea and unsteady boatcraft to bother responding in turn. He found the appropriate door, opening it and taking a seat nearby a reploid with black and white coloration and the distinct patternation of a killer whale.
The reploid turned to face him, a skepticism apparent. When it is clear that Light was there to stay, he spoke up. "I was told this was an elite group," he said. "Surely no human should be here."
"I'm not a human," Light said patiently, having had to make the correction before. "I'm an Advent."
"You look pretty human to me," the reploid said dismissively.
"I'm pretty sure that's how it works," Light retorted. "Why do you care? Our captain is an Advent as well."
"Our captain is Mist Leviathan," the reploid said. "Any child of Leviathan has my respect. You have yet to earn it. My name is Orca. And yours is?"
"Light," he said simply. The reploid gave him a lingering glance but said nothing. Soon, more seats were filled as the rest of the squad arrived. A reploid with fins protruding from his limbs fittingly introduced himself as Fin and another reploid with sleek armor introduced herself as Shale. Soon after, an Advent named Rak walked in confidently, ignoring Orca's look of disdain.
The five of them started talking amongst themselves. Apparently, they all excelled at physical training, and some were hand-picked because of their aquatic abilities, namely Shale, Orca, and Rak. Orca, as it transpired could use a form of sonar as part of his design while Shale's vision was very good in darkness and murky seas. Rak possessed an oversol with the ability to breathe underwater and propel himself through water at rapid speeds. Fin, ironically, did not specialize in swimming, but had experience with many salvage missions out at sea.
"What do you think this squad is for?" Rak asked.
"There was a broadcast about it earlier," Orca said. "We're here to be a part of Mist's new naval rescue division."
Light nodded. "I remember seeing something about it earlier."
Shale's hands made several signs, which Fin translated with an explanation.
"Shale cannot speak," Fin said. "She uses a form of sign language employed by military when verbal signals are inefficient or counterproductive, such as in times of stealth. She says that it is good to meet you."
Shale nodded in affirmation. Her hands made to sign something again, but she instead opted for a communication, typing in a sentence that is projected through it. "Do you know when our captain is supposed to be here?"
Light shrugged. "I don't know. Soon, I suppose."
Shale gave Light a nod. Soon, the five of them had a sense of familiarity, if not camaraderie quite yet. The minutes passed by in idle conversation until the wall opened up on the opposite side, and the Advent Light saw on the television screen, Mist, walked out.
"At ease," she said at the sight of the more experienced members stiffen into a salute. "I hope you aren't here to disappoint me. I chose you all specifically because I thought you could give my program the kickstart it needs. Though wartime efforts have thankfully ceased, distress signals are not a thing of the past. Even though technology advances at a rapid pace, accidents at sea still happen. People get hurt. People die. We're here to prevent that. It took my mother a lot of convincing to approve a division specifically for deep offshore rescue, so if I see that any of you are not pulling your weight I will personally remove you. Are we understood?"
The room gave a curt nod. Light felt slightly intimidated by the force of her personality. Was this what all the Guardians' Advents were like? Despite the severity of her statements, Light could feel a similar sort of nervousness coming from her though; whatever this program was, it was important to her.
"You have all been proven to be exemplary in terms of physical ability by your spreadsheets," Mist continued, "But you have yet to impress me. We will be doing a few small exercises so that I can assess you properly."
Mist led the five of them outside, where a large track field was held. Mist told them to "get running" and started them off with a 'quick and easy five mile run.' They all start running, Mist easily keeping the pace with them, limbs moving gracefully as she outpaced them. Light grinned as she outlapped Orca, a strange feeling overcoming him as he pushed his own feet forward, ignoring the look on the reploid's face as he too passes him. He nearly reaches Mist when Mist slows to a stop upon the completion of the fifth mile, Light mere moments behind. Mist gave him an appreciative glance that he thought he enjoyed more than he should.
Light took a bottle of water given to each of them by their captain appreciatively as she told them that in five minutes they would be sparring. This appeared to be of no surprise to the rest of them, being in a military group even if their objective wasn't specified for combat. Soon, they were grouped in two's save for Light, who was left the odd one out.
"Who am I supposed to be sparring with?" Light asked.
"You will be sparring with me," Mist said simply. "If you want to compete with me on the field, then this should be of no concern to you."
If she thought Light would back down, she was disappointed. Light grinned, taking on a combat pose, ready to spring into action. "What is your oversol?" Mist asked. "The report was uncertain."
"I can disable and steal certain abilities of people I punch," Light said. "It's a useful ability to have."
"We'll see how well it does against a daughter of Neo Arcadia," Mist said imperiously.
"Are there any restrictions to this fight or can I use my full force?" Light asked. Not that he would ever use his full oversol anyhow. To the world, he was merely Light the Unclaimed Advent. Only a handful of people knew him as the Advent who had escaped Umera's labs, the lost child of Ciel and Zero.
Mist gave him a dry look in response, clearly not impressed. "I am a Royal Advent," she said. "You may use whatever force you feel is necessary. Don't worry," she added with an uncharacteristically sadistic grin. "I'll go easy on you." Light felt a thrill of excitement. Mist may put of the facade of the prim and proper commander, but he knew a kindred soul when he saw one. Baring a similar smile, Light let his fists turn black, the clothing beneath hiding the deep red hue the rest of his oversol bore.
The start of the fight was instantaneous, explosive. Light appeared behind Mist faster than the human eye could see, but by the time he was there, Mist had already disappeared, a fist aimed at his shoulder. A quick deflection later, Light swung a fist at her in return, hopping away as she snapped a kick at his thigh. The air became thick with condensation. Light felt more than just sweat pool at the skin not touched by his oversol, clothing becoming damp. Remembering her origins, Light whipped around, a monstrous roundhouse kick unsettling Mist before she could create more water, who recovered almost as quickly as it happened. Mist caught his leg with her own, toppling his balance to the ground, upon which Light spun and landed on his feet gracefully in one fluid motion.
Mist's previously cold nature had given way to a savage joy. She appeared behind Light as Light's fist swung into the space she appeared into. To his surprise, it sunk through her, burying itself on her other side, water replacing physical body mass. She hopped back, a bead of sweat at last showing on her face upon her activation of what Light assumed was part of her oversol. A useful ability, Light thought, to be able to phase physical objects through, but it had to come at the price of a considerable amount of stamina. She couldn't hold that form up for long.
Light focused on using his fists with the intent of sapping the ability from her outright if not exhausting her first. He threw his body into his next punches, weight shifting with each punch. Mist caught the last with a fist tinged with blue, twisting it so that Light's tendons screamed from the unnatural angle, using his loss of momentum to place a palm thrust on his chest, sending him flying to the ground.
Light made to get up, but Mist motioned for him to stop, breath ragged. "Why were you holding back?" she demanded in a voice small enough so that it was meant only for him. "Don't insult me."
"I was doing pretty good if I say so myself," Light defended himself. "I could have recovered from that."
Mist said nothing, just allowed the condensation in his clothes that had accumulated during the fight to freeze, coating him in restrictive icy armor. He was pinned. She snapped her fingers again and the ice melted. "I don't know who you think you are, but you have a lot to learn if you think you can challenge me without using your real strength," she said. She turned to face the rest of the party, who had stopped to watch the match take place.
"Woah,' Rak said. "You two were amazing."
"Practice makes perfect," Mist said promptly, automatically. "There's no reason you cannot attain a similar level of expertise."
There it was again, Light noticed. The facade had come back. He had seen beyond that shell of command, though. Her face, contorted in the frenzy of the fight and something else. Something he recognized, but couldn't quite put a name to it.
The five of them were sent home with instructions to return a few days from then for the rest of their training. Back inside Light's room, he replayed the fight, imagining how things would have been different if he had really gone all out. And that feeling he got from her, that was the face of someone hiding who she was. Light recognized it very well. He saw it every time he faced a mirror. The question was, what was she hiding?
