Date posted: 30th July 2023
This chapter wasn't even supposed to be out this month but we make do. Definitely no Sinonon or Merchant Chapter next month, btw,
Chapter 26: Belly of the Beast
Ridwan Mason rose in bed and took off his AmuSphere. He looked out the windows of his Tokyo hotel to see the sun had set. How quickly time flew in FullDive. He rubbed his face and checked the clock next to his bedside and saw it had been - seven hours?!
He got out of bed and realised he was still in his pyjamas. "Ah shit, ah damn, ah fuck." It still tripped him up with how early night was in Japan, almost a whole two hours earlier than in New York. He rushed to the bathroom to wash himself up.
After the disorientation and rush for prayer (which he had to do twice because he faced east instead of west), he finally sat down at the desk of his modest hotel room. Here he was in one of the nicest cities in the world, and he had spent - he checked his calendar - four to five days playing video games? His buddies at work would never let him hear the end of it.
He had left his avatar in one of the Leonidas APCs, citing a need for a break. He had promised to be back before the hour. He supposed he shouldn't be complaining too much, there were people who would kill to play video games and write about them for a living.
There were numerous emails from Adrian, all demanding more reports. But damn if they weren't long enough. He had sent Adrian five different emails already, all written after a serious session of gaming, written in the dead of night, thousands upon thousands of words long. It was going to be hell to organise it all in one coherent article for the masses to read.
He was tired, mentally and physically. In truth, he didn't really enjoy FullDive games much, on the account of their game design being decades behind traditional AAA and indie games. But Gun Gale Online was different, pushing the boundaries of game design to its absolute limits that could only be done in a persistently online game. Heh, that'll be a good tagline for the article.
It was already eight PM, he had skipped lunch and only had toast for breakfast. He gazed outside his hotel window, looking longingly at the numerous restaurants and diners. Ramen, sushi, steak, dear God, there was a steakhouse right there, advertising A5 wagyu. It made his mouth water and his stomach grumble.
He looked at the clock, then his wallet on the table. The company credit card peeking seductively from within. He could …
No, he shouldn't. Even though he barely knew the players he had been playing with, Ridwan felt a kinship with them all. StonedScientist was a good companion for his foray into the game and though his duties to his guild overrode his contract to Honest Gaming, the Mobile Guardsman did watch his back in battle. He was the one watching his sleeping avatar for this vital mission.
And the missions! The missions he had been sent on were nothing short of exciting. The crazy swordsman, the crazy cat lady, the crazy cowboy, the crazy GI, the crazy Major, actually thinking about it, all of them were mad one way or another. He had been keeping notes of his adventures on his PDA, the most wordcount to any game he had done so far in his career. He'd probably be a more effective player if he put his mind more on fighting than in writing.
Feeling parched, he checked his hotel fridge and was greeted by the usual fare: soda, beer, juice, and water bottles. And like every fridge in every hotel, they were also terribly overpriced. The counter with the cookies, chips and other snacks were similarly highway banditry.
Hmm. One could argue that it was better to eat one good meal than numerous overpriced snacks. Yeah, sure. And after all, Adrian did say he'd promise to buy steak …
He called the restaurant and reserved a table himself before hopping in the bathroom for a shower.
Two hours later, delicious prime beef in his belly and with a plastic bag of snacks and drinks in hand, he laid back in bed and put the console on his head, ready for another serious gaming session. He felt himself transported back twelve years ago, when he played until morning with his high school buddies in numerous shooters and fantasy games.
Damn, he loved his job.
Mason awoke to find himself in an unfamiliar place. He felt a great pressure on his chest and on his back. Something slimy and wet was on his face and he played GGO long enough to realise it was someone's gibs. He realised he was lying on the floor face down in a puddle of blood; not his, thank God. Something heavy was moving nearby, the steps of someone in heavy armour.
He stayed still.
Someone was barking orders in Greek. There were gunshots, of bullets hitting flesh, a sound he didn't expect to be ever familiar with. He could smell smoke, threatening to make him cough. He just noticed that there was another limb atop his arm, the black uniform of a Mobile Guardsman. He could see reflection in the blood. Figures of silver clad Stormtroopers walking about, executing the downed members of the Clearers, flashes of gunshots from the survivors. The thunderous boom of heavy turrets were followed by the falling of casings. He understood then what had happened.
Mason felt the presence of the enemy before he saw them. A great pillar of gold entered his vision - it was a pair of legs belonging to a giant of a warrior. Pointed shining sabatons, greaves with immaculate patterns with the kneecaps was headed with the snarling faces of gorgons. The journalist dared to crane his head upward ever so slightly and what he saw made him break into a cold sweat.
It was the biggest damn Thunder Warrior he had seen. The transhuman easily stood almost ten feet tall. A skirt of mail covered its pelvis alongside a set of red leather strips - pteruges they were called. Its breastplate shone in the harsh white light of what he can only assume were searchlights, the hammer and sickle masterfully etched and painted red, one shoulder armoured with a massive pauldron, another covered by a crimson cape reaching its waist. Its face was made of metal, molded in the image of some snarling figure Mason didn't recognised. In its massive fist was an equally massive spear: the shaft was of solid steel with some sort of batteries attached to lugs beneath the head, and the spearhead was easily twice as long and wide as an arming sword, glowing with a faint blue buzz.
The giant stood still as a statue, appearing to stare into the void, but Mason could hear the subtle chatter and buzz in its helm even from where he lay prone under a corpse.
A bloodied Argyraspides Stormtrooper approached it, looking like a child next to the giant. He snapped a quick salute. "Captain-general, we have destroyed the spearhead of the capitalist forces but some of them have escaped into the ship. We've sent squads to hunt the survivors."
"Excellent work, comrade-captain," said the giant, whose feminine voice surprised Mason. "Rally your forces and prepare to defend the port side of the Ark. We do not believe there are any more attacks coming from the southwest of the city. We can hold the Ark from here."
"Sir," said the Stormtrooper, going about his business and speaking into his radio. The giant left his vision just in time for Mason to feel something grab him by the ankles and started dragging him away. He made the choice to keep his eyes open, feigning death.
There was nothing left of the Clearers. Almost everyone was dead. Corpses of their small army were strewn about what was the belly of the ship. The APCs were gone, only burning husks had remained. Mason could only guess that Stone or someone else had carried him away to safety before being slain.
The Clearers had put up a good fight. For every corpse of a Mobile Guardsman, Zakon or Warhawk soldier, he could count a Stormtrooper, a Living Turret, or a Corvo-Bat.
He couldn't recognise any of the dead save for one very noticeable corpse at the very entrance of the ship. It was bisected in half, its lower half was held up by its powered-exoskeleton, the upper half laid to the side holding a minigun. The dead face of Colonel Honshu was that of permanent joy, no doubt of being the first man on the Ark. Well, at least CHAD had kept his promise.
He passed what was the most confusing corpse of all, the lone Leopard 2. It wasn't exploded by a rocket nor were its treads destroyed by mines. The turret looked like it had been stabbed repeatedly and its barrel was cleanly cut in half. Mason could hazard a guess what sort of weapon could have done that kind of damage.
His morticians stopped and let go of his legs. Mason kept still, made sure he didn't blink. He could feel hands loot his SIG MPX, his ammo and his grenades He briefly wondered where his little Bee drone was and hoped Nahla was alright.
Two burly Stormtroopers hauled him onto a cart alongside the rest of his dead comrades. The cart was covered by a sheet of plastic and Mason allowed himself to blink. He rolled ever so slightly, careful not to alert the enemy, and found he was staring into the face of a dead Zakon. He didn't recognised who this one was.
She, like him, too had her weapons stripped, save for the one knife they had on their person. His knifeplay was as good as his gunplay, which was to say, not great at all. He patted her down and found a snubnose revolver in her webbing. Mason checked the cylinder and saw it had eight rounds of .22 LR. It would have to suffice.
He counted the minutes of how long he was in the cart, twelve in total. That would cover at least a kilometer in length but the cart-pusher stopped here and there, to talk to someone and, if Mason heard right, had bought something from a vending machine. He recognised the tell-tale cue of a ka-thunk anywhere.
Finally, the cart-pusher stopped and Mason felt the heat of flame and the smell of por, not liking where this was going. He gripped his knife, the only weapon that wasn't taken away from him.
The plastic sheet was pulled, showing the covered face of a mutant. His eyes went wide as Mason sprang from the corpse cart, tackling him to the ground. He shoved the snubnose in his face, scaring him still, and plunged the knife in his throat.
Mason dismounted the dead man and found himself in a large chamber. There were a dozen crematoriums and the other carts were filled with trash and corpses alike. He supposed even spaceships need a place to process their trash and their dead.
He dragged the janitor corpse into the pile and covered the cart. Something dropped from his pocket which he picked up: a keycard and a can of grape soda. He put them away, the aluminum cylinder fitting snugly in a magazine pouch.
As he rummaged through his comrades' corpses and found zilch, he heard the squeak of wheels and he immediately hid himself behind one of the blazing machines, almost burning himself with a touch.
He peeked over to see even more janitors. His heart skipped a beat when one of them noticed the pool of blood of the man he killed. The other janitor however only tut-tut'ed at it. "I know we're cleaning up corpses and all but would it kill you people to keep the floors clean? Where the hell is George?"
"No idea, boss," said the other janitor. "You know how he is with his bathroom breaks."
"Well someone better find him, he has the keycard to the electronic waste department."
"Will do, boss," said the other.
Mason came out of cover and aimed his revolver at the both of them. "Hands up. Don't move."
They obeyed immediately, fear in their eyes. "W-w-what do you want?" asked the junior.
He looked at the boss up and down, the janitors wore something akin to hazmat gear, all white jumpsuits, hood, gasmask, visor and gloves. He was just Mason's size. "I need your clothes, your gloves, and your gasmask.'
"What?"
Mason whipped him in the temple with the butt of the revolver. "Now!"
"Okay, okay! Just don't kill us!"
If you told Mason that today he was going to dress up as a janitor and infiltrate a super advanced spaceship while giant monsters go around hunting his comrades, he would have said, "Yeah, I can see that being a thing in this game."
He had left two tied up janitors as he walked the halls of the spaceship freely, now identifying himself as Mortuary Technician Theodore. It may have been safer to kill them but he did feel kinda bad doing it. It was one thing to kill someone who was trying to kill you, another when you have them at your mercy. He wasn't sure what the process of creating these lifelike NPCs were like, something he'd have to ask the devs later on.
First priority, he'd have to find his deck and Nahla.
It was perhaps very un-soldier of him, to find his camera over trying to complete the mission, but one was a life and death situation where if he failed in his mission he would have no way to support himself and the other was playing soldier. Priorities, priorities.
The hallways of the Ark were suitably futuristic with the stark white walls, recessed ceiling lights and black tiles. None of the staff he passed gave him a second look as he examined one of those You Are Here maps at a junction. Had the Arks have a few coffee shops around, it would have felt no different from the many mega malls he had shopped at.
The false calmness however was broken apart by the odd gunshot, no doubt resistance from the surviving players. He felt a tinge of guilt not doing anything, what with him being AWOL for two hours. But the aftertaste and memory of wagyu washed away any and all such feelings. He should definitely go to the sushi restaurant around the block tomorrow, Adrian's reports be damned. Do you know how time consuming it was to translate Japanese back to English?
A squad of Argyraspides in their fancy silver flak armour rounded the corner, Mason's fight or flight response flipped a coin and chose 'or'. He froze in place as the soldiers ran past him, not even acknowledging his existence. He could just overhear the radio chatter before they left his sight.
"Contact! Contact! The enemy is in Chamber E1 - careful, he's got a horse!"
Well, RIP to Tadao but Mason had a drone to save.
He found the computer labs, though even that took some time because there were a dozen of them in total, and the keycard he held belonged to one called Lab E-Waste Recyling. He swapped the card on the reader and the doors opened with a stereotypical fwoosh.
The computer room, despite the name, didn't actually have that many computers, save for a trio in the corner where an intern in a shirt and tie was busy typing. He didn't even look up from the screen. "Be sure to drop the decks and drones in that chute over there. I've already got a hundred guns to tag and ID."
For a self-proclaimed communist state, it reminded Mason of the office job he once had. Maybe bureaucracy was all the same, no matter the ideology. He made sure the door remained open if he needed to make an escape. "Hey, aren't you worried about the uh … capitalist dogs that invaded the Ark?"
The clerk pushed his glasses up, smirking. "Not with those gods of war walking about. The fools were dead before they stepped on the Ark." He finally looked up from his screen. "Wait, why are you even here? Your section's that-a-way."
"Um …" Think, Mason, think! What would the world's baldest assassin say? "Brass needs some footage from one of the drones. Uh, for intel."
The clerk narrowed his eyes on him. "Well, okay. But I'll need the forms."
Shit. "Look man, I kinda forgot them and I don't want to walk half a kilometer to get them back. Can you just let me take em'?"
"Sorry, but rules are rules."
Great, he was one of those types of people. And GGO didn't really have an equivalent of a «Speech» skill, plan B it was. The journalist slid a hand into the baggy suit, large enough Mason was able to just wear it over his fatigues and flak vest, and reached for his weapon -
The clerk's eyes widened as the janitor aimed his piece at him. "Oooh, you shouldn't have! I love grape!"
"So, about the papers …"
The NPC downed the soda as if he was dying of thirst. "Yeah, yeah, man. Don't worry about it. Is there anything specific you're looking for?"
It took Mason little time to find Nahla on a shelf, bundled next to his cyberdeck. He slipped his pointer finger on the scanner on the right side of the keyboard and the screen came to life. Nahla's thrusters came to life and the little buzz ball beeped in excitement. Save for a nasty scratch on one side of her frame and the odd pock marks from the battle in the streets of Corinth, she was mostly unharmed.
You pump in your perimeters into your deck like distance from user, minimum and maximum height, etc, and it would mostly, smartly, do what it was told. Mason left it in scout mode, in charge of finding high value targets in a firefight, which would then tag for other deckers in the group. This necessitated the amount of thrusting power he invested into Nahla, more dodge build than heavy build.
The neat thing about drones is that a player could leave it on standby mode when they were logged out which was what Mason did. A decker could even make it so if a drone detected danger, the game would send you an e-mail warning you about it. Mason however had yet to figure out how to do that.
All drones had cameras, but the retro camera embedded into her chassis worked both as an in-game recorder and recording software that could be uploaded out of game, something that FullDive games still had problems solving.
He watched the footage on his deck. Nahla was filming just outside the ship, the camera focused on Colonel Honshu take the first step onto the Ark, way ahead of the remaining armour. The colonel was then immediately bisected by something and that something immediately retreated back into the ship. At that, he heard Nikita's voice ordering a full on charge and the entire Clearer army marched towards their death.
The chamber the Clearers entered was roughly the size of a football stadium, ceiling lights bright as the sun. The army that met the Clearers was smaller than Mason had expected but still formidable, a hundred or so Stormtroopers in the best gear, on a long bridge splitting the chamber, with turrets from the ship walls and ceilings, to face down two hundred plus players. He saw people taking cover behind Vladimir's Pinky-chan, using it as effective cover, only for a trap door to open beneath them like an old Looney Tunes cartoon, taking the scientist, slime and soldiers alike to God knows where.
There was a hanging office some two hundred meters in the middle of the ceiling, security HQ if he had to guess. A sign written in red spray paint delightfully announcing: WELCOME TO THE KILLBOX
But what was noticeable were the Thunder Warriors in the gold armour. There were only ten of them, which would have been a problem for most but there was enough fighting experience amongst the Clearers that Mason would still bet the odds on the players. They stood on the bridge like statutes, gripping their tall spears in their massive fists, content to watch the fighting.
When the Leopard aimed its turret at the bridge, they leapt into action. Mason was completely taken aback by their speed, and he had faced Thunder Fighters in the past. They were easily twice if not thrice as fast as their bronze comrades, rushing into the mass like gods of war. He saw one of them roll over an APC with a flick of their spear. Another cut three Warhawks in half with a swing of their spear. Then there was the one with halfcape, the captain-general if Mason had to guess, who had ripped through the MBT like it was cardboard.
He would have continued watching until suddenly something knocked Nahla out, citing EMP damage. He sighed. With Nahla in hand, he could focus on the original mission: killing Doctor Aclelpius. The problem was, how the hell was he gonna do that?
As the journalist concocted a mad scheme to find the endgame boss of this whole thing, he didn't hear or see the newcomer entering the lab. "Hey, be sure to put the trash into the -"
The gunshot in the small room was enough to make Mason drop his drone only for the little bot to engage its thrusters at the last minute. A big man covered in blood had a smoking Uzi in hand, the clerk slumped in his chair, a pretty little hole in his forehead and a less pretty hole in the back of his head.
Mason immediately recognised the stranger. "Sergeant Gregory?"
Gregory looked up and aimed the gun at Mason in surprise. "Wait!"
Despite the short time he had played GGO, his gamer brain was already wired to always seek cover, which a cart of scrap of electronics proved sufficient for the job. Two more players came in, Zakon's Corporal Dave and one of Dyne's Black Dog, Ginrou the decker. Gregory shot at Mason lazily, more for suppression than trying to kill him.
"Quick, grab what you need and let's get out!" ordered Gregory.
"Which one again? I don't know what these things do!" said a panicked Dave.
"The stuff we have on the list!"
"I don't know what half of these things are! What the hell's a - " Dave squinted at his PDA, "a «Signal Piercer Transmitter»?"
"Just grab everything!"
Mason didn't even dare to peek from his cover. He was dressed like an NPC, of course he was going to get shot at. He raised his hand to surrender only to have the top of his left pinky blown off. Okay, maybe not.
He was bandaging his finger when Ginrou was looking at his deck when he said, "The hacked cameras show we've got security coming, ETA three minutes."
"Damn! That's enough! Grab one of the carts and let's go!"
And the players were away in a rush. When Mason poked his head out, it looked like they had taken two shelves worth of scrap. For what purpose, he didn't know. He guessed the smart thing to do was to follow their tracks and team up. Gregory should know what to do.
He exited the lab and followed their trail, which wasn't hard considering the gunshots. Mason had no idea they were going but they knew where they were going and that was enough for him.
Despite being outnumbered, the players fought with the fury of a cornered animal. They gunned down low-level security personnel easily enough, simple folk with low level helmets and flak. In the chaos of their mad dash, no one paid any attention to the lone janitor in the environmental suit.
They hit their real challenge not long after in a junction of traffic. Stormtroopers were tougher, meaner, sons of bitches than the average militia, but these Argyraspides were more like players than NPCs. There were four of them, armed with shotguns and SMGs and they weren't playing around. One of them tossed a grenade with the accuracy of a seasoned pitcher.
Gregory however must have been an athlete. He punted the flashbang like … like … whatever big name soccer player was around these days (Mason barely followed any spots save for baseball) straight back to the lead Argyraspides while Dave simultaneously pushed the cart off to the side. The Stormtroopers didn't even flinch when the grenade went off.
"They've got flashpro!" yelled Ginrou.
Flashpro, or flash protection as it was properly called, referred to gear that suppressed the effects of flashbang. The visors over their faces, a high quality piece of glass that was so black you could see your own reflection in it, and possibly some sort of cybernetic or mutation that muffled the loudest of noises, neither of which Mason himself possessed. The enemy opened fire, a couple pellets striking the corporal in his armoured shoulder.
Mason was far enough from the fight that he wouldn't be impacted by any stray shots. Hiding behind a vending machine, he wondered what he could have done to help. It was at that point two heavy caliber turrets popped from the ceiling and started firing. The players took cover behind the single pillar in the middle of the junction, not enough space to cover all of them safely.
A stray 5.56mm round et stuck Ginrou's deck, shattering it. "Shit, shit! I can't hack it! What do we do?!"
"Shut up! I'm thinking!" yelled Gregory, blind firing his Uzi. The 9mm rounds barely scratched the heavy flak of the Argyraspides.
Mason checked the turrets, his HUD signifying their security level, then at his «Hacking» skill, and he was very glad he pumped points into it over «SMGs». "Time to make up for all that delicious wagyu, Nahla. Ready?"
It was still a challenge to hack through the security, as expected of an endgame dungeon. Whether the game was going easy on him because of his low level, or the devs didn't fine-tune the level clearance of the turrets, he wasn't sure nor did he really care, as Nahla floated to behind the turret and shot out a cable into a port. Players could hack from a distance without a drone, but a drone allowed a player to lower the security clearance via the hacking cable. He doubted this was at all realistic but he wasn't going to argue against video game logic that was working in his favour.
The hum of access clearance was music to his ears and the gunfire against the Stormtrooper's backs was equivalent to an orchestra.
The firefight died down and the players were reasonably confused of what had happened. Dave was the first to spot Mason and raised his AK. "Wait, friendly! Friendly!"
Mason took off his gasmask and pulled down his hood. The others lowered their guns.
"Ah, Mason! Glad to see you survived." Gregory awkwardly gestured at Mason's hand. "Sorry about the finger."
"Eh, I wasn't using it. Where are you guys going?"
"I'll tell you in a bit. Loot their gear, we need to move."
Mason regretted not taking a photo of the map of the Ark as he trailed his comrades. As a child, he had a habit of getting lost in malls and crying to the nearest security guard and getting his parents to pick him up. His navigational skills today weren't as bad but identical halls and rooms still tripped him up from time to time. He doubted he could nicely ask a security guard directions to the nearest gunfight.
There was little in the way of gunshots the further they traveled. "How many people survived?"
"A few," said Ginrou. The techie had already replaced his broken deck with another from the pile and he was unhappy with the downgrade.
"Define a few?"
"Aaah, about a handful …" said Corporal Dave, cupping empty air.
"Can you be a bit more specific?"
"Fifteen," said Gregory, peeking over the corner, it was clear. "Or thereareabouts. Maybe more hiding around the ship. We needed a whole ass regiment for this job, not three companies."
"I see." Mason admittedly didn't know exactly what makes up a regiment aside from 'a lot of dudes' but he couldn't disagree. "But the Clearers from the other side of the Ark are coming right?"
"They were supposed to be the distraction, we were supposed to go in for the kill." The sergeant shook his head. "Now come on, we're almost there."
One sign said Produce Chamber, the next sign said Hydroponics Research Lab 004, and the sign after that said ACCESS RESTRICTED. The further they walked, the less well kept the corridors. Rust appeared here and there, the lights flickered until finally they went out, necessitating them to turn on their flashlights. He stepped on something and found it was tall grass.
He narrowed his eyes. "Wait, are those -" he trailed his flashlight to the wall and almost jumped out of his skin seeing corpses wrapped in vines. A gloved hand covered his mouth.
"Let's not alert anyone, eh?" said Dave. The journalist nodded, keeping quiet. The dark hallway was all green and filled with the dead. There had to be two dozen corpses in total. Thankfully, zombies weren't a thing in GGO … he hoped.
They finally reached a door which Gregory opened with a series of specific knocks revealing a couple of disheveled Virtues greeting them, neither of whom he recognised.
"You got the stuff?" said the one with XM8 in the compact carbine configuration.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it, Nakam." He gestured to the cart with his head. "Now come on, I need to log out."
The room had a lot more green than the hallway. In fact, it was almost entirely covered in leaves and roots. It looked more like a druid's home than something you'd find in a super advanced spaceship. Once upon a time it was likely a lab of sorts. The terminals were ancient, but still far more advanced than what you could find in the Wasteland, disconnected from the mainframe and powered by a portable chemfuel generator in the middle of the chamber.
A few campfires were spotted about where the whipped Clearers tended to their wounds and their equipment. It reminded Mason of Loyalists Russian soldiers in Magadan, though the circumstances were a bit less fantastical than being in a spaceship. Gregory, Dave and Ginrou excused themselves and Mason went to speak to the man in charge.
He had expected CHAD but no, it was Lieutenant Makarov who was at the table. He had little in the way of electronics, save for a terminal, and couple of laptops, one of which was clearly Major Nikita's with the logo of 2nd Company on the cover.
"Oh, it's you," said Makarov. "I was hoping for someone else."
"Sorry I'm not a high level fighter," said Mason, though he had leveled up quite a bit. In fact, he was holding his own, thank you very much!
"No, no, that was rude. I was hoping we had more than one guy. How'd you survive that massacre anyway?"
"Through the will of God." And luck, mostly luck. "What's the current plan?"
Makarov leaned back in his chair, the ancient piece of furniture creaking at his weight. "Current plan? There's no plan. Our armour is gone, half our forces are dead, the other half are being hunted down like rats, we've barely any ammo, and we still don't know where the doctor is. So if you've got any bright ideas, please, illuminate us. Sorry, sorry, shouldn't have taken that out on you."
"What you need, LT, is a good steak of wagyu."
"Heh, a steak would be nice." He gestured around the chamber. "Maybe we can start a little commune around here. Stop all of this mercenary business and roleplay as farmers."
One of the Virtues came to the table, this one he did recognised. "Ah, Mason-san. I see you've survived."
The journalist smiled as he shook Wahyu's hand, the decker in far more horrendous shape than everyone else in the room. "Geez, what happened to you? Did you try to eat a live wire?"
"Something like that." Half his face was burnt to a crisp, medical paste and bandages only doing much to heal it. "I need help with some stuff here, how high is your skill?"
"There's a «Mechanics» skill?"
"Just give me a hand would you?"
Makarov tapped something on his laptop. "Wahyu, while you're on the way, get Corporal Hamza, I'll need him for another ammo run or whoever else we can rescue. Maybe we can salvage this mission somehow."
"What happened to CHAD? Is he dead?"
At that, the lieutenant barked a harsh laugh. "He's Mister Shinigami. He'll be fine. It'll only be a matter of time before he walks into this room."
There were actually numerous rooms within the overgrown plant research chamber smartly camouflaged thanks to the foliage. It was the Virtues who found the room who had actually entered the Ark before everyone else (Wahyu made Mason promise not to tell anyone, especially the Warhawks). When asked how they entered the Ark without being noticed, with the massive door being the only way to enter, the Virtue only smiled.
"There's more ways to enter a dungeon than the front door," he said.
"Was it air vents?"
"Well, exhaust vents actually. They got a lot of them up top. A lost art really."
A plant overgrown lab was a staple in sci-fi so it didn't shock Mason too much to see one, it was just he didn't expect it in the endgame dungeon. It was actually not a dungeon at all, save for the man-eating flower miniboss that the Virtues already killed and whose corpse they used as kindling.
Using knives and emergency scissors to cut through the roots and controlled fires to do the rest, Wahyu hacked the door open with his deck.
The side room was less overgrown than the main chamber. An ancient skeleton wearing a scientist robe was slumped against an office chair, pistol in hand. Mason had played enough games to guess what went on in this room a long time ago. The two terminals interested the players.
A quick wipedown of the dusty monitor and keyboard later, they started digging into the terminals' files. There were lab reports that Mason had too little in the «Science» skill to comprehend; quite literally, half the text was gibberish, his puny clone soldier mind unable to understand the technobabble. He wished Vladimir was here.
He was however able to read the few diary entries that were left. Mason cracked his neck and prepared himself for a lore dive.
File 004 - Date: 17th August 2XXX
It's over. Mars is ruined. The alliance has fallen apart. Hundreds of thousands dead, millions doomed to suffering. We can't live like this, we need to leave.
The board has finally finished their meetings. VitaWare Pharmaceuticals has majority holdings at 52%. It's an open secret they've assassinated the other stock brokers and bribed the rest. Their guy is now CEO and made the decision to return to earth. We don't have enough food, people or power, but it's better than staying in this red hellhole. Cryopods have been prepared and we're putting 75% of our people in them.
It's going to be a long way. Time to restart hydroponics. I told Doctor - DATA EXPUNGED - to not shut it down. I'd have rubbed it in his face but he's dead now so I'm in charge. It's not going to be easy but I'll manage.
File 024 - Date: 31st March 2XXX
Chaos in the Ark, but what's new, eh?
We've got our fuel consumption under control. The Plant Overgrowth Serum worked wonderfully, thanks to yours truly. We've got enough potatoes to feed pre-Collapse humanity thrice over, and what are we using it for? Biofuel. Ancient science fiction had humans fuel ships with diesel, guess they weren't far from the truth.
The VitaWare CEO - sorry, the Doctor as he calls himself now (nevermind 25% of the Ark is a doctor of some kind), has said we'd be landing in Greece, Corinth to be specific. Our scout drones have spotted a fair amount of rich soil around there, and even enough people to till the the land. They've got factories too, probably a pretty advanced city. As much as you can call any city advanced after the world got lit on fire. It shouldn't be too hard to force these idiots to work for us.
The problem? Glocken is already there, parked their ass right outside of Istanbul. They've been there for decades already. Their new clone soldiers are smarter, faster, able to plan ahead for once instead of relying on true human officers. Oh, and they're rebuilding old war tech too, not as advanced as the guns on Mars, but a bullet kills anyone ust as easily as a plasma bolt. Don't think we can take them on in a straight slugging match.
But the Doctor, he has a plan. We don't have Glocken's clone-tech, but what we have is something better. Nadine got me a copy of this book, secreted deep down in the archives. It's called The Communist Manifesto by some long dead guy called Karl Something. Frankly, history is of no interest to me, but the Doctor demands everyone read it. Makes folk easier to control. I don't like the idea myself, that's what - DATA EXPUNGED - Company was doing on Mars but we are extremely outnumbered on Earth.
As long as I don't have to mingle with the dregs of Earth, I think I'll be fine.
File 091 - Date 17th October 2XXX
Commander Hayward has successfully routed Glocken forces from Corinth. Guess most folks, even advanced clone soldiers from Earth's premier mercenary company, can't handle a kilometer long ship landing in their city. Shame that he caught a bullet from an assassin's bullet, don't think he'll make it. His daughter's taking charge now. Bit too young to command an army of a new nation-state but hell if I know better, she was sent down there a year earlier to start a rebellion. Guess it worked.
Doc gave a big speech to that horde of mutants, christened our new nation as the Republic of Mutantopia. Said we were all the working class fighting against the ruling class that was Glocken. It was all very well-made propaganda. I'm not gonna share my housing with some disgusting mutie peasant who can't even read, thank you very much. Still, labour workforce has increased tenfold so that's always handy. We don't even have to pay them, just give them free good which we have a theoratical infinite amount of.
I don't like landing the ship and sticking it permanently into the ground, but the Doctor said we needed the power. A bunch of mole people or whatever lived in the underground and we needed their geothermal vents. Need to give them facilities like clinics, schools and so on. Not to say anything about Glocken, but they've got the right idea ruling as feudal lords. But no, he insists on housing for everyone. A waste of time and labour, but important for the propaganda, he said.
Too many mutants around here to my liking. Ugly people, but useful people. I think the Doctor is a firm believer in this Marxist thing, not that I'd say that to his face. A couple of folks have 'mysteriously' died falling from great heights. As long as I keep my mouth shut and work on hydroponics, I'll be fine.
File 091 - Date 20th April 2XXX
Doctor's pulling the plug on hydroponics. Not all of it, but my funds have been slashed down to 20%. Everyone's going all in the gene-conditioning, which is one thing we have over Glocken. With all the farmland we've got, my work is no longer on high priority.
We've got muties in the ship now, even though the Doctor promised that would never happen. Send away my boy Alex to handle farming on the outskirts of the city. He assigned me an assistant, a mutie called Helen - ugly thing with three eyes, six fingers on one hand, four on the other, and walks with a limp. But damn if she isn't smart. Calls me comrade all the time, something I refuse to do because I don't buy into this stupid religion of his.
I'll have to speak with Williams from weapons R&D, maybe we can get something done about this mutie problem if we approach the Doctor as a group.
File 093 - Date 17th May 2XXX
We had a gameplan, all five of us: Me, Williams, Weber, Park and Zhao. Get in there, make our demands or we walk.
Didn't work of course. Doctor charmed us all at dinner so much so we weren't able to get a word in. Once Zhao got his duck peking, I knew we lost. That, and the giant in the gold armour in the dining room.
The Doctor introduced us to Commander - Sorry, Captain-General Athena now. She grew two feet last time I saw her. The power armour design is antiquated, the stuff we saw back during the Martian War. How the hell he got that, I've no idea, but he's got an elite fighting force to compliment the elite Stormtroopers we've got warring against Glocken now. They call themselves the Hetairoi.
There were smaller giants, these ones in Aeureusite, with even more primitive armour. Whereas Athena and her cadre were made from the best of our spaceborn troops, these Thunder Fighters were made from the mutant population. We argued against this of course, we shouldn't be sharing our technology with these savages. The Doctor's counter argument was having these creatures wrap our heads in their massive bear paws. Let's say we weren't that talkative afterwards.
The Doctor continued on his merry speech, about how we'll raise all of Greece against Glocken. We may be lacking in armour, but we've got instead are BOWs. Bat abominations, fused turrets on flesh, dogs from our nightmares, the whole deal. If we've had this firepower on Mars, maybe we would have won.
Heard rumours he found a dragon somewhere from Tibet, though I call bullshit on that. Dragons or no, we've got a real army now.
I made sure to tell the others to vomit our dinners down the toilet and take medicine. Can't be sure with how the Doctor's acting. He's drank his own Kool-Aid.
File 098 - Date 4th June 2XXX
Williams is dead, as is Weber, Park and Zhao. Republic intelligence found them between the border of Glocken and the Republic, ambushed and killed them alongside our Glocken contacts. They've confiscated my apartment, my account, my research. He knows everything. I'm done for.
I paid good money to bribe the people in comms to set up my radio tower. I was listening to Zhao talking to a Glocken official when the guns opened on them. Then someone set up a jammer. Well, that was money well wasted. Months of planning down the drain.
It's only a matter of time before they send someone to kill me. They won't be taking me alive. I've already prepared my overgrowth serum. I just need more time and my plants will destroy the ship from within.
Helen has already reported me, that I know of. My contacts in security say they're planning a raid in an hour. Well good luck to them, they won't be making it here alive.
I won't stand to live in a world filled with mutants, calling themselves my equal. I'm Doctor XcorruptedX! I am better than them! Pure human instead of mutant spawn! To hell with the Republic and the Doctor! They won't take me alive!
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Mason leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Well. Shit."
"Found anything useful?" asked Wahyu. "Got nothing interesting here."
"Check this out." He gestured to the other player to see the screen and highlighted a line in the last file. "This terminal is tied to a radio tower atop the Ark. Looks like it's been unused for a while."
"Hmm, our radios don't actually work within the ship. Hold on, let me try something."
They called Lieutenant Makarov over for this. Wahyu jury rigged a makeshift radio from junk in the scrap cart, five different walkie-talkies, and boosted by a car battery, something he was only able to do with his absurdly high «Mechanics» skill, the makeshift radio finally came to life. Headsets on their heads, Mason tuned into a random channel.
They only heard static. "Must be a signal blocker, can you do something about that?" asked Makarov.
"Hold on, Mason, can you get me the Signal Jammer Piercer from the cart?" asked Wahyu.
"The what?"
"It's the big rod thingy. It should be in the cart Gregory brought in."
Some finangling later, the static was banished and voices came through. "- do you copy? This is Spearhead One, we are engaging against Republic armor. We need infantry backup, do you copy?"
"Copy that, Spearhead One. Sending Aswara Squad your way."
"Wait, this is Mobile Guard channels," said Makarov. "How the hell -"
"Spacer tech, sir. Probably advanced anti-encryption stuff," said Wahyu.
He smiled at this. "Good, good. Alright, change to another channel."
Mason did so and a panicked voice came through. "Be advised, enemy forces have barricaded at Keel Motorpool 05. They've taken hostages. I repeat, do not engage. Do not - SHIT! They've got a .50 cal! Wait, is that a fucking chainsw -" the voice turned into static just when the whirring reached its crescendo.
"I think we know where Kirito and Sinon are at now," said Mason. "Hey, you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I'm thinking we are," said Makarov, grinning. "Wahyu, can you pretend to be HQ? Redirect enemy forces away?"
"Already thinking ahead, sir. Give me a few minutes and I'll copy HQ voices and remix them to sound like the real deal. That'll leave their heads scratching."
"Uh, what's that?" asked Mason, gesturing to the blinking green light on one of the walkie-talkies.
"Radio signal for Zakon channels. Most guilds have specific guild channels only they have access to," explained Wahyu.
"Well, good thing the NPCs were thorough in their looting. Should we get Sergeant Gregory?"
"The man's logged out. I'll answer it," said Makarov as he turned the knob. "This is Clearers HQ. Identify yourself."
A familiar voice came through. "HQ? This is Nikita. How the hell did you get my radio?"
"Nevermind that, Major. Where are you? Are you safe?"
"We're … someplace deep. Underground I think. We need backup, ASAP. I'll send you the coordinates."
"Don't worry, major. I'll send a team right away." The radio clicked off. "Wahyu, get a squads. We've got people to save."
"I'll take the other Virtues, we should be enough."
"What about me? Because I am 100% a-okay with staying here and cleaning the rest of the foliage. I am very good at that!" The last thing Mason wanted to do was run around like a rat in maze or tussle with the super Thunder Warriors.
"That's alright. I need someone to help me with the inventory. By the way, do you know how to use Excel?"
Mason pulled out his snubnose. "Let me kill those sumsofbitches, sir. Can't get enough commie blood."
If someone tells you they know how to use Excel, they're lying. No one knows how to use Excel.
See you in September.
