Cottontail Chapter 3 (Patreon)
Content
“So who are you talking to?” asked Valu, while he kept an eye out the window.
“Um, my AI,” I told him quietly, then frowned and turned my attention inwards. “What even are you, Gyre? Like, what is your… you know?”
In the most rudimentary of terms, I am a very small microchip, implanted directly into your brain via teleportation.
I gulped. Wow, that was kinda scary. “He’s a… a tiny computer that was teleported directly into my brain. Like an implant, I guess.”
“Damn, that’s freaky,” Chazza muttered, shaking his head.
707, I have been doing a damage assessment on your body, and I am afraid we must speak. Privately. Can you reposition to the side of the room with the defunct fast food restaurant?
Oh no. What was it now? Did I have cancer or something?
"Gyre wants me to go over there so he can talk to me," I said, wobbling to my feet. Thank goodness my leg stayed under me now.
The four men eyed each other uneasily, and Chazza gave voice to their concerns. "Anything we gotta worry about?"
"I don't think so," I said, giving them my very best reassuring smile. "It's something that I need to worry about, though."
When I arrived at the broken down McDonald's machine, Gyre didn't waste any time.
707, when I first synchronised with you, I noticed some mental and physical discrepancies that confused me. I used some of the medical nanites to survey and confirm my suspicions.
"Mental and physical discrepancies? What does that mean?" I hissed, placing a hand on the maccas machine to steady myself.
Therein lies the problem. With the abilities of a Vanguard, the treatment will be easy to administer. However, this particular problem will require informed consent on your part. Unfortunately, the nature of the mental half of this issue means that if I were to explain the ailment to you in sufficient detail, there is a high probability that you would reject the treatment.
I frowned, trying to wrap my head around what my new AI friend was saying. "Why would I reject the treatment?"
Gyre actually sighed in frustration in my head, which had to be entirely for my benefit, since he had no lungs.
Societal pressures and a lack of rapport between us. I have not had the time to gain enough of your trust for you to believe the truths that I wish to tell you.
Gyre must have sensed my consternation, because he quickly continued. This issue has a high likelihood of killing you in the long term, and it significantly impacts your ability to function. Treating this would require frequent doses of nanite intervention and raw materials in order to make the changes. It would also alter your body in ways that you may not initially like.
I gulped, trying to process all of this. Just what kind of disease or disability or whatever was this? "What… what do you want me to do? What would your treatment do to me?"
In the vaguest of terms, your ability to concentrate would increase, your perception of the world around you would gain greater clarity, and you would be happier. There are other mental improvements, but those are the major ones. Physically, your body would be radically altered. You would still appear human, of course, but you'd be shorter and unrecognisable as your previous self. Further details would jeopardise the effectiveness of the treatment.
"I still don't understand why you can't just tell me," I said, fidgeting with my company issue coveralls.
Normally, this treatment would only come after you yourself had realised the problem. It usually requires the attention of multiple medical professionals from different fields, and quite a lot of money. We do not, unfortunately, have time to wait for you to realise the problem on your own.
Scratching the top of my head, I sat down on an old sun-bleached plastic chair and considered what he was telling me. "So you want me to agree to this treatment, and you don't want to tell me what it is. You also say that I'll be happy with it once I'm done? How safe is this?"
Current methods of treatment in this field are fairly invasive procedures that can in very rare circumstances cause lasting damage. They have an eighty to ninety percent effectiveness. My treatment should be close to perfection. I am more confident in your ultimate happiness in this matter than I am in the Earth existing tomorrow.
"That's pretty heckin' confident," I laughed quietly.
Indeed. Thus, I ask you to allow me to begin the treatment.
“You promise I’ll be happy?”
Happier than you have been in your entire life.
My mind raced for what felt like hours as I tried to untangle the mess of half-details that my new AI friend had given me. He said I’d be happy. Was it true? I mean, it wasn’t much of a stretch, considering how depressed I was these days. It’d be nice to feel something other than apathy towards my future. Actually, if I were unrecognisable to my co-workers, that’d be awesome. Let them think I died out here or something. My life was about to completely change anyway, now that I was part of the samurai class.
“Okay. Go,” I said, coming to a life altering decision with barely two minutes of actual thought. Really though, did it matter? Life sucked currently, so whatever Gyre had planned would probably be fine.
Everything I do is also reversible, should you end up disliking it.
I snorted and shook my head in wry amusement. “You probably should have said that before I agreed, Gyre.”
It wasn’t particularly relevant.
“It definitely was.”
Noted. Now, may I draw your attention to weaponry? In order to fund this treatment, we will need to put your enemies to the torch.
Now I was laughing softly to myself, because the whole situation was kinda ridiculous. “Medicine funded by alien blood. I like that.”
Exactly. Now, let us start with a few basic questions. Would you prefer to kill your enemies at close, medium, or long range?
“Medium to long,” I said instantly. “I’m not cut out for close and personal. One time in high school, my friends started play wrestling for fun, and they tried to drag me into it. I totally cried.”
Gyre made a very strange sound and said, Oh, that’s very precious. Okay, long to medium range it is. Let us begin with the Ballistic Rifles Catalogue. It offers standard human rifles that you might find in any gun store.
“Okay, sure,” I shrugged. I had no idea what he was talking about anyway. I’d probably get him to give me some sort of menu or something to browse later, but for now… I needed something simple.
New Purchase: Ballistic Rifles Catalogue
Points reduced to… 13
I winced as most of my points went down the drain. “That was expensive.”
It was actually rather cheap. You do have very limited options now, however. I suggest the HNU Mk II Survival Carbine. It’s a semi-automatic carbine that fires 9mm rounds and … that’s about it. Ah, no, it comes standard with a small holographic sight, and the barrels can be swapped out to accommodate larger calibres as needed.
Shrugging, I gestured towards the ground for him to spawn it in. “Sure, I’ll give it a go.”
HNU Mk II Survival Carbine
Points reduced to… 3
This time, the box was much larger and it hid the ground with a clatter. Kneeling next to it, I opened the lid to find the gun I’d just had mail ordered from the void. It was very … simple. It had a stock, a chamber, a barrel, and a magazine already slotted in. Ready to go, I guess. Not much of an unboxing experience.
Careful to keep my finger off the trigger, I lifted it out and turned it over in my hands. It was light, with only the barrel and the chamber made out of metal. The rest of it was sturdy—and very cheap—polymer, all painted up in matte black. When I pulled the gun to my shoulder and sighted at the wall, a barebones holographic sight popped up.
“The sight is a little slow,” I complained, relaxing and then readying the gun again to check the time.
It was very cheap, 707. Beggars cannot be choosers. Unless they try their hand at larceny, but that is not an option for you. By your stance, you appear to have some shooting experience.
“Kinda. Sports shooting is different, and I only used to go down to the range for friend’s birthday parties and stuff,” I said, wiggling my hand in a so-so gesture.
Gyre sounded pleased when his voice chimed in my head. Very good. Some experience is preferable to no experience. It will hopefully allow you to gain enough points to buy something better with the very limited ammunition available to you.
Right. Only one magazine.
Standing up, I made my way back over to the four truckers and gave them all what I really hoped was a reassuring smile. “Okay, I guess I have to kill some aliens now. Are you all okay with me shooting from the windows here? Once I’ve killed a few more I can get you guys some guns to use too.”
“If you want to shoot the aliens circling around out there, be my guest,” Valu said, gesturing to the window he was staring out of.
Alarm bells rang in my ears the moment he said they were out there, circling instead of attacking. “Why aren’t they attacking? Do you see any different models?”
“No, I don’t think they know we’re here,” he told me. “These prefabs might be shitholes, but the one thing you never skimp on in Australia is the insulation and the aircon. Makes these places pretty stealthy to those things. Company policy in these situations is to hide and wait until help gets here, so yeah. Except Chazza was keen to keep the coast clear for you.”
“Really? That’s good, because there’s nothing scarier than smart antithesis,” I said, joining him at the window. God the man was huge. I could feel his presence beside me, even when he wasn’t in my immediate field of view. Finally, I turned to give Chazza a grateful smile. “Oh, and thanks dude. That was pretty cool of you.”
“Pay me back by saving our asses, mate,” he grinned, hefting his empty shotgun. “I’m outta ammo, so it’s all you.”