Mistrunner 2 - Chapter 10 (Patreon)

I knew the bio-enhancers came with plenty of downsides. Everyone did. The decreased lifespan alone was enough to scare most people off. But I would rather die a few decades early than spend another moment corralled by the system-imposed limits on my Constitution. So, the choice was an easy one, and I haven’t looked back since.

Nora Lancaster

As Patrick and I walked through the halls of the Bazaar, I had a hard time thinking of anything else but my upcoming upgrades. The Hand of God was likely the most useful addition to my arsenal, but I had to admit that I was far more excited about the Sheath. I’d been shot enough that I knew just how valuable such protection would likely prove.

But then there were my new skills. [Acrobatics] would probably change everything about how I moved, though I wasn’t entirely sure what that would look like. On top of that, I knew that different skills presented themselves differently based on the individual. For instance, my uncle had seemed a little surprised that I’d gotten so many abilities from [Combat Utility]. So, there was every chance that Ana’s assessment that the skill wouldn’t result in any abilities was inaccurate. The same could be said for [Demolition], which probably excited me more than anything else.

After all, I did enjoy blowing things up. I only regretted that I hadn’t been the one to activate the detonator back in Mobile. However, there was plenty of time to rectify that regret, and I intended to put my new skill – along with my existing Basic Explosives Handlingability – to the test. First, though, I needed to return to Gala and improve the rest of my arsenal.

As much as I loved the Kicker, I had already begun to outgrow it. Even before obtaining my class, I’d noticed that my bullets were doing less and less damage. The sniper portion was still extremely powerful, especially when paired with Empowered Shot, but the assault rifle configuration had proven itself insufficient. Usually, that was a problem that could be solved by pumping my enemies with a few extra magazines of bullets, but as effective as that was, I knew it was less than ideal. The simple fact was that I needed an upgrade.

The problem with that was that I knew that, if I wanted anything more powerful than the Kicker, I’d have to give up on having two weapons in one gun. More than once, I’d exploited the rifle’s ability to reconfigure itself, and I knew I’d miss it once it was gone. But that was the price I’d have to pay. As my uncle had once said, increased power often meant decreased versatility.

Besides, I already had the pulsar-class sniper rifle my uncle had bought for me nestled in the corner of my Arsenal Implant. I’d barely even looked at it, much less used it in any significant situations; in fact, until recently, I couldn’t do so. Before the acquisition of my class, if I’d have pulled the trigger, nothing would happen. However, I felt positive that with the evolution of my skills, I’d be fine now.

Which meant I needed a real, more powerful assault rifle to replace the Kicker. Hopefully that was what Gala had in mind, because I wasn’t sure I could afford anything else. After all, I only had about nine million credits left. It was a lot of money, but I’d seen how much my current arsenal had cost. In addition to that, I had to pay for a new base of operations as well as for someone – hopefully Dr. Montague – to install my new cybernetics.

Not to mention the cost of ammunition. I couldn’t be sure, but I felt that there was a good chance that my uncle had spent even more on ammunition over the past few years than he had on my weapons. And I was running low on basically everything, which meant I needed to restock.

So many expenses, and my revenue stream was all but dried up. If I was going to make things work, I’d need to change that, too. It was yet another item to add to my to-do list, which had grown almost overwhelming in length. So, I used the same philosophy I’d employed when my training got tough – one step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Eventually, you’ll get where you’re going. It was a fancy way of forcing myself to divide my tasks into smaller bites, but it worked for me.

As we made our way back to Gala’s shop, I distracted myself with thoughts of my new hover bike. I’d wanted one for as long as I could remember, but my uncle had always steadfastly refused to get me one. The fact that he’d always intended to do so was so on point with his personality that it almost brought tears to my eyes. For all his rough exterior, he’d never really denied me anything I truly wanted. In fact, he almost always went that extra mile, like he had with the Leviathan file I still frequently listened to. The hover bike was no different, especially in that it far exceeded my expectations. I’d have been happy with a run-of-the-mill version, but instead, I’d gotten something that I expected even those rich assholes in King’s Row couldn’t afford.

Once again, Jeremiah had come through. Even after he was gone, I was still standing on his shoulders.

I let out a sigh, which Patrick noticed. As we walked, he asked, “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be excited about all of this.”

“I am,” I said.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” was his response. “I haven’t seen you smile…well…not since everything happened.”

“Not a lot to smile about,” I said, though I really wanted to dispute that claim. Surely, I’d smiled about something, right? I felt confident that I had, but I couldn’t really think of what might have prompted it. Still, if I’d have gotten such a windfall before losing everyone, I’d have been grinning ear to ear. In fact, I had done just that during my last trip to the Bazaar, which felt like an eternity ago.

“We’re alive,” he said. “And you’ve got a hover bike. That’s enough for a little smile, I think.”

“Agree to disagree on that one,” I said.

Patrick just shook his head. I knew why he was frustrated; I must have made for dour company. But in my defense, I felt I’d earned my sour mood. By all rights, I should’ve been curled in a corner somewhere and balling my eyes out. Instead, I just felt alternating degrees of angry and numb.

After a few more minutes, during which I noticed plenty of men and women in high-collared suits. According to my uncle, most of them were liaisons to the aliens. They were the tools by which our world had been oppressed, and they were only the beginning. In less than seven years, even they would no longer be necessary. At that point, the aliens could descend in force and take a stronger hand in stripping away Earth’s resources.

It was an unavoidable and bleak future.

Certainly, I’d discovered that not all aliens were so heavy-handed as the Castorix who’d been in charge of mining the Rift. But if alien nature was anything like human nature, I suspected that their tactics were common enough. Few would be constrained by something so meaningless as morality. To them, we were barely more than animals, and I felt certain that we would be treated as such.

Any urge to smile faded in the face of that, so by the time we reached Gala’s cube-shaped shop, I was in a much worse mood than when we’d left Dexter’s. Still, I tried to put on a brave face as she let us inside.

“Alright,” Gala said once the doors were shut. “Let’s get the awkward part out of the way. What’s your budget, here?”

I glanced at Patrick, who looked like he was going to be sick. And I understood it. For someone whose path was defined, at least in part, by negotiation, coming right out with that kind of information probably felt like sacrilege. But I wanted to trust Gala. And besides, if she tried to cheat us, he would pick up on it.

“I’ve got about nine million left,” I said. “But I want to keep at least half of that for when I get back planet side.”

My reasoning was clear; I knew I’d have expenses when it came to setting myself up to exact revenge on Nora and anyone else who’d contributed to my uncle’s demise. So, I wanted to save a good chunk of credits so I’d have a comfortable margin for error.

Gala scratched her tawny-furred chin, then said, “It’s going to be close. Really close. But I think we can fit it all in. But first things first, I have something for you. Free of charge.”

With that, she set a box on her counter. The box itself was silver and edged in black, with a strange symbol decorating the lid. Gala pressed a button, and with a hiss of escaping air, it opened to reveal a bundle of black fabric. With her thick fingers, she gingerly retrieved the bundle, then shook it out to reveal what looked like a unitard.

“Demas Infiltration Suit, Mark Eleven,” she said. “Hooks right into your interface. Thermal dampening. Grade D armor rating. And a host of other features. It’s the best infiltration suit you’re likely to see.”

I stared at the garment, unsure what to say. So, I focused on the description Gala sent over to my HUD.

Infiltration Suit – Mark Eleven (Demas Armorworks)

· Thermal Dampening

· Armor (D)

· Hydration Conservation

· Friction Dampening

· Automatic Wound Compression

· Automatic Repair (minor)

· Automatic Cleaning (lesser)

“I…what’s this for?” I asked.

“Call it a graduation gift,” Gala said. “Your uncle intended to give this to you when you went back to Nova City, but he never got the chance. So, it falls to me to make good. Cherish that suit, because it’s worth almost as much as your entire arsenal. It’s military-grade, which means it shouldn’t even be available in this sector.”

“Wow,” I muttered, still staring at the garment in her hands. It was made of black fabric, and given its size, I could tell that it was almost assuredly form-fitting. In fact, I was reminded of the infiltration suits I’d stolen from the Banshees. However, instead of being comprised only of skintight fabric, this suit also sported armored plates that would protect all of my vital organs. They weren’t thick, and I suspected that they wouldn’t even be that noticeable once I was wearing the suit, but with it hanging loose, they were apparent. Over the next couple of minutes, Gala turned the suit inside out so I could see the subtle, blue lines of the Mist conduits running along the underside.

“Now,” Gala said, clapping her huge hands. I felt certain that if we had been there in person, I’d have felt a gust of wind. She grinned, saying, “For the fun part. I’ve got choices for you.”

“Okay? What kind of choices?” I asked.

“First,” she answered. “I think it’s time you upgraded your primary weapon. You aren’t really a sniper like your uncle, so an assault rifle is probably where you should look. What kind of certifications do you have?”

“Uh…I’m not sure,” I said. I’d seen various certifications on my skill trees, but none of them had ever been displayed on my status. Once I admitted as much to Gala, she walked me through changing that. When I did, I took a look at the full breadth of my status:

I’d made a little progress, gaining a few attribute points as well as covering some ground in my skills’ proficiencies. However, it seemed like it was less than it should have been. Since the last time I’d looked at my status, I’d been using my skills and abilities almost constantly. But I didn’t have a lot to show for it. That, as much as anything, brought home the necessity for continued and focused training. Even though I’d finished the program my uncle had prescribed, that didn’t mean I had leave to slack off. If I did, I would never see my abilities – or attributes – progress.

Finding somewhere to train was yet another item to add to my list of things I needed to do when I got back to Earth. It kept getting longer, and I feared it would eventually become overwhelming. Sighing, I pushed those thoughts to the side and focused on the next step. Anything else, and I’d be buried under the weight of everything I needed to do.

To that end, I backtracked to the overall menu in my interface:

Select One:

· Status

· Skill Trees

· Certifications

· Equipment

· Conditions

· Upgrade Modules

It had taken a mental adjustment to get my Certifications, Equipment, and Conditions on the list; before, it had only been my Status and Skill Trees. But my interface, which was governed by my KIOI, was nothing if not adaptable, and it seemed that I’d only begun to tap into its abilities.

Under Equipment, I’d found nothing but my clothes, which were labeled as Refugee’s Rags (unranked) and the weapons in my Arsenal Implant. Everything was greyed out, though, probably because I wasn’t really in my body.  Back on Earth, I was wearing the same outfit I’d used to blend in with the other refugees, so the label seemed appropriate.

Moving on to Conditions, I was unsurprised to see that my hand was listed as damaged. There were some minor injuries there as well, like a pulled muscle in my back, a cracked rib, and a slight concussion, but none of them were severe enough to make it past my Pain Tolerance.

Finally, I drilled down into my Certifications, finding:

Certifications:

· Mundane Weaponry

· Plasma Rifles

· Energy Pistols

· Weapon Modification

· Energy Blade

· Heavy Weapons

· Explosive Weapons

· Grenades (basic)

· Explosives (basic)

I explained my certifications to Gala, who seemed impressed when she said, “That’s a good start. A very good start. And it’s further along than I expected. Hmm.”

She tapped her chin, obviously lost in thought. Then, she said, “I think you’d be okay with a R-14 Semi-Automatic Plasma Rifle. It’s a D-Grade weapon, just like the Pulsar-Class Kinetic Sniper Rifle your uncle gave you last time you were here. By the way, you should be able to use that now, in case you didn’t know.”

As she spoke, she retrieved a wicked-looking long gun from a case on the back shelf. It was a little shorter than my Kicker was in its assault rifle configuration, but the casing was a little bulkier. Holding it up for me to inspect, she added, “Doesn’t use material rounds, either. Instead, it fires concentrated bolts of condensed and superheated Mist. Expensive ammunition, but anything worth shooting usually is.”

“Power?” I asked. “Compared to the Kicker, I mean.”

“At least three times as lethal,” she said. “There might be a couple thousand people on your planet who could even use this kind of weapon, and even less that could afford it. You’re an intersection of both.”

“Okay? What’s the other option?” I asked.

“For your primary weapon? Anything else would be a waste of your skills,” she said. “The choices come with your other weapon.”

“Oh.”

“Now, my initial idea was to just upgrade you to a new scattergun,” she said. “Something that could really lay down the pain.”

“I like that idea,” I said.

“But then I saw that [Demolition] skill, and I thought of something else,” she said. “So, I’ve got a couple of options here. First up is called the Dragon.”

Again, she retrieved a new weapon from one of the cases behind her; I was beginning to suspect that there was some spatial trick at play, because the weapon she presented didn’t look like it would fit in the space behind her. It was at least four feet long, with a casing as big around as my waist, and a corrugated barrel that gave it an incredibly aggressive look. She held it at her waist, reminding me of how Horace Lafontaine had used his mini-gun.

“This bad boy right here will spit fire and destroy anything you point him at,” she said. “I’ve seen a {Commando} armed with one of these take out an entire Sciora tank division. Beautiful piece of weaponry.”

“It shoots literal fire?” I asked.

“Plasma, technically,” she said. “The ammunition is depleted caramnium, so when it hits, it penetrates deep. It’s a weapon designed for maximum destruction.”

“What’s the downside?” I asked.

“None,” she said. “Unless you’re trying to go quiet, in which case he’s definitely not the right man for the job. There’s no masking a Dragon’s roar. But I still think you should consider the next option, too.”

“Alright,” I said, glancing at Patrick. He was awe-struck at the sight of the weapon, and I couldn’t help but hope that whatever Gala suggested for him would be just as impressive. I didn’t think I needed to go to any great lengths to gear him up – he wasn’t going to be running around in the thick of things, after all – but as far as I was concerned, everyone needed a good weapon. And though the Enforcers’ pistol was a solid option for most people, I wanted better for him.

By the time I looked back at Gala, she’d set the Dragon aside and replaced it with a stubby weapon that looked like Ferdinand II’s bigger, stouter brother. It wasn’t much shorter than the R-14 Plasma Rifle, but the barrel looked wide enough that it could accommodate one of my grenades. In addition, instead of a traditional magazine, it sported a round cannister that could hold thirty oversized rounds.

“This is the Baat Mobile Artillery Platform,” she said. “Like Ferdinand, he can fire a wide variety of rounds. From gas cannisters to full kinetic ammunition, he’s the tool for any job. But if I were you, I’d use him as my big gun.”

“Huh?”

“Say you want to destroy a building, right?” said Gala. “You can waltz in there and plant a bunch of explosives. Or, you can take aim with the BMAP from a few hundred yards away and lob fifteen rounds a second, each with enough explosive force to demolish a small ship, at it. Now, you won’t quite get there for a while – you’re going to have level that Heavy Weapons ability a bit – but once you get there, you’ll be a walking, talking artillery emplacement.”

“And what makes this better than the Dragon?” I asked.

“Simple,” she said. “It’ll benefit from two sets of modifiers. [Demolition] and Heavy Weapons. They compound, so you’ll be punching well above your weight class.”

I nodded along. It was good advice. The BMAP was definitely a niche weapon, but I could already think of a few situations where that kind of firepower would have been very helpful. Besides, what had happened to my uncle had opened my eyes to just how powerful artillery could be. And if I could mimic even a portion of that power with the help of the BMAP, the decision sort of made itself.

But the Dragon could fill that same niche, couldn’t it? When I said as much to Gala, she just shook her bovine head, saying, “The Dragon’s an anti-personnel weapon. The BMAP is for when you want to go completely scorched earth on whoever stands in your way. The biggest downside is that most people can’t use the BMAP to its fullest potential. You can.”

That sealed it for me, and I chose the BMAP.

“Okay, what about Patrick?” I asked.

“You don’t have to do that, Mira,” he said. “I’m fine with the pistol I got from the –”

I cut him off with a glare. “I know I don’t have to,” I said. “I want to. So let me do this.”

Gala acted like she didn’t see the exchange and pulled a weapon from a drawer beneath the counter. The pistol was tiny in her hand, but in mine or Patrick’s it would look like a real cannon. But unlike Ferdinand II, it wasn’t a revolver.

“Tergan Tactical Energy Pistol,” Gala said. “I assume you have the certification necessary?”

Patrick nodded, his eyes never leaving the weapon. It was mostly matte black, but there were gold accents running along the grip and lacing the barrel.

“Good,” she said. “Two modes. One is for stunning – use that at your own discretion, because that setting is relative. It will directly attack the nervous system, which will subject the enemy to seizures.  However, for any human with a constitution less than twenty or so, they will have permanent brain and nerve damage.”

“Uh…okay,” Patrick breathed.

“Second mode is lethal,” she said. “It functions a lot like a handheld rail gun, propelling a projectile via opposing magnetic force. The ammunition is made from an incredibly dense alloy that is designed to splinter on contact, ripping through your enemy’s body. It’s not particularly effective against armor, but no pistol really is. I trust your skills will help with that.”

He nodded.

“For the lot, I can take six million,” Gala said. “That’s with me throwing in enough ammunition to get you started. Same package I gave your uncle last time.”

Patrick gave me a nod, telling me that his ability had indicated that she wasn’t trying to rip us off, so I agreed to the deal. It was a little more than I had expected, but that shouldn’t have been so surprising, given the firepower I was buying.

I remembered the boxes of ammunition, and I figured that would be enough to see me through for at least a few months. Unless I started a war, which probably wasn’t that far off from what I had planned. Still, that didn’t leave much for practice. I said as much to Gala, and she was ready with a solution.

“You’re getting into the expensive stuff, now,” she said. “But you’re not the first. Once you get settled in, contact me. I’ll transfer a shipment of practice ammo. It won’t be nearly as lethal as the real stuff, but it’s fine for training.”

Obviously, my issues weren’t uncommon, which was a relief.

Finally, with all our shopping done, Patrick and I said our goodbyes to Gala and took our leave. When we got back to our bodies, I had a lot to do before I could enact my plan of revenge.