Mistrunner 2 - Chapter 41 - The Price of Procrastination (Patreon)

Echo is gone, fled to my enemies for sanctuary. Wash is dead, turned over to the Coyotes in order to maintain the peace. And Ashleigh got herself killed by some upstart in the Emporium. As a result, I’ve begun to lose my grip on the Specters. They are only a hair’s breadth from mutiny, and war is the only thing keeping them in line. I don’t know what to do.

Nora Lancaster

The sub-level was not what I had expected. Upon stepping through the door, I found myself in a long corridor, on either side of which were a series of rooms with heavy, glass security doors. And what I saw on the other side of those doors was enough to give me nightmares.

I’d thought the cages beneath Heaven and Hell were horrific. But the contents of these cells made it seem practically mundane. Each chamber housed a naked person, though they were all in various stages of transformation. The first was the least affected, with the only evidence of her transformation being that one of her arms had grown by about six inches.

More troubling were her eyes, which were completely devoid of anything approaching sapience. I’d seen their like before, though not inside the city. They were wildling’s eyes.

My gaze traced a path along one side of the hall, finding that each subsequent cell held a progressively more devolved human being. If the first only showed a few signs of becoming a wildling, then the final cell held the genuine thing, with elongated arms and legs, sharpened teeth and claws, and a demeanor more suited to a wild animal than a human being.

And it was clear that those changes had occurred rapidly, as well. Skin that was incapable of keeping up with the transformation had split apart, revealing raw muscle beneath, and a few bore signs of distress, with claw marks across their naked skin, as if they’d known what they were becoming and had tried to tear the transformation out with their bare hands.

On the other side of the hall, and only two cells down, I saw Heather.

Or what was left of her, at least.

She was no longer beautiful. Her blond hair had been torn out in clumps, and what remained was stringy and wet. Her face bore self-inflicted claw marks, and her body had been twisted all out of shape. Upon noticing that I was looking her way, she went crazy, launching herself against the plasti-glass door, her claws tracing grooves in the durable material as she tried to tear her way through.

The others were in a similarly agitated state, and seeing Heather, it didn’t take me long to come to the conclusion that they weren’t natural wildlings, if there even was such a thing. They weren’t native to the forests outside the city; instead, they’d been deliberately transformed.

And the man responsible stood at the end of the hall.

I didn’t hesitate any longer, raising my assault rifle and bracing it against my shoulder in one smooth motion. I fired before the so-called Mad Scientist had a chance to object. The superheated plasma rounds tore through the hall, leaving heat distortions in their wake. My aim was true, but just before they reached the despicable man I’d come to kill, a blue barrier shimmered only a few feet in front of him. A trio of small explosions, one on top of the other, echoed through the corridor, but when the smoke cleared, the man was entirely unharmed, protected as he was by the Mist shield in front of him.

I fired again. And again, hoping to overwhelm the shield, but even after I emptied my entire magazine, it remained completely intact. That suggested that it had a potent power source – likely a supply of Rift shards.

As I reloaded, I felt another shield slide into place behind me, preventing retreat. As if that had ever even crossed my mind.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” said the man I knew to be Russo. His voice was slightly distorted by the Mist shield, carrying with it a slight buzzing sound. The man himself was unremarkable, save for the fact that one side of his head was metallic.  The cybernetic extended over his eye, cutting across his cheek to cover his ear. The eye blinked with green light. His figure was average, though his narrow shoulders suggested a life devoid of physical labor. That was expected, given what I knew about him. He smiled as he continued, “Your exploits are impressive. The way you’ve escalated the situation between the tribes – truly an accomplishment. But then again, great things can be expected from anyone who achieves the {Mistrunner} class.”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded, mentally checking that Mimic was still active. It was.

As if reading my mind, he said, “Oh, your disguises are impressive. But you’ve left a trail a mile wide, so long as one knows where to look. And I pride myself on knowing those sorts of things.”

“What do you want?” I spat, wondering just how well his Mist shield would hold up to the BMAP. But using that would bring the building down on me, and while I hoped I would survive, there were no guarantees I wouldn’t be crushed. And even if I did, I’d still be buried under tons of concrete.

“Straight to the point,” Russo said, running his hand through the hair on the side of his head. “Call it a test.”

“Of what?”

“Your combat ability,” he said. “These unfortunates are the only ones to survive the transformation. Out of hundreds, only sixteen made it. I’d hoped that they would retain their awareness after I removed their nexus implants and flooded them with Mist, but alas – they have become true wildlings. It really is a remarkable transformation.”

I didn’t need him to continue his explanation to guess what he had planned. And it wasn’t good. Wildlings were dangerous, and not just because they possessed outsized physical traits. They were stronger and faster than most people, but they threatened me especially because they weren’t susceptible to my [Mistrunning] abilities. Without a nexus implant – or any other cybernetics – they may as well be ghosts, for all I could affect them with my most potent tools. That left only pure force.

I’d managed to deal with a few of them in the past, but if any of the ones in the cells displayed the sort of strength I’d seen from the alpha outside of Biloxi, I didn’t stand a chance of survival.

“What can a fabled {Mistrunner} do against such odds?” he asked, grinning broadly.  Then, he clapped his hands, declaring, “Let’s find out.”

As one, the plasti-steel doors slid open, and the wildlings flooded out, howling for my blood. I reacted immediately, turning and firing at the closest. The plasma rounds hit the nearest creature’s chest in a tight grouping, but the attack was only moderately effective. I’d hoped that the shots would carve deep craters into the creature, but the true effect was much less impressive. Clearly, the balls of superheated plasma did damage, but it only amounted to a little more than a flesh wound. If I really wanted to punch through its tough hide, I would need an entire magazine.

But I didn’t have time for that, because the wildling that had been confined to the cell on my left was bearing down on me. I whipped around, Disengaging at the same time, and as I sailed through the air, I fired again. The wildling stumbled backward, but her skin proved just as durable as the first creature’s. I fired another burst before I landed in a crouch at the back of the cell of my first enemy.

He'd barely managed to recover before I hit him with another burst, this one targeted at his knee. That proved a little more effective than aiming for center mass, and it only took one more burst before the joint exploded in a shower of charred bone and gore. But he still clawed his way forward, clearly intending to rip me to shreds with his clawed hands. I fired again, this time targeting his head.

He was only a few feet away, so there was no possibility of a miss.

His head rocked back with the initial burst of fire, but even though the skin blistered and cracked, he showed no signs of slowing down. I fired again. And again. Finally, on the next burst, his skull shattered, and he fell limp, thudding to the dingy tile floor.

I had no time to savor my victory, though, because the female wildling from across the hall had recovered. She tore across the hall, covering the ground between us in an instant. I fired again and again, using the same tactic that had worked against the male, but she was slightly more durable, and by the time I destroyed her skull, I had emptied my entire magazine.

And more troubling, the other fourteen wildlings had arrived, with what was left of Heather leading the way. There was no recognition in her eyes. None of the kind, caring woman I knew. Heather was dead. Something else was just using her body. And I couldn’t afford to let sentimentality slow my reactions. So, I pushed my emotions aside and acted.

Rather than take the time to reload, I summoned my scattergun and let loose. The weapon wasn’t intended to be used with only one hand, so it bucked and threw off my aim. However, the wildlings were so close and packed together so tightly that I couldn’t miss. Lightning arced out, hitting Heather in her naked chest. Her body convulsed as electrical burns spread across her torso. The lightning jumped to the next wildling. And then the next after that.

They shook and trembled, their muscles contracting involuntarily, but I knew from experience that the weapon wouldn’t kill them. That was its largest weakness; it had been designed for non-lethality, and though it had exceeded that mark with weaker targets, against creatures like the wildlings, it worked as it was originally intended to function, slowing them down but coming up short in terms of lethality.

That was expected, though.

Stowing the scattergun, I reached down to my hip and drew Ferdinand II from his holster. He’d been loaded with anti-personnel rounds designed to penetrate deep, then spall, tearing through comparatively soft internal organs.

I fired, putting a round just below Heather’s breastbone. It penetrated and did its job, but a wildling could still function without intestines. And I’d just discovered how hard those bones really were, so attacking something vital like the heart was out of the question. I changed tactics, firing at legs.

The wildlings were insanely durable, but their joints were still mechanical in nature. So, if I managed to sufficiently destroy the muscles responsible for locomotion, their combat capability would be significantly reduced.

But Ferdinand II was only the beginning. For one, he only had nine rounds, and reloading the pistol took longer than any of my other weapons. Once I’d discharged the entirety of his payload, I holstered the weapon and re-summoned my R-14. By the time I’d jammed a new magazine into place, the wildlings had recovered from the electrical assault of my scattergun.

I’d gained some time, though. More, the first few wildlings in line – Heather included – moved on unsteady legs, their muscles and joints having been mutilated by Ferdinand II’s issue. I aimed to exacerbate that problem.

I fired again, my rounds tearing through the already injured legs. The moment they stepped, their limbs buckled, and they fell. But their fellows bounded over them, unharmed and ready to join the fight.

I kept shooting until my magazine ran empty. The superheated plasma was insufficient to leave more than superficial damage – not without concentrated fire, which on moving targets, wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. However, the kinetic force behind each shot sent them stumbling a half-step backwards.

So, their advance slowed to a crawl before the barrage.

But it was a losing battle. I just couldn’t do enough damage. Not with my firearms. I needed to switch things up.

The issue was that I couldn’t do so without significant danger. At the rate I was going, though, it was even more dangerous to keep doing what I was doing. I’d probably kill a few more of them, but then I’d just be swarmed by the remainder. I just didn’t have enough rounds in my arsenal implant to deal with all of them.

As I saw it, I had two choices. One was almost assuredly suicidal. The other was only slightly better.

If I pulled out the BMAP, I knew I could kill the wildlings. With the combination of my modifiers and the sheer power of its rounds, the damage I could bring to bear was truly impressive. However, that destructive power was a double-edged sword that would cut me just as keenly as it did my enemies. If I let the weapon loose, I would soon find myself buried under tons of concrete.

The other, slightly better plan involved me getting in close and hacking the wildlings apart via melee combat. My nano-bladed sword was one of my longest tenured weapons, but its sharpness was unparalleled, and it had proven a match for even the hardest materials. So long as I hit it enough, at least.

And it had one advantage none of my other weapons had: it didn’t run out of ammunition.

But getting in close came with obvious disadvantages.

I just had to make the best of a bad set of circumstances.

So, just as the wildlings got within a few feet, I dismissed my assault rifle and once again summoned my scattergun. By the time it materialized in my hands, the lead wildling, after climbing over his fallen fellows, had gotten close enough that I could smell his fetid breath.

I fired a cone of lightning, and, as the wildlings’ muscles locked up, I focused on the creature still in the doorway, and activated Engage. Even as the lightning arced from one wildling to another, I sailed through the air with unprecedented speed. Claws darted out, driven by instinct more than any conscious intention, and I was forced to activate Balance in order to contort my body to avoid those wickedly sharp talons. Even so, one managed to trace a long line down my ribs. It would have gutted me if it weren’t for the protection afforded by my Infiltration suit and Sheath. Even with them, my skin parted before the claw, and one of my ribs was shattered.

I ignored the pain and the moment I got a look at the wildling bringing up the rear of the group, I planted a foot on one of the creatures and activated Engage once again. With my already substantial momentum augmented by the second use of my ability, I rocketed through the air, outrunning even the lightning until I finally crashed into the final creature. We went sprawling in a tangle of limbs, and I summoned my nano-bladed sword as I rolled free.

I pushed myself to my feet, then kicked off. The lightning from my now-dismissed scattergun finally caught up, and the wildling’s muscles spasmed. I hacked into its neck with as heavy a blow as I could manage, rending its flesh and exposing the white bones of its neck. I attacked again, the sword biting deep and severing its spine.

Even as the creature flopped to the ground – still alive, but incapable of moving – I darted forward, swinging my sword with brutal efficiency. I only had a short time before they recovered from the scattergun attack, and I used that brief span to the fullest extent of my abilities. In the space of three seconds, I’d incapacitated nine of the remaining eleven wildlings. A few were dead, proving that the creatures weren’t all equally durable, but most were still alive, even if they weren’t much of a danger anymore.

But that left two more, and both of them had been hobbled my previous strategy.

Still, they were dangerous enough that I didn’t dare underestimate them. So, maintaining my focus, I pushed past the creature whose head I’d just severed, and attacked the penultimate wildling of the bunch. He went down only a few seconds later, leaving only one.

The wildling that had once been Heather.

She was barely standing, but her fury was still as potent as ever. I knew I imagined it, but there was also a glint of accusation in her eyes. As if she knew that my procrastination was the reason she’d found herself afflicted with such a fate. And I couldn’t argue with it, either. I had known where she was for months, but I’d put off saving her in favor of accomplishing my own goals.

Heather was just another victim of my quest for revenge.

I wasn’t directly responsible for what had happened to her. Like so much else, the blame for that could be laid at Nora’s feet. However, I had played my part, too. Just like with the handful of Silo workers who hadn’t escaped before I demolished the buildings. Just like all the people who’d probably starved as a direct result of the disruption of the food supply. Or the ones who’d been caught in the crossfire of the war I’d started.

How many deaths could be traced back to my actions? Dozens? Hundreds? Maybe even thousands?

All varying degrees of innocent.

But I couldn’t stop. Not until I finished what I’d started.

So, with grim determination, I stepped forward and engaged in combat with a woman who’d only ever treated with kindness and respect. Who only wanted to be my friend. Even as I felt my blade bit into her neck and sever her spine, I felt tears tracing lines down my bloody cheeks.

Silence reigned, broken only by a pair of thumps – one for her head, and the other for her body – and the heavy sound of my panting breaths.