Mistunner 2 - Chapter 47 - Like New (Patreon)

Someone is behind it all. I can feel it in my bones. I don’t know who, and I don’t know how, but someone is trying to push Nova City into chaos. And it’s working, at least in the lower districts. Algiers is on the verge of collapse. The Garden is a warzone. And it’s even spilled over into Bywater. It’s only a matter of time before everything comes crashing down.

Nora Lancaster

The next morning, I awoke feeling healthier and better rested than I had in months, perhaps since leaving Mobile on the final test that saw me assaulting my first Rift. Like everyone else who grew up in Nova City, I was aware of the rumors surrounding the Templars. According to the stories, they were supposed to wield incredible and unexplainable powers. And ever since I’d gotten my Nexus Implant, I’d been inclined to believe those rumors. However, I’d expected them to function like everyone else, channeling Mist through various skills to create results that seemed like magic.

But the experience with Isla had made me rethink that. At the end of my fight against the mutated wildlings, I’d been on the precipice of death. With most of my body covered in acid burns, multiple broken bones, and more wounds than I could count, even my enhanced Constitution, Regeneration ability, and the high-quality med-hypos I’d used were incapable of fully healing me. At best, I’d have survived, but with huge swaths of my skin deformed by scarring from the acid burns.

That wasn’t what had happened, though.

When I rose from the cot and gathered a mirror from my arsenal implant, I found that my skin was absolutely pristine. No scarring. No bruises. No half-healed wounds. It was as if I’d never fought at all. Even a few old scars from previous battles were gone. My complexion looked healthier than it had in some time, too. In short, I was in pristine condition, and only a day after I’d sustained enough injuries to kill most people a dozen times over.

That told me all I needed to know about Isla – and by extension, the Templars in general. The ones that survived being inundated with Mist without the benefit of a Nexus Implant were capable of shocking things, and I would do well to remember that going forward. It did make me curious about their martial abilities, though. If Isla could heal so thoroughly, then what about the more battle-focused Templars?

That brought to mind Zachariah, the bald man who’d saved me. As far as I knew, he’d done so alone. He’d cut through that horde of mutated wildlings – the same one that had overwhelmed and forced me to retreat – to rescue me. That was arguably just as impressive as Isla’s healing.

I suppressed a shudder. No – the Templars were not to be trifled with.

However, it did beg the question of why, with all their power, they hadn’t done more. They’d mentioned that they weren’t allowed to exert undue influence, but where was the line? Surely, they could have done something to combat the rampant oppression and enslavement of their people.  Then again, I didn’t have any room to judge. I’d actively chosen not to help plenty of people. Certainly, I had an excuse in the form my vendetta against Nora, but it was flimsy in the face of all the human suffering I had seen.

All the pain I had personally caused.

I shook my head and pushed those thoughts from my mind. They weren’t useful, and it wasn’t as if I was going to abandon my quest for revenge now. Not after spending so much time and expending so much effort in its pursuit. There was nowhere for me to go but forward. Anything else, and I don’t know if I could survive the lack of forward momentum.

With a sigh, I retrieved a few sanitary wipes I had stored in my arsenal implant and cleaned myself as best as the situation would allow. It wasn’t as good as taking an actual shower, but it still helped. At least someone had bathed me during my first bout of unconsciousness; otherwise, the wipes wouldn’t have been up to the task of removing all the filth of my ill-fated battle against the mutated wildlings.

Once I had achieved some semblance of cleanliness, I addressed the issue of the integrity of my Sheath. It had assuredly regenerated a little in the time since the battle, but according to its listing I pulled up on my HUD, it was down to forty-three percent effectiveness. That wouldn’t do, so I grabbed one of my limited stock of Mist boosters from my arsenal implant, and injected the hypo into my hip. Twin hisses – one from the hypo as it discharged its payload and one that escaped from between my lips – filled the air. It wasn’t painful – not really – but the cold numbness that spread from the point of injection was decidedly uncomfortable. Thankfully, it would soon fade.

I nodded as I saw the integrity of my Sheath tick up a few percentage points. The booster wouldn’t immediately restore the subdermal armor to perfect condition; instead, it would take at least twenty-four hours before it was repaired. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need it before then.

Next, I turned my attention to my infiltration suit. Someone had left the black garment in my tent, and when I gave it a look, I was sorely disappointed. The thing was in tatters, and that was after a full night’s worth of its self-repair feature going to work. If I wanted it restored, I’d need to use another one of my Mist boosters.

Which posed a problem.

I’d only acquired five of them, so if I used another, it would only leave three for the Rift. And after my first experience in a Rift, I suspected that would be insufficient. Even five would be pushing it.

So, I had a choice to make. Either I could use the booster immediately and have the protection of the infiltration suit for the journey to the Rift, or I could wait and let the suit’s self-repair work as intended. The first would be safer, but it would cost one of my precious boosters. The second would be riskier, but having that extra booster available for the Rift might make all the difference.

In the end, though, I chose to use the booster.  I’d already made the mistake of underestimating the wilderness’s ability to put me in the ground, and I had no interest in making that mistake again. Certainly, I hoped that the journey to and through the dead zone would be uneventful, but I had no guarantees of that. If I was attacked by a truly powerful enemy, I needed to be at full strength. That meant having the infiltration suit at full integrity.

Still, as I hooked the pistol-shaped booster to the appropriate port and pressed the button that would feed the concentrated Mist to the suit, I felt an almost tangible sense of pain at the loss. Dismissing that feeling, I could only hope that I hadn’t just wasted the valuable resource.

With that done, I returned the suit to my arsenal implant. Hopefully, it would be back to at least minimal effectiveness within the next hour, so I settled down on the tent’s cot and distracted myself with mental puzzles. Over the past few months, my efforts in that arena had been effective, and my Mind attribute had risen considerably. Still, the latest version of the puzzle program was challenging enough that I really had to concentrate if I was going to solve the various number problems. So, it was great for when I wanted to kill a little time while still making an effort at productivity.

Even so, I found it difficult to concentrate, so, after thirty minutes, I decided to take a look at my status:

I was of two minds about my progress. On the one hand, attaining Tier-2 in any of my higher-grade skills meant that my progress had been significantly slowed. On the other, my attributes and modifiers had seen quite a boost. I’d even gained a couple of levels – not surprising, given how much had happened since the last time I had checked my status. Since then, I’d killed dozens of wildlings – mutated and otherwise, the mad scientist and his mooks, and the Operators who’d responded to my assault on Heaven and Hell. And that wasn’t even considering my fights in the Emporium. In fact, thinking back on it, my progress seemed a little slow.

Of course, I had no idea how leveling really worked. Sometimes, I’d kill something, and it wouldn’t noticeably affect my progress. Other times, it would jump by a couple of percentage points. I suspected that it had something to do with how much Mist my enemies had gathered, so there was a correlation between the strength of my opponents and how much Mist I managed to absorb after killing them. But that didn’t always seem to be the case; for instance, those bandits who had the dubious honor of being my first human kills had awarded me enough Mist that I gained a couple of levels. However, I had no illusions about their actual power. They’d relied on surprise and a single combatant with a powerful weapon to take out the convoy. Since then, I’d killed much more powerful people – and creatures – but I’d never gotten quite that same boost to my level before.

In the end, it didn’t really matter, though. I wasn’t killing people in hopes of advancement. I was doing it to achieve a goal. So, the ins and outs of leveling weren’t really all that important.

With that in mind, I checked my skills, and I saw that, while I’d made some advancements in the individual branches, it wasn’t enough to push me into a new tier. So, with that done, I decided to check my infiltration suit. To my surprise, the influx of Mist had worked wonders, and most of the major lacerations had been mended. There were still a few cuts here and there, but the suit had recovered enough that I could put it on without risking further damage.

So, that was what I did. Putting the skintight suit on was cathartic, in a way. I’d worn it so often that it had begun to feel like a part of me, and seeing it so damaged had been like losing a part of my body. Now, though – with it hugging my body, I suddenly felt whole. To that point, I hadn’t even realized how attached I was to the suit.

With that done, I slipped on some black fatigues and a matching tee-shirt before topping it off with a pair of unassuming boots. I wouldn’t be winning any fashion awards, but trekking through the wilderness wasn’t really conducive to that kind of thing. I could’ve just worn my infiltration suit and nothing else, but given that it fit my like a second skin, I wasn’t really ready for that kind of exposure.

Perhaps one day, I’d have that kind of confidence. It was a bit strange that I could go into battle without a hint of hesitation, but the moment I thought about putting myself in a position to be ogled, I retreated back into my shell. Especially if it was the real me on display and not some disguise conjured by the combination of Mimicand my acting skills. If I was playing a role, like I had back in Biloxi, it was so much easier. But in my own skin? That was much more difficult for me to accept.

After getting dressed, I scanned the small tent to make certain that I hadn’t left anything behind. I hadn’t, so I wasted no more time before emerging into the morning sunlight. The Templars were already up and about, and I quickly spotted Patrick sitting next to Zachariah. The two of them were deep in conversation while they ate something from tin bowls.

It would have been so easy to join them. To laugh and joke like everything was normal. But the reality of it was that I just couldn’t force myself to take that first step. For months, I’d held myself apart from Patrick, and now, I was paying the price. It would’ve just felt so awkward, forcing myself into their conversation like that.

“You hesitate too much,” came Isla’s voice from behind me. I turned my head to see her standing next to the tent, her arms crossed. Her white ensemble was spotless – just like was the case with all the other Templars – and I took a second to wonder how they maintained such pristine cleanliness. I didn’t know about the others, but at the very least, Zachariah’s robes should have been covered in gore. Isla’s, too – healing wasn’t really conducive to cleanliness, after all. But neither of their outfits bore even a speck of dirt, much less blood.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I said that you’re thinking way too much,” she said. “If you want something, go for it. That’s what I do, and I’ve never regretted it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and the boy,” she stated, stepping up to stand next to me. She put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m not trying to get in your business or anything, but that kid definitely has some strong feelings for you. He tries to hide it when you’re looking, but when he saw how close you were to dying, he couldn’t hide his panic.”

“That’s because he depends on me.”

She shook her head. “You’re not stupid enough to believe that,” was her response. “And I don’t know you all that well, but I get the feeling that you care about him, too. I don’t know what’s holding you back, but if you want my advice, here it is: just go for it. Don’t think. Don’t convince yourself that it’s a bad idea. Just do it. Maybe it doesn’t work out. Maybe it does. But you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t give it a go.”

For a moment, I didn’t say anything. Then, I felt a wave of resentment. Isla wasn’t much older than me, and she’d only engaged me in a single conversation.  So, why did she think she had the right – or the ability – to give me advice?

“You’re right. You don’t know me,” I said. Then, I changed the subject. “Thank you for the healing. If I’m ever in a position to help you, I will. But it’s time for us to go.”

“I never even got your name,” she said. Nodding toward Patrick, she added, “Or his.”

I shrugged. “Life’s full of disappointments,” I stated.

Without another word, I crossed the short distance to where Patrick was sitting next to Zachariah. When I reached him, I asked, “Are you done with breakfast? We need to hit the road.”

“Huh? Why? Are we in a hurry?” he asked. “I mean, is it smart to leave just yet? It was only a day ago that you were –”

“I’m fine. Good as new,” I said, cutting him off. “And I don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to argue, but with a sigh, he shook his head and said, “Fine. Guess we’re going, then.”

As he said goodbye to Zachariah, I looked around and asked, “Where’s my bike, by the way?”

Zachariah pointed to the other side of the camp. “Left it over there,” he said.

“Thanks. Not just for the bike. For rescuing me, too.”

“Not a problem,” he said with a smile. “Gave me a chance to stretch my legs.”

“Right. Sure. But thanks again,” I said. “I told…Isla, but if I can ever help, I will.”

After that, I extricated myself from the awkward conversation by heading toward my bike, which I found in the same condition as the last time I’d seen it. Still, I took a minute to inspect every inch of it until I was certain that it hadn’t picked up so much as a scratch. By then, Patrick had joined me, and after I mounted the bike, he hopped on the seat behind me. With that, we took off, quickly finding our way to a nearby road that took us north.

As we went, I considered what Isla had said. If nothing else, the experience in that crater had hammered home how vulnerable we all were. All it took was for us to wander into the wrong area, and our lives would be cut short. It didn’t matter how powerful I’d become; there was always something else out there that could kill me.

So, did it make sense for me to continue my stubborn refusal to acknowledge the relationship Patrick so plainly wanted to advance? We’d only traveled a few miles before I realized the answer: no, it didn’t make any sense at all.

That’s when I decided to take that next step with Patrick as soon as we got the chance.