Mistrunner 3 - Chapter 55 - A Backhanded Victory (Patreon)

World Killer. That is the title she would eventually earn. And seeing that first mass execution…what she did to the Pacificians opened a lot of eyes and got a lot of attention. It’s terrifying, what she can do, and the fact that we’re on the same side doesn’t do much to mitigate that fear.

Alistaris Kargat

I fell to my knees, staring at the pile of rubble that had once been Cyrilla’s workshop. The neighboring buildings had met a similar fate, and the rest of the city looked like a warzone. Once again, I’d inadvertently destroyed an entire city. After what happened in Nova, I’d vowed to never make that kind of decision again.

And I hadn’t.

Still, millions had died. The casualties weren’t just limited to the enemies. Instead, when the Pacificians had self-destructed, they’d taken thousands more with them. Maybe millions. I didn’t think my kill count included that number, but whether the system gave me credit or not, I knew it was all my fault.

Beside me, Caden muttered, “This is…this is her…this is Cy’s building…”

“This is what your friends did,” I said. It wasn’t strictly true, but I wasn’t blind to the fact that the Pacificians held at least some of the blame. Just like Nora, they’d adopted a policy where, if they died, they intended to take everyone else with them. Later, I would learn that it was a deterrent. A shield against the sort of attack I’d just implemented. The rest of their enemies knew.

I hadn’t.

But my guilt didn’t care about my ignorance. In fact, it just made things worse. I should have known. My research should have been more thorough. I should have asked Alistaris. But I hadn’t, and now, I was responsible for thousands more deaths.

It was one thing to know that I’d killed millions of enemies. I felt guilty about it, but it was a shallow emotion, easily overcome because I knew, at the end of the day, it had been necessary. If I didn’t kill the Pacificians and other invaders, they would enslave or exterminate my people. I was fighting a war, and so, it was justifiable – at least in my mind.

Certainly, others would disagree. I was sure that plenty of people would look at me and see a monster. But my actions meant that they had the freedom to do criticize me. They were alive to disagree. My conscience could bear that thin layer of guilt, so long as I had accomplished my goal.

With the collateral damage, though, things got messier. That blanket of guilt grew thicker and thicker until it felt suffocating.

Still, I could bear that. I could live with it.

The burden that I couldn’t shoulder, though, was the knowledge that, because of my flippant actions, Patrick had died.

No last words. No tearful goodbyes. Just a dead body buried beneath a mountain of rubble.

Tears fell down my cheeks, but my sadness, my guilt, and my self-recrimination – it all felt hollow. The struggle felt meaningless next to my loss. Patrick was all I had. And now, he was gone. Dead. I would never again drink his terrible beer. No more nights on the beach. No thoughtful outings. No simple mornings where we just enjoyed one another’s company.

I was well acquainted with the finality of death. I’d watched the recording of my uncle’s death often enough that I could remember every single detail. And since then, I’d seen so many lives ended that I’d long since lost count.

I carried that with me wherever I went.

But Patrick’s demise was different. I felt it far more keenly than even my uncle’s death. It made me nauseous just thinking about it.

I was busy wallowing in that miasma of guilt, anger, and sadness when the pile of rubble shifted. At first, I didn’t see it, and when more rocks came tumbling down the mountain of broken cement, I thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until a huge rock rolled down the pile that I took notice.

“What…”

Then another followed, with a cascade of more rocks coming soon after. And then another. Soon enough, it was clear that something was moving under the pile. That’s when I bounded forward and, using every point of strength at my disposal, started digging. I tossed chunks of cement aside, one after another until, almost an hour later, I caught sight of something metallic.

“Patrick!” I shouted. “Is that you?”

At that moment, someone tried to initiate a Secure Connection. With my heart beating out of my chest, I accepted the prompt. And when I heard Patrick’s voice echoing in my mind, tears once again traced lines through the dirt and grime on my cheeks.

“Mira? Is that you?” he asked, his voice clearly strained.

“It’s me!” I shouted. “Are you okay? I’m trying to –”

“I’m…I’m alive,” he said. “But…but I’m not okay, Mira. My legs…”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Just hold still. I’m going to get you out. Just hang on, okay? Just hang on!”

With that, my efforts were renewed. At some point, a few other people – including Caden – joined me, but I paid them little attention. Slowly, the piled rocks shrank until, at last, I caught sight of Patrick.

He was inside the cockpit of his armored suit, which was at least three times the size of a human being. However, the plasti-glass was shattered, exposing an interior that had been painted red with blood. For his part, Patrick was barely conscious, likely due to blood loss. But he was alive.

That was all I cared about.

I tore the cockpit open, then descended upon him. I went to activate Stabilize, but I was horrified to find that nothing happened. That’s when I remembered that my class evolution had robbed me of the ability. At the time, I hadn’t considered it a huge loss. I rarely used the ability, after all.

But now?

I needed it.

It wasn’t there, though.

“Please…don’t,” Patrick coughed. “The armor’s the only thing keeping me alive.”

“But…but we need to get you to…we need to get you a doctor…”

I turned and shouted for help, but none of the people responded. Clearly, they didn’t have the skills to help. So, I did the only thing I could think of – I established a Secure Connection to Alistaris.

“What?” he asked.

“I need your help. Now,” I said.

“I’m not your –”

“I need a doctor. A real one. I don’t care how you do it, Al. Just get someone to Fortune.”

“I don’t respond well to demands.”

“Do it, or I’m out. No war. Nothing. In fact, I’ll turn my attention on you and yours. Do you want that? Knowing what I can do, can you afford to make an enemy out of me? But if you help me right now, you’ll have my loyalty. I’ll kill whoever you tell me to kill. I’ll murder whole worlds if that’s what it takes.”

“We can’t –”

“Don’t tell me what you can’t do,” I spat, anticipating his response. The aliens were supposed to keep a low profile while the quarantine was still in place. Otherwise, the risked the ire of the system. “All I want to hear is how you’re going to help.”

“I…hold on,” he said.

I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. I wasn’t just an asset. I’d proven that I had the power to turn the tide of any war. Certainly, I wasn’t all powerful, and I was sure that there were plenty of defenses my enemies could engage to keep me in check. But if they were worried about me, then they couldn’t focus their whole attention other threats.

And if I chose to go all-out, things were going to get very messy for anyone who wanted to invade Earth. I still didn’t think we could win. My uncle was strong, too, and he’d thought it was a hopeless cause. But I could make things incredibly unpleasant for my enemies. I didn’t need to kill them all. I just needed to make Earth unprofitable.

I thought I might be able to kill enough for that goal.

Almost a minute passed, and in that time, I tried to comfort Patrick. It wasn’t easy, seeing him in such a state. I couldn’t see his injuries, but I suspected they were extensive. He kept muttering about his legs, but I didn’t dare move him so I could diagnose the problem. Even if I was willing to do so, without Mend and Stabilize, there was nothing I could do.

Still, I did use a med-hypo in the hopes that it could ease his pain and prevent the onset of infection. It wasn’t much, and if I was honest, I took the step more to feel like I was doing something rather than any hope that I was helping.

Finally, Alistaris said, “Okay. I have a surgeon on the way. He’s human, so there shouldn’t be any issues.”

“Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “You owe me. Remember that when the war begins.”

After that, he severed the Secure Connection.

I reached out to stroke Patrick’s cheek, then said, “It’s going to be okay, Pick. There’s someone coming to help. You’re going to be fine.”

He mumbled something unintelligible. The pain killers from the med-hypo were already doing their job. For the next twenty minutes, I stayed by his side until, at last, someone spoke from behind me.

“Miss Braddock?” a soft voice said. I turned to see a heavy-set man carrying a large bag. Behind him was a hover van. “I’m Dr. Hassan, and our mutual friend sent me to help.”

After that, things got a little blurry. Dr. Hassan and a few others helped retrieve Patrick, but when I saw the ruin of his lower body, I couldn’t help but despair. Still, I put my faith in the doctor, who directed his helpers to put Patrick in the back of the hover van. I tried to follow, but I was quickly brought up short. I didn’t dare object as they closed the van’s doors and started working on him.

For hours, I paced back and forth. At some point, I realized that Caden hadn’t moved. He was still standing there, staring at the pile of rubble. I didn’t know what to say, so I just ignored him. Eventually, the crowd dissipated, and the sun dipped below the horizon.

Finally, the doors opened, and Dr. Hassan stepped out.

“Is he…”

“He’s alive,” the doctor stated. “But there are issues. We had to amputate his legs as well as one of his arms. In addition, he needs a few prosthetic organs if he wants to live for more than a few more days.”

“I’ll…I’ll get them,” I said.

“He also needs a competent cybernetic engineer,” the man stated.

“I’ll get that, too.”

“The cost will be –”

“I don’t care about the cost,” I interrupted. “I’ve got money.”

After that, I arranged for Dr. Hassan to take care of Patrick while I went up to the Bazaar. It wasn’t ideal – I didn’t want to let Patrick out of my sight – but he wouldn’t live through a trip to the Bazaar. After I transferred a veritable fortune to him, Hassan agreed to take care of him.

A few minutes later, I was allowed into the back of the van, where I saw Patrick. Or what was left of him. Half of his face was bandaged, and both of his legs ended at mid-thigh. His left arm was missing as well, having been amputated up to the shoulder.

His eye fluttered open when I knelt beside him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, his voice weak.

“I’m sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“This…this is my fault,” I said.

Over the next ten minutes, Patrick explained what had happened. I was surprised to learn that it was Tate, Cirilla’s girlfriend, who’d been the Pacifician. When she’d self-destructed, she’d immediately taken the other woman with her. Patrick, who’d been working on the armor, lived through the initial explosion, but the collapsing building had nearly killed him. Somehow, he’d managed to drag himself into the armor, so when the building completely fell, he’d been protected.

It was only by sheer chance that he’d survived.

“It’s not your fault, Mira,” he said after I explained why Tate had self-destructed. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have, though,” I stated. “I need to be better, Patrick.”

“You will be.”

I sighed. I appreciated the faith he had in me, but I wasn’t sure if I agreed. To date, I’d shown myself to be nothing more than a blunt object. I had power. I could kill with the best of them. But I seemed incapable of mitigating the collateral damage. It had happened in Nova, and again with the Pacificians. Because of me, thousands of innocents had died.

And the worst part was that that was a conservative estimate. The real number may well have been in the millions.

It was easy to simply tell myself to get over it, to focus on my evolution, Patrick’s survival, and the fact that I had, ostensibly, won the battle. But that wasn’t how my mind worked, and I couldn’t help but wallow in the guilt of so much death. Patrick’s situation had brought it all home in a way that simple statistics never could.

Eventually, Patrick could no longer remain conscious, and I left him in the doctor’s care. With that done, I headed to the Leviathan and flew to the ruins of Nova. Cloaked in Mimic, I rushed through the city, and found my way to the Node that would transfer my consciousness to the Bazaar.

Once I reached the space station, I headed straight to Dex’s shop, where he sold me a series of cybernetics that would repair the damage Patrick had sustained. None of them were the highest quality, but I got what I could afford.

Then, I headed back.

Everything became a blur as I returned to Fortune. Along the way, I contacted Alistaris and asked – well, demanded, really – that he put me in touch with a talented cybernetic engineer. He did just that, and over the next two days, I set about finding, hiring, and transporting the cybernetic engineer back to Fortune.

Once we arrived, the woman – named Fiona Rhyne – went to work. The procedures took most of a day before she declared it completed. When I went inside the hover van – which was a mobile surgery center – I found Patrick arduously pushing himself upright. Half of his face had been replaced by a metal dome, and both of his legs as well as his arm were robotic.

But he was alive.

When he saw me, he gave me a small half-smile before saying, “You know, most of this stuff could be considered an upgrade. So, maybe I should thank you for –”

I didn’t let him get another word out before I practically tackled him. I threw my arms around him and buried my face in the organic part of his chest. There, I sobbed. I’d held it in for the past few days. Ever since I’d left for Nova and the Bazaar, I’d forced myself to focus on the task at hand. But now that I knew he was going to make it, I couldn’t contain my emotions any longer.

“I thought…I thought you were…I didn’t think you were going to make it…”

He patted my back with his flesh hand, saying, “I’m fine. It’s going to be fine. Lots of people have cybernetics.”

I knew that was true. I’d seen it for myself. Back in Nova, almost all of the operators had replaced limbs with cybernetic versions. Still, it was one thing for someone to choose that route, and something else altogether for it to be thrust upon them. I knew Patrick had never intended to go down that path, and the fact that he’d been forced to do so was tragic.

Between sobs, I said as much.

Patrick responded with a hearty laugh. “Tragic? This is a miracle, Mira,” he said. “Do you know how few people would’ve survived something like that? I’m lucky.”

That certainly was an optimistic way of looking at it.

“And besides, I did it.”

“Did what?”

“I finished the armor,” he stated. “It’s probably damaged, but before Tate…you know…blew up, I got it working.”

“You think it survived?”

“I do. And I want to dig it out,” he said, swinging his new legs off the cot. He quickly overbalanced and fell over, though I caught him before he tumbled to the floor. “Whoa. That’s…going to take a little getting used to.”

Of course, that brought more tears.

“It’s fine, Mira. All that matters is that we’re both still here and that we’re together. Everything else is secondary.”

And as I hugged him close, I couldn’t really disagree.