Godclads

Chapter 2-8 Mem-Locked

Insufficient.

That’s the word every Snuffer hates to hear.

Reflex isn’t a want. It’s a necessity. Don’t have an Accelero booster or a framejacker? You won’t see what kills you.

Durability is a necessity. Can’t survive shrapnel or concussives? You’re going to die the first moment a micro-missile hits you–and it will hit you.

Skill is a necessity. The one thing that separates the rusts from the gleamers. Gotta be able to use what you got and kill out of your weight class. Jaus knows you’ll be fighting off your back plenty of times.

You put all this together and you might burn brighter than most. New Vultun is a land of dreams, consangs, but there’s a hell of a lot more of you than there are opportunities.

At the end of the day, someone’s got to be the candle for others to be the flame.

-Quail Tavers, School of the Warrens, Page 14

2-8

Scrying through the warpath Draus left behind in maintenance made Avo realize he was walking next to a hurricane.

As far as he could stretch his mind to see, from this room to the ones that paralleled it, devastation marked the way. He counted seven dead in total. Seven heavily augmented hunters armed with weapons both exotic and practical, all doubtlessly lent toward the purpose of snuffing hapless survivors for entertainment. The same seven encountered a Reg in combat and were found wanting.

Now, only five pattered beneath the flickering lights in these cracked and dented halls. At its head, Avo found his hunger roused by the aroma of death. Smears of gore and stripped limbs lent the trail a macabre aesthetic. The words “no hope” scratched into the wall by what Avo guessed to be a previous batch of survivors only added to the effect. Mangled viscera oozed free from broken implants–the bodies that they were formerly attached to were unrecognizable, smeared across the area as something between a carcass and a scrap heap.

A low snarl filled Avo’s mind. An ambiance of whispered awe and other chains of spinning ghosts kept a respectful distance. A building surge of rage filled the air with heat and frustration. +She killed them too?+ Little Vicious whined. Her voice was on the verge of tears. +That’s—I paid—It’s not fair! You were supposed to die! You were all supposed to die! Die! Fucking die! This was supposed to be fun! You’re ruining it! She’s ruining it! Ruining my show!+

Avo shot Draus a look. The Regular shrugged. “Crashed better Crucibles. She ain’t special.”

+Fucking half-strand piece of shit!+ Little Vicious snarled. Avo’s foot slipped into the brain pulp of a dead hunter. The rest of their skull was caked against the twisted barrel of a shredded drone. +You…just you wait! I’ll get you! I’ll fucking get you both!+

The broadcast went dead. Avo shot Draus a look. “Do this for fun?”

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“Just keep walkin’,” Draus said. She fixed her handiwork with casual disregard. They weren’t so different there. Well, she smelled different. Her blood, for instance, smelled entirely too novel.

Inside him, the beast hummed in delight. It watched her, waiting, preparing for the moment she would be struck down by weakness. Prime meat. It thirsted to hurt her. Eat her. He never managed to eat a Regular. Perhaps—

No. Avo repressed the beast. He had fed enough earlier. He still had enough energy to go. This was just instinct, just a blind urge. One that would get him killed if he gave into it. He fought down the shivers and kept his focus on his Specter. A bend came ahead. He peeked around it.

No one was there. No thoughtstuff either. Quiet. No damage. Looked like they were entering a peaceful stretch.

“Got more impulse control than most of your kind,” Draus said, from behind. He shot her a look over his shoulder. “How’d that come about?”

She noticed his twitching. Guessed how he must’ve been feeling from that. How naked it made him feel. He hated operating in the material for that reason. Harder to mask his nature, harder to contain it. He envied her holocoat, then. It shrouded her loadout from sight. It could’ve shrouded his quirks.

“Practice,” Avo said.

That drew a laugh from her, a raspy noise her throat was unused to making. “Practice, it says.”

Avo shot her a glare. Her laugh turned to a disbelieving chuckle. “Jaus. You ain’t lying. Story behind you grows stranger n’ stranger.”

Avo grunted. He left it at that and focused on scouting again. His single Specter extended out from him like a groping limb, feeling its way through space and matter. He had taken its design from the Bodkin earlier and could see data surging down his spinning ghosts through his cog-feed. With his limited operating power and unoptimized memory-cap, he could only shape his Specter fifty feet in one vector. If he wanted to adjust its functions, he would need to sleep. Mod the memory artifacts in his composition. Replace its central emotional impulsers.

He could probably squeeze out four times more distance from the Specter if he dropped his wards, but that would also leave him an open door for a rival Necro. Great way to get nulled. Besides, even though he hadn’t seen proper Necro after him so far, he had no desire to let the spectators dive into his mind again. Their presence made his mind feel like a hostel that serviced junkies exclusively.

Still, their little avatars flowed and reached around with their Specters as well, resonating similar wavelengths of thought on the public frequency, leaking spills of thoughtstuff through their unsecured wards. Their tendrils continued to wreathe the area tight like the limbs of a forest. Every three seconds, his cog-feed would ping with a link request from one of his “fans.”

He sighed. While peering ahead through his Specter, Avo frowned and realized that he had made a mistake. Right now, even if he noticed a threat, he would still be first in line to get shot.

But he didn’t have to be.

With an impatient gesture, he commanded his woundhound to take the lead, his thoughts bleeding over across its leash in a synaptic instant. It bounded up from behind the group, knocking the boy aside with a yelp. Aside from its eldritch physiology, the woundhound was just like any other nu-dog you could grow. Maybe a bit larger than most splices.

“Any mods for the woundhound?” Avo asked.

“Market standard,” Draus said. “Bunch of them came cheap from the No-Dragons a month ago. They shot me a discount after I helped them with a dragon-hunt.”

Standard woundhound. That was good enough. Unless someone had something else capable of healing him or his injuries nigh-instantly, the woundhound was here to stay, and no amount of gunfire was going to stop it from transferring his injuries to another.

“Many pardons,” father interjected from all the way in the back. Avo listened as the man’s footsteps squelched through the remains.

“M-many pardons?” the father said again, disgust evident in his voice. The boy was at the very back. Avo could smell the bile on the child’s breath; hear him heaving. Their constitution was embarrassing. How did these flats live? “I…do…do either of you know each other?”

“Know of her kind,” Avo said. “Regulars. Muscle for Highflame. Trained; modded; sworn to service.”

“Knew of his,” Draus said, her voice tinged with more than an ember of contempt. “Not near as many ghouls left as there were. But like tumor-roaches, they’re hard to burn out.”

“I…see," the father said. He really didn’t. “So, you two were…coworkers.”

Avo and Draus both snorted at that.

“Exterminators,” Avo said. “Coworkers with ‘ratnids?”

The father fell silent for a beat. “I…do not think so? What is…ratnid?”

Draus shook her head. “City’s gonna eat you alive, consang. That is if you survive the proverbial breakfast that was the Crucible at all.” She shook her head and shot the father a look of pity. “What called you to come to New Vultun?”

“Land of opportunity. Land of dreams! Reality is stable here. No Fallen Heavens. No need to fear.” At that, he fell silent. “I met with…people. Uh. Border crossing people. They had…things to help us cross without notice.”

He was talking about smugglers. They probably slapped him with a Possessor. Or some kind of trauma bomb. Nulled his senses before taking him. Whatever it was, the man managed to get himself and his son sold over by a Syndicate smuggler.

Avo grunted. “Lucky you’re a flat.”

“Flat?” the man asked.

“No augs. No mods. Just human. Almost baseline. Your skin. It’s adapted to heat. Would've made you good harvesting years ago. Now worthless.”

The father stared at him. “You are saying…that us being sold here was good fortune?”

Draus spat. “No fortune in you being here. Fortune's for citizens, consang. This here’s just the hand you got, and what you can play with. And even if you make it up into the city, you are a long, long way from being sponsored.”

The boy chittered something. The father spoke back. Draus laughed. Avo frowned. Did she understand them? Or maybe she had an Omni-Glot phantasmic running? He hated being cut out of a conversation. All Necros did. What you didn’t know usually killed you.

“Heh,” Draus said, interrupting the conversation between father and son, her drawl growing thick with amusement. “I peeked the boy looking at the bodies I left behind earlier. Bet the ghoul can taste the puke on his breath better'n me. Boy don’t have what it takes to be a Reg. Trust me. Too soft. Could try to be snuffer, but I recommend against that. Most of those types die before they hit thirty. You wanna see your boy last right?”

“I…yes,” the father said. With every exchange, his voice grew more sullen, more despairing.

“Keep burnin’, consang,” Draus said. “Between me and the ghoul, you might just see the light of day again. Do our damnedest to get you up into the city. Let you meet New Vultun proper. See the Arks at least.”

Another beat. “Thank you,” the father said. “May I ask another question?”

“Won’t snuff you for it,” Draus said.

“Why are you…here? Helping us?”

Draus breathed. It was like she was taking a drag from the air around her. “I know what it’s like outside the megacities. Seen the places without the Arks. We promised better. You deserved better.”

Was it guilt he heard in her voice? Or perhaps just a lingering desire to see things change?

“Guilder that still believes?” Avo asked, unable to keep the mockery out of his voice. “Rare as me, Reg.”

Draus sneered. “Can’t claim to be no Guilder, ghoul. Just someone–”

An ebb of thoughtstuff flashed in Avo’s periphery as he peered out from his Specter. Not eighty feet away, he noticed another, rival limb, teasing through the murk of the Nether. Like a branch of ice, it hung frozen mid-grope in his direction. For a beat, both Specters just hung there, their Necros peering at each other.

In a flash, Avo studied the build of his counterpart. Single Specter connected to a wisp-thin trail of ghosts. That didn’t indicate they had much cog-cap to bear. Good. Neither did he right now. His awareness affixed to their position, he studied their location in the material. His adversary was through the walls to his right.

Avo screeched, the sound coming quickly like the rasping of a blade. Draus shoved both father and son prone without a moment’s hesitation. Down against the grime of the floor, the two toppled.

Through his Specter, Avo watched as his counterpart slowly reeled back into the nest of spilling thoughtstuff that pervaded the Nether. If his Metamind was better tuned, he probably could have cast the frequency of his perception even further, expanding the net of his awareness more than they could him. Detect their thoughts first and maneuver. Right now, they were dagger to dagger. Unsurprising seeing as his new phantasmic was pilfered from a drone centuries out of date.

“How many,” Draus said, flicking the frequency blade out. Its hum filled the air, infusing the atmosphere with pregnant violence. A shudder ran through the walls. A light chorus of ringing came from the loosened bolts spinning from a warped vent. Something large was descending, grinding its way down beyond the threshold of these thin walls.

“One–” Avo said until several more probing Specters pushed down from above. Four from the look of it. He got a better look at them this time as they approached. Each one was paltry. Minimal in memory and sequence. Missing wards too. Avo barred his fangs in a grin. None of them were Necros either. No Necro would dive with their mind barred. The grin turned to a frown when he realized he had no way of taking advantage of the situation offensively. Not without a Ghostjack.

“Four,” he corrected. “Maybe five.”

“Maybe five?” Draus asked.

“First one pulled back. Might not be with new group. No wards. Minimal cog-caps. Going to push them. See what I can scry.”

Draus planted a hand on his shoulder. “Could be a trap.”

Avo nodded. “Could. One could. An entire group? Unlikely. Too many weak links. No one to plug. Could also have Necro in reserve. But makes no sense. I would have probed. Sensed those two,” Avo pointed to the father and son, huddled against the ground. “Nulled them first. Right now; no probe; no attack. Just scrying. More lack than trap, I think.”

“Jaus,” Draus whispered, “you actually sound like you know what you’re doin’.”

He grunted. Nothing to say about that. His brothers didn’t exactly earn him the best reputation in terms of intelligence or impulse control. Definitely not enough for most ghouls to be good Necros.

A moment’s consideration passed. The four Specters were holding still, staring at him. He guessed they were afraid of his wards. Fearing that he was a trap. Good. He could use this–

One of the Specters broke from the four, pushing forward. Avo felt the splash of its attention spill past him and Draus before washing over the father and the boy instead. Snarling, Avo drove his Specter into its approaching counterpart. The frequency of its perception tore back to him too late.

Its host tried to pull back. Avo speared his mind forward, using his wards as a makeshift weapon. Bracing, he plunged layers of weaponized trauma into his counterpart. His cog-cap spiked, wards overtaxed from the impact. He lost grip on his thoughts as the outer layer of his Metamind sawed into the softness of his enemy. Thoughtstuff snapped free like tendons and oozing fluid both. Avo’s wards cracked. Through his ruptured defenses, however, he gained accidental secondhand insight into his foes as frayed drips of thoughtstuff spilled in.

COG-CAPACITY OVERCLOCKING - 124%

WARNING: MEMORY DAMAGE INCURRED

DISABLING PHANTASMICS

RESTORING DAMAGED MEMORY SEQUENCES - 88%

Avo’s cog-feed flickered. Interfaces quavered in his mind’s eye, unstable from the impact. It had been a desperate action. One that he had been reluctant to do for fear of it overloading his limited systems.

However, pieces of foreign memory drifted over him like oil over water. Good news. Meant the fool that tried scrying the father and boy was certainly nulled.

Flashes of screaming echoed in Avo’s recollection, moments of someone toppling over on a platform of some kind. A massive elevator. They were foaming at the mouth. Twitching as their personal cog-feed flashed with crackling static and glitched, overloaded by damage. Beside him, four other hunters rushed over, holding him down, trying to stabilize him.

Between his newly gleaned glimpses from the comatose hunter and the other Specters pulling back, the situation grew clearer to Avo. They had seen the father and the boy. And he had seen them. No more hiding now.

“Nulled one,” Avo said. “They know where we are. Opposite is also true. They’re on an elevator. Large. Coming down. Past these walls. Eighty feet. Or less.”

“Elevator from the block above us,” Draus said. “Think I know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Before Avo could continue, another spray of perception washed out over them, narrowing on the father and the boy more like a targeting beam. Avo hissed as spectral reticles flashed over their heads. They were mem-locked–happened when an exposed mind was scanned enough to have a long-term memory tagged and mapped in the Nether.

“Draus,” Avo said, pointing. There wasn’t the need. She saw it too.

She blurred. The frequency blade hummed. When next he saw her, she was already standing over the father and the boy, a clashing spark flashing along her blade as she cleaved a gauss-fired projectile. It had been slowed by passing through layers of wall, but still, Avo blinked.

The exit wounds on the walls were the size of Avo’s fist. Metal folded inward like curved petals, whorled by torque. Pieces of shrapnel split across Avo’s cheek, forcing him to duck with a hiss. Twice more did Draus parry, and twice more did impacts ring. Her speed was something else, but there was an economy of motion as well; the way she used the weapon was as much a part of her as her bones.

Then, through the widening rents in the wall, a final shot slipped through. Fast as her augs made her, projectiles were always faster.

The shot struck her, dead on against her chest.