Cybernova, p.3
Cybernova, page 3
As I reach where Zeke is standing, I realize he has someone on the operation table, and he has been severely injured. He has slightly more modifications than I do, namely on his chest and arms. He does not look good. Cybernetics, as well as flesh and bone, have been scorched by what definitely matches the profile of a Retribution arc assault rifle. The guy is not moving, and I start to worry…
“Is he…?”
“Just unconscious, for now. I’m going to need your help with this. That’s why I called you here,” Zeke reports, working on dressing the non-mechanical wounds of his patient.
I go to remove my swords and jacket so I can help Zeke fix this guy up, but he stops me with a solemn shake of his head.
“I can handle treating the guy, but it’s who’s chasing him that I need your help with. This guy came in here half-dead, ranting about Retribution forces trying to kill him for owing too much money to CYBR Corp. With any luck, those guys will be here in five minutes, but I’m guessing they’re already at the door.” He explained, and it was at that moment that a mental lightbulb flickered to life.
“Wait, I’ve seen him! He was getting shot down near my apart–”
Before I can finish my statement, an electric whirring sound, accompanied by an explosion, sends the door to Zeke’s shop flying across the room. Retribution forces storm in, four of them in total. The four of them occupy the entirety of the clinic’s small reception area. Their tall, intimidating figures bear down on us.
Looks like those two from earlier brought backup. Great. As if two aren’t terrifying enough.
Considering the fact that they haven’t already opened fire on all of us, it’s clear they intend only to capture or kill this unlucky guy on the table, whoever he is.
“Hand over the refugee, and nobody gets hurt!” The second troop from the right barks. That, paired with the gold Retribution insignia on his body armor, identifies him as the leader. Their insignia is reminiscent of the ancient Greek legend of Atlas, with a cybernetically enhanced figure holding up the Earth, one leg on the ground, the other pushing down a smaller, mangled figure. Their uniforms consist of black body armor with non-descript, black, Kevlar-laced black fatigues underneath. They wear black helmets with visors that come down over their eyes, equipped with infrared imaging so they can always find their prey. It also has the added bonus of looking like terrifying red eyes in the darkness, so that’s great.
“He’s being treated for his injuries right now,” I reply, my voice shaky. “You can take him into custody or whatever you intend to do once—”
“You are in no position to negotiate, citizen. Hand over the refugee, or we will open fire on everyone in this building.” The Retribution leader cuts me off. His voice is steady, with a hateful malice dripping from every word. He wants us to resist. He would enjoy killing us. I can see it in his eyes. I shift my gaze to the other three, and they all have the same look in their eyes. They each have countless cybernetic implants, making them huge, black and chrome killing machines.
There goes my plan to stall them. But what else can I do?
At that, I pause for a second and make a decision I’ve been dying to make for the last four, no, ten, years of my life. A decision that’s been burning at the back of my mind ever since my brother was taken from me by these monsters. A decision I’ve been too afraid to make. Until now.
“No,” I reply, drawing my swords. “We won’t hand him over. He’s under our care. I suggest you leave.”
At that, all four of the Retribution troops raise their rifles and train them on me, their laser sights creating a diamond on my chest. However, they don’t immediately open fire. They seem surprised that I would actually defy them.
“You do realize you will never win this,” the leader explains with a certainty that only a twisted CYBR Corp goon could possess. “You should have handed him over when you had the chance.” His tone is incredibly matter-of-fact, but he also almost sounds…excited. I shudder at the thought.
Perhaps he’s right, but I’ve made my decision, and it feels good. I’m terrified, and my heart is pounding in my chest, but I feel more confident in this decision than anything I’ve ever done. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do.
It’ll be a cold day in hell before I voluntarily give the Retribution what they want.
“Well, here is my offer for you,” I reply, my voice surprisingly steady and authoritative. I set my jaw, clenching my teeth, “you leave this place and never bother us again, or the Retribution will regret the day they crossed me.” I have no idea where that came from. The words just sort of fell from my mouth. To some degree, however, these are words I’ve been dying to say for years. It’s a declaration I’ve been desperately wanting to make, haunting my thoughts and dreams. I switch on the arc units of my daishō, firmly planting my feet in a wide stance as the crackling blue energy coats my blades.
This is where I make my stand.
The Retribution troops appear stunned for a second, clearly in disbelief that they have been directly challenged by a singular, seemingly non-threatening individual. I know better than to let an opportunity such as this slip by, so I waste no time moving toward the leader of the group. Just as he pulls the trigger, I slice the end of his rifle off with the smaller of my swords, sending a shower of blue and orange sparks flying throughout the room as my sword slices cleanly through the steel. It also causes him to drop the rifle from its heat and force.
The sparks provide me with the perfect distraction to move to the second troop, the one to the leader’s left, whose weapon I slice clean in half. By this time, the other two soldiers had gotten wise to my tactics and had lowered their tactical visors, shielding themselves from the blinding sparks. They open fire from their arc rifles, sending millions of charged rounds my way. These rifles combine the technology of old-fashioned bullets with powerful arc technology, effectively sending molten streams of electrically charged death with terrifying accuracy.
With reflexes gained through years of rigorous training and sharpened through technological enhancement, I duck behind the nearest troop, arc rounds scorching the air, inches away. They don’t stop firing. They just melt their fellow troop in the hopes that it’ll also kill me. It’s not long before that troop goes down, so I jump behind the leader. He lets out a guttural scream as his flesh is scorched by arc plasma, but somehow, he stays standing, unlike the first troop. He grabs me by the shoulders, trying to wrestle me into the line of fire. I slash through his forearms, blood and sparks flying everywhere. He screams again, his eyes filled with pure, unadulterated hatred. I can actually see and smell the flesh melting off of parts of him as the other two keep firing. I drive my swords through his abdomen, pushing him toward the other two. It’s surprisingly difficult to move him. With his dying breath, he lunges forward, trying to bite my neck. He nearly gets me, but I shove him forward, pulling the swords out. He finally falls to the ground, his hateful gaze piercing me as his eyes glaze over.
Fuck me, that was close.
I begin diving behind a nearby chair, having run out of human shields.
Do they even count as human? Focus, Oliver.
Just then, the remaining Retribution troops’ weapons enter their brief cooldown state.
“Holy shit,” I mutter under my breath, having narrowly escaped their attacks. One wrong move, and even Zeke wouldn’t have been able to patch me up.
Their cooldown only lasts approximately three seconds, but that’s enough time for me to make a move. I sheathe my wakizashi, grab the metal folding chair as a shield, and begin crossing the room, nearly getting within melee range of the remaining troops. They open fire once again, slowly backing away as they rain down their fiery doom upon me. I hold up the chair and drop into a low stance, slowly walking forward. The chair gets extremely hot almost immediately, but I keep walking. I get within range and slash with my katana, where I believe one of the troops is. I can only see his shoes, but the katana has a good range, and I don’t have many options here. Either by luck or divine intervention, I hit him. Judging by the fact that he slumps over, I can only assume he’s dead, which is more than I was hoping for. My right hand gets caught in the plasma stream, but since it’s made of highly resilient metal, it’s okay. The chair, however, is beginning to melt. It drips molten metal on my left arm, which hurts really fucking bad. I drop it instinctively.
Oh shit!
I hit the deck and roll behind another chair, narrowly avoiding a full-body hot plasma massage.
“Just die, you freak!” The last troop grunts, their voice filled with hate. They sound almost annoyed that I dare still be alive.
Unluckily for them, their weapon enters its cooldown. I take the second-long opportunity to stand up and draw my wakizashi, switching it on. They curse under their breath and grab their sidearm, a large-caliber, semi-auto arc pistol. They waste no time, immediately opening fire on me. This time, however, I’m ready.
As molten plasma rapidly approaches my body, I’m already setting myself into a low stance, spinning both swords of my arc-daishō in an alternating crisscross motion in front of my exposed body as rapidly as possible, the arc energy coating them flowing into a mesmerizing blue mirage. Initially designed for intimidation, this move was never meant to be used in this way. But hey, I have a feeling the original samurai weren’t facing off against mechanically-enhanced murder machines wielding lightning-powered rifles. Just a thought.
To the complete disbelief of everyone in the room, myself included, it actually works. Under normal circumstances, the Retribution’s chosen victim would be dead. Not me. Their arc pistol is firing plasma round after plasma round directly at my body, my daishō redirecting them in all directions. The result is a terrifyingly beautiful shower of blue and orange sparks cascading onto every surface in the area. Some of them rain down onto me, burning my scalp and the back of my neck. I can’t stop, or I will die, so I push through the pain.
Gonna need some serious aloe vera after this.
The onslaught continues for what seems like an eternity, but I can’t give in. I refuse to give that satisfaction to this monster. I can feel my arms beginning to give out, and some of the plasma escapes through a hole in my defense, burning through my jacket and searing the skin on my chest. A barely audible cry of pain escapes my lips, but I remain focused. There’s a point where their clip runs out of ammo, but they load a new clip before I even have the chance to process that information. They resume firing at an alarming rate.
My muscles are screaming in pain, and the motors in my right arm are whining under the strain. Just when I feel that I can’t possibly keep this up, the Retribution’s arc pistol runs out of ammo again. They reach for another clip only to find they’re out. I waste no time closing the gap between the troop and me, forcing my legs to move. I raise my daishō into the air, crossing the swords over my chest, and with the last of my energy, slash the swords down and away from my body, falling to one knee as I do so. The final troop falls to the ground, their body cleanly separated from their legs.
With the adrenaline of the battle gone, I collapse to the ground, swords falling from my hands. The crackling blue buzz of arc energy is the only thing filling my senses. Despite the pain, there is a smile on my face as the world goes black around me.
Ch 2
IT’S been a long week since that day at Zeke’s clinic. I still can’t believe I managed to singlehandedly fight off four Retribution troops, including a squad leader. Nobody’s stood up to the Retribution in years. They made it clear early on that anyone who tried would be brutally killed. If they decided you owed them money, or a favor, or your life in servitude, then you gave it, no questions asked. Maybe it’s time that changed.
I blacked out from the pain and exhaustion of that fight, so I’m a little fuzzy on the details afterward. However, as Zeke tells it, he dragged my ‘sorry ass’ as well as that guy he was treating into his Fixer-Upper To-Go, aka an old fusion-powered hover van filled with Zeke’s emergency equipment and a small cot. Clearly, it’s no longer safe to stay at the clinic since they had found us. Zeke knew that we had to go somewhere safe and fast. So, he ‘burnt rubber like his ass was on fire, with those trigger-happy bastards hot on his tail.’ Again, his words, not mine. Also, it’s hard to burn rubber when your van uses small-scale thrusters instead of wheels to move around, but whatever.
With the simple auto-drive function turned on in the van, Zeke was able to get to work while the van barreled through the city. He got me patched up pretty quickly. It turns out I mostly just needed my battery charged, and I was good to go. Apparently, that was why I blacked out while fighting the Retribution troops. It’s a side effect of enhancements known as cybernetic exhaustion.
Early cybernetics research tried to run the technology off of the body’s natural functions, namely the heart and lungs. The scientists and engineers quickly realized that supplemental power would be needed. The human heart only produces 1.33 Watts of energy, which, needless to say, doesn’t sufficiently power a high-tech, cybernetic prosthetic arm. It doesn’t power much of anything, for that matter.
Cybernetic exhaustion is what happens when you try to run cybernetics off of the body’s natural electrical impulses. The power-hungry cybernetics will scavenge any and all electrical impulses from the body, including the brain, which usually causes people to blackout.
That’s where batteries come in. My battery is a reasonably powerful solid-state battery pack located in my upper right arm. Typically, I wait to charge it at night since day-to-day usage only drains it to about thirty percent. The problem is, I haven’t pushed myself quite that hard in a while, and it turns out fighting Retribution troops drains your battery a lot quicker than day-to-day activities.
Go figure.
Zeke always yells at me for waiting until my battery’s too low before charging it because unless you’ve got a backup, cybernetic exhaustion is just as much of a problem with a dead battery as no battery, or so he always says. I thought he was worrying too much. Looks like I owe him an apology.
As if worrying about your battery dying wasn’t bad enough, the more cybernetics you have, and the more energy-intensive those cybernetics are, the higher capacity battery you need. It’s possible to put so much strain on the battery that even though you have a full charge, the cybernetics still scavenge your body for extra power because you’ve exceeded what the battery can put out.
Gotta love all those CYBR Corp ads promising risk-free cybernetic enhancements with no side effects. Bullshit.
Of course, if I were rich, worked for CYBR Corp, or both, I would have a self-sustaining fusion power cell that could basically never run out of power, but you work with what you got.
Anyway, back to one week ago. After a bit of time on the charger, I was good to go, more or less. After I was able to move properly, I took control of the van while Zeke kept our mysterious friend alive. Auto-drive is well and good, but it’s not exactly programmed to run from the fuzz.
We made quick stops at my apartment and his, grabbing some essentials before CYBR Corp had time to track the video recorded from the troops’ eyes I had killed. They would have easily been able to see our faces, tracing us back to where we lived. After that, we made our way to a relatively secluded underground bunker we used to hang out in to get away from the bustle of Nova City. We’ve been holed up here for the past week, hiding from CYBR Corp.
We found the bunker a while back, and we happened to stumble upon it while exploring the outer reaches of Nova City, just talking and laughing about whatever crossed our minds. We used to chat a lot about cybernetics, about the latest developments in implants, VR technology, artificial intelligence, you name it. Basically, anything tech-related was right up our alley, with Zeke being the circuit-head that he is and myself just fascinated with the possibilities of being a super cool, teched-out fighting champion.
Long story short, two guys in their early twenties, obsessed with superhero comics and video games, stumble across an underground bunker on the edge of Nova City with a big holographic FOR SALE sign hovering over the entrance? We bought that place without a second thought. It cost us about five hundred thousand Johnnies, which is not too bad for a small bunker.
CYBR COYN became the primary form of currency about twenty-five years ago, in the year 2035. Digital currencies were starting to gain popularity before that. Still, it was the climate devastation of the Earth that really kicked off the various governments of what remained of the world to start working together on some things, like making a universal currency that doesn’t depend on material items or gold standards or anything. In theory, it’s not the worst idea.
The concept was initially proposed in the US by John Nova as a one-to-one replacement for the dollar, and the US government went for it, no questions asked. CYBR Corp already controlled much of the government from behind the scenes at that point.
The rest of the world quickly climbed on board as they ran out of trees to make paper with. Of course, that also means CYBR Corp controls the entire global economy and all of the banks. Sounds reasonable, right? Definitely no negative side-effects to that little arrangement.
***
Currently, I’m doing some research on my CYBR Screen, which is a large glass tablet designed for mixed-medium computing. These devices are capable of being used as traditional touchscreen tablets as well as interactive holographic projection devices. I may or may not have stolen this one from a particularly poorly guarded self-driving shipment of them a while back.
“Show me healing implants, something minorly invasive,” I instruct.
“Coming right up, Oliver,” replies Cerulean, the AI assistant. Cerulean has a kind, female voice and a slight accent, which people argue about the origin of. If not for the occasional glitch and difficulty pronouncing certain words, you would have no idea you weren’t speaking to an actual person. Cerulean can speak and understand any language and access any information on CYBR Net, and each unit is programmed with comprehensive Artificial Intelligence. I’ve had this one for some time now, so Cerulean feels like an old friend. She certainly knows me better than most people, whether I like it or not.
