“Focus your mind, clear all distractions and then push.” The steady voice of Satan herself was slowly making me learn to control my Psionic abilities. It had nothing to do with the fact I’d nearly fried my brain, again, by getting too excited and trying to use Psionic Storm when I woke up and stopped hurting.

The current target of my attention was a fist-sized rock on the desk in front of me. My objective was to use my Psionic power to lift it and throw it. I was not allowed to use the Psionic Storm again at all or, I’m quoting now, ‘I would be thrown through the Command Center wall, and trapped in an SCV Rigg.’

Let’s just say I didn’t doubt my torturers word in that regard, she even conveniently had an empty SCV Rigg she’d taken the liberty of having made situated in my little office area here for me to stare at as a reminder.

So, I focused, and after another two hours of this hell, I finally lifted the fucking rock and felt a migraine the size of Texas hit me for my trouble. A soft grunt came from Nova after seeing that. “Good, let it down for now. Remember, no using your abilities without me there to guide you. We do not need you attempting to kill yourself, again.”

That last definitely had some heat behind it. I’d was tempted to fire off some smart ass remark, but restrained myself. Do not piss off the freakishly powerful, skilled, and sexy woman that could roll you into a ball with her mind.

“Fine, when do we do this again then?” Massaging my temples while I waited for the pain to slowly fade, Nova seemed to contemplate the matter momentarily.

“Sometime tomorrow, after you're rested. We need to get moving though, my last scouting trip before this showed movement from the Pirate Camps, apparently, the survivors from the ravine made it through to other camps. I expect we may be attacked sometime in the near future.”

I growled at that. I should have thought ahead and had Fernando set up a security net to stop anyone from escaping, it would have helped us in our little fire fight as well, maybe saving all the ammunition stores Nova had to blow up as a distraction.

“Send Fernando here, then scout out the Pirates. I want their numbers, weapons stores, everything you can get me. We only have today and tomorrow to deal with the threat.”

When she left to find Fernando, I ground my teeth a bit before sighing. It was moving to quickly, I didn’t have a lot of time to adjust and react properly. No doubt the Systems difficulty increase taking effect. One of the good things was my status though.

Player: Damian Fern.

Level: 1

Title: Commander

Communal Standing: Colonial Magistrate

Military Standing: General - level 1

Profession - Trainee Ghost

Kills - 19

Equipment - C-10 Rifle Mark IV, Hostile Environment Suit

Damage - 10

Defense - 6

Psionic Power - 67/150

Abilities - Cloak, Snipe, Psionic Storm, Psi-Blast

I admit to being frustrated at my glaringly low kill count. Apparently, I didn’t kill as many Pirates as I’d thought in that raid. I was really curious to see if I could level like Fernando and Nova, or if I was stuck with leveling how the System stated I could.

The addition of a level to my Military Standing confused me, but the System wasn’t forthcoming so I figured it was something added in. I’d probably have to start actively checking my Status, just to see what else may change.

Another thing I learned, when I woke up, was that there was no cool down on turning Marines into Trainee Ghosts, only that stipulation that it be a Veteran Marine, which I seem to be capable of bypassing. I was also curious if I could gain more Professions, and the skill sets that came with them. Of course, I had no actual way to find out, because the System was quiet about that as well, fucking thing was useless when I actually needed it.

Fernando finally arrived, politely knocking and then entering my sanctuary, raising a brow at the SCV Rigg, which I chose to ignore. “Reporting as requested, Sir.”

“At ease Fernando. Do you have good news?” I could use some right now, between all the pain and the demonic thing I had summoned named Nova, I just wanted one tiny bit of good news.

“I do, Sir.” He handed over a tablet. “I expanded out Militia to a full one hundred, and they are currently guarding our Resources, and patrolling the area in groups of five. The Marauder armors are currently not in use, I haven’t found anyone skilled enough to use them yet.” He paused, pointing out the second line with no small amount of joy. “Our Medics have shown outstanding knowledge in their field, I believe we got lucky with a Veteran Medic being among them, I’ll be sending her over to speak with you later, Sir.”

All of that was amazing news, the fact that we had someone able to lead our Medics and maybe train more when able was even better. He continued outlining the information that was, no doubt, further detailed on the tablet.

“We have all of the Shelters erected, of the nearly four-thousand Minerals we had on hand, that took eight-hundred. Our Barracks is nearing completion as we speak, estimated finishing cost was one-thousand Minerals. Our Supply Depots are fully constructed, as well as a Refinery on the Vespene Geyser, that combined cost us another two thousand Minerals to complete. Our current stores are precisely two-hundred Minerals, and four-thousand units of Vespene Gas, though estimates show that dropping once we manage to reverse engineer the Marauder armors, and produce more from the barracks, as well as more Medic armors.”

I blinked slowly, looking at Fernando, then the tablet, and once again Fernando. How in the bloody fucking hell had he managed to do all this in a night? Was he actually a Monster?

“I am not a Monster, Sir. I am effective.” I felt my eyes go wide, could he actually read minds? Dear God no..think of puppies!

“I cannot read your mind, Sir, you simply where your thoughts on your face. Something I am sure your Ghost will work on sometime.”

No love lost there, he really hated Nova. As for my expressions, moving on. He was a scary, freakishly talented man. “Right, SCV Rigg numbers?”

“Fifty, in total. We can’t sustain anymore than that at the moment. I have them prioritizing the Barracks, and then they will begin working on the resources we need to continue building. Though according to the Ghost we may not have much time until the Pirates find us. I have the rest of the Civilians, all one-hundred and thirty of them, not occupied with training, or inside an SCV Rigg, working on the farming plots I had cordoned off about one fourth of a mile from our location, to the South where it is a bit more fertile. We need to start producing food as soon as possible, though I truly hope the officer for Colonial Affairs sends us live-stock in the near future.”

OK, way to much detail. Did he even actually need me? I made sure not to look at him when I thought that this time. Rubbing the back of my head, I nodded slowly. “Perfect, I’ll read through the more detailed portion shortly. Do you have anything to request?”

Fernando shook his head, telling me he had nothing. “Alright, then get back to your men. Do what you can to prepare them, I have a feeling that my fuck up at the ravine is going to come to bite us in the ass.”

“Sir, you made a miscalculations. Nothing more, if they come then they come. We will repel them.”

Apparently, I needed to learn to hide more than my facial expressions as well. He read a lot more into that than I thought he would. He was right though, take it as it came. I was just getting tired of being forced to react, and I had a terrible feeling that I wouldn’t be able to move on from that point until I could turn this colony, settlement, whatever it was, into a thriving one with proper defenses.

When Fernando did leave, I looked down at his detailed reports and sighed again. I had been hoping for more followers, something, to give me bonuses and assist me in the Universal side of things here. Instead, I’ve gotten nothing, even after all the action and shooting. I figured at least some sick fuck on Earth would follow me, but instead, I’d gained nothing.

System advisory! Player: Damian Fern, your footage is being recorded and will not upload until after your first Campaign Map, your first Sponsor, or Follower, is of course the might Xal’gul.

Do not scream at the air, do not scream at the air, do not scream at the air. Taking several deep, steadying breaths, I growled out a statement. “We need to discuss boundaries, you fucking thing.

System Announcement!

System advised Player he has no boundaries, he is a Slave meant to fight for Lumarian amusement. Further abuse of the System will result in extreme measures.

“Motherfuckingcockguzzlingcuntheaded….” After I’d stopped my screaming match at the air, thankful that no one had witnessed that, I calmed down, and took into account that the System had responded outside the norm that it had.

System advised Player that due to the extreme difficulty setting of your Game Universe, the System as assigned you 0.00000000000000003% of its max computing ability to personally monitor and track your movements. This has allowed the System a certain amount of freedom when answering your queries.

Ok, interesting, and fucking bullshit! Can a man not have even a moment's peace inside his own head? Apparently not, but at least no more messages came. The fact that such a small percentile gave it that much seeming presence was also disheartening, just how massive was this System thing?

A question I couldn’t answer, for now, focus on what I can. I eyed the tablet on my desk with disdain, I hated paperwork, in anyform...