“This is ridiculous…” I muttered, rooted in place in the pod as amniotic solution swirled and shimmered in the bright lights of the med-bay outside. Another six viewpoints all around me fed information while I attempted my exercise in seeming futility.

One such view was looking on on my own body as it twitches occasionally. It seemed that rebuilding one's connections to a nervous system was not, in fact, as easy as just reattaching nerves. Maybe if it was all flesh and blood I’d instinctively know how the process worked. But, as it was, there was literally nothing the same in my body. My spine alone more resembled a column of steel rather than segmented bone. Ligaments, tendons, discs, nothing was mere flesh anymore - I certainly wasn’t projecting a superiority complex - but instead a mixture of biosteel, organic and inorganic tissue near perfectly married in one.

I say near perfectly for a reason, though. Previously when it was just my arm and a few other parts, there wasn’t much issue. I’d always attributed the lack of acute tactile sensation in my left arm after replacing it to be something of a limitation of biosteel. Apparently, that problem became radically worse as you had more of it. As it was, I felt like I was trying to slither my will through sludge, my own body fighting me all the while.

It was infuriating, and it gave me far too much time to dwell on depressing things. While I was busy in the council, surrounded on all sides by individuals who may or may not be possible allies, I was more than busy enough to be able to ignore the gravity of my new existence.

For one, I wasn’t outright panicking and having a mental breakdown at that moment. That alone made me realize there were other problems under the surface. If it hadn’t been for that introspective moment earlier, would Wolven’s shards have become more than a shade of intent? It was hardly a battle, less so than I’d expected. Perhaps there were other parts of it less accessible, less obvious, abound in myself.

Was that just paranoia, or due caution? The line was blurred, the only thing that I knew for sure was the fact that if I didn’t find out for sure, I wouldn’t rest easy.

Then of course there was dealing with the matter of my death. Actually dealing with it. I wasn’t Matthew Todd anymore, evidenced by the fact that I couldn’t even attribute that last name to belong to me. So, I’d died, or at least the me who I had been did. It was all egregiously too complicated for my mind to tackle before, but now that everyone had left me to my own devices…

Well, as the saying goes, idle hands do the devil’s work.

I’d accessed the councils mainframe with one of my digital arms, largely leaving it to its own devices. This would also tell me how autonomously they could operate. To my surprise, it had pirated 3 more arms to assist in the effort on its own volition. When I peeked in on the mental space dedicated to them, I was quite shocked to learn that if many of them were unified in an action, they would begin to network information between each other, making it easier to ‘think’ as it were. That explained why I was able to brute force firewalls that I had no business getting through.

And, since then, they’d been feeding me in depth details on everything that had touched a computer mainframe in the local governing bodies chamber. I should say that it wasn’t necessary for me to do it this way; I was a leader of that governing body as it turned out. Even so, it was exciting to know I could do it, and a necessary distraction to veer away from existential crisis questions.

‘Next important topic.’ I half commanded myself, going over everything that might have changed. Comparing my own memories to the realities of the world as documented was fascinating. There weren’t many things that I’d managed to forget in recent time, surprisingly enough, but there were a lot of things that I didn’t know about in general.

Of course, there were the three big organizations in Gilramore, The Bulwark, The Civic Orders, and The Reaper’s Legion. The breakdown on Bulwark and Legion were fairly straightforward and on the level as far as everyone was concerned. The Bulwark was headed by Charlie Song, a man who’d already proven himself capable of keeping everyone in some semblance of fighting shape and was now able to exercise even greater ability. He’d been injured during the climactic battle against Wolven, but had fully recovered with our current advances in medical science, something I would want to look into shortly. Overall, Bulwark had kept their word on issuing Matter Energy to The Civic Orders, though apparently there were some issues popping up of late regarding a desire for more control.

The reason for the ongoing issue was, embarrassingly, my own absence as the leader of the Legion. My second-in-command, Doug Vanderhew, was empowered to make such decisions that related to external workings in my absence, however the particular issue apparently was a bit of an internal issue as well.

Before I perused that data, though, it bears mentioning that The Civic Order is anything but organized and has a lot of individuals whom are out for themselves alone. Don’t get me wrong, most people are fine, the various civilians who just want to be able to make a living and not hate life had done nothing wrong. There were, as always, some exceptions to this. Several ‘Orders’ had popped up, similar to old-world guilds, like the Carpenter’s Order, or other similar categories. Virtually every walk of life had an Order, and there were specifically no requirements to creating them. Though, a small one couldn’t hope to affect any kind representation in the Order’s own council.

The Civic Order Council was a bit of a trainwreck currently. There was still what once was the city mayor, Alan Dietriet, but he seemed to only just barely be keeping his power. It seemed that the political system had devolved on that front immensely. Even so, they rarely had anything to do with the Bulwark’s or Legion’s political landscape due clearly divided roles, but somehow they’d managed to get themselves lodged there as well.

It had all started with the Hunter’s Order. They’d initially been geared towards hunting mundane animals, another source of food early on before Matter Energy had thoroughly proven to be far more efficient to feed us. Their numbers had dwindled at first, fewer and fewer people willing to risk the outside world for food that no one would pay a great deal of money for now.

Then entered a new contender. I glared at the profile of one Cassandra Vera, she’d become the de-facto leader of the Hunter’s Order by virtue of her passionate personality and her new vision. At around the same time that we were clearing out the salt mines, the snowballing force that was the Hunter’s Order was well on its way to the problem it would be now. They, citing that Gilramore was still under threat, insisted that they too should be allowed to fight for the city.

Under normal circumstances I’d have said it would be fine for a militia group to form. However, I was wary of allowing just anyone to do so. The reason was simply that most individuals would see no need to share their hard earned Matter Energy with someone who didn’t fight for it. To me, that was fallacious, our city wouldn’t be able to survive like that, given that my Legionaries simply wouldn’t have anywhere to spend that much Matter Energy. What would someone charge for a burger to make it worth it? M.E. wasn’t just any currency, you couldn’t turn any old world currency into the item you wanted on the spot. Any merchant would have a hard-limit on what they could reasonably charge someone for a product. Too expensive and the customer could and probably would have the item made by the obelisk.

Certainly the quality would be somewhat lower when made whole like that in some cases, but I believed most would still pick that option. Even if you had some go for the higher price option, how far would that get you?

Perhaps it would have been fine, but I highly doubted my Legion members would spend enough to be able to get an economy going on their own. Even if they did, it would effectively stratify wealth, it wouldn’t benefit us moving forward. We needed what was left of humanity working together, not against each other.

And, unfortunately, it seemed that the Hunter’s Order was doing just that. Citing that ‘we should be allowed to make our own way,’ they were hunting biotics around Gilramore for M.E. That in and of itself was not the issue; I didn’t think it was entirely right to deny anyone from going out hunting. What they did in practice was to select only a few individuals whom they would then go to for purchases. In their respective social circles, the Hunter’s Order had gone from just another source of revenue to now becoming more than just a source of M.E.

There was a very real hierarchy forming around the Hunter’s Order, while not strong enough to usurp the Civic Orders overall, let alone Bulwark or Legion, they were becoming an issue. Ironically, they were beginning to voice that they should be allowed specific hunting grounds of their own, excluding the Legion from those areas entirely, citing that our jurisdiction laid outside of the city ‘suburbs’ even in spite of the suburbs either now being within the wall, or ruined shambles outside of it.

The notion was, annoyingly, gaining traction among the Orders, though for differing reasons. Vague feelings of unrest and malcontent with the Bulwark defining the distribution of resources had come to a head with many of the arguments of the Order. Of course, they needed M.E. as well, most of which would directly go towards setting up the defensive arrangements of Gilramore to prevent another Wolven tragedy from ever happening again.

At some point, some people became convinced that The Bulwark was withholding more, lining their pockets with M.E. instead of giving it to the people. The number wasn’t great as of yet, but the problem was a growing one. If it weren’t for the efforts of Doug, Charlie, and Alan, the Hunter’s Order might well have gotten a great deal more traction. Some concessions had been made already, attempting to give the impression that ‘the powers that be’ were not deaf to the needs of the populace.

I felt the twitching in my body grow as I angrily pushed my will down my newly fortified nerves. Pulses of heat rushed out towards the tips of my fingers and toes before racing back as cold tingling trickles.

‘No movement yet, but I can’t stop,’ I told myself, ‘Have to sort through all of this garbage at some point.’ My frustration simmered, the twitching calming somewhat as I began to focus again.

The leader, Cassandra, was complicating the issue for me. Looking up information on her revealed only that before the apocalypse she’d been a minor political figure, not much to say beyond the fact that she was an avid advocate to more freedom for people. What I wasn’t certain of was what she actually gained here.

There was no room for debate that the vast majority of Matter Energy that the Hunter’s Order stayed in their group and circles. They lined their pockets immensely and decided, often out of hand, where to invest. While most of the time I was an advocate for free-will and an open market, that didn’t include when we had a growing and very imminent threat all around us. This was not a world where humanity had a guaranteed place on the food chain.

But this was where things became hazy. It seemed that Cassandra had seen this issue as well and was currently attempting to fix this. Her public talks and her own inner political topics were geared towards promising a general allowance to others. But, her own group was resisting this motion overall. The reason wasn’t hard to guess; most had joined the hunters to line their own pockets. To put it bluntly, they had no desire to share in their hard won rewards, if they had they would have just joined the Legion. Or, they didn’t want to be under someone else’s direction, or be required to put their lives on the line for more dangerous hunts. Putting onesself before anyone else wasn’t something that surprised me, however, this was the exact opposite kind of person we needed - in my opinion - out hunting Biotics.

Even more so, it was the exact wrong kind of person to form an organization out of.

Certainly, there were a number that were there out of idealism. Those had formed the inner circle of the Hunter’s Order around Cassandra. But now there was a new nucleas forming, an entire new group that was forcing Cassandra to play a middle ground.

Perhaps I was harsh in this judgement, but she was out of her depth. Looking over information, it seemed more and more that her concessions and her pursuits politically were to keep her people happy and keep the group from fragmenting. That drove her into greater political conflict with the Bulwark and Legion. In the ideal of unity, the city was pursuing a conciliatory tact.

I felt my fingers flex, my hands clench, pins and needle feeling rushing through my limbs as my jaw clenched. Waves of sensation wracked my senses as I did my best to shut it out.

A great deal more information existed, rehashing the same story, the same premise. The now vice-leader of the group, Alex Werrick was the opposing force in the group. Less talented in the open air negotiations and politics, Alex Werrick made up for that with knowing how to manipulate people on a more personal level. It seemed that many looked up to the man within the organization, and even those on the opposing side didn’t appear to bear particular hostility to him. I wondered if Cassandra even fully realized that Alex’s actions were going to tear the Order apart someday.

Just looking at the situation, eventually he would become the leader. Whether that be through Cassandra stepping down, or fighting back and creating a divide.

Was it their fault? No, they were unaware of the bigger scene at play. Somehow, they had taken the threat of Wolven and seen that we had won, had gotten high off of humanity’s apparant success.

How did that message spread? How did that interpretation of that battle come about? Because we won against something so horrific, there wasn’t anything worse out there?

I growled in the amniotic fluid that encased me, burbling to myself as I thought to the detailed packet of information that had been sent through the obelisks by Sis. Had no one read it? Or did it just not have the impact? Certainly, reading about the higher Gen biotics wasn’t enough to form a real and clear threat. That was just human nature it seemed, they wouldn’t - we wouldn’t - see something as the threat it truly was until we saw it with our own two eyes.

My arms moved, pushing forward against the glass. Pain roared through my nerves, corded and stiff. Nerve clusters seized control of the twitching, stilled muscles, and commanded every cell. Sensation regulated as a razor focus bled through my brain, a suite of new controls appearing in the fog of my mind.

Impulses of electrical and chemical signals snapped into place, channels of dominion over my own biosteel flesh carved into newly tamed synapses.

It wasn’t their fault that they didn’t realize what was right or wrong. Perhaps I wasn’t the best to determine Gilramore’s path, but I wouldn’t allow this to continue. Not because it was wrong for someone to line their own pockets, to hunt for themselves. Not because of the disharmony that was brewing, I wasn’t that kind of person.

I was The Reaper, of all the fragmented memories and vague instincts I felt that was the keystone. All of this was beyond me, I was barely human anymore. When I really got down to it, what would it matter what someone else was doing? If they wanted to hunt biotics, they could, all the better. They wouldn’t get my help, but I wouldn’t get in their way. I felt like there was something coming into place, remembering what my legion was for, what we were assembled to do.

We existed to hunt biotics, to range far beyond Gilramore and, to put a theatrical point on it, be the sword for humanity. In the future, I would leave interacting with the people of the city to The Bulwark, but it seemed that our stance needed to be made official. Rather, it seemed that people needed to be reminded what we are, that we weren’t here to play house.

I pushed more, my arms surging with power that had escaped me before. I was bulkier by a great deal than I once was, still lean but by an order above.

The sensation was intoxicating after not being able to move my own body for so long. Pressure mounted, rising from merely touching the strengthened glass to pressing like a machine. I wanted to see what I could do, and exerted myself a bit more.

It only took moments for the pressurized tube to flex, and then all at once the solution evacuated the tube, a warning siren flashing as all at once containment opened. Excitement rushed through me as the touch of cool air hit my skin, a dull sensation of cold getting through my resilient nerves. The biosteel was strong, sturdy, and greater in many ways to flesh, but sensitivity was not a strong point. Even so, it would be a boon to my work in the future, even if the more mundane sensations would be muted.

Around me, the staff gaped at me, standing in front of the pod that I’d been in mere moments before. The dripping of fluid through grating on the floor and the hum of equipment was the only sound in the room.

Their wide-eyed gazes drifted from me and the pod, and it was then that I remembered that I was, in fact, quite naked. Though, with how well muscled and… respectable my proportions were, I didn’t feel anywhere near as embarrassed as I thought I might.

‘Nothing they haven’t seen before,’ I reminded myself as I looked to a lab coat hanging on the wall, I moved to it, pausing to gesture at it, “May I?”

The doctor that had been tending me, an older balding gentlemen nodded wordlessly. As I slipped the white lab coat over blackened skin with red streaks glinting just beneath the surface, I noticed that one of the attendants had busied herself with a console.

“A-ah, sir, would you mind coming over to a table over here, first?” The first doctor shook himself from the shock of my emergence, “I’d like to do a quick physical test.”

I managed to keep from frowning, but he must have seen the displeasure on my face, “I promise it’ll be quick. We just need to be sure you’re actually… fine.”

There wasn’t a good reason to, in my opinion, but that would be making his job unduly difficult. “Alright, alright, that’s fine.”

He breathed a sigh of relief as he led me to a cot nearby, “I appreciate it.”

The tests were fairly standard, if baffling for him. Partway through, the other doctors and nurses approached, interested in the results. My blood pressure would kill a normal person. My heartbeat was deeper and stronger than it should have been. My skin bent ordinary needles, and even when they got through they only drew thick, almost black blood. The light they shone in my eyes reflected a brilliant vermillion red, and my hair was thick and heavy, not quite like wire, but close.

At the end of the tests, I was fairly certain that the doctors were far more interested in my composition than my health, in a sense. Light touches barely elicited a response in a reflex test and required a healthy tap with a hammer to get my nerves to respond.

The door to the room opened then, admitting a tall, heavily armored fellow, “Ah, Reaper, there you are.”

I arched a brow, seeing the large casket he carried on his back. He was wearing a light exo-suit, and the symbol of the Legion was emblazoned on his chest. “You are?”

“Oh, Jim.” He waved his hand, “We haven’t met on a personal level. I saw you charge into Wolven in the siege, balls of steel.” He paused upon seeing my figure, “Err… I guess that’s literal now?”

It took me a moment to process that, but luckily the silence lasted only for a second. I chuckled before it could become awkward, “Well, Jim, nice to meet you. Why are you here?”

He smiled unabashedly, “Material drop off for you. Some guys like to dress casual, but me? I like a good suit.” He walked forward, steps clinking against the floor as most of the doctors went about their business, with exception to the woman who’d been at the console. Jim walked over to her, who was clearly expecting him.

“He fancies himself something of an expert on suits.” She sighed, “Jim’s been on guard duty for a few days.”

“We rotate out on shifts,” he supplied, “Mostly we just make sure nobody without clearance goes near the labs. And here.” The man set the casket against the floor, allowing it to stand up on end, “And I am an expert on suits. And this one here? This is a very nice suit. Your friends wanted to take care of you.”

At that, the doctor pulled out a keycard and swiped it across the front of the black and red steel, an ominous bell tone sounding out. A grin tugged at the corner of my lips at the unexpected noise.

The panels opened, shifting away as the interior contents of the container was revealed. The power armor was similar in some respects to the old one I had, but larger, a power armor designed to be in the thick of combat on the front line, offering mobility, and clearly bore several modules on its frame that I highly doubted were merely decorative. The helmet no longer bore an expansive faceplate that wrapped around the head, now a triangular, fractal design took the plate from a ‘V’ shape, rigid plating offering greater protection to both the head and several sensors. The faceplate itself looked quite impressive, and was mostly opaque.

I extended a digital arm to the suit, feeling it interact with the systems like a fish to water. The suit lit up, streaks of red bled across the metal. A digital, harshly angular skull lit red beneath the surface, a paler visage of what looked like a grinning skull in the glimpses of dark mist.

“That is a very nice suit.” My grin spread, “I’ll take it.”