The trip back to the ship was uneventful. There were no view ports to look out of. All you can do inside the APC was admiring the bland green painted and cramped interior and feel the tracks rapping against the asphalt. The APC then tilted backward, followed by the engine revving into higher rpm as the vehicle climbed an incline. It flattened out, turned to the left, then the engine cut off. The rear hatch opened down, forming into a ramp with the pneumatic whine.

I stepped out of the cramped confines of the APC, only to be assaulted by the noxious smells of burnt fuel mixed with spilled oil.

Attention! You have entered UNCS Light of the Stars

The shemagh covering half my face helped somewhat, but not enough to take off the brunt of the fumes. We were in the middle of the Ship’s vehicle bay, parked next to a fuel pump. Other vehicles were parked nearby, being worked on by either players or NPCs. Most were trucks, rusting, modified and fixed with jury-rigged parts.

Nearby, a group of men were busy unloading crates from the bed of a faded white pickup truck. A protruding mount held an M2 browning machine gun, currently unloaded and was pointing up to the sky. One noticed me, looking at them, and tapped at the man next to him. He was bending over to put down a crate on the nearby hand trucks.

They wore patchwork and mismatched camo. From what I learned from visiting the outfitters inside the ship, brand new looking gear bring no additional stat or skill bonuses, which meant that these men are likely higher levelled than me. After a brief stare down, the two nodded and gave a thumbs up, pointing at the M113. It wasn’t mine, nor will I even bother to tell them, so I just nodded back instead.

“Hey boys. You better start unloading your stuff since we have another job lined up.” Ripley said, peeking over the turret. “And pull out your chit for gas money.”

“I’ll pay for it.” I said, jogging around the back and looking at the tank commander.

Attention!

You are charged 1000 credits for: [Gas]

Pay? [Y/N]

“Thank you.” She said, after confirming the transfer.

“No problem.” I replied. Still, it was a lucky to strike an introduction. Who would have thought that taking a risk can pay out like it did. “Hey Ripley. How filled is your schedule? Asking if I’d call you when I need something done safely in the city.”

“We just complete contracts as we get it, but you can fill in a reservation for a specific time. What do you need us for?”

“I need you to help me transport some supplies three miles into the city. How much would that cost me?”

“We charge depending on the location, the distance and our time spent there. So I won’t be able to spitball a number for you.”

“How about you give me a safe estimate?”

Ripley shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe ten grand if were only going to spend an hour on location with an additional two as deposit for the ammo we might use on the way.”

“Alright. Cool.” I nodded. Although steep, the price was equivalent to three AKM rifles fresh from Stoner’s shop. I also did happen to carry the equivalent of a blank check with the caveat that I need to explain the spending at the end. But that won’t be a problem given that the APC will be transporting supplies valuing a lot more.

Next came the divvying of the loot. A hand truck was nearby and Rex and I secured one after paying a hiring fee from a nearby NPC. It was a straightforward affair of simply handing over the needed credits and taking the hand trucks, then rolling it nearby the APC. We started filling it, to be sorted later.

“Okay. That is quite a lot.” Anna said as we filled one and had to go back to get another hand truck and almost loaded it up.

“Quite heavy too.” Rex added, stretching his back for emphasis.

“Oh, come on, you baby. It’s not that bad. I made Ripley look your way whenever you 're carrying the heavy stuff.”

“Shut up.” Rex turned away, towards where Ripley and Adept had taken in a team of five inside the cabin, and closed the door. The engine turning, Ripley popped up the hatch and waved them a goodbye as the APC lurched forward and rolled out of the ship.

“See! I’m sure she appreciated the view.”

Rex said something in response, and I did my best to ignore their banter. Whatever was going on between them and how they connected with each other wasn’t my business. In the pile was the PKM I looted from the scavs. I didn’t need to call dibs on the weapon as the two barely even sent a glance at it even after looking at the stats. My ownership of the weapon had been established the moment I picked it up.

It was heavy, and not really for me to carry outside the ship. It would be perfect for fixed positions or withing squads and would also be a great gift for a certain someone. A crusty old goblin that had a penchant for bribes and could likely buy his friendship like Columbus did with his Mossberg. Add maybe a crate of belted ammunition and we can start cooking with gas. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to give me my own permission to trade after a promise of getting more guns, parts, and ammunition to arm his forces.

It would be a good enough consolation for being made as the gopher.

“Should we have them priced and just split according to value?” Anna asked after she finally stopped from her teasing. From the bits I got from the two, Rex had a crush with Ripley, which is Anna’s friend, but was too shy to do anything about it. Something that Anna was eager to bust her best friend’s balls with.

“I know just the man to call to get the guns appraised.” I replied, thinking of a certain grumpy man.

Heading for the armory, the going was slow. Even with the small motor adding motive force, getting all the loot was still a workout. My stomach hurt, a reminder from the pellets still stuck inside me. Still, it wasn’t anything more than a nuisance at the moment, which is why I ignored it to be dealt with later.

We arrived and entered the armory with a crowd of players all lined up. All heads turned our way as the shrill whirring of the electric motor caught their attention. Their eyes then landed on the pile of loot, and someone blew a low whistle.

Looking at Stoner, he looked up to meet my gaze. Giving a small nod, he jerked his head towards the door leading further into the store. I nodded back and led our group to the door and was buzzed in.

We waited. Rex and Anna were almost about to break their necks from looking around inside. With nothing else to do, I led the hand truck to one of the empty tables and started laying out the haul. The table lined with half a dozen SKS rifles, two Mosin rifles, a dozen 12 gauge shotguns ranging from pump action to double barrel, along with a strange 20 gauge bolt action shotgun with an under folding stock.

The table creaked and threatened to break from all the weight put on to it when Stoner stepped to the back, having finished dealing with his customers.

“Nice haul. I’m guessing you cleaned up some trash outside?” He said.

“Something like that.” I replied.

Stoner grunted. Walking over to the tables, he picked up a SKS. Turned it over in his hand and racked it, checking the chamber with his pinky, which came with fine soot. He grunted, laying it back and moving to the shotguns until he sampled all the weapons. “I can give you a thousand each for the rifles and twelve hundred for the shotguns, two for the Mosin and five hundred for this little toy. ”

Not knowing if the price was good, I kept my mouth shut while Rex and Anna exchanged glances. “That’s a bit too low, isn’t it?” She asked. “We can sell them directly to players for a lot more than that.”

“Look, I know you’re being considerate on showing me all these to sell them to me first, but I’m not running a junk shop. If I buy these to sell them for later, then they’ll all just end up taking space and collecting dust. I could, of course, send them to the remote villages, but that will take a lot of my time. I will buy your ammo you’ll sell around resale value all because of Hartdegen here.”

Looking at the guns on the table, I could say that I could sympathize with Stoner. The SKS rifles, although firing the same caliber as the AK, are far inferior compared to it. Sure, the AK costs more and theoretically less accurate compared to the SKS, but the automatic fire mode and cheap detachable 30 round magazines far outweighs any disadvantage the SKS had over it.

As for the shotguns, they would sell within seconds if I happen to get it to the goblin settlement, but the price they might go for risks me taking an overall loss. A market research had to be done first before I move from selling parts I could take from broken rifles laying in Stoner’s shop.

“I think its fine with me. Just take my cut off my hands.” I replied, arguing over pennies won’t be worth it in the end if it ensures even more business. Which reminds him. “Also, I you and I need to talk after this. I need to get myself patched up.” I said, which Stoner nodded.

“I guess I should dump them too.” Rex added.

Anna sighed. “So do I then.”

After counting the ammo and other junk, subtracting the expenses on the overall pool, we all came with a cool 30k each. We all bid Stoner a goodbye and split up. I went my way to find the medical bay while they tried to find their previous teammate.

After a quick payment to the doctor there, I went under the auto doc for to get the pellets out. The auto doc looked more like a torture device, looking like a dead spider hung on the ceiling. It had eight arms curled into its main body, with each appendage tipped with medical implements.

After a shot of painkillers and sedatives that should knock me out, I laid on the table underneath the contraption and watched as the spider like arms worked about scanning, then opening me up. Pain lanced up my body, causing me to involuntarily sieze up.

The pain was excruciating. Whatever they gave me didn’t work, and I soon blacked out.

Attention!

You have been forcibly logged out.

The pod doors opened as I regained woke up in the real world. My heart was running a mile a minute, and I was fully covered with sweat, panting. That was going too far. Everything else could be chalked up to just me being the odd man out for being unsettled by the gore and ultrarealism that was sometimes shown.

I was thinking about calling the pod manufacturer when my phone rang. It was on the bed sitting next to a pile of dirty clothes I had’’t been able to send to the cleaners due to my time being taken up by the game. All I could do in my free time between sessions is to make sure that I ate, drank, and exercise. After that, I was too tired to do anything else; so the rest was spent on sleep.

The caller was from an unknown number. “Hello?” I answered.

“Hello, I am Lev Juhart, a representative of Silver Manufacturing is this Mr. Marcus Corvo?” The voice asked.

Silver Manufacturing is the maker of the pod and is the subsidiary of Forgelectrics, the company who also owned Burned asylum. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“We’ve been receiving abnormal readings from your pod, sir. We have been notified of multiple occasions of going past the danger threshold. As per our warranty policy, we would like to send a representative to check your machine for any faults.”

“Is it just me? Or are you having this kind of problem with a lot of people?”

“I am not in the liberty to share that information, sir. Sorry.”

Fuck. Of course they won’t. “Alright. When do will expect your technician to come?”

“We can have them at your address within an hour, sir. For medical reasons, we also advise that you do not use the pod until then.”

“Alright. Just get them here.”

“Thank you, sir. We will send you the credentials.”

Sighing, I accepted. It’s not like I had any choice in the matter. I then got to the shower to freshen up and cooked up a quick meal. With 30 minutes to spare, I now had the chance to look up my game account and transfer my in game credits to real Martian money. All the work done in the past few days and I was twelve hundred MRC richer after converting everything Ylenka and Columbus gave me, equivalent to a month and change of living expenses.

With a bit more time to spend before the technicians come in, I opened up the web and started typing up the issues I found while playing the game. The amount of realism put into the game was of a horrible degree. The feeling of the knife grinding against the scav and the way he looked at me was too real. Add the pain I just experienced before getting kicked out, I didn’t want to be traumatized by a game.

The answers I found is that it wasn’t an issue. There wasn’t even any mention of the horrific realism in the game mentioned on the net. Not even in private forums where you have to pay for entry and another payment to read informational posts. Anything related to my issues were old posts, speculative pieces from news websites, and scientific papers discussing another subject entirely.

It just seemed like the issue was only happening to me. Was it the reason the company was checking up on the pod? Is it broken? I hope so, because I don’t want to deal with the implications if it turns out that it wasn’t.

I didn’t have any more time to ponder on that problem as I received a message telling that the technician was already in my Hab. A while later, the doorbell chimed, and I went to the viewing screen to find the technician waiting outside. He wore the usual overalls bearing the Silver Manufacturing logo and was carrying a tool box.

“Hello, sir. I’m the technician sent to check on your pod.” He said, pulling up his ID in front of the camera for me to see. The screen then linked up with the web, searched the company’s employee list and confirmed that he is employed under them. He was listed as a senior technician and his face matched the one shown on the database.

“Go on in.” I said, unlocking the door.

The door swung open, and the technician strode in after sending me a nod. He went straight for the pod and laid out his tools connecting wires into ports and started his diagnostics. I closed the door behind him and watched as he worked. His pad showed all green colors, which didn’t bode well for me at all.

“It’s clean.” The technician said after a few minutes. “Nothing is wrong with it. Software and Hardware is working properly. The neural connection is at the right level.”

“What’s the problem then?” I asked.

“I have no idea, sir. I’m just sent here to make sure that your pod is working properly. I’m going to have to report this up the chain of command and you can deal with them then.” He said, pressing buttons on the pad and I managed to sneak a peek that he had sent the data up to the company. “I also recommend you shouldn’t use the pod at the moment until the issue has been resolved.”

I nodded, but said nothing else as I led him out of my apartment. Another call them came as I sat on my bed and saw that it was the same number as before.

“Hello?”