Boot Up 1.5

“Try this one,” Wyatt said as he handed me a sword hilt-first.

We were in one of the school’s armouries. Yes, that was a plural, as in there was more than one. A few minutes ago, Wyatt had requisitioned some clothes for me from a tried looking student in a small building near the dormitories, then he’d led me here, to what was perhaps the least guarded armoury ever.

Racks of pole arms, swords, shields and other sharp, pointed or blunt things lined the walls each tied in place by a steel cable with a little tag on it. Wyatt had to touch the tags with his phone to undo the cables holding the weapons. It was actually pretty clever, though someone sufficiently determined and armed with a crowbar could probably take whatever they wanted.

“And what’s this thing?” I said as I picked the sword up. It was short, with a straight blade that was maybe two feet long and sharpened only on one side. The handle was just long enough that I could fit both hands on it, but it was obviously too short to be used that way.

“That is a backsword, a slash and stab sword made popular during the 16th and 17th century as a sidearm. Honestly, I’d rather give you something easy to use, like a spear, but the test will probably take place in tighter quarters.”

“Right, right,” I said while hefting the sword. I would have preferred something a little more knight-y. Actually, what I would have prefered was not having to participate in any test where I would need a sword to defend myself. Or maybe a gun. A big gun.

“Check to see if its enhancements work for you,” he said, nodding to the weapon in my hand. I blinked down at it, then at him. It must have been enough because he sighed. “Just focus on the sword really hard.”

I stared at it, then stared harder, my brows bunching up.

Novice’s Steel Backsword: Aid the user’s ability to wield this arm with speed and efficiency.

“Uh, it’s that pseudo-Shakespeare again,” I said. “Something about speed and efficiency?”

He nodded. “It is a backsword made by one of the smiths that studies here. They tend to make a lot of novice level chaff. It is why the school does not mind lending them out for free as long as you register the weapon out in your name, or in your case as a guest.” He waved his phone at me.

So, a Awakened-made weapon. I didn’t know how much a normal sword would cost; it wasn’t exactly the kind of information that was pertinent to my everyday life, but I was willing to bet that this thing cost ten times as much.

“You said backsword, right, not blacksword? Because that would be so racist.”

“I... you know what, no comment,” he said. “Honestly, I do not know why I’m helping you. In all likelihood you will just go off and die.”

“You say the sweetest things. After being my friend for all this time, is that all the faith you’ve got in me?”

“I’ve known you for less than four hours and they were some of the most frustrating in my life,” he said, watching as I swung the sword around, then gave a few experimental jabs. “I should probably give you a shield, a really big one.”

“To block enemy attacks?” I asked.

“No, so that people have an inch of steel between their line of sight and your face.”

I paused mid-swing and almost lost my balance as I turned to him. “Wyatt, was that a joke? My god, you’re actually human! And here I thought you were a cyborg with a titanium rod up your ass. Turns out you’re just a brat with a titanium rod up your ass.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then walked deeper into the armoury, towards a wall of shields. “You’re such an idiot,” he muttered. “You have a weapon, though whether or not you will stab yourself with it is questionable, now onto the shield. Any preferences here?” He asked.

“Uh, no?” I said as I scanned up and down the cement wall covered in bits of shaped wood, leather and steel. I was so, so far out of my depth. “So, what can I expect from this test? Other than to die a horrible death?”

“I cannot tell you that, at least not the details. Suffice to say that it is an expedition that involves some degree of combat, though if you are wise you might avoid most of the dangerous activities. Surviving is only a small part of the grade, the rest relies on how well you communicate with other students and how you tackle the given objectives. I think a kiteshield would be a little too large. Try this,” he said as he reached up and unhooked a metal disk that was maybe a foot across and handed it to me.

I weighted next to nothing in my hand and I thought it might have been made of plastic or something until I really felt the metal with my thumb. There were straps on the back, probably meant to grab onto my arm. I instantly tried to focus really hard on it.

Novice’s Steel Buckler: Weight little to the user until the blow must be made or deflected.

“Weight little to the user until the blow is made? So it’s light until I try to hit someone with it or it gets hit?” I asked.

“Pretty much,” he confirmed. “It’s a fairly popular enhancement to make on a shield, especially if you need to carry it around. I’m assuming you know how to calculate force and how important mass is to that equation?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Let me guess, this thing actually weighs a ton or something?” I flipped the little buckler up and caught it again by its rim. It was about an inch thick, and looked to be made entirely of steel yet weighed as much as something made of hollow plastic.

“Not that much, but I have seen smiths place lead weights inside those before.”

“Coolio,” I said as I tried it on. “So, is there a changing room around here? Or should I go off and fight like this?” I pointed at my t-shirt with a thumb. “You know, that might not be the worst idea. It’ll bedazzle and confuse the enemy into thinking I’m not someone worth fighting.”

Wyatt shook his head, but I didn’t miss the hint of a smile touching his lips. Damn, I’d have to be careful of I might actually make the little gizzard like me. “Come on,” he said as he began walking out of the room. He had grabbed something while I wasn’t paying attention, a belt with a sheath on it that he tucked under his arm.

I grabbed the pile of clothes he’d found for me on the way out then jogged to catch up to him.

The inside of the Academy was something of a maze. It probably helped that the place looked like someone had vomited interior decoration crap all over. Every corridor could have been filled with people in tuxes and dresses and nothing would have looked out of the ordinary.

I followed Wyatt until he stopped before a simple wooden door and crooked his thumb at it. “Bathroom,” he explained.

I looked at the unmarked door then back at him. “Does this place not have, you know, signs? Or wheelchair accessibility? You know, handicap accessibility is one of my triggers.”

“We have people here who can literally regrow most of your limbs in a few hours,” he said. “And yet even they would not be able to fix your sense of humour.”

I snorted as I walked into the bathroom. “Damn. Did you read a book on how to be so witty? Or is it one of your Info-Broker Skills?”

“I’ll be out here,” he said before turning to lean against a wall with his phone in hand.

Shutting the door I dropped my backpack, then the sword and buckler to the tiled floor. The pile of clothes I tossed next to the sink. Leaning against the counter I pressed my forehead against the mirror and took a deep breath.

I refused, categorically, to be an angsty little shit. I wasn’t going to whine and complain about how life sucked. It didn’t mean that I had to like what was going on. For all that Wyatt was pretty cool for a nerd, it was also clear that he didn’t have high hopes for me passing whatever the test was. And what would happen if I failed? I doubted that there was a real risk of dying, as he’d said, they had healer classes so there was no reason for that, also, this was North America, any school with an actual casualty rate would be closed down by a mob of angry soccer moms before the day was out. But what if I failed? Hell, it was likely that I would fail.

I pushed back upright and started undressing. So, if I failed this mess of a test, then what? That Clark bitch probably expected it of me, and fool that I was I hadn’t run when I had the chance. Now I was on her side of the court, in her place of power. If she decided to fuck with me there was little I could do.

But then, why? I started to slip on the pants I’d been given only to see that they were too big. Deciding that I could fuck with Wyatt a bit if I walked out with drooping pants, I yanked them up anyway, only for them to suddenly shrink to size.

I froze, feeling the pants constrict a little around my legs before loosening until they fit just right. “Okay, that was weird,” I muttered. Focusing a little on the pants I did the same mental exercise I’d done on the sword and shield.

Academy Combat Uniform: Fits upon the bearer.

Simple enough. I began to put the button-up shirt on next only for it to do the same thing. Clothes that always fit? Damn, add self-cleaning to that and maybe something to make sure it was always in style and it’d be worth its weight in gold.

So, back to thinking; why would she mess with me? What was I, a level one Paladin, worth to someone like Professor Clark? There were a lot of things I didn’t know and that was dangerous as hell.

So, the plan was fairly simple then, survive the test, learn what shit was going down, screw with it until people learned to just leave me alone.

I pulled my jacket on and then stared at myself in the mirror.

The Academy combat uniform was alright. Pants with thicker fabric over the knees and a shirt with padding over the elbows. It all felt tough, like clothes made for blue-collar workers. It Looked pretty snazzy too, with crisp, almost military lines, and a nice burgundy-brown colour.

I tossed my jacked on and pulled at it until the fit was just right. Hell, it even matched the uniform fairly well. I wouldn’t need to find another jacket for a bit.

Someone knocked at the door and it opened a crack. “I forgot to give you this,” Wyatt said as he dropped the belt and sheath he’d grabbed earlier.

I picked it up and with a shrug slipped the belt on with only minimal swearing. There was a little combat knife and sheath built into the left side of the belt opposite where my new cheap sword would sit. It wasn’t enchanted or anything, but it was still a good six inches of sharp and pointy metal.

“Alright,” I said as I slipped out of the room, my pj’s tucked under my arm. “Let’s go murder some stuff.”

Wyatt made a noncommittal grunt. “Actually, I have more important things to do,” he said, waving his phone as if that explained anything. “The transports for the test leave in half an hour. Just go down that corridor and take the first exit. You know what a truck looks like?” he asked. I shot him a dirty look. “Then you will not need my assistance. Good luck, if you survive maybe... maybe we can avoid each other forever.”

“Love you too, bro,” I said as I gave him a slap on the back. “I’ll see you around.”

Still with my dirty PJs tucked under my arm, I followed Wyatt’s directions, looking around me all along. I didn’t have the faintest clue what the budget for this place was, but ‘lots’ was probably a safe bet.

I had just turned around a corner and spotted a line of vans parked outside through an open doorway then a hand touched my shoulder. “Mr Reid.”

I winced because that was a voice I recognized. “Miss Clark.”

She had snuck up on me. Well, her and what looked like two bodyguards in black suits with mirror-shades on. Surprisingly, neither were Awakened. Not so surprisingly, I could see bulges in the folds of their jackets. “I haven’t been a Miss in a long time,” the Archwizard said.

“And I never cared, so I have precedent.”

One of her eyebrows arched and she looked me up and down. “Our uniform suits you. You’re lucky that we allow a certain amount of... leeway when it comes to the dress code.”

“You mean my jacket? Yeah, I’d’ve worn it anyway.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I expect great things out of you, Mr Reid.”

“Do you?” I asked. “And what, exactly, lead you to thinking that? I don’t recall doing anything that would get you to pin any ‘great things’ on me. So, Miss Clark, what the hell do you expect from me, because from where I’m standing there’s something really screwy going on.”

“Perhaps I’ll tell you later today, once you’ve passed your test. Either way, good luck, Mr Reid.” She started to walk away but I reached out and touched her shoulder. She looked at my hand with the sort of expression you’d see on someone’s face if you dropped a dirty tampon on their dinner plate. “Mr Reid, things are not nearly as simple as they seem, but some things are not complicated. I would rather you not touch me so casually.”

I snapped my hand back as though it was burned. “Right, well I guess I’ll be seeing you later, prof. Oh, and here, hold this,” I said as I pushed my dirty pyjamas into her arms. With a quick step I walked around her and jogged out of the building before she had time to react.

The courtyard next to the school was, in all probability, where shipments of food and whatnot were brought it. It wasn’t decorated or manicured like the rest of the main building and instead looked like something that would fit into your average industrial park.

Seven vans were parked in single file, each one a dull grey with the NAAA’s sword and shield logo painted on the sides above a serial code. Beyond them were a few armoured SUVs with gun turrets pointed to the sky. I would have gawked at the vehicles a bit more but I was distracted by all the men and women in fatigues running around.

These weren’t the forest-camo of the army, but rather the grey-on-grey of NAAA troopers. Groups of them were milling around the vans, apparently setting things up. One of them stood out as he stood with two secretary-looking bastards around him. He was a brick wall of a man with a sharp jacket with some rank insignia on the shoulders. He was talking to someone but turned and caught my eye for a moment. With a gesture of his head he sent one of his lackeys my way.

The young man, who couldn’t have been more than a year or two my senior, jogged over to me, a tablet computer clutched against his chest. “Hello, are you one of the participants for the test?” he asked.

“Yup, that’s me,” I said.

“Great,” he replied before doing something on his tablet. “Name and Class?”

There was a long pause until he finally looked away from his screen to see me giving him a deadpan look and pointing up.

He had the curtsy to blush as he looked at the words floating above my head. “Oh, right. Richard Reid, Paladin Uh, you're in van four, sir.”

“Sir?”

Be blinked at me owlishly. “Uhm, trainee Awakened are assigned the NATO rank of specialist upon entering an academy.”

“Oh shit, that means I can give orders to people?” I said. Something about my grin must have warned the man because there was a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

“Not quite? It’s only in situations such as in an Insanity zone or during a crisis, or if contact is lost with the high-ups, but specialist isn’t an NCO rank. It’s mostly for show. And not all private or corporate militias will care.”

“Well, that sucks all sorts of balls. So, you said van four? Which one’s that?”

He looked at me, then at the van which had, I now noticed, large cardboard signs sitting next to them with the numbers 1-7 on them. “It’s the fourth one, sir,” he said.

I nodded at him, straightened the awkward weight of the sword around my hip, then made my way over to the van only to stop. “Hey, how much time until we, uh, take off?”

With a glance at his watch the soldier answered. “Vans leave in twenty-five minutes, sir.”

That was a killjoy. I didn’t mind being a bit early, but that was a bit much. For a few seconds I contemplated sneaking off to explore, or maybe just getting aboard the wrong van on purpose, but I decided against it.

The backdoor of the van was already opened, allowing me to peek inside before I climbed in. There were two rows of benches, one against either side of the van leading up to a wall that sat behind the cabin, blocking off any sight of the driver.

Other than the uncomfortable seats there was only one thing of note; a young woman, maybe my age, sitting at the far end of the seat with her head ducked low so that her long red hair hid her face. She was wearing the same uniform as me only her chest was covered in armoured plating, there were steel greaves over her shins and she had pauldrons over each shoulder.

While I watched, she was toying with what looked like a bracelet, her sleeve pushed up so that she could play with it.

Abigail Campbell

Fighter

The moment I stepped foot into the van she jumped in her seat and pulled her sleeve down to cover her hand. She stared, a pair of wide, green eyes that took me in the same way a startled cat might look at you if you poked it awake.

I nodded to her as I made my way into the bus and picked a seat on the row across from hers but closer to the door. “Good morning!” I said.

She mumbled something that might have been a reply and stared at the floor of the van as if she could decipher life’s secrets from the scratches in the paint.

Sitting down with a sword on was something of a pain, but I figured it out within losing my pants, which was nice. That left me with nothing to do but stare out the door to the front of the van behind or to the girl in the cabin with me. One was much cuter than the other. “So, I’ll be straight with you, I haven’t met that many Awakened. Now, usually when I meet someone new, I do the whole ‘what’s your name? Mine’s Richard, please call me Richard’ thing. Your name is kinda right there, all floaty and shit, so that’s like, ninety percent of my lines gone.”

She looked at me, then back down. “My name’s Abigail,” she said, or whispered really.

“Why hello Abigail, my name’s Richard. My enemies call me Mr Reid and my hobbies include talking until people dislike me and then talking my way out of trouble. So, what’s a girl like you doing in a van like this?” I leaned back so that I could lean my feet against the row across from mine. “Don’t tell me they offered you candy?”

There was a ghost of a smile that crossed her lips before she looked away. “I’m just here to fight, Mr Richard,” she said.

“Oh, the mister title already? Damn girl, you don’t let a guy down easy do you?

Her smile stayed but she still didn’t make eye contact. Instead, the silence grew and festered until Abigail bent forwards and pulled a sack out from under her bench. After placing it on her lap and opening it, she started pulling out some gear from within. At first it was just a pair of wicked looking daggers, but then she pulled out a handgun and a few clips (magazines?) and placed them next to her.

“Whoa there. I know I’m not the best conversationalist, but there’s no need to shoot me, yet.”

She looked at me then at the handgun in her hand. “Oh, uh, it’s for the test,” she explained before slipping the gun into a holster on her thigh. “There’s no limit to what kind of weapon you bring.” Abigail glanced up and to my sword. “But, uh, some people prefer to stick to a theme, I guess.”

“Right, right,” I muttered. Suddenly, the sword didn’t feel so cool. Or useful. What the hell kind of test was this? And why wasn’t I given a gun?

Abigail continued to inspect her gear, placing her knives in a pair of sheaths on her lower back, and a second handgun on her other thigh before she pulled out a bandoleer of magazines and wrapped it around her chest after inspecting each one.

I was just building up the momentum to make another comment when the door opened up and a brown and pink blur raced into the van. “Abi!” it screamed.

Abigail and I both jumped, but she had it worse as a freckle-faced girl with short brown hair pinned her in a hug. “Oh, Abi, we’re in the same van! This is destiny, this is faith! We were meant to be together like the bestest of best friends.”

Empathy isn’t my forte, but while I sat there and stared at the creature rubbing herself on the Abigail girl and watched as she looked my way with horror in her eye, there was a small tinge in my heart. It didn’t help that she was mouthing ‘save me’ whenever our eyes met.

“Hey, new girl, no hugs for me?” I asked.

The girl gasped and spun around, finally giving me time to take her in.

Miribel Greene

Neuromancer

Her age was hard to pin. She looked like she might have been in her early twenties, but there was so much mischief and... just plain happiness in every twitchy action she took that it probably threw off any estimate I made of her age. She had the same uniform as me, but with a short-sleeved bubblegum pink jacket that complimented her olive skin and thick armoured pant-things that covered her thighs all the way down to her feet.

“Hi! I’m Miribel, but call me Miri.” She grabbed Abigail closer with a sideways hug. The red-headed fighter whimpered. “This is my newest BFF Abi, and this,” she reached over her back pulled at a stock that was sticking over one shoulder. “This is Sasha.” She presented her gun with all the flair and pride of a new mother gushing over her baby.

To be fair, it was an impressive weapon, very boxy and... very neon pink.

“Uh, hey Miri. I’m Richard. I’ve already met Abigail, so I suppose... Sasha’s the only one I have to introduce myself to now?”

She giggled. “Don’t be silly. Sasha only speaks in buckshot,” Miribel said while petting her stocky rifle.

“Um, isn’t buckshot for shotguns?”

Miribel nodded seriously. “Sasha is an Atchisson Assault Shotgun, or an AA12. She can fire 300 rounds of 12-gauge ammo a minute, but only has eight rounds in her--” Miribel paused, a look of horror crossing her face. “I forgot my ammo bag!” she screamed before rushing out of the van.

Abigail and I locked eyes and I was the first to break the silence. “So, she’s your BFF?”

“Please don’t,” she whispered.

“Do you two like, paint each others nails? Compare guns? Have little threesomes?”

She was blushing a little, but still managed to look confused. “Th-threesomes?”

“Well, you can’t make sweet sweet love to your BFF Miri without inviting Sasha along. Do you play ‘hide the barrel’ together?”

Abigail buried her face in her hands. “No,” she whined.

The poor fighter was saved from any additional verbal sparring when the van’s door opened up and two blond-haired tweens hoped in.

The first was a wide-shouldered boy, his uniform shirt left unbuttoned under a thick cuirass to reveal the tank-top he wore underneath. He was just tall enough that finding a seat in the van was a little awkward for him, though it probably wasn’t helped by the longsword and kiteshield he brought with him, or the surprising amount of plate armour he had strapped to his arms and legs. As he sat down across from me he reached up and adjusted his cowboy hat and gave me a friendly nod.

William Young

Knight

So, a class that was somewhat similar to my own. I was genuinely curious to see what I could learn from the blonde-haired boy.

After him came a girl that might have been his twin sister. She had a healthy parlour and grinned at me and Abigail as she found a seat across from the knight and right next to me. She tossed her hair back, revealing a long streak of bright green that ran along one bang.

Harper Young

Bandit

“It seems as though we will be sharing a ride for a bit,” the Knight, William said with an accent I couldn’t quite place. “Have you two introduced yourselves yet?”

I shot him a cocksure grin. “They left me in here alone with the poor girl, what else was I supposed to do? Though I’ve got to admit I had some interesting ideas on how to pass the time, you’re free to join in.”

Abigail sputtered in her corner, but other than go a little red in the cheeks she didn’t do much. The Bandit, Harper, leaned over to pat her on the knee.

William just grinned back at me. “Well, I’ll start us off then. I’m William, and the Bandit there’s my sweet little sister Harper.”

“Stop calling me little. I’m the older one,” Harper shot back. I noticed that she didn’t seem to be armed, but the loose hoodie she wore cold have hidden just about anything smaller than Sasha. “And I can introduce myself, you ass.”

“Wait a second,” I said. “That accent, the hat. You’re from Calgary?” When I got two nods I continued. “Gods, that’s like, Canada’s Texas only with better healthcare and more inbreeding.”

William shot me a look as though he couldn’t decide if what I’d said was funny or not, meanwhile his sister snorted in laughter. “Aww shucks,” Harper started with a much, much thicker accent. “Them’s here cityboy found out that we is from the farm brother. What ought we to do ‘bout it?”

“Oh god, you set her up.” William pointed at my chest. “If she spouts off redneck slurs the entire drive I’m blaming you,” he said, though he managed to make his voice light enough that it was clearly a joke.

“I can probably think of a way or two to keep her quiet,” I said. “So, I’m Richard, as you may have guessed, and the redhead in the corner that needs no introduction but will get one anyway is Abigail, or just Abi sometimes, I guess.”

“Either works” Abigail whispered.

The van’s door swung open, revealing an out of breath Miribel with her hair all askew and a bag clutched to her chest. “I’m back! Oh my gosh, new people!” With an ecstatic squee, Miribel hopped into the now-cramped van, her precious Sasha swaying around her hip to bang against every seat as she stomped her way to the far end to sit next to Abigail. “Oh, this is so exciting! I’m Miribel, this is Sasha, did you all greet each other already?”

“Damn girl, calm down, we’ve got all day,” Harvey said. “I’m Harvey, the idiot in the hat is my little brother Will.”

“Pleased to meetcha!” Miribel said as she took Harvey’s hand in her own and shook it. “I like your hair, very shiny. And oh gosh, you’re a Bandit!”

I saw Harvey wince from the corner of my eye. For all that most Awakened were respected or even adored in some places, the more roguish classes had a reputation that was harder to live with. Who wanted to trust someone that literally had Thief written over their heads? It didn’t help that some had gone on to become actual thieves and whatnot.

“That is so cool!” Miribel said. “You’re like, like a land pirate. Do you have an eyepatch?”

And then Miribel shot my fears in the knees. Across from me William had to press a hand over his mouth to suppress a snort at his sister’s confused look.

Harvey replied, saying something about how she liked Maribel's hair too, and her pink gun. William and I shared a look a minute later when the two girls delved into a babbling discussion about hair, guns, knives and other girly things. Even Abigail joined in when pressed, both girls cooing over her red hair.

I sat back to wait, hoping that the can would take off soon.

The door opened, and in came a face I recognized.

Eleanor Clark

Chronomancer

Ah, shit.