“Come on girl, don’t go to sleep on me!” Alastair says, his rifle training a swift sweep in front of him.

The dim undergrowth of the jungle’s shadows lent him some measure of safety while he checked the young girl beside him. Although, to call her a girl or any sort of humanoid at this point might have been generous.

Her condition, in his opinion, was what he would call a Stage Four when in need of medical treatment. He had a list of Five Stages when going over whether someone was worth saving depended on how bad the wounds were and if the person in question had the will to go on. Stage One being light bandaging and possible ointment treatments; Stage Five being dead and in need of resuscitation.

Her limbs were bent at unnatural angles with bone fragments jutting out. Multiple pieces of her ribcage stuck out from the vile rag covering her body. Her face had swelled up in size to the point he wondered if she could breathe due to the heavy scarring of the electrical burns covering her face.

She wasn’t moving, and that worried him. Studying her a bit more intently, he is rewarded with a personalized status window.

Status Window

Name:

Siha

Alignment:

Neutral

Level:

10

Class:

Psijic

Race:

Aamar - hybrid

Gender:

Female

Titles:

None

Age: 8

Fame:

100

Infamy:

0

Currency:

0

Health:

13 / 250

Health Regen:

.005 / Sec

Stamina:

0 / 250

Stamina Regen:

.005 / Sec

Psi:

17 / 600

Psi Regen:

1.65 / Sec

Satiety:

5 / 100

State of Injuries:

· Starving

· Exhausted (remains in state until body / mind is healed)

· Broken: Body (85%), Mind (63%)

After ascertaining her condition, he makes a visual sweep with his rifle. Noting the guttural roaring of the vehicles making their way towards him, he affixes the sniper attachment to his rifle.

“-Everything alright there princess? -” Derek’s voice peals out from his comm.

Alastair taps his comm twice, signaling that he was busy, before seeing a twitch of movement from the girl. Her mouth, despite its swollen appearance, tried to form some semblance of words. Leaning down, he asks,

“Do you wish to be free?” To which she promptly, and with supposed great effort judging by the jerky movement, opens a single silver eye, and nods her head slightly.

“Very well.” He says, a steely edge overtaking both mind and body. His eyes clench tight for but a moment before looking deeply into hers. Their eyes lock, and he could feel everything within the forest. A moment passes before he finally looks up, the whites of his eyes filming over into an echo of the voids black embrace.

Unknown Innate Skills identified!

Warning!

Original Physiology has shifted!

Biological changes occurring within Animatus nanite bath!

Changing account difficulty factor from Normal to Hardcore

to adjust to physical and mental temperance.

…

Difficulty is now set at Hardcore (temporary) until biological change is ended.

Alerting Emergency Services.

Supervisor has been notified. Please wait for contact.

His vision swims for a moment as the modes of the game are switched along with his body changing form. Muscle tightened and condensed. Adrenaline rushed. His body, a bound spring ready to snap. The first vehicle charges into view.

It was a hulking thing. Easily reminiscent of the large Humvees of the 21st century, but with an open top and no doors to shelter the black clad armored figures inside. Their weapons, if they could even be called that, pointed towards him. Despite the lengthy distance between them, the truck sped towards him like an overconfident sparring partner. Weirdly, many of the slavers had no concept of head gear.

Switching over to Single Fire with the Heavy Impact Bolt being turned on, he sighted his rifle, and waited. Just as the second truck comes into view, his perception of time slows as he begins a small chant. With it comes the first of many shrieks.

One for sorrow,

The first heavy round streaks through the drivers head, emptying his unprotected brains all over the occupants behind him. The slavers begin to scream and panic as the truck swerves. The action seeming slow within his sight. The second truck edges into view from a different direction followed by the third at almost a crawl within Alastair’s eyes.

Two for joy,

The second shriek peals out from his rifle, ripping the hood off of the second truck and igniting the fuel within the engine. It would be but mere moments before the entirety of the truck explodes from acute pressurized combustion. The third truck, its occupants having a better sense of the situation within their minds start firing at him from fifty meters away.

Three for a girl,

A few rounds hit him full in the chest as the slavers manage to squeeze off a few shots at him. One leaving a hole the size of a golf ball through the side of his left kidney while another trimmed the edge of his ear. No hint of the pain reaches his face as he hadn’t move from his vigil over the girl. Not an easy task given that he was using a power last seen in the Third World War. His third shot shrieks to impact into the tires of the truck. An unlucky circumstance that they were barreling toward him, making it quite easy to take out two tires in one shot as the round ripped through the frame of the truck.

Four for a boy,

Knowing with an eerie certainty that everything would soon be over, the blackness within his eyes dissipates back to normal. The slowness of the time dilation seemed to rush back into focus. The first truck swerving, jackknifes up into a large tree, crushing the occupants inside as it wraps around the trunk. The second truck explodes, barbequing the occupants within their suits. The third truck swerves, its driver struggling to take control of the terrain as the only leverage he had is ripped away from him. Unable to regain control, the truck slams into a tree, forcibly discharging the occupants toward Alastair’s position.

Five for silver,

Removing the attachment, Alastair lines up the rifle once more and trains it on the four squirming slavers as they struggled to regain their feet. He flicks the setting to three-round-burst. Three sets of shrieks burst out into the surroundings.

Six for gold,

The shots finalizing their deaths with a simple three round burst through the cranium as they tried to get up. With no other slavers coming into view and no other signs of wildlife, the forest remains silent. Seemingly afraid at what the man with the dark eyes would do should they draw his ire. Seeing no enemies before him, he leaves the last part of his chant unfinished.

He didn’t bother looking after his wounds as he could feel them closing as his enhanced physiology goes to work restoring itself to pristine condition.

“Test your skills they said, it’ll be fun they said.” He mutters before taking out the expended magazine and slaps in a fresh one. Noting the myriad of blinking pop ups in the corner of his eyesight, he taps the most recent one.

A whisper from Elena Indie has been initiated

Elena asks before forcibly booting him back to the white room that he had met her before. Her avatar phases into being with panic etched across her face. Like a deer noticing the hunter as they prepare to strike.

“That was—” he starts.

“That level of aggression was not in your file! Why was I not notified?!” she shrieks. It was the kind of tone one used when they are nearing the end of their rope.

He watched her pull up several screens worth of information and flick through them quickly. He hadn’t known that they had kept a file of him.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…” she mutters, not finding what she wants.

“Can I—”

“¡Cierra la puta boca por un segundo!” Elena yells, turning to give him an indescribable glare. His expression freezes as male preservation instincts take over. Closing his mouth, he waits patiently for the tigress to settle down.

She flips through some more screens before sighing and giving him a hard look. It takes her a several minutes’ worth to slow her rate back down to normal.

“Looking through your files, I found nothing that shows me evidence of what I need explained. I’m going to ask you a question and I hope you can answer it to allay some of my fears. Is that alright?” She asks, her once stern glare turning tinging with trace amounts of fear as her façade seems to break.

He continues watching her as suspicion grew within him. Remembering back to when he had made his last Oath, he decides to answer what he can. He nods.

Not wasting any time, she asks,

“Are you or are you not a member of the Warsworn?” flashes of different emotions cross her face as she asks.

He nods his head yet again in confirmation.

“Agent Designation?” she asks, fear and a bit of trepidation growing in her gut.

Alastair pauses, unsure of whether he wanted to be chained and collared like before. The feeling stayed there, wrenching his memories back to the time of the Third World War. He played out his options in his head before curtly answering,

“The Last.”

Elena picked up on the hint of sadness edging its way into his voice. Not knowing the meaning of this, she blinks out of the white room.

The minutes’ pass in silence as Alastair thinks back to the times of the War. Remembering his crimes, his kills, and his joy, he stands there, trying to wonder where it all went wrong, but couldn’t find a simple enough reason. It didn’t take long before a different avatar blinks into existence.

It was an unfamiliar face. An old man with a cane had come into the space. He was tall, but exceedingly lank in his old age, with a hunched back, and narrow shoulders. Long arms and legs, and hands that seemed to sit well within the confines of an immaculate suit, like a man well set into a reclining chair. His head was small, despite the white hair sneaking out from underneath his cap, with cauliflower ears and beady blue eyes hiding behind a pair of overly large spectacles. He also had a crooked nose, one that looked like it had been broken so many times that it was a wonder if it ever set straight.

And yet despite this, he looked to be a man who was happy with his life. That was, however, until the crestfallen look creases his face.

“Ah… Mister Thawn.” The old man said, his deep London accent cutting into the atmosphere like two boulders grating against each other. “I have to confess when I heard we had a member of the Warsworn testing our game I had hoped it was your Master up to her usual shenanigans. I hope you’ll forgive my… sleight disappointment.”

A short spark of anger ignites within Alastair before being quickly snuffed out. He didn’t wish to let his emotions get the better of him in this particular moment. He had an inkling as to who was in front of him, but couldn’t be positive without confirmation.

“No need, I am used to disappointment.” He replies, a hint of venom edging in at the last moment. Whether the old man took the hint, he couldn’t tell.

“Apologies. My manners aren’t what they used to be.” The old man states, taking the cap from his head and giving an exaggerated bow in front of him. “Gideon Barbas, Founder and CEO of Corellec Incorporated.”

Damnit, a big shot. Alastair thinks as his growing suspicions were confirmed. He had known the name but had thought that the voice would be different. Most Game CEOs generally have an audio cleaner installed to get rid of accents whenever they make public appearances, and as such he had thought that Mr. Barbas would have at least integrated it into the game.

“Well, Mr. Barbas, what can I do for you?” He asks, trepidation beginning to grow as he knew men like Barbas had a penchant for always getting what they want regardless of who stands in the way.

“Nothing for now. Although now that I know what you are, I’m going to have to order a change be placed on your account.” Barbas says, his eyes studying Alastair’s face for any flicker of movement. Frustration and anger began growing within Alastair’s chest.

“And why would you wish to do that.” He asks. “I’m currently retired from active duty as a Warsworn so any—”

“My reason is that someone of your capabilities requires a better challenge as well as a more… in depth study for our AI to get a firmer grasp for what to expect from other Remnants. In my experience, you Warsworn don’t die easily… or die well for that matter.” Barbas interrupts. “Don’t worry, you will be paid generously for your secrets and services.”

“… Sorry but I reuse your ‘offer’.”

Barbas pauses, as if not expecting his offer to be refused.

“You don’t know much about corporate espionage, do you? If your file gets leaked, you would become the most sought after lab rat from hundreds of other companies.” His tone toeing the line between being persuasive and coercive.

“Oh, I think I can handle a couple of dressed up goons.” Alastair smirks. “Besides, I’m pretty much set on the money front. I don’t need more.”

“… Fine. There are only a few ways that I can protect you from that and none of them are pleasant. If it weren’t for the fact that you are a walking liability, I would—” Barbas states, his eyes blinking slowly before a certain realization dawns on him.

Alastair, his eyes closed and his mouth silent, contemplates what the old man was saying.

“Now that I think about it, that isn’t such a bad idea.” Barbas continues and opens a screen in front of him. His fingers dance upon the screen, as they write up a contract of employment. A few minutes’ pass as he continues to bring up additional screens, each one with a different purpose.

“Who is your current employer?” Barbas asks, his hands flicking through screens before dumping them into a single location. His eyes never seemed to leave the multitude of screens rolling through his eyesight.

“… Stern Contracting Co. … why do you—”

“Quiet.” Barbas barks. “You are being so bloody stubborn… Ah there we are!” He states with a quiet chuckle as he exits one screen and flows to the next.

“What did you do?” Alastair asks, trepidation growing like a heavy knot in his gut.

“I bought all of the shares in your company. So technically,” Barbas says, a cheeky grin growing on his face as he swipes a confirmation screen over to Alastair, “you work for me now.”