I almost didn’t show up. In fact, I was still in bed, wide awake and grinning like maniac up till fifteen minutes before the game began. August was watching the time, though, and I just ended up being a few minutes late, which just made things worse with my little band of buddies.
“You’re late.” Tacks said.
“But I’m here, which is more than I bargained on.” I tugged at my armpit.
“I thought there could be nothing worse than playing shorthanded out here, but I get the feeling you’re gonna prove me wrong.” Tacks stepped into the airlock.
I paused on the threshold. “Shouldn’t you brief me in or something?”
“I should. I would’ve, if you’d shown up on time. If we aren’t out there in thirty seconds it’s a forfeit.”
DeadBeat shoved me into the elevator as he climbed in. Argo hopped in and pressed the appropriate button. The ride down was brief and intensely awkward. I yanked at my suit, aware it was accenting all my worst features.
They were all clustered around a screen on the wall, having an intense conversation that in no way included me. That’s okay. I could form my own little group. Me and my metal limbs. Team cyborg.
The door revolved. The playing field stretched out before us. “Good luck.” Tacks shot out of the opening. The other two followed. I got the feeling they didn’t expect me to follow. There was no way I was going to keep up anyways. I watched them disappear around a corner, and then finally realized that this was no longer training field #7.
My eyes widened. It was glorious. They didn’t need immersion gear. This was the real deal.
I stepped out of the gate and into an Eastern metropolis. Symbols were grafted onto the buildings, and the city was lit by hundreds of neon signs and pink street-lamps. People bustled all around me, pixelly pre-programmed people that had more of a social life than I did, obviously.
They also had jobs. I watched one fry a batch of fish on an exposed grill for a restaurant. The details. The coding. It was insane.
It was such a waste that they had turned this into a high school sporting event.
I spent the next fifteen minutes wandering around the game, getting ran over by very-material people and ogling at the exotic sights. I remembered way too late that this was a spectator sport, and walked into a building to escape the eyes of my tormentors. They weren’t privy to my personal awe of this place.
I ended up sitting on a couch, watching anime. There was literally a movie on. It wasn’t looped or anything, the whole film appeared to be playing out. I was actually getting really engrossed, when all of a sudden I wasn’t alone.
I stood up, and realized there was a give and take to a painless execution. My leg wasn’t responding. I shook it. Still good at the knee. The foot, though? Unresponsive. I tried to run internal diagnostics. The ping came back empty, stating my right foot to be “offline.” Like bricks it was. What did my stupid internal computer think my foot was? A Bluetooth speaker? Oh well.
I sat down and prepared to finish the movie.
Argo showed up at my elbow a good twenty minutes later. There was a boss battle on, and I ignored her for the most part.
“Well, that was a brilliant start.” She said. “First game. What’d you think of it?”
“Marvelous.” I said. “I played like a champ.”
“You’re a brickin’ disgrace to the sport.” She took off her helmet, and threw it at me. I ducked, thankfully. I’d had enough broken hardware for one day. “People are laughing! They are laughing at squad #81! We go out there, fight to the death, and you…what?”
“Quiet, it’s a good part.” I said, motioning to the screen. Actually, it wasn’t, but I wanted her to shut up.
She hit me this time. Right in the chest. I felt that. I winced. “Hey, cut it out.”
“We’ve never been laughed at.” She looked down at me as I sat there in a purple recliner. “You’re wrecking our reputation.”
I thought she was being a bit harsh. Turns out, though, she wasn’t. Cause next in the door was Tacks. And she chewed me out royally. And she kicked me around. And then she had DeadBeat kick me around.
They all tromped out together, me trailing behind, dragging a bum foot. Turns out the game officials were waiting on me to vacant the arena before starting the next round. Hilarious. They had to send in my squad to drag me out.
I neatly folded up my gear and stashed it in my compartment. I glanced over at DeadBeat. “How’d it go for you guys?”
“Bad.” He rumbled in a voice so low that I felt like I should stoop to hear better. “Team ain’t been the same since King left.”
“Who?”
“The guy whose shoes you’re miserably failing to fill.” And he walked out before I could get an actual answer. What a cad.
I would have wanted to hit him more than once....I guess the others got to him though and we don't want him out of broken. Eey King almost makes an appearance!
I've never tried to. I guess if I wrote really depressing stuff it might do the job.
You ever had one of those moments when you have a typo and you just sit there and stare at the screen and you don't know what to say because there is literally no excuse for it it's just there looking at you like, "Can't touch me fuzz"?
But I sure wanted to be one of them. I read a lot of people's stories, so I think they felt obligated to include me.
Oh did you? Oh.... XP
Yeah, that was the dream. I welcomed all the new users over on the JW board. I mean, I was like one of three readers on some of those stories. If you're going to put in users, might as well stick in somebody who's there to appreciate it.
I stood up, and realized there was a give and take to a painless execution. My leg wasn’t responding. I shook it. Still good at the knee. The foot, though? Unresponsive. I tried to run internal diagnostics. The ping came back empty, stating my right foot to be “offline.” Like bricks it was. What did my stupid internal computer think my foot was? A Bluetooth speaker? Oh well.
I sat down and prepared to finish the movie.
Argo showed up at my elbow a good twenty minutes later. There was a boss battle on, and I ignored her for the most part.
“Well, that was a brilliant start.” She said. “First game. What’d you think of it?”
“Marvelous.” I said. “I played like a champ.”
“You’re a brickin’ disgrace to the sport.” She took off her helmet, and threw it at me. I ducked, thankfully. I’d had enough broken hardware for one day. “People are laughing! They are laughing at squad #81! We go out there, fight to the death, and you…what?”
“Quiet, it’s a good part.” I said, motioning to the screen. Actually, it wasn’t, but I wanted her to shut up.
She hit me this time. Right in the chest. I felt that. I winced. “Hey, cut it out.”
“We’ve never been laughed at.” She looked down at me as I sat there in a purple recliner. “You’re wrecking our reputation.”
I thought she was being a bit harsh. Turns out, though, she wasn’t. Cause next in the door was Tacks. And she chewed me out royally. And she kicked me around. And then she had DeadBeat kick me around.
They all tromped out together, me trailing behind, dragging a bum foot. Turns out the game officials were waiting on me to vacant the arena before starting the next round. Hilarious. They had to send in my squad to drag me out.
I neatly folded up my gear and stashed it in my compartment. I glanced over at DeadBeat. “How’d it go for you guys?”
“Bad.” He rumbled in a voice so low that I felt like I should stoop to hear better. “Team ain’t been the same since King left.”
“Who?”
“The guy whose shoes you’re miserably failing to fill.” And he walked out before I could get an actual answer. What a cad.
I would have wanted to hit him more than once....I guess the others got to him though and we don't want him out of broken. Eey King almost makes an appearance!
Not so fond of Nate now, are we? Yeah, more on him later.
-last edited on Mar 21, 2019 3:49:44 GMT by TheGreatCon
Post by TheGreatCon on Mar 21, 2019 3:49:31 GMT
~<>~
“How’d it go?” December met me at the door.
“Oh, great.” I said, and pulled me and my bad foot inside.
“Did you win?” She asked, not leaving it at that.
“No. And my team didn’t either.” I mounted the stairs with some difficulty. Thump. Thump, Thump. My foot rested limply on each stair.
She eyed my progress. “You’re hurt.”
“Oh yeah. All over.”
“That’s part of the game.” She said. “It toughens you. Gives you grit.”
“Or breaks you.” I said, sitting down on the bed.
She followed me into my bedroom. “It was one game. You’ll get better.”
“I don’t want to.” I yanked off my shoe, and peeling back my sock examined my foot. She leaned over my shoulder, entranced by the appearance of another metallic appendage. I pulled the sock all the way off, rolled the pants leg up, and then opened a panel. Seemed fine in there. I opened another. A screw fell out. I reached inside and pulled out a back panel, laying it to the side.
~<>~
Pretty soon the foot was pretty much dismantled on the floor. I, of course, couldn’t figure out what was wrong, much less fix it, but I figured to save face I had to try. December sat silently through all this.
I gave up eventually. The ground was littered with pieces. It would take me an hour just to reassemble this mess that way I didn’t lose anything. I was basically a LEGO set. A lot of pieces put together. And a pretty poorly designed one at that.
“The…Echelon…did that?” She gestured to my foot.
“Sure did, April.” I grabbed a piece of metal tubing and tried to fit it over a socket. “I bricking love your game. So much fun. Whee.”
“You gotta get yourself a dispensation.” She said.
“They won’t give me one.”
“They will if you show ‘em that.” She pointed at the leg.
“I don’t want to show them that.” I rolled my pants leg back down for the moment. “Cause you know the first thing they’ll do? They get somebody on that bricking loudspeaker to announce that their beloved new student from no school listed is a freak who doesn’t get to play the games.”
“So there’s no good option?” She asked.
“I gotta get this to a mechanic.” I scooped the parts into a ziplock bag and tucked it inside my jacket. “And hope he knows what internal wiring is supposed to look like.”
December found me a guy. She didn’t know him personally, but he had some good shop reviews online. Didn’t mention anything about cyborgs, but that wasn’t necessarily something you advertised.
He was closed the next day, but the only ones open were the chain repair shops, who would be run by some jerk in overalls and a welding mask, who undoubtedly would gawk at my leg like he’d never seen one before, which he likely hadn’t. Which means he would be in no way qualified to make repairs.
I stuck it out till Monday, beating designs into a bow almost all day. December popped in and out, watching with conflicting interest and boredom.
“You’re not playing that game right.” She finally remarked. “You should be doing something exciting.”
“I am.” I said. “I’m making a weapon.”
“How many of those do you need?” She asked, gesturing the nearby wall which had some serviceable swords strung up.
“This one’s for money.”
She blinked. “People pay you…for an in-game item?”
“Yep.”
“How much?”
“Depends on the weapon. It’s in game currency anyways.”
“Oh.” She said, disappointed.
“The game has a more stable economy than most countries.” I said, tapping in a line using a small hammer and what was, in essence, a metal toothpick. “They convert it out to whatever coin you need.”
“I wanna play.” She said.
I didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t want you too.”
She started braiding a few of her dreadlocks together. “Why?”
“It’s a rough community.” I said. “It changes a person.”
“I’m tough.” She protested, sitting there with her fluffy purple scarf wrapped around her neck.
“You’d be a butterfly on a freeway there.” I logged out of the game, turning off my gear. “Let’s watch a movie or something.”
“How about ‘Apocalypse: Chainsaw Gang.’” She grinned like a maniac.
“How about ‘Moana’?” I countered, heading downstairs.
“You’re the wimp here.” She said, but did end up watching the old Disney film.
I stood up, and realized there was a give and take to a painless execution. My leg wasn’t responding. I shook it. Still good at the knee. The foot, though? Unresponsive. I tried to run internal diagnostics. The ping came back empty, stating my right foot to be “offline.” Like bricks it was. What did my stupid internal computer think my foot was? A Bluetooth speaker? Oh well.
I sat down and prepared to finish the movie.
Argo showed up at my elbow a good twenty minutes later. There was a boss battle on, and I ignored her for the most part.
“Well, that was a brilliant start.” She said. “First game. What’d you think of it?”
“Marvelous.” I said. “I played like a champ.”
“You’re a brickin’ disgrace to the sport.” She took off her helmet, and threw it at me. I ducked, thankfully. I’d had enough broken hardware for one day. “People are laughing! They are laughing at squad #81! We go out there, fight to the death, and you…what?”
“Quiet, it’s a good part.” I said, motioning to the screen. Actually, it wasn’t, but I wanted her to shut up.
She hit me this time. Right in the chest. I felt that. I winced. “Hey, cut it out.”
“We’ve never been laughed at.” She looked down at me as I sat there in a purple recliner. “You’re wrecking our reputation.”
I thought she was being a bit harsh. Turns out, though, she wasn’t. Cause next in the door was Tacks. And she chewed me out royally. And she kicked me around. And then she had DeadBeat kick me around.
They all tromped out together, me trailing behind, dragging a bum foot. Turns out the game officials were waiting on me to vacant the arena before starting the next round. Hilarious. They had to send in my squad to drag me out.
I neatly folded up my gear and stashed it in my compartment. I glanced over at DeadBeat. “How’d it go for you guys?”
“Bad.” He rumbled in a voice so low that I felt like I should stoop to hear better. “Team ain’t been the same since King left.”
“Who?”
“The guy whose shoes you’re miserably failing to fill.” And he walked out before I could get an actual answer. What a cad.
![[lenny]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/7elNEqtPK2hcSAiIMFNh.png)
