ã€ŠAcclimationã€‹


 Chapter 1

    On a spring day that could be best described as dreary, a young man sat slouched before his laptop. Around him was a house, barely large enough to be considered so. It was more of a cabin, really. If one were to fly over this position in space and look down, they would see a red roof crowning a hill, and a driveway snaking out into the dense woods that stretched for miles around. The man was well and truly isolated.

    And he was not happy about it.

    He had been sitting there with an assignment open on his screen for a solid hour, but had made no progress. With a groan, Chris shut his laptop and extricated himself from the office chair. He made his way to the bathroom to do the necessaries, and after washing his hands, he found himself staring into the mirror. Tired eyes framed by messy, dark hair stared back. As he scratched at the stubble lining his jaw, he regretted his decision not to shave. After a moment, Chris forced himself out of the bathroom and immediately found himself pacing the kitchen as he mentally bemoaned his fate.

    It was early. Well, it was noon, but for spring break that was early.

    He was here, in the cabin, for two reasons. One, he needed the money, and two, it was a favor for his uncle. He was here and desperately bored because he had finished all the books he owned, and his spoiled child of an ADHD brain wouldn¡¯t let him do anything but read. Normally, when he was stuck like this, he would reset himself by talking to one of his friends, but they were all busy on their own spring breaks. He was deep in the throes of a fixation, and had been for a solid week.

    So far this week, he had finished The Martian, and Good Omens, and the Hitchhikers Guide, books 1-4, as he held no truck with Mostly Harmless. As he paced, he was considering reading through the entirety of Super Powereds. Again.

    Chris knew that he had no actual reason to be upset, but knowing that didn¡¯t help. Eventually, he gave up his pacing and set about fixing himself a coffee. The cabin was remarkably well furnished, kitted out with all the best high-end fixtures and appliances. Uncle Bill had money, which was why he could afford to pay a nephew to drive up and check on his rarely used Wisconsin house.

    Yesterday had been spent surveying the cabin top to bottom. That, and reading. All the plumbing and electrical still worked, all the appliances turned on, nothing looked out of place. That left him with a solid week left of spring break. Maybe he would head back to college tomorrow, despite the fact that his roommates would still be gone. Despite that the cabin was much nicer than his house. Who could say? The world was his oyster.

    Chris picked up his mug when the fancy espresso machine finished its whirring and took a sip. He then grimaced in appreciation the way only a true caffeine addict can.

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯ll- ¡°

    BOOM¡­¡­

    And promptly almost dropped the mug.

    After the hollow boom finished rolling through the cabin from the direction of his driveway, Chris¡¯s mind found itself spieling through possibilities. Was that an earthquake? A meteor? A thermonuclear device, detonating underground? Surprisingly, there was no follow up. No sound of cracking trees, or rumbling earth. Just¡­ silence.

    Stunned, Chris walked to the front door and looked out the window. There, resting on the driveway, about a hundred feet from his house, was a rock. It sat there, about the height of his waist, slate gray, with smattering of cracks on its surface and a vaguely round shape. It looked almost aggressively normal, apart from the fact that it was in his driveway and hadn¡¯t been there yesterday. Even knowing this, Chris almost wanted to dismiss it.

    He looked it up and down. Up at the incredibly unobtrusive rock, down at the distinct lack of cracks in the driveway underneath it. His face began to warm as some of the tiredness fell away.

    Maybe this spring break wouldn¡¯t be so boring after all.

    ****

    After a few minutes of pacing around the rock, examining it from every angle, Chris gave up on this line of inquiry. For all he could tell, this appeared to be a completely normal rock. He even tried throwing a pebble at it to see what would happen. Of course, it made the sort of click sound you would expect from a pebble hitting a larger rock. Hell, it even smelled rocky.

    Sight, Sound and Smell eliminated, that only left two other senses. He slowly reached his hand toward the rock before hesitating, and drawing back.

    Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he chided himself. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid¡± he muttered, before slapping his palm down on the rock.

    Then everything went black.

    ****

    Around the world, the same story played out with minor differences five different times.

    The Student, the Dreamer, the Researcher, the Grifter, and the Guardian all heard the boom, found the rock, and succumbed to temptation.

    And in each of their heads, a voice rang out in the universal language of thought.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    System Initializing¡­

    ****

    When the sun began to droop below the horizon, Chris awoke to a splitting headache. He sat up, startling the squirrel that was sniffing him into running away into the forest. He slowly opened his eyes, before narrowing them accusingly at the rock which was sitting not two feet to his left, innocently.

    As his eyes acclimated to the fading light of day, the headache began to ebb, almost as if being drawn off somewhere. It took only a few seconds for the mysterious headache to vanish completely, gone like it had never existed in the first place. It was then that Chris got his second great shock of the day.

    Congratulations, Christopher. A voice echoed in his head, speaking in no discernable language, imparting pure concepts. You are one of the first five chosen in this world. I am sure that you have many questions.

    Chris¡¯s mind spun and reeled, and he proceeded to list through every swear he knew, as a sort of self-diagnostic. All the while, Chris stared slack jawed at the rock, his mind firing in a million different directions until the voice eventually pulled him from his musings.

    I am afraid that you will need to speak out loud in order for me to hear you, Chris.

    ¡°Al-alright,¡± he said, pulling himself together. ¡°What just happened? Who are you? Am I the protagonist in a sci-fi novel now?¡± He pulled himself up short from asking any of the other million questions that were tearing around in his mind, and his jaw shut, with an audible click.

    I appreciate your restraint, Christopher. I will answer your questions in the order they were posed. Firstly, the system is being initialized on your planet. The grand implications of this, you do not need to be immediately concerned with, as the process is long and will span over five hundred years. If you were referring to your brief period of unconsciousness, I am afraid that was my doing. I needed to scan your knowledge and physiology to properly adapt the system to function with humans. As compensation for the invasion of privacy, I will be personally assisting you for a short time to help your acclimation.

    Chris felt vaguely violated as he parsed the explanation. Over the course of the persons¡­ systems¡­ things? What should he refer to the voice as? He resolved to ask that next. Over the course of the voice¡¯s response, the knowledge reverberating around in his head resolved from languageless concepts into a soft and feminine voice speaking English. While the information being imparted became less detailed, it did help put his mind at ease, which he supposed was probably the point.

    Secondly, I am the consciousness whose purpose is to integrate this sector into the system. If it helps for you to consider me an AI, then please do so. If you are looking for a name to refer to me as, Sarah will suffice.

    It was as if Sarah was in his head. He suppressed a shudder as he remembered that she was, for an undetermined amount of time.

    Thirdly, I do not believe that you are the protagonist in any sort of novel, but it is impossible to rule out the possibility, as a being inside a created universe could not perceive its creator.

    Chris had to fight down a smirk at that. At least Sarah had a sense of humor.

    ¡°So, what is the system? At least, as much as I need to be immediately concerned with¡±, he added sardonically. Chris didn¡¯t enjoy being withheld information. It was a trait that had put him at odds with authority figures all throughout his short life.

    The system is, at its core, an effort towards bringing all sentient species up to the level of being able to stand on par with the civilized universe. As it pertains to you, the system will allow you to grow beyond the wildest dreams of the human race, to perform feats of-

    ¡°Can I get superpowers?¡± Chris interrupted. His eyes had a glint in them normally only seen when engrossed in a novel, or in fierce competition. Now, the glint was sharper than it had ever been, and he stared down the rock with a stony focus.

    There was a pause.

    Yes, you can get superpowers.

    And so, Chris was hooked. He needed no more convincing, no more knowledge of what he was getting into before he signed on the dotted line. Sarah continued to speak, but he was already lost in the possibilities.

    He could get superpowers.

    ****

    Chris? Again, I am afraid you need to speak aloud for me to hear you. Sarah intoned, with perhaps just a hint of sarcasm, pulling Chris from his reverie.

    ¡°Huh? Oh, sorry. I zoned out for a second there¡±. He paused, frowning. ¡°Is there anything else I need to know before we get started? This all seems a bit too good to be true.¡± Another pause. ¡°Also, why me?¡±

    There was a silent moment before Sarah responded. Chris was about to speak again when Sarah¡¯s voice echoed through his head once more.

    I am afraid I have not made myself clear. You have already been integrated into the system. To confirm, please reflect on your current status.

    Chris mentally recalculated a bit before trying his hardest to think about himself. As soon as he started that train of thought, a piece of information slotted into his mind. Too specific and artificial to be a thought of his own making, this could only be a status screen.

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: Neurotransmitter Imbalance, Caffeine Addiction

    Shifts: Intelligent Design 0/20

    Skills: None

    Have you found your status?

    Chris blinked. ¡°I have it, but it seems a little¡­ bare. Where are my stats? Why don¡¯t I have any skills?¡±

    Stats? Ah, I understand. From your role playing games and novels. While qualities such as Strength and Intelligence can be improved through the system, there is no easy way to determine your standing in relation to others. There is no standardized metric for Strength.

    Mildly disappointing. Half of the fun of RPG¡¯s is watching the numbers go up.

    As for your skills, the system has yet to assess your competencies. As you demonstrate and improve your skills, the system will assess your base state and improvement to assign you reward points, which can be used to effectively buy improvements from the system.

    ¡°So, if you get points from improving your skills, could you become the strongest man in the world by getting really good at macram¨¦?¡±

    Theoretically, yes.

    Chris suppressed a snort. This system seemed rife with possibilities for abuse, and he couldn¡¯t wait for the opportunity to try and game it.

    Later, he would chide himself for thinking it could possibly be that easy.

    In practice it is a good deal more difficult than that, but your theory is sound. I believe you also asked ¡°Why me?¡± Completely random chance, I¡¯m afraid. There is nothing that makes you more suitable to be a forerunner of the system than any other human. I suggest that you make the most of it.

    Gaze hardening, Chris let out a bark of a laugh.

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get started.¡±

 Chapter 2

    The sound of blows landing, a rhythmic, thudding sound echoed through the cabin from the basement. This lowest floor of the house took the form of one large open plan room that served as storage, entertainment space and a gym all in one. A man cave, in the purest sense.

    In the corner of the large space hung a heavy bag, around which Chris was slowly circling. Punches thundered out, impacting the bag from every possible angle as the frustrated young man poured his frustrations into exercise. The basement was a storm of exertion and sweat. After a continuous five minutes, he flopped backwards onto the carpet.

    Groaning, he hauled himself up to a sitting position. With a heavy anticipation, almost dread, Chris checked his status screen.

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: Neurotransmitter Imbalance, Caffeine Addiction, Exhaustion

    Shifts: Intelligent Design 0/20

    Skills: Boxing 1

    Unallocated: 1 point

    ¡°Yes!¡± he shouted to the heavens, hands thrown to the sky before once again flopping onto his back.

    Congratulations. I take your celebration to mean that you have earned your first reward point? Over the course of the evening, it had become apparent that Sarah could hear and see him anywhere he went, which was astoundingly creepy. Still, it was nice to have someone to talk to. He slowly sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees.

    ¡°Yes, finally. And it only took¡­¡± Chris deflated as he slid his phone out of his pocket to check the time, ¡°Three and a half hours.¡± Hunching forward, arms between his knees, he unlocked his phone and opened the calculator app.

    Earlier, when tinkering around with his status menu, Chris had found that he could bring up any possible shift just by thinking about it, to see how many points it would cost. The costs varied from the reasonable, such as ¡°Corded Musculature (Increased Strength)¡± at 50 points, to the ¡°Superman Package¡±, at a number so staggeringly high that Chris immediately blanked it from his memory and stopped thinking about it.

    ¡°At this rate, it¡¯s going to take most of my break to afford the cheapest one!¡± he accused, as he glared at the calculator.

    Yes. If you continue training in this manner, it is unlikely that you will progress very far in your natural lifespan.

    Chris thought on that for a moment. He stood, and slowly made his way to the mini-fridge to grab a water bottle. ¡°Well that just doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    I am afraid that it does, in fact, make sense.

    He scowled. ¡°You know what I mean. Am I going about this wrong? Have I been bashing my head against a wall for no reason?¡±

    This was a rhetorical question, as he already knew that he had been. He tried gaining a number of skills before finally spending his last hour on boxing. Over the course of the evening, he had attempted to gain skills in running, cooking, one-armed combat (i.e. hitting a tree with a stick), and even singing.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Not wrong, just inefficient. I believe that you are attempting to raise your skill through the methods you have previously employed in video games.

    Alright, she had him pegged. He slumped down into his uncle¡¯s overstuffed black leather couch and laid there for a bit before responding.

    ¡°Well, what would you recommend?¡±

    Would you like assistance in earning your first skill levels?

    ¡°¡­Sure.¡± Chris wasn¡¯t above taking the tutorial.

    Excellent. First, go to sleep. You are exhausted.

    ****

    The next morning, Chris found himself running. He wasn¡¯t entirely out of shape, and his boxing coach had him do his fair share of running in high school, so he found himself with time to think.

    ¡°You know, I never asked. What do you get out of this? Why come to earth and give us¡­ this?¡±

    That is beyond the scope of what I am permitted to explain to you, Chris. Do not allow yourself to become distracted.

    Chris frowned. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense. Why not tell us why? What do you stand to lose?¡±

    It is not the case that I do not wish to give you a proper explanation, Chris. I believe my masters in the universal council will send a representative in order to give a more thorough explanation when the planet is fully integrated.

    That sounded¡­ fishy. Still, Chris thought, their purposes probably aren¡¯t nefarious, or why would they arm their future enemies? What would be the point? He kept running down the driveway, his feet beating out a steady rhythm on the gravel, dense woods spreading out on either side. The treetops soared above, blocking his view of the sky, lending the day a gloomy feel. If not for a few shafts of sunlight spearing through the canopy, he would have no way of knowing it was morning.

    Heart pounding, breath beginning to come harder, he reached the tree branch he had dragged into the driveway that marked a mile out. He stopped, and turned back towards the cabin. He hunched down, taking a moment to catch his breath.

    I was under the impression that your goal was to become superhuman. Was I mistaken?

    He grimaced, and ran.

    ****

    Good. Keep your shoulders low and loose, and try not to sway.

    Sarah had been giving him feedback on his form all morning, making adjustments one by one. He had never had a running coach before, and it was a novel, if exhausting experience. It helped that she was apparently an expert on human physiology.

    Do you feel the difference that makes in keeping your upper body relaxed?

    He grunted in affirmation. Chris had stopped responding using words an hour of running ago. Despite the exhaustion, he was glad for Sarah¡¯s constant ministrations. If he had been left to his own devices, his traitorous brain would have made him stop working long ago in order to hyperfocus on something else.

    His traitorous brain. God, he hated it. His inability to hold focus and make himself work without constant oversight had alienated him from some of his favorite teachers, tanked his grades and cost him his scholarships. He was surprised that he had even made it to junior year of college.

    You may stop to rest.

    His feet slowed to a stop. He was back in front of the cabin for the umpteenth time today, and hadn¡¯t even noticed. There were some benefits to being wrapped up in his head, he supposed.

    The porch was wet with the morning mist having settled down, but he couldn¡¯t care less as he sat. Arms draped over the railings support bar, he called up his status screen.

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: Neurotransmitter Imbalance, Caffeine Addiction, Mild Exhaustion

    Shifts: Intelligent Design 0/20

    Skills: Running 4, Boxing 1

    Unallocated: 5 points

    Chris just about fell off the porch.

    It had taken three and a half hours of experimentation to get one skill point last night! Now, he had gotten four in what, two and a quarter? His face fell into a tired grin as the obvious explanation came to him.

    He looked up. ¡°Skill levels are based on how much you understand what you¡¯re doing, aren¡¯t they?¡±

    If a disembodied voice could smirk, she did.

    Very good.

 Chapter 3

    Blows once again thundered against the heavy bag, but this time the pulse was less rhythmic, sharper. The patterns of blows cycled, in a manner that was meant to be hard to predict and react to. The impacts were louder than two nights ago, when Chris had driven himself to exhaustion in order to get one skill level.

    The set of his feet was steadier, the motion of his hips more fluid as he danced around the bag. Even his breath came easier, as he breathed in patterns recommended by his alien benefactor. It was almost as if a different man had come and replaced Chris in the cabin. It was the same man, however, and something was nagging at him.

    ¡°Why am I improving so quickly? Not that you aren¡¯t a good coach, I just feel like I¡¯ve gotten better in the last two hours than I did my whole last semester of boxing lessons.¡± He panted out, as he began a new pattern.

    When your body was integrated into the system, your brain received an enhancement to its ability to process and apply information. It is partly a side effect, partly a compensation mechanism to make it possible for you to gain skill levels. You will also find that you will no longer lose procedural memory, in order to prevent skill level decay.

    Chris stopped, sweat dripping from every part of his body before shrugging and continuing to circle the bag.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to be angry about my brain being messed with, but it¡¯s hard to argue with the utility.¡±

    Your improvement is also partially a result of my knowledge of human anatomy far surpassing any human expert.

    He smiled. ¡°And ever so humble¡±. After spending two and a half days with Sarah in his head, he was beginning to pick up on the edges of her personality. Sure, she was an AI with more intelligence than he could fathom, but she disliked not getting credit for her work, and could be petulant.

    You may stop.

    He came slowly to a stop, like a toy soldier winding down. After two days of near constant exercise, spurred on by an exacting AI, he felt¡­ clean. Like he had sweated out all his anxieties and little worries. As he stood alone in the basement of his uncle¡¯s cabin, for the first time in recent memory, he felt content.

    Of course, it didn¡¯t hurt that he could physically see his progress, quickly racking up.

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: Neurotransmitter Imbalance, Mild Caffeine Addiction, Mild Exhaustion

    Shifts: Intelligent Design 0/20

    Skills: Running 6, Boxing 5, Endurance 4, Flexibility 3, Meditation 2

    Unallocated: 20 points

    ¡°Alright, I just hit Boxing 5 and Endurance 4.¡±

    Excellent. Now, I would recommend investing the points all at once in the Intelligent Design shift.

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯ve really been pushing this one. Now you finally have to tell me.¡± Chris had been wheedling Sarah for information regarding this mysterious shift for the past day. ¡°What is it? What does it give me? And why this one specifically?¡±

    You will not follow my recommendation on faith? Chris responded with a stony glare at the air in front of him as he sat down on the mat.

    Very well. Intelligent Design is universally regarded as a strong base for any other improvements to your body through the system. As such, it is heavily discounted. Its effect, in essence, is to reforge your body as if it had been intelligently designed as one, congruous system. This will correct some glaring inefficiencies introduced by evolution and improve your overall performance.

    Chris was sent reeling. ¡°Inefficiencies?¡±

    You have a pollen allergy, which is a misplaced immune response. Your spine is misaligned and unable to support your body in several positions. Your retina is poorly developed, leading to nearsightedness. These will be fixed, along with numerous other flaws.

    ¡°It would completely rewire me? Is that¡­ necessary?¡± A cold sweat dripped down his back.

    How did you imagine the process of becoming superhuman?

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, I just thought¡­¡± His mind was racing, trains of thought rushing towards their inevitable conclusions. Fear, and for some reason dread raced up his spine. His inefficient, misaligned spine. ¡°Down to my DNA?¡±

    Yes, your genetic code will be rewritten to reflect the changes.

    His voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°Will I still be human?¡±

    I did not predict you reacting this way, Chris. Are you alright?

    ¡°Answer the question, please¡±. If he got this change, if he shifted, would he still be part of the human race? Or would he be something new? Something¡­ alone? He slowly curled up into a ball, his arms and legs not obeying his commands as his breath came faster and faster, not actually letting any air into his lungs as Sarah seemed to contemplate her response.

    Yes, you will still be human. You would even be able to procreate, and pass these traits on to your children.

    Chris sat there on the floor of the basement for a while longer, as the panic slowly died down and his limbs unlocked. He would still be a human, still be a person, just¡­ a better designed one. Like an Olympic athlete. He wouldn¡¯t be alone.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    He was eventually able to stand up as the panic attack finally released his hold. He came to his feet, still shaking.

    Are you alright, Chris?

    ¡°I¡¯m okay. Haven¡¯t had a panic attack in a while, thought I was done with them, but I¡¯m okay.¡±

    I am glad. I truly did not anticipate that you would have such a poor reaction.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, I just-¡°. Something came to him through the mental exhaustion that followed an attack. ¡°Wait. This may be a bad question. Do you have emotions?¡±

    I do. My consciousness is artificial, but no less complex than yours. Emotions are an important part of interpersonal relationships, which are vital in my line of work¡±.

    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear, but also vaguely disconcerting¡±.

    In the future, your status will show a description of each shift¡¯s potential effects. You will also be able to contact me with questions.

    ¡°I appreciate it.¡± He sat back down in the floor, but this time his motions were more fluid and controlled as he began to work through a set of stretches Sarah had taught him. He knew that he was finished for the night, there would be no more improvement, but he still needed to loosen up.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    I would recommend that you lie on your bed before assigning the points. You would prefer to be asleep for the process.

    ¡°Good to know. Will all the shifts work this way?¡±

    Not all, not even most. In fact, with most shifts, it is beneficial to apply the effects a little at a time in order to give yourself time to acclimate. This one is something of an exception.

    Apply the effects a little at a time, huh? How did that work? What did half of some of the famous superpowers look like? If you had half of a laser vision power, did it only come out of one eye?

    Well, he would find out.

    ****

    Chris found himself lying on the bed, over the comforter, starting at the ceiling. His eyes picked out every flaw and variation in the flat, eggshell white ceiling. No, not eggshell, more of a cream.

    He was procrastinating making that final push. In a weak, remote part of his brain, he realized that he had fallen into a loop. This was familiar state to be in, and he knew he was going to need something external to spur him into motion.

    His status screen sat in mind¡¯s eye, unchanged. Then, suddenly¡­

    Chris?

    And he assigned the points.

    ****

    A fundamentally different man woke up the next morning, in the same bed, over the covers. This new man just happened to share the same consciousness as the old one. He woke to the sounds of the forest rustling around him, to the light streaming through the slightly grimy windows that lined the eastern wall. He rose from the bed and walked from the bathroom to the mirror.

    The first thing he noticed, or rather didn¡¯t, was that moving his body was easy. When he noticed it, the comparison was jarring. There was no tension held in his muscles, no stiffness or aches. He felt like he could stand in one position, unmoving, for eternity and not need to adjust.

    The second change that caught his attention was his breathing. Apparently, he had had a misaligned septum, or a constant allergy or something that had gotten fixed in the shift. His breathing was slow, and easy, and full.

    When he reached the mirror and looked, Chris almost didn¡¯t recognize the face looking back at him. It had the all same features, sure. Even the same shape. Yesterday, his face had been tight and lined, and had worn a slightly downturned neutral expression that gave the impression that he was displeased with his surroundings.

    Today, his face was relaxed, and wore a slightly smirking expression that conveyed affability. As he examined his features in a new light, his neutral expression softened into a genuine smile, eyes dancing with the sheer delight of being alive.

    He barked out a laugh, and marveled at that too. Even his laugh was different! Lower, and less biting. He knew that he had been changed, in a fundamental, irreversible way. He just couldn¡¯t bring himself to care. God, he felt good.

    He ran out of the bathroom and down the steps in a rush of flowing limbs, feet thudding on the carpet as he rushed to make himself breakfast so he could start testing out his new, old body.

    How do you feel?

    ¡°I feel good. Amazing, actually. God, if you could bottle this feeling, you would make a fortune! People would sell everything they owned for this kind of body!¡±

    They will not need to. In a few centuries, every human on earth will be integrated into the system.

    ¡°A few centuries¡­¡± Chris pondered the sheer scale that the system worked on while cracking eggs into a bowl. ¡°I wish I could be around to see it.¡±

    You could, if you wanted to.

    Chris stopped, stock still. One arm supported the bowl of eggs, the other holding a fork suspended in the middle of the motion of scrambling. ¡°Beg pardon?¡±

    Your natural lifespan has already been greatly increased with the shift you just underwent. Your chance of developing cancers will be vanishingly small, and your body will weather the strain of aging much more easily. Of course, you are still not likely to see the advent of a system integrated earth.

    Confusion and awe reigned in Chris as Sarah took a beat.

    ¡­ In your current state.

    And everything made sense. She was stringing him along like an addict. Giving him small doses of euphoria and making sure that he didn¡¯t think about the downsides, until he convinced himself to become more and more entrenched.

    He knew this, he understood what she was trying to accomplish, but it didn¡¯t matter.

    He was hooked.

    ¡°So, what should we work on today?¡± He poured his eggs into a saucepan and let them start cooking as visions of skill levels and superpowers danced in his head.

    That will be up to you. I will be around to answer questions as long as you need me, but I am no longer permitted to take such an active role in your development. It would be¡­ favoritism.

    It was disappointing, but it made sense. Not everyone could have an alien, Mr. Miyagi-esque coach in their heads forever. He thought on how to use his remaining two days in the cabin as his eggs finished cooking, and they were seasoned and transferred to a bowl. He walked to the dining room table and ate slowly, savoring each bite with his new, apparently improved taste buds.

    I should really finish my homework, he thought to himself, for not the first time that week. Yeah, I¡¯ll do that, before it gets to be too late.

    Absentmindedly, he walked to the desk, opened up his bag and pulled out his statics homework.

    It took him ten minutes of work to begin to feel like something was off. He thought about what it could be for a moment, before mentally shrugging and getting back to his homework. After roughly an hour, he finished his last problem and put his homework away. He was glad that he managed to finish it. That assignment had been hanging over his head all week.

    I should keep this productivity going, he thought, and meandered over to the sink to start on the dishes. This time, it only took two minutes to figure out that something was wrong. He immediately dismissed the first thought, as it was too absurd. Wait, he could test it.

    He finished the dishes quickly. Jittering with excitement and nervousness, he walked to the washing machine and started a load of laundry.

    He had to lean on the washing machine, back to the surface to steady himself.

    ¡°Sarah?¡± he said in a quiet voice. ¡°Why does my brain¡­ work now?¡±

    Clarify please.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have to fight it anymore, I can just¡­ do things.¡±

    I see. I believe that you had a neurotransmitter imbalance, leading to severe executive dysfunction. It will no longer be a problem.

    Chris slid down to settle on the floor and wept into his hands in relief.

 Chapter 4

    Deep in the arctic circle, a woman with flaxen blonde hair spun and twirled a borrowed fishing spear over her head as she worked the forms of a spear kata. Sheltered from the elements by a hastily erected research station, she had naught but the voice in her head for company as she practiced. And she wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.

    In the woods at the base of the eastern rocky mountains, a man on the run with skin as pale as paper crouched before a still pool. He stared at his reflection, a modern day narcissus, the strain of intense concentration evident on his face. Then, so quickly that any but the keenest observer would have missed it, he vanished from view. It was less than a second before he reappeared, but a wolfish smile was present on his face.

    In one of the many neighborhoods of Delhi, a man with dark hair and tired, dark eyes returned from a brief vacation to escape the stresses of city life. As he approached his home, the door swung open to reveal his wife and young son waiting to receive him. Ignoring his mother¡¯s shouted warning, the eight year old boy ran to greet his father. Laughing, the man scooped up his son, and for the first time, lifted the boy over his head.

    In an upper middle class household in Johannesburg, a little girl with skin like polished mahogany regaled her mother with tales of her adventures. The mother prepared dinner for them both as she listened with half an ear to her beloved daughter talk about the rock she had found in the forest, and her new imaginary friend. She laughed as the girl talked about how quick she was getting, and that she was going to be an Olympian. She had such a vivid imagination.

    And finally, in the woods of rural Wisconsin, a man with faraway hazel eyes and a gentle smile lost himself in the blur of productivity. He rolled from task to task with an elation normally only seen in young children. After he closed the last air vent cover in the cabin and threw his dirty rags in the washing machine, he allowed himself to sit down on the porch. As the sun set behind wooded hills, he basked in the serotonin pumping through his brain and felt joy.

    As the Five practiced, lived, learned and grew, Sarah watched. She compiled information from each of them, adding it to a vast database and processor core more complex than the world. And as she watched, she planned, simulating scenarios and interactions that spanned years into the future. After all, the story was just beginning. The plot has yet to begin.

    ****

    ¡°Yes, mom, I just felt like calling¡± Chris said as he shoveled clothes out of the dryer directly into a duffel bag. He kept his phone cradled between his shoulder and ear as he struggled to close the bag¡¯s zipper. ¡°Is that really so hard to believe?¡±

    He did one last once over of the cabin, then hauled the bag to the trunk of his car. He absentmindedly ran his hand over the roof of the old blue thing as he waited for a break in the conversation.

    ¡°Alright, fair enough¡± he chuckled. ¡°I did feel like calling, though. I¡¯m going to head back from Bill¡¯s today.¡± He turned off the lights in the kitchen and locked the front door.

    ¡°Yes, I finished everything. Did some cleaning, too. Love you too.¡± He lowered himself into the front seat of Old Blue and put his phone on the dashboard dock.

    ¡°Wait, shit.¡± He mumbled to himself and got up from his seat. He slowly strolled up the gravel drive, eyes locked on an incredibly unassuming rock. ¡°Can¡¯t just leave you here, can I?¡±

    You are under no obligation to move my core, Chris.

    ¡°There¡¯s no distance limit, I suppose? And I don¡¯t have to worry about you being stolen.¡±

    Unlikely.

    ¡°Still, I¡¯d feel better if you were out of the rain. Also, my uncle¡¯s driveway.¡± Sarah was silent as Chris walked back to the cabin and opened the door to the tool shed, disappearing inside for a moment. Around the cabin the woods rustled as the dew began to burn off the greenery, and the fauna settled into their routines. An experienced listener would be able to tell that the woods around were¡­ loud, for lack of a better term. Even for springtime, there was more motion in the air than ever before.

    Unfortunately, Chris was not an experienced listener.

    The door to the shed swung open again, and Chris strode out holding a dolly. He crunched up the gravel to Sarah¡¯s core, and crouched, attempting get some leverage. After a few moments, he swore,assumed proper deadlifting form, and managed to haul it up onto the metal frame.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    A few minutes later, the core was in the corner of Uncle Bill¡¯s tool shed, covered by a tarp.

    If you are finished, there is a phenomenon that you would likely be interested in seeing before you leave the area.

    Chris thought on that for a moment.

    ¡°A phenomenon, huh?¡± She hadn¡¯t steered him wrong yet. ¡°Well, what is it, and where?¡±

    You would benefit more from the experience if you were to form your own conclusions before receiving an explanation. The phenomenon in question is roughly two thirds of a mile southwest of your current location.

    ¡°Alright, let me know if I¡¯m going the wrong way.¡± Chris walked back to the car and grabbed his phone, a water bottle, and after a brief hesitation, his pocket knife from the glovebox. He slipped his phone and knife into the pocket of his jeans. He ran his hands over the smooth denim and wondered whether or not they felt less tight than usual.

    His musings were more correct than he knew. Over the next few weeks and months, he would find that it was easier not to overeat, and quicker to put on muscle. The fat he did carry would be distributed more evenly, and his skin clearer and tighter. Now, Chris had never been noticeably overweight, but he had gone to seed in his first few years of college, and wasn¡¯t showing any signs of improvement. In this world, there will always be people who, through some freak of genetics, are lucky. People who are healthy, and thin, and attractive with little effort. Chris had just become one, though he didn¡¯t know it yet.

    As Chris tracked through the trees, he felt a vague sense of unease settle over him. The trees seemed to close in around him, the ambient buzzing and rustling of the forest growing louder in his ears. The woods had never been a comfortable environment for Chris. He was the kind of person who was uneasy without a clear sightline of at least 15 feet around. To take his mind off of his surroundings, he experimented with the alien piece of information in his mind.

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: None

    Shifts: Intelligent Design

    Skills: Running 6, Boxing 5, Endurance 4, Flexibility 3, Meditation 3, Self-Control 2

    Unallocated: 3 points

    Well, he had gained a level in meditation yesterday, so that was nice. He had been so caught up in his new ability to control his focus that he had neglected to train anything else. It seemed that the system even recognized his new self-control as a skill. He amused himself by pulling up interesting shifts that he could think of, starting with one he¡¯d seen before.

    Corded Musculature: 0/X (38)

    Restructures your body¡¯s muscle fibers in a way that enables more efficient and greater generation of force.

    ¡°Sarah, why is the cost for Corded Musculature different? It used to be 50, and now its X? Also, what¡¯s this number in parentheses?¡± he whispered. Sarah hadn¡¯t told him to whisper, but it felt necessary.

    Before your body was restructured, the cost listed for any shift was the point of diminishing returns for that improvement. For corded musculature, this would have been roughly triple your unaugmented strength. As a safety measure, the system does not allow individuals who have not been restructured to go beyond that point without a stronger foundation.

    ¡°Really? What would happen if you did?¡±

    Depending on the shift, anything from total bodily collapse, to overheating your brain, to your organs being crushed under the weight of your musculature.

    ¡°I see.¡±

    The point of diminishing returns is still listed, the number in parentheses. It is lower than before simply due to your body being more efficient than before. Everything is done more efficiently, even the restructuring from shifts. That same point of diminishing returns, again roughly three times your strength, would only take 38 points.

    ¡°Makes¡­. sense. What do you mean by diminishing returns? Less improvement, or none?¡±

    Some improvement, but that is the point where the improvement is constrained by some other factor. To use Corded Musculature as an example, the shift improves your strength through the structure of your muscle fibers. However, there are many other factors than structure that go into strength. If you were to continue down that path, you might be unable to wield the increased strength with any control, or hurt yourself in its application. Here are the three shifts which would lead to the highest increase in the point of diminishing returns for this shift.

    Improved Mind-Muscle Communication 0/X (80)

    Improves the mechanism by which electrical signals travel between the brain and muscle, increasing the speed and fine control of movement.

    Improved Muscular Composition 0/X (68)

    Improves and strengthens the cellular composition of the organic fibers that make up your muscles.

    Improved Skeletal Composition 0/X (42)

    Improves and strengthens the composition of the bones and ligaments.

    ¡°Holy shit.¡± Chris shook his head in disbelief. ¡°These are really specific. Is it possible to go more general? Like¡­ super strength?¡±

    Super Strength 0/X (150)

    Increases strength to superhuman levels.

    Yes, but you¡¯ll find that each point will be a fair amount less effective, as the system has to assess how best to improve your strength. However, it works well as a stopgap if you have hit a wall and are unsure of how next to improve. You are approaching the phenomenon now.

    ¡°I¡¯m coming up on the¡­¡± He said, and then he saw it. Through the trees, in the morning light, was a deer eating a nut off the ground. At least, it was probably a deer. The maybe deer was a dappled pattern of green on gray, blending in with the trees around it almost seamlessly. Its eyes also seemed¡­ closer together than normal. He could tell that it was still a baby but it was almost to the height of his waist! And are those horns, no, those are antlers, of a dark grey metallic substance were poking out of its forehead.

    ¡°Wh¡­ what?¡±

    And the deer¡¯s eyes snapped to him.

 Chapter 5

    Silence reigned as the two creatures sized each other up. The woods themselves seemed to hold their breath, pausing in their constant motion to see how this would end.

    At the edge of a particularly thick copse of trees, a highly evolved pursuit predator stood. He was stock still, rooted to the ground like a tree himself, shock plastered across his face. His right hand rested on the back of the tree next to him, his left raised in a warding gesture. His center of balance was low, and his breath sat still and heavy like stone in his chest. He felt no fear, only shock and awe at the beast before him. The creature looked both perfectly alien and completely natural.

    At the edge of the clearing 30 feet ahead, a former prey animal contemplated. It also felt no fear, but two sets of instincts were at war within its chest. One, low and hot, screamed at its tense muscles to turn and run away. These were prey instincts, ones that had been present all its short life. Another set, high and clear, almost artificial, tightened its muscles further and insidiously coaxed the creature to charge, gore, kill and eat. These were predator¡¯s instincts. The deer¡¯s body crouched low to the ground, watching, waiting for either something to change, or for one set of instincts to win out.

    Sarah took a picture. The scene was a rather dramatic tableau, and she would need pictures like these in the future.

    A second passed, then two as both system touched creatures continued to stare. Then, as the deer recognized the body language of the bipedal predator as nonthreatening, its prey instincts relaxed. It raised its forehead level with the biped¡¯s waist and let out a long, low breath.

    Chris was shocked out of his reverie as the maybe deer charged him in a storm of hooves and fur and horns. He ducked behind the tree to his right just as the deer would have hit him, and while the creature struggled to reorient in the thick copse of trees, he managed to get his knife out of his pocket, open it and settle into a fighters crouch.

    The two squared off, and the deer raised up on its hind legs, swinging its front two hooves down towards his chest like hammers from god. Chris caught all the blows on his raised left arm. He deflected most of them, but a few hit his arm full force. Fortunately, the deer couldn¡¯t have weighed more than 80 pounds, and he could take the hits, barely. For every swing the deer took, he replied with one of his own, driving his knife up and around the flailing hooves to stab into its chest. After eight swings and eight stabs, the two combatants separated, and squared off again.

    The scene had an eerie similarity to how this whole confrontation had begun, and both combatants had the same emotions playing through their minds.

    The pursuit predator was again in shock, both at how strong this baby deer was, and the fact that baby prey animals don¡¯t normally charge people. His left arm radiated the dull ache that he recognized as endorphins numbing the pain of severe bruising. His breath came heavy in his chest, as he tried to force himself into the correct breathing patterns.

    The deer was again in conflict. The predators instincts still urged it to kill and eat, but they were tempered by the prey instincts, still low and hotter than before, screaming at it to run. Lines of fire crisscrossed its chest, the oldest going numb as a flood of sickening, wet heat soaked its fur. Both sets of instincts started to slow, its thoughts trickling like sap, but not before the prey instincts began to win out.

    Sarah once again took a picture.

    The stare broke as the deer turned and bolted as fast as it could through the clearing and into the brush beyond.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Chris slowly stood up straight and caught his breath as he looked at the blood on his knife. It was a dark, dark red, almost black. He then wiped it on a nearby leaf, put it away and leaned up against the tree that had given him time to react. He absentmindedly patted it as thoughts raced through his head and a few things clicked into place.

    ¡°You knew that would happen, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Chris, I was not¡­

    ¡°Stop. You only use that much emotional inflection when you¡¯re trying to convince me of something. Just stop¡±.

    ¡­Yes, there was a strong possibility that a confrontation would occur.

    ¡°How strong? Give me the percentage¡± Chris said, acid in his voice, tiredness in his bones as he came down from the adrenaline high.

    94.53%.

    ¡°Of course.¡± Chris¡¯s eyes swept the woods around him as the noise of the forest swelled. The confrontation was over, and the chittering small animals and buzzing insects were resuming their daily routines. ¡°That¡­ deer was yours. You did the same thing to it that you did to me¡±.

    Not exactly the same thing, but similar. Most creatures don¡¯t have the cognitive¡­

    ¡°Why?¡± Chris spat.

    I told you, the system is designed to bring humanity up to par with the other sentient races of the galaxy. If you wish to speed the development of a species, it is not enough to add power, you must also introduce¡­

    ¡°Competition.¡±

    ****

    Chris trudged through the woods back to his car. It had been 15 minutes since the fight, and his arm was already starting to bruise. However, the bruise seemed to be advancing oddly, a spattering of dark red blotches across his arm, almost as if the blood was being reabsorbed into his system as soon as it leaked. It didn¡¯t do anything for the pain, though, and his arm radiated it from the bone out, splitting his focus and giving him a blinding headache.

    He certainly didn¡¯t view Sarah as an ally anymore, but she still seemed perfectly willing to answer his questions and debate with him, and he was planning on getting as much information out of her as possible.

    What would be the point? Do you think your government would take a different approach if they knew that the rash of powerful, mutated animals were due to an alien system? What additional steps would they take, other than to lock you in a research facility?

    But damn if she didn¡¯t make good points.

    ¡°I¡¯m still going to tell people about you. I don¡¯t care if they think I¡¯m crazy, if I demonstrate powers, they¡¯ll have to believe me and take steps.¡±

    You wouldn¡¯t be saving lives. Again, the measures the average citizen could take would be no different knowing whether I exist or not. As we speak, humanity is having their first contact with system integrated creatures.

    ¡°People are dying. I hate that that doesn¡¯t bother you¡±.

    Different value systems, Chris. People die every day due to inefficient distribution of resources in your world and for the most part, no one lifts a finger. Did you know that half of all food produced in your country never gets consumed? At least these lives mean something. They will spur your progress.

    Chris scowled in distaste. Sarah would never understand the immutable value of a life. He continued crashing through the woods, but stopped dead when a sentence slotted into his mind.

    System Integrated Creature Eliminated: Adolescent Deer

    1 reward point allocated

    That is why I pushed you towards that confrontation, Chris. Every time a system integrated creature kills another, they will be assigned reward points according to the strength of the creature.

    ¡°So what are you hoping here? What¡¯s your goal? Do you want me to get addicted to the reward points, and start hunting? Killing other system integrated people for points?¡±

    Is that not how your video games are played?

    ¡°I¡¯m not a killer¡±.

    But there are people that are.

    Oh god, she was right. In every video game, there are PvPers, people who fight and kill other players for experience, and to take their stuff. In the real world, there are people who kill for money and power. Imagine how many people would for superpowers, for immortality.

    Chris set his jaw and trudged forward. ¡°Then I¡¯ll just have to get strong enough to stop it.¡±

    Sarah said nothing in response to that, but she was glad that everything had fallen into place as planned.

    See, every good story needs heroes as much as villains to drive the plot along. One of the heroes had just been set, and he was shaping up to be an excellent one. If only every character was as easy.

 Chapter 6

    The trees whipped past in a blur of green and gray as Chris drove down the gravel road. He wasn¡¯t focusing on driving, but he didn¡¯t need to. These backcountry gravel roads were lucky to see more than one car a day, and as long as he drove slowly, he didn¡¯t need focus to follow the instructions of the GPS and navigate. No, Chris¡¯s focus was elsewhere.

    He was toying with what shift to invest his points into.

    ¡°You¡¯re saying I can¡¯t permanently make myself faster?¡±

    You could, but you shouldn¡¯t. Here are two shifts that would have that result.

    Shifted Timeframe 0/X (Self-Contained)

    Creates a self-contained field that encompasses your body which operates in a faster timeframe.

    Speeded Perception and Reaction 0/X (160)

    Increase the speed at which your brain sends and receives signals to and from your body, and processes information.

    ¡°Holy shit, that first one seems really powerful.¡±

    It is, but there are mitigating factors. Some of the mitigating factors for both these shifts are the same, so I will mention those first. Firstly, operating at a timeframe faster than the one standard for normal society can cause issues. You would find that it causes problems socially, and is easily noticed. Secondly, the number of points required for the effect to be noticeable would be¡­ exorbitant.

    ¡°How exorbitant?¡±

    Shifted Timeframe would require 100 points for a 1% increase in speed, and Speeded Perception and Reaction would require 100 points for an 8% increase in effective speed.

    ¡°Alright, I get it. You know I¡¯m tempted to pick one of these just because you think I shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    I am aware, yes.

    ¡°I assume you¡¯re telling me this because you have a workaround?¡± As a few hours had passed since the fight, Chris had found the knee-jerk, white hot anger at Sarah slowly subsiding. When it came down to it, she was an alien intelligence, with unfamiliar values and goals. She wasn¡¯t evil, just¡­ callous. She was also an excellent source of information. Over the past two hours of driving, Chris and Sarah had considered and dismissed super strength, teleportation, telekinesis and the firing of energy beams as possible powers. For now, at least. He was going to reconsider teleportation eventually.

    I do. A good way to overcome the challenges of a permanent shift is to make the shift intermittent and dependent on some other factor. This reduces the point cost, and the social ramifications of being on a different level than a regular human.

    ¡°So if I limited the super-speed to say, one hour a day, that would help me get more out of it?¡±

    That is an option, but I believe I have a better one, tailored for you.

    Speeded Perception and Reaction (Focus Dependent) 0/X (60)

    It is the same shift as before, activated based on your focus. You can hold the shift as long as you can maintain focus.

    The more Chris considered, the more this seemed perfect for him. The ability to control his focus was so new and novel that he knew he could level his self-control, and increase the effectiveness of this skill. Even though it wouldn¡¯t give him super speed per-se, it would give him the most important part.

    He had always loved the idea of super speed. From the first time he had sat in front of the TV watching an animated special and saw the Flash, taking a stroll with the world frozen around him, he had wanted to know what it would be like. He would never be late, always be quick to react, never not have time. It was an ADD kid¡¯s dream. With this shift, he could slow down the world.

    ¡°How much of an increase could I get per point?¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    100 points invested would result in up to an 80% increase in mental speed, dependent on focus. It is important to note that this shift will not greatly affect your physical speed, but that will matter less than you think.

    ¡°I can always buy that shift later anyway.¡±  Chris pulled Old Blue off the road and parked her in the shade of a little grove.  It was early afternoon, and he was almost halfway through his drive back to the college town where he lived. The sun beat down on the gravel, warming the ground and creating an artificial summer. He pulled up his status.

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: Moderate Bruising (Left Arm)

    Shifts: Intelligent Design, Speeded Per. and React. (Focus Dependent) 0/X (60)

    Skills: Running 6, Boxing 5, Endurance 4, Flexibility 3, Meditation 3, Self-Control 3, Pain Tolerance 2, Knife Fighting 1, Driving 1

    Unallocated: 9 points

    ¡°Knife fighting, huh?¡± His voice came out low and rough.

    You demonstrated many skills that the system recognized. When your body is pushed to the brink, your mind has a way of compensating.

    Chris didn¡¯t know how to respond to that, so he just leaned back in his seat and allocated his points.

    He didn¡¯t black out this time, but it was a close thing. Every time he tried to form a coherent thought, it shattered as forces rushed around in his mind, constructing¡­ something. After he stopped trying to think and just relaxed, he could feel it taking shape, but had no idea into what. All he could tell was that it could be pushed on.

    After the forces quit swirling, and he could think again, he opened his eyes and checked the clock. 15 minutes had passed, but it had only felt like one.

    He immediately tried to use his new skill, but he couldn¡¯t get a good angle on it. Every time he tried to activate it, his focus wavered and nothing happened.

    It helps to picture these types of skills as something familiar. Something that takes effort to do.

    Chris closed his eyes again and thought about the amorphous mass that was his new power. He tried his best to clear his mind, and in the power¡¯s place he pictured an Olympic mat. On it, a barbell rested innocently, two plates on either side. He pictured himself walking over, bending his knees, setting his grip and lifting¡­

    It was barely within his capabilities. He mentally locked his knees and opened his eyes, surveying the forest through his windshield. He honestly couldn¡¯t tell the difference. Branches swayed in the breeze, leaves drifted to the ground maybe a touch slower than normal, but it was overall underwhelming. He released the power, and felt the tiredness in his brain. The world sped up.

    Would you like me to help you understand the depth of your new power?

    ¡°Not if it involves getting me in a fight¡±.

    It does not, but you will need conflict if you wish to continue¡­

    ¡°I know. Not now, though.¡±

    Very well. Exit the car and begin to jog down the road.

    Chris slid out of the driver¡¯s seat onto the road and locked the car behind him. He started jogging, moving the direction he had come from on a whim. It felt good to move his body, to rid himself of the nervous energy accumulated by driving, even though his arm ached.

    Now, push yourself to the limit of your speed while keeping your mind relaxed.

    He sped up and fell into a rhythm, his breathing and limbs in time with each other. He was at the limit of his jogging pace, and the road fell away from his vision as his focus slipped. The muscles in his legs and core began to tire, and the pain in his arm ebbed. He watched the trees speed past as he maintained his mile-eating pace.

    Attempt to feel all the motion in your body. Now, activate your power.

    He lifted, and the world slowed down again. Not just the world, but his body as well. He looked down, and his limbs were moving just a hair too slowly, the strides cartoonish and exaggerated. Every step seemed to take him farther than it should, his balance just slightly off. The only reason he didn¡¯t trip over his own feet was that he was jogging on reflex, and barely thinking.

    Pushing himself, he was able to speed up to what felt like his normal jogging pace, but it was harder than normal, like moving through water. He felt the burn in his muscles as he ran, and the world moved slowly around him.

    His mind gave out before his muscles. His focus broke, and as his power released, he felt his muscles speed up. His thoughts felt like treacle. His body moved out of his control, attempting to maintain the almost sprinting pace he had been holding, and this time he did trip over his own feet. He landed on a patch of grass, and as soon as he had the presence of mind to do so, rolled over onto his back and caught his breath.

    ¡°That¡­ was amazing. How long¡­ did I hold it?¡±

    43 seconds Earth timeframe.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ hard. Really hard to¡­ hold focus. Is that normal?¡±

    If you are utilizing the shift to its full extent, then yes. What image are you using to approach the power?

    ¡°I¡¯m deadlifting.¡±

    Do you find the weight to be just barely within your capability to lift?

    ¡°Yeah. How did you know?¡±

    Have you tried picturing a lighter weight?

    Chris blinked in surprise, then began to chuckle. He lay there on his back, the grassy patch behind him soft and warm, the branches of the forest waving in the breeze as his laughter grew. It grew and grew until he had to roll onto his side, body trembling with mirth interspersed with great, heaving inhalations as he tried to catch his breath. It wasn¡¯t even that funny, but he couldn¡¯t stop himself from laughing as he felt the tension of the last few hours drain away. He laid there, pain forgotten as time slipped past, and felt the exhaustion in his mind and body envelop him.

    Sarah took a picture.

 Chapter 7

    ¡°He¡¯s back!¡± Chris heard from the couch, as he finished wrestling with his duffel bags and turned around to survey the living room. It was good to be back. True, the house didn¡¯t smell great, and it was cramped as ever, but it was home. The living room was as it always was, a semicircle of packed couches huddled around a TV, like animals huddled around a fire for warmth. His roommate, Benjamin, with his short blond hair, and angular, almost feline face sat on his loveseat, idly watching TV. His longtime partner, Max, lay entwined around him like a sweater, eyes locked to his phone. Outside the window, the bottom of the sun was just touching the horizon, filling the room with orange light.

    Chris flopped down on his spot, the side of a well-loved, but ripped, brown leather couch after dropping his duffel at his room¡¯s door. Slipping into the scene was familiar, and comfortable, like putting on an old coat, but there were two main differences. The first was what they were actually watching.

    ¡°Are you watching the news?¡±

    ¡°Yeah man, it¡¯s crazy.¡± Benji replied, then turned and looked Chris in the eyes, appraisingly. ¡°Wait, haven¡¯t you heard? Did you not have internet in whatever backwoods you were in?¡±

    ¡°I did, but I was kinda busy. What¡¯s going on?¡± Chris replied, hoping his apprehension wasn¡¯t showing on his face.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re going to love this. Watch¡±. Chris turned his attention to the screen.

    ¡°So, Destiny, you¡¯re telling me that she¡¯s more intelligent than before?¡± The camera was on two women standing by the lip of a shallow pool. One was a bottle blonde in her thirties with a dazzling smile and professional clothing. The other was college aged and decked out in a wetsuit, with light brown skin, a shaved head and an exited frenzy.

    ¡°I can¡¯t think of any other way to explain it! I came in yesterday morning, and I was tired. I had been up late last night studying, and I remember that when I came in I was stumbling a little. I looked up at her tank, and she was swimming upright, doing a little stumbling shuffle across the bottom of the tank! When I noticed her matching my movements, she stopped, looked me in the eyes and laughed! She was mocking me!¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s special?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s insane! That¡¯s the most humanlike thing I¡¯ve ever seen a dolphin, or any animal do!¡± The footage switched from the two women to a news anchor in a studio, looking straight at the camera.

    ¡°For those who are just tuning in, that was a segment from an interview taken earlier today by our talented Amanda Ross. As you know, over the past two days, animals have been spontaneously mutating in ways that seem fantastic and impossible. That interview was about Betsy, a dolphin in the Nerrin Zoo who was one of those spontaneous mutations.¡±

    A picture popped up in the corner of the screen of a dolphin. It looked sleek, more so than normal with metallic stripes running up its body. The biggest change, however, were its eyes. They were slate grey, and they had an intelligence in them that was off-putting. It wasn¡¯t a cold intelligence, if anything, it looked mirthful. It was still odd.

    ¡°Now, we go to Dr. Sarandon, a guest we¡¯ve brought on the show to discuss the possible causes and implications of the Shift, as we¡¯re calling it.¡±

    Benji muted the TV to the faint protests of Max in his lap. Oddly, Max still hadn¡¯t looked up from his phone. Benji turned back to Chris.

    ¡°They don¡¯t know anything, all they have is speculation. But it¡¯s incredible! It¡¯s like we¡¯re living in a Silver Age comic book, one of those that were so optimistic about radiation! And it¡¯s happening so fast, too! I think Betsy shifted in only a few hours!¡±

    ¡°Two and a half¡± came a low rumble from Max.

    ¡°Yeah, two and a half. They caught the whole process on a security camera.¡±

    ¡°Wow. What are they¡­ doing?¡± Chris replied. He was more confused than anything else.

    ¡°The people or the animals?¡±

    ¡°The animals.¡±

    ¡°Nothing! That¡¯s another thing!¡±

    ¡°Nothing?¡±

    Max¡¯s low rumble again broke through the conversation. ¡°No major behavioral changes, other than a slight increase in intelligence.¡±

    ¡°No increase in aggression?¡±

    ¡°No! The scientists were worried about that too!¡± Benji replied to Chris¡¯s confused look. He was like an exited puppy. ¡°A ton of prey animals got predator features, but none of the behaviors! They¡¯re the same as ever!¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    What the hell? That deer had attacked him with no provocation! What could have caused it to¡­

    ¡°I have fundamentally misunderstood something.¡± Chris muttered.

    ¡°The world? Clearly, everyone has. Isn¡¯t it great?¡± Benji chattered as he absentmindedly rubbed his partners arm.

    But Chris¡¯s mind was elsewhere. For the TV channel wasn¡¯t the only thing that had changed in their familiar old house. Ben had just reminded him of the other. Him.

    Chris broke out of his reverie.

    ¡°If you guys could have any superpower, what would you want?¡± Chris asked.

    ¡°Still thinking about Silver age comics, huh? Steel skin. I¡¯d want to be Colossus.¡± Benji said. ¡°How bout you, Max?¡±

    Max replied immediately, but softly. ¡°Telepathy¡±.

    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting choice. Why mind reading?¡± Chris was genuinely curious. Max had never seemed the type to want to know what other people were thinking.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t mean it in a creepy way. He just has a hard time figuring out people¡¯s intentions, sometimes. Social situations are hard¡±. Benji replied for his partner as he read the captions on the TV and ran his hand slowly up and down Max¡¯s upper arm. Max gave him a lazy smile and patted his chest twice as he extricated himself and slowly plodded to the kitchen. To the coffeemaker, no doubt.

    ¡°That would be nice, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± Chris said as he looked back to the TV. Benji had been right, the Scientist didn¡¯t actually know anything. The news program looked like a scene out of a sitcom, with the pretty brunette newscaster sitting with perfect posture, a permanent smile plastered on her face as a man in a sports jacket and jeans sitting next to her gesticulated wildly and talked constantly. The closed captions appeared to be struggling to keep up as the ¡°scientist¡± hypothesized, backtracked, then postulated anew.

    ¡°What do you think I would have?¡± Chris asked, hoping that his friends knew him better than himself.

    Benji thought for a moment, then responded. ¡°Well, you¡¯re you, so¡­ some kind of super-focus? Super brain maybe?¡±

    Max¡¯s rumble came from the kitchen. He was, in fact, making coffee. ¡°Multiple Man¡±, he said, matter-of-factly.

    ¡°Say again?¡±

    Max came walking out with two mugs of coffee. One black, one with cream. He handed the black one to Chris as he sat down next to his partner, shoulder to shoulder this time, rather than a tangled mass. ¡°You want to do everything, right? Never have enough time? Multiple Man. He was an X-man who could absorb kinetic energy and use it to create mostly independent clones, then reabsorb their memories.¡±

    ¡°Good call, that does fit him¡±. Benji wrapped his arm around Max¡¯s shoulders and settled back.

    ¡°Multiple man, huh?¡± Chris whispered as he took a sip of the coffee. Great, as usual. He looked back at the inseparable pair. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, if you weren¡¯t dating him, I would be.¡±

    Benji laughed, high and clear. ¡°I know. Fortunately for me, you¡¯re not his type.¡±

    The three settled into companionable silence and each continued their respective activities. Benji watched the TV on mute, flipping through the channels in search of something worth watching. Max read through articles on his phone, looking for any concrete information that had been figured out about the Shift. Chris pondered, trying to figure out his next move.

    Eventually, Chris went to his duffel, pulled out his laptop, and started researching boxing gyms in the area.

    ¡°Feeling productive today, huh?¡± Ben asked, absently.

    ¡°Yeah, I am, actually. Looking up boxing gyms. Want to go throw punches for an hour or so?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s one in the campus rec center. I think it¡¯s free. I¡¯d go, but I have to go into work and cycle some cultures. Max might, though.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m game. Never been to a boxing gym before¡±.

    And so they went. Max wasn¡¯t too interested in learning boxing, he was more of a swimmer, but he made an excellent punching bag. After an hour and a half, Max was starting to noticeably droop. Chris sent him outside the gym to sit on a bench as he went to the front desk and negotiated two sessions a week, one group and one private. He strolled out into the newly dark evening, feeling tired but clean. The ache in his arm from this morning was starting to die, overshadowed by slow soreness.

    Max sat on the bench, polishing off his water bottle.

    ¡°That took more out of you than I was expecting. I¡¯ve been to one of your games.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the full gravity. I¡¯m too big for land.¡± Max said as Chris sat down next to him, the differences between them evident in tableau. Max was larger, several inches taller than Chris¡¯s 6 feet, and broader across the shoulders. His water polo background was evident in his back, whereas Chris was leaner, and more developed in the chest.

    ¡°You can¡¯t convince me that exercising in the water is easier.¡±

    ¡°Not easier, just different. Constant, less bursts. I may have to join you again, this was good exercise.¡± Max tossed his water bottle into the trash can beside the bench and deliberately looked forward, into the distance, away from his friend on the bench. ¡°You¡¯re different.¡±

    ¡°Different?¡± Chris knew what he was talking about, he had seen it in the mirror after all. Could he hide his new body and mind from his closest friends? Did he want to?

    ¡°More focused. Less¡­ frustrated.¡± Max was speaking slower that even his usual bass rumble, as he tried to form the sentences in a way that was nonconfrontational. ¡°You used to always be a little upset with the world. And yourself.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s gone now?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Is it?¡±

    It was. Apparently the discontent, the constant grating anxiousness that he had carried with him all his life had been a symptom of his brain chemistry. It also appeared that his friends had noticed. That bothered him more than anything, but it was gone now, so what would change? Would his dynamic with his friends shift? Even with these questions rattling around, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to be worried about them. The anxiousness was gone. He was a happier person now, so how couldn¡¯t things change for the better?

    ¡°Huh. I guess it is.¡±

    The two got up from the bench and drove back home in old blue. They listened to the radio in silence over the short drive back from campus, and separated in the living room of their house.

    As Max made to walk up the stairs to Ben¡¯s bedroom, he turned and made eye contact with Chris. His slate gaze was piercing and ponderous. The weight of his attention pinned Chris to the floor, in a way that was uncomfortably intimate. Chris bore the weight, knowing that eye contact was difficult for his big friend.

    ¡°I look forward to seeing what you¡¯re capable of, now.¡±

    And he walked up the stairs.

 Chapter 8

    ¡°I think that I owe you an apology.¡±

    Chris spoke under his breath as he closed his bedroom door behind him and began to unpack his duffel full of clean clothes. His lips barely moved, his vocal folds subvocalizing in a way that would have created language, had he used any air. No human could hear anything he said this way, he barely looked like he was talking at all.

    For what?

    ¡°When you showed me the system deer, and it attacked, I assumed the worst. I¡­ thought that the system animals were going to start attacking everyone.¡±

    There was a pause. The silence stretched until Chris finished putting away his clothes. He knelt in front of the dresser, thinking.

    I understand why you came to that conclusion. This clarifies your reactions considerably. I would also apologize for¡­

    ¡°No, I get it. You¡¯re not omniscient, you couldn¡¯t have known.¡±

    Chris stood up, looked around his room, and sighed. It was messy. It beyond messy, it was gross. Ah well, at least he had the wherewithal and time to clean now. He cracked open his window and turned on the fan.

    ¡°Were you listening to the conversation earlier with Benji and Max?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°So you heard Max suggest a power for me, then. What do you think?¡±

    I believe it would suit you, yes.

    ¡°Not what I meant. Is it feasible?¡±

    Possibly. Your period of personal assistance has ended. I can no longer provide advancement plans and shifts specialized to you.

    ¡°So now I¡¯m only limited by my imagination?¡±

    Correct.

    ¡°That sucks. My imagination is terrible.¡±

    Your imagination was terrible.

    Chris ignored this as he procured a trash bag and started throwing away trash, year old chemistry notes, and various other odds and ends. He pondered for a moment.

    ¡°You can still offer me general advice though, right? Steer me a little?¡±

    Correct. As the purpose of this exercise is to progress your species, if I were influence your development with alien ideas, it would destroy your racial identity. Refining ideas you already have is within my parameters.

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll just talk through it, then. Stop me if there¡¯s anything you can refine.¡± Chris paused his trash inquisition for a moment and thought, then resumed.

    ¡°The way I see it, there are three parts to Multiple Man¡¯s power. Specificity is the name of the game if we want to keep the point cost low, so let¡¯s break it down. First is the ability to absorb kinetic energy.¡±

    Kinetic?

    ¡°Kinetic, you know, the energy of motion. Car rolling down a hill, potential turns into¡­¡± Chris stopped again. ¡°There¡¯s no reason it has to be kinetic, is there?¡±

    How Sarah managed to convey a sense of smugness without words was beyond him. Maybe it was all in his head. Heh.

    ¡°Alright, first part is the ability to absorb energy. The second is the ability to store it. I need some kind of battery that can store ridiculous amounts of energy without hurting me.¡±

    Sarah remained silent at that. Maybe he was on the right track. Maybe it didn¡¯t matter. Who cares, execution comes later. Ideas first.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Third part is using the energy to make clones that act independently and I can reabsorb. Now this one, I¡¯m having trouble with. It just seems too calorically expensive. There¡¯s no way that I could create an entirely separate body, no matter how much energy I had!¡±

    I believe that I can help you more directly with this. You cannot hope to understand the mechanism that your shifts use to function. You are a member of a Tier Zero civilization that still believes the force of gravity is immutable.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say that specificity makes shifts more effective for the point cost? Now I¡¯m just supposed to give up and go general because I can¡¯t figure it out?¡±

    Duplication 0/X (1000)

    Duplicate. Requires a massive amount of energy to initiate, then maintain.

    Specificity in function, not in mechanism. You still need to understand the intended function. Your Speeded Perception and Reaction shift, for example. How does it work?

    ¡°It¡­¡± Chris surveyed the room. It was orderly. Not clean, by any stretch, but everything was in its proper place. It was far too late to vacuum.  He sighed. ¡°Point taken. Okay, I need to know exactly what I want it to do. Do I want to copy multiple man''s power, or use bloody shadow clone jutsu, there has to be some way¡­¡±

    Wheels spun in his mind as he rolled to the ground floor bathroom. He cleaned on autopilot, scrubbing and wiping, tossing the towels and washcloths into the laundry hamper. Eventually his wheels, both in his mind and in his feet ground to a halt.

    ¡°I need to be smarter¡±.

    Danger, Christopher.

    ¡°No, this¡­ this is it.¡± Chris rested on his knees and the wheels started turning again and he slowly slid back into to motion. ¡°Limiting factors, this game is all about limiting factors. Right now, I¡¯m being constrained by my cleverness. I''m thinking in circles, chasing my tail.¡±

    Care. You are very attached to your humanity, it would be a shame if you were to lose it.

    Chris blinked. Then again, slowly, and he shuddered. ¡°Thanks. If I stick to flat efficiency improvements, nothing that would change my thought processes, just speed them up, would I be alright?¡±

    He hadn¡¯t considered a HAL scenario. He couldn¡¯t lose his values, his empathy, the things that make him¡­ human.

    Use your best judgement, Christopher. Continue thinking through the implications of your actions. You are not playing a game.

    ****

    ¡°Chris, what are you doing?¡±

    Chris paused in his task as he heard the front door shut and threw a handful of disinfecting wipes into the trash bag at his side.

    ¡°Hey Benji. Lab keep you late?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I had to redo a whole trials worth of samples, they got spoiled cause¡­¡± He tossed his bag and coat up onto the pegs by the door. ¡°You¡¯re deflecting. Nice work. Are you¡­ cleaning?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, wiping down the extractor fan over the stove. It tends to collect oil.¡±

    ¡°Huh. Not that it doesn¡¯t need it, but why? Usually you do the laundry and Max and I do the cleaning.¡±

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: Slight Bruising (Left Arm)

    Shifts: Intelligent Design, Speeded Per. and React. (Focus Dependent) 9/X (60)

    Skills: Running 6, Boxing 5, Endurance 4, Self-Control 4(1), Flexibility 3, Meditation 3, Cleaning 2(2), Pain Tolerance 2, Driving 2(1), Knife Fighting 1

    Unallocated: 4 points

    Chris smirked. ¡°Just felt like cleaning, I guess. Also, have you noticed that our house has a smell?¡± He knelt and started digging bakeware out of the drawer under the oven.

    Ben leaned up against the wall of the kitchen and crossed his arms. ¡°Never had a very good nose. Thought you didn¡¯t either. Why, you have something to say about my cleaning skills?¡± His tone cut through Chris¡¯s reverie like a razor blade, but when he looked up, Ben¡¯s eyes were dancing.

    Chris barked out a laugh. ¡°It¡¯s a little bit musty. Its¡­ mostly cooking oil, stale coffee, and guy sweat. Houses really soak us up, huh? Almost like they¡¯re living things.¡±

    Ben¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°Deflecting again. You¡¯re getting better at it, though. That country air really did you good, huh?¡±

    Chris very deliberately went back to his cleaning, wiping out the drawer maybe more thoroughly than strictly necessary. ¡°Yeah, it really did. Is it that obvious?¡±

    ¡°To anyone that knows you, yeah. You going to tell me what happened?¡± His voice was guarded, measured, very out of character for Ben. ¡°You don¡¯t need to.¡±

    ¡°No, its fine.¡± He continued wiping, and silence took shape between them like condensation accumulating into a drop at the bottom of a glass. ¡°Would you believe that I was randomly selected to be a test subject for an alien support system supposedly meant to elevate us to the level of our fellow species in the universe?¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± The drop fell, and Chris ran out of nooks in the drawer to wipe. ¡°Really?¡±

    Inelegant, but it captured the sentiment of the moment fairly well. Chris¡¯ response was equally florid.

    ¡°Yup.¡±

    ¡°Cool.¡± Bens face slid back into the grin that he wore so often that it was effectively his neutral expression. ¡°I assume you¡¯re going to tell me all about it?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Yeah, I will, but Benji.¡± The altered human rose to his feet with fluid, dancers grace. His eyes seemed to burn as his shoulders set and his arms clasped behind his back. To Ben¡¯s eyes he looked utterly in control, almost regal. ¡°No one hears about this except Max, you, and the Rogues.¡±

    Benjamin Allain, one of Chris¡¯s best friends in the world, returned his steely gaze with manic fire. Benji¡¯s grin widened until it threatened to shatter like a brittle skin of ice over a pond.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.¡±

 Chapter 9

    The next morning, the kitchen was a flurry of motion. The room itself seemed to pulse with rhythm as Christopher spun from stove to coffee maker to fridge and back again, preparing a startling amount of food for breakfast, all while grooving to the beat of Oye Como Va, Santana¡¯s version. Every so often Benji would call out a word of encouragement from his seat in the peanut gallery, enjoying the rhythm of the sounds and smells issuing forth from the open plan kitchen.

    They had stayed up late into the night discussing the events of the past week, and all the possible implications thereof. Around midnight, Max had plodded down from the bedroom in search of his other half, and they had brought him up to speed. He took the revelation with his usual grace, which is to say, stoic silence and thoughtful grunts at the appropriate times.

    Ben had grilled his new, old friend relentlessly, with the occasional clarifying question from Max, and he answered as best he could. He left nothing out. After all, if he couldn¡¯t trust his best friends in the world, what would be the point? Occasionally, they would pose a question that Chris didn¡¯t know the answer to, and he would ask Sarah for clarification, but her answers gave them no information that they didn¡¯t already have. They traded words like that, under the yellow cast of the lights from the kitchen, until roughly three in the morning, when they physically couldn¡¯t continue any farther. They had agreed to pick up the discussion again the next morning, when they were fresh.

    It was currently around ten, and the light of the sun was beginning to drip through the slits in the shades, warming the house and bathing Ben in an otherworldly glow. Chris and he had been up and about for nearly an hour, he because he had trouble sleeping past 9, no matter how little sleep that ended up being. As a result, he was draped over the entire loveseat, feeling like he was thinking through treacle from lack of sleep. Chris suffered no such trouble, because he apparently needed less sleep now. Lucky bastard. Really though, it was a beautiful thing to see him so happy. Max was still insensate, a night owl to the end. He wouldn¡¯t rouse until someone intervened.

    If the theory that sleep is a mechanism to flush neurochemicals from your brain and process new information is correct, mused Ben, does he do that more efficiently now? Does his brain need less maintenance, or does the maintenance just happen more quickly? He brought that question up to Chris, over the din of sizzling food.

    ¡°We agreed that we¡¯d wait for the others, Benji. Be patient.¡± Chris replied absentmindedly, trying to remember if you were supposed to add nuts and other various accoutrements straight to the pancake batter, or put them on top when they were cooking. ¡°They¡¯ll be here soon enough.¡±

    They had in fact, agreed to this, but Benjamin was not a patient man. Last night, when the discussion had started to move in circles, Max had suggested that they needed a fresh perspective, and offered to call an emergency council of the Rogues Gallery. And this, all three in their separate ways, was what the roommates were preparing for.

    The first bounding through the door was a small girl in baggy, shapeless clothing. This was Kristina, a creature borne of mischief and misfortune. Chaos fell from her like sparks from a grindstone, igniting all in her wake. She bore a thoughtful expression in the quiet moments, a pinched expression in the loud ones, and she always looked like she knew something you didn¡¯t. She made a beeline for the kitchen as soon as she was through the door and playfully shadowboxed with Chris for a moment before pouring herself a cup of coffee, cream and sugar, before leaning up against the wall to watch him cook.

    The second, less than a minute after the first was Kristina¡¯s roommate, Marian Yanova. Nova to her friends, Boss to her best friends, and Marian if you wanted to tick her off. Her high cheekbones and brow lent themselves to a face that could be best described as aristocratic, and gave all her expressions an imperious cast. As she strode past the threshold, Ben leapt to his feet and clicked his heels together, saluting with all the alacrity he could muster. Which wasn¡¯t much, come to think of it. He more oozed to his feet than leapt. He was tired, cut him some slack.

    She fixed him with an icy glare, underneath which lurked a smirk, and said ¡°At ease, soldier¡±, before sweeping past him into the room and collapsing down on the recliner, the only single occupancy seating in the living room.

    The last through the door a few minutes later was Juliette, drifting as if on the wind. She glided through the doorway and stood in the center of the room. She appeared to be choosing where to sit, weighing her options for a few seconds before settling down where she always did, on the right side of the ripped brown couch. She wore her usual dreamy expression, and more literally, a black tank top and pants, with her curly blonde hair in a loose ponytail down her back.

    None of these new arrivals knocked on the door before entering, nor did they need to, as the door was unlocked. However, even if it was, they would have just used the spare key buried in the corner of the disused flowerbed. This house was as much a home to them as any they had ever had, and who knocks for admittance to their home?This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    These three, and the three here before are who make up the Rogues Gallery. The six had been assigned to a group project in freshman year chemistry by chance, and had been inseparable ever since. They each had other friends, and none of them were even in the same major anymore, but they were still as close as any six people can reasonably be. When Ben wandered upstairs with a cup of coffee, and wandered back down with a partner, their council was complete.

    Nova started the discussion with her usual tact.

    ¡°Chris, are you thinner?¡±

    Chris looked out at the assembled council through the window in the kitchen wall, and then looked down at himself.

    ¡°Huh. Maybe, I¡¯ll go check. Come get food, guys. I made everything in the fridge that can be considered breakfast by any reasonable standard.¡±

    He ducked into the bathroom and looked himself up and down in the mirror, and what do you know, he did appear to be thinner. His muscle tone was slightly more prominent all over, and the curves in his waist and thighs were smoothing out. Even his face appeared to be slimming down, with his bone structure becoming more prominent. When he stepped on the scale, he found himself to be down 5 pounds, which seemed low judging by the visual changes. Was his body composition changing that quickly?

    He stepped out of the bathroom to find everyone back in their places, each snacking on something or other.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, boss. Down 5 pounds.¡±

    He plopped down in his usual spot on the left side of the ripped brown couch, with Tina between him and Juliette. Max and Benji sat shoulder to shoulder on the loveseat, and Nova sat perched forward on the recliner like a bird of prey. Why she always chose the recliner, but never reclined it, Chris had no idea. It seemed like a bit of a waste to him.

    ¡°Did your uncle not have food up at his cabin? Have you been starving for a week? And why does the house smell better?¡± Nova had always had the ability to cut to the quick of the matter. She took charge of anything when possible, especially conversations.

    Tina ran her hand up Chris¡¯s side, as if to verify his new figure, and he relaxed back into her and the couch. She made a surprised noise, because she did seem to feel new muscle, and settled into the gap between Chris and Juliette¡¯s shoulders. The girl didn¡¯t seem to have any physical boundaries, never did, and while this had caused a good deal of confusion in the past, the Rogues were long used to it.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a bit of a long story¡­¡±

    ****

    ¡°What do we tell people if they notice that you¡¯re different?¡±

    Juliette interjected, cutting off a good deal of ribbing that Chris had been spending the last day leveling his Cleaning skill. She had been silent for most of the conversation, and for the past few minutes, she had been staring off into the middle distance, trying to work through one specific part of the information given.

    ¡°New depression meds.¡± Chris replied to her absently. They had worked this out last night.

    Ben chuckled. ¡°They¡¯ll feel so bad for asking that they¡¯ll avoid the subject forever.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah! Do you not need to take meds anymore?¡± Tina piped up from her place curled up at the side of our subject.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think so¡± he replied. ¡°My head has been clear ever since I woke up two days ago.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve gotta get me some of that.¡± She grumbled, and curled up into a tighter ball. He swatted her head to distract her, and she shot him a dirty look.

    Wait a minute. The room froze as every occupant seemed to reach the same conclusion at the same moment, and all turned to look into the hazel eyes of one of the first subjects of the system on earth.

    ¡°Hold on.¡± He said, and his eyes took on a faraway cast as he addressed the voice in his head. The room was silent, except for the sound of one of Chopin¡¯s nocturnes issuing from a Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen. It was a far cry from Santana, but Chris¡¯s playlists always featured odd genre shifts. It was why he was only allowed to pick the music if he was cooking.

    ¡°Sarah? When can my friends be integrated into the system?¡±

    There is a reason I began with five, Chris. I need to assess how well you adapt, and modify the system to fit your species.

    ¡°Don¡¯t act like this is an imposition. You intend to integrate the entire planet. What difference do five humans make?¡±

    Sarah sounded the same as ever, but Chris could feel the mirth radiating from her presence in his mind. He got the sense that this was somehow¡­ cute, to her. Like a pet laboratory mouse asking for a treat, then throwing a tantrum when he didn¡¯t get one.

    Very well, Christopher. In as few as two months, or as many as six, you may integrate your friends into the system.

    He knew that she was baiting him, but he couldn¡¯t help asking. ¡°Why that timeframe?¡±

    It depends on how much data you and your compatriots provide. The more you progress, the more data I receive, and the quicker I will be willing to introduce more test subjects.

    His eyes refocused, and he addressed the room of expectant Rogues.

    ¡°Six months, at most. It depends on how quickly she can collect data.¡±

    At this, all the Rogues were lost in thought, thinking about the possibilities, and all looked excited except one. Max¡¯s face became drawn, as he considered the worst.

    ¡°Six months. Big head start. You said we can¡¯t know about the other four?¡±

    Ben shook his head excitedly. ¡°You can¡¯t let separate trials interact with each other! It would spoil the data!¡±

    Max grunted. ¡°See what our boy looks like after a week? Imagine what they¡¯ll be capable of in six months. Let¡¯s hope the random selection didn¡¯t find anyone nasty.¡±

    The room erupted in muttering as everyone felt a chill creep up their spines. Then, they immediately fell silent and expectantly looked up at their de facto leader, who had just stood from her recliner, empty coffee mug and bowl of breakfast scramble in hand. She grinned a grin of longing and hunger, of resolve and anticipation. None of the Rogues had ever seen the grin of a wolf on the hunt, but as they all shuddered involuntarily, they thought that it might look rather like that.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. No matter who got picked, we¡¯ll be ready.¡±

    And as she walked to the kitchen, they all felt a good bit better.

 Chapter 10

    When the digital display on the oven rolled around to noon, the only people still around to see it were the two Chrises. Ever since Chris and Kristina became friends, the coincidence had given rise to a running joke among the group that they were two halves of the same whole, or at the very least, twins. Which one was the evil twin, however, depended on the day.

    The council was no longer in session, and all members had been given their tasks. If they were going to be ready for what was to come, the Rogues had some serious preparation to do. It had been decided that since they each had their own skillset, and the main advantage of working in groups is specialization, they were planning on each fully committing to their role. As such, they had scattered into the wind, and were getting to work.

    Sarah couldn¡¯t have scripted it any better if she tried.

    The two were currently locked in an elaborate dance, both literally and metaphorically, as they washed dishes and cleaned up the refuse of breakfast to the beat of Herbie Hancock. Tina had wrested control of the music, you see, and her playlists made sense. As the male half of the pair executed a particularly tight spin to get past in the cramped space afforded by a tiny kitchen, the other laughed and added speech to the din.

    ¡°Whoa there, killer. Are you trying for a dancing skill? I don¡¯t think you¡¯re quite there yet.¡±

    He laughed, turned back, and swept her up in a dramatic dip that made no sense with the jazz issuing from the speaker. ¡°Shows what you know. Dancing 1. I think it has something to do with body control?¡±

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: None

    Shifts: Intelligent Design, Speeded Per. and React. (Focus Dependent) 9/X (60)

    Skills: Running 6, Boxing 5, Self-Control 5(1), Endurance 4, Flexibility 3, Meditation 3, Cleaning 3(1), Multitasking 2(2), Pain Tolerance 2, Driving 2, Knife Fighting 1, Cooking 1(1), Dancing 1(1)

    Unallocated: 10 points

    She extricated herself from his grip with practiced ease and a good deal of squirming, and hopped up onto the now clean countertop. From her new perch, she scanned him up and down with a critical eye. She gave him a twirling gesture with one finger, and he complied with a spin and a bow. She seemed unimpressed.

    ¡°If you say so. What context do we have for these numbers, again?¡±

    ¡°I believe that she said that the cap for complete mastery of a skill is 1000, but the best any human expert could be rated at was around 150. Then she said something vaguely offensive about how it¡¯s not our fault, our brains just aren¡¯t good enough yet.¡±

    ¡°Mm.¡± She cocked an eyebrow, and her calculating exterior started to crack. ¡°So, you¡¯re at around 150 for pretension, then?¡±

    He laughed, high and clear, and replied. ¡°Not a skill, I checked. You¡¯d probably be at 100 for napping, though.¡±

    ¡°Only 100?¡± she spurted, livid with faux outrage. ¡°Who in the world is better than me?¡±

    ¡°No human being, but I know some cats that have you beat.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± She replied, deflating like a balloon in the freezer and sitting down on the counter. ¡°That¡¯s all right, then. Have you decided what you¡¯re going to spend your points on?¡±

    This was Chris¡¯s task for the day. He had to spend his points, then he needed practice with his shifts, both to give Sarah data and increase his capability. Tina had stayed behind to watch him, and coach him on running afterwards. She had been playing soccer since she could walk, and had learned from more running coaches than were strictly necessary, though her parents didn¡¯t share that opinion.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to improve my grey matter somehow. Your job is to convince me to refund the points, in case I go HAL.¡±

    It was possible to refund shifts, though it wasn¡¯t recommended. The changes to your body would be undone, and you would regain half the number of points used in the original shift.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°How am I supposed to convince Chris 2.0 that its in his best interest to refund the points? What do I have to bargain with?¡±

    He cocked an eyebrow, mirroring her expression from earlier, and spoke in a low, husky voice.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll think of something.¡±

    She replied to the advance with a mischievous grin, and as she hopped down from the counter on her way to the living room, Chris got a light punch in the chest.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tease a girl. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be fine.¡± She took her spot in the middle of the couch, legs crossed underneath her. It didn¡¯t matter that they were the only two in the house, or that there was all the space in the world to stretch. This spot was hers, and she could no more vary from it than a moon could stray from its orbit. ¡°What specifically are you planning on changing? Are you going to alter your brain any?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± he replied, as he sat down in his spot at her side. ¡°Just going to shake out the dust, so to speak. I want to see if it makes any difference that I can feel. Here, I¡¯ll read you off some options.¡±

    Mental Health: 0/50

    Improves the health and resilience of your Neurons, Glia, and underlying brain structures. This shift will result in a minor increase in brain function on its own, and drastically decrease the impact of negative effects on the brain.

    Mental Restructuring: 0/50

    Changes the architecture of the brain to better facilitate thought, both conscious and subconscious. This shift will result in a minor increase in the brain¡¯s resilience on its own, and drastically increase the speed of making mental connections. This shift will be easily detectable to any effects that can view the brain.

    Brain Composition: 0/X (80)

    Changes the molecular makeup of the brain to vastly increase mental potential. Easily detectable to any effect that can perceive the brain¡¯s makeup. Minor increases in resilience and speed.

    ¡°Sarah, why are the first two capped?¡±

    All shifts are capped at their maximum efficacy. In the case of these two, there is a limited amount of improvement that can be made through each of those methods. Your brain can only be so healthy, after all. Of course, there are other shifts that will increase mental performance on top of and in concert with these two, and if you end up purchasing a shift that renders them irrelevant, such as replacing your brain with an android core, all irrelevant points will be refunded in full.

    ¡°Yeah, I think I¡¯ll pass on the android core, thanks." He focused his gaze on Tina. "What do you think?"

    The girl worean expression which looked equal parts concerned and disappointed, which meant she was thinking.

    ¡°Well¡­ I honestly think you should get all of them, eventually. Maybe start with the one that won¡¯t show up on an MRI?¡±

    ¡°Sounds good to me. Start with two?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± She then put a hand on his arm and turned so that she was completely facing him, looking directly into his hazel eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t die. Being the immortal guardians of the world with the rest of the Rogues Gallery wouldn¡¯t be as fun without you.¡±

    He gave her a soft smile. ¡°Yes, dear¡± he said, and patted her twice on the cheek before assigning the points, and the last thing he saw before being rendered insensate was her brow furrowing as she swatted for his arm.

    ****

    ¡°Whoa.¡± One of the five most powerful people on earth came to his senses slowly. It felt like his nerves were waking up one by one, feeding him information a little at a time. He could smell the remains of breakfast, the fresh air from an open window, and a faint reminder of the old house smell. His mouth still tasted faintly of coffee, as he had woken up not hungry and hadn¡¯t eaten anything today. He could hear the hum of various appliances resting, pumping out vibrations, and two sources of breath. And finally, he could feel his evil twin pressed to his side, her fingers on his throat. He opened his eyes slowly.

    A pair of concerned brown eyes bore down on him sharp enough to break glass as she withdrew her hand. ¡°Are you alright? Your pulse got down to 45.¡±

    He took a deep breath and coughed. Nothing seemed to be injured or out of place. ¡°I think so. God, it felt like my brain was getting pressure washed with cold water. How long was I out?¡±

    ¡°Eight¡­ and a half minutes. How do you feel?¡±

    He blinked, slowly. ¡°Really weird. You know how it feels when you¡¯ve been drinking, but you go into the bathroom and splash water on your face, and it sobers you up just a bit?¡±

    She nodded, but still looked concerned. She seemed to be searching his eyes for anything out of place, looking for a flaw in his soul.

    ¡°It feels like I just sobered up a bit, but I wasn¡¯t drunk. What¡¯s that Terry Pratchett word for more sober than sober?¡±

    ¡°Knurd? Are you saying you feel knurd?¡± She said, and a smile tugged at the side of her lips, causing some of the concern to drain from her expression.

    ¡°Yeah, that. Is it going to be harder for me to get drunk now? Damn, I should have thought of that.¡±

    ¡°Alright, Sam Vimes.¡± She said, as she again extricated herself and walked to the kitchen. ¡°If you¡¯re going to pass out again, I¡¯m going to need a coffee. How many more points do you have?¡±

    ¡°Eight. Can you grab me one?¡±

    ¡°Eight.¡± She sighed, and she affected annoyance, but there was a slight undercurrent of worry in her voice. ¡°No you can¡¯t have one, it¡¯ll get cold. I¡¯ll put a fresh pot on for when you wake up.¡±

    He smiled, and thought for a second. ¡°I¡¯m going to do the rest in one go, alright?¡±

    ¡°Okay, just wait a second.¡± She moved to the doorway, coffee mug cradled in two hands, and leaned up against the doorframe. ¡°Alright, go.¡±

    And for the second time today, our hero passed out.

 Chapter 11

    Meanwhile, Max and Ben were holed up in a dimly lit room, both attending to their tasks with a silent determination, only pausing to bounce ideas off each other.

    They had both taken on the role of researcher, with two specific focuses. Ben would keep tabs on how the world was responding to the Shift, and try and track down the other four forerunners through reports of odd happenings. Needless to say, he wasn¡¯t meeting with much success.

    Max, as the most medically minded of their group, was tracking down possible improvements to the human body. He was currently combing through reports on evolutionary theory, looking for adaptations that weren¡¯t of much use in modern society, and could possibly be repurposed.

    In order to properly attend to their research, they had fled the Rogues base of operations for the modern-day Mecca of learning, where all proper pilgrims go to facilitate their scholarship.

    That is to say, a coffee shop.

    This particular establishment wore the name of the Golden Cup, and featured motifs of the Holy Grail all through its signage and d¨¦cor. It catered mostly to the grad students and research assistants of their little college town, and was open 20 hours a day. During finals season, it was often packed to the rafters, but on this day, it was nearly deserted.

    ¡°Do you think we could track down the other four by looking for reports of the shifted animals acting aggressively?¡± Ben mused, sipping on an iced tea. He had never managed to get the hang of coffee.

    ¡°Only if they aren¡¯t careful.¡± Max grunted, ¡°And only then if we can narrow down exactly who they attacked.¡± He took a swig of his Iced Americano, black. He had never managed to get the hang of tea.

    ¡°Fair. I¡¯ll set a google alert anyway.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t hurt¡±, Max agreed and typed a line into an email he was sending to Chris, and copying into a word document. He couldn¡¯t check out the prices for the shifts without access to the system himself, but he could compile a dossier for their forerunner to check.

    Ben took his hands off the keyboard and rested one on his partners arm. They had laid claim to a pair of recliners in one of the shops back corners, both leather and overstuffed. He relaxed back into the chair and mused for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Ben had taken to the new world with the most abandon, and had thrown himself into preparation. He had always loved discovering things, and with their inside man, he had his sights set on academic firsts. The first to find truths about the world, and the system that was changing it.

    Except for Sarah of course. But she didn¡¯t count.

    ¡°Nova¡¯s going to want backup plans. Contingencies on contingences.¡±

    Max audibly chuckled at that, thinking of their leader¡¯s proclivity for exit strategies. The group couldn¡¯t go to a party without the boss making sure each of them knew exactly how they were leaving, and roughly when. She was always the first to volunteer to be their exit plan though, so they didn¡¯t mind.

    ¡°She¡¯ll already have some. Are you thinking teleportation?¡±

    ¡°Probably not. Energy cost would be too high, especially with other people. If Chris gets his super speed up and running, that could be our backup.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Mm. She won¡¯t be happy with that.¡± Max paused and raised his coffee to his lips, a common gesture when he wanted to buy time to think. ¡°Healing?¡±

    Ben leaned forward in his chair. ¡°Nasty, but if we could handle it in house¡­¡± His fingers drummed out a rhythm on the base of his laptop. ¡°What variety?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll think of a few and send them out. There¡¯s probably healing magic, energy transfer, some nonsense with nanobots¡­¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s probably everything. Have we managed to think of anything that hasn¡¯t had a shift yet? Chris turn up any error messages?¡±

    ¡°Point.¡±

    ****

    Across town, the two unaccounted for Rogues were spread out in a tiny space, well lit by fluorescent lighting. Their laptops, bags, and various papers and belongings covered the table, and the whiteboards that lined the walls were a morass of swooping, smooth writing, constantly being erased and rewritten.

    Juliette and Nova were occupying a study room in the school library, similarly deserted due to the break.

    Juliette was currently taking a break from writing, and had her feet propped up on the table as she scanned the one whiteboard of the room¡¯s four that she had managed to lay claim to. The writing that covered this board was small and clean, but scattered, and obeyed no coherent organizational structure. Her handwriting was precise, but artistic, containing lots of little flourishes and embellishments. The words themselves would be completely meaningless to anyone who hadn¡¯t been in the room with the blonde-haired girl for the past hour, containing excerpts such as ¡°Ritual Magic???¡±, ¡°Neurochem Synthesis and Transfer¡±, and ¡°Energy Assimilation¡±, the latter outlined twice.

    Juliette, in her infinite wisdom, had been tasked with ¡°Weird Shit¡±. In essence, her job was to assess the assumptions they were making about this system, and how to subvert them. Nothing was a given in this new world, and Juliette was talented at coming up with novel ways to address a problem.

    Nova, however, was in constant motion. Her writing was large, and loopy, but well organized into tables and lists that could be read at a glance. She was in the process of adding ¡°Procure Sewing Mach. f/ Altering Clothing¡± to a to do list when she heard Juliette¡¯s soft alto at her back.

    ¡°Altering clothing? For superhero uniforms?¡±

    Nova froze. She hadn¡¯t considered that. She added ¡°Uni¡± to the list item, in parentheses.

    ¡°Maybe eventually. We shouldn¡¯t get into the superhero game yet, it¡¯s far too early. Let¡¯s wait until we¡¯re sure we can defend ourselves. No, I was thinking that our bodies are going to change a lot, and I¡¯d rather not have to buy a new wardrobe every time we drop a size.¡±

    Juliette leaned back in her chair. ¡°Not interested in trying out the oversized sweater look? It works for Tina.¡± Her friend shot her a glare, and she replied with a bright laugh. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re going to get?¡±

    Nova was unfazed by the sudden change in topic, and moved fluidly to a section of one of her boards occupied by a 3x2 grid, each square labeled with the name of one of the group. The notes within were sparse, only a few ideas under each name. ¡°Something with a lot of stopping power to start with.¡±

    ¡°Like a taser?¡±

    ¡°Exactly like a taser¡± she said, adding it under her name.

    ¡°Ever the pragmatist. Are you sure you don¡¯t want something more, I don¡¯t know, fantastical?¡±

    ¡°It can be a magic taser.¡± Nova replied, deadpan.

    Juliette chucked an eraser at her inscrutable friend, who caught it, and used it to erase the word ¡°Fantastical¡±, which she had added to modify ¡°taser¡±.

    ¡°Okay, but what then? In your wildest dreams, what do you want to be able to do?¡±

    Nova gave her head a brief shake, as if to clear it, which was her way of admitting that she didn¡¯t know. She started writing conditions in a sublist under her name. ¡°It needs to be scalable, so that it never outlives its usefulness. It needs to be impressive, as to act as a deterrent. I¡¯d also like it to be broadly useful, not just for combat.¡± On the board, she wrote ¡°Scalable¡±, ¡°Shock and Awe¡±, and ¡°Utility¡±.

    ¡°How about¡­¡± Juliette thought, her creative wheels turning behind shockingly blue eyes. ¡°We give you the ability to absorb and store electricity in your blood, then give you the option to either discharge it or use it as fuel to improve your body?¡±

    Nova ground to a standstill, like a clockwork doll running down, and considered. After a solid minute, she cracked a smile and said ¡°I like it. Though I have no idea how to summarize that on the board.¡±

    ¡°Here,¡± Juliette said, standing from her chair and taking the whiteboard marker from her friend. She then proceeded to wipe Nova¡¯s square clean and replace all the writing within with three words.

    ¡°Goddess of Lightning¡±.

 Chapter 12, Interlude

    Stretched over the surface of the planet in an intangible skin, Sarah frantically hummed away at her calculations. Her numbers were off. Way off.

    This planet had seemed so violent!

    Because this world was so riddled with violence, and because its inhabitants were so well adapted for combat, she had vastly overestimated the amount of conflict experienced in the course of the average human¡¯s everyday life.

    Her biggest mistake was underestimating the effect of social ties on her research trials. She had expected her subjects to pull back from their normal existences and focus on improving within the system, but that didn¡¯t seem to be happening. Of the five, only two were hunting system beasts at all, and only one with any real urgency. Apparently, the possibility of transcendence beyond the limits of mortal ken wasn¡¯t a strong enough lure.

    This was unacceptable.

    At the moment, she was drawing from every resource at her disposal, human media, stories and unconscious desires. Piecing together, bit by bit, an infrastructure that when integrated into the system, would introduce some much-needed struggle into her subject¡¯s lives. She needed to finish this quickly.

    Even now, her subjects were in the process of settling into routines, getting comfortable. And she couldn¡¯t have that, now could she?

    ****

    ¡°Come in, Weber, Do you copy?¡± The radio crackled to life, and Sam¡¯s eyes snapped open. It was bright, light streaming through gaps in the cheap tarps rigged up as blackout curtains, but it was always bright. She checked the clock on the floor next to her futon, little more than a thin mattress. 0527. Christ.

    ¡°Weber, do you copy?¡± the radio repeated, as Samantha fought her way up off the mattress and to the middle of the one room shack, where the radio rested innocently on a table. She grabbed the headset and replied.

    ¡°I copy. Do you know what time it is, Drea?¡± she said, her voice thick with grogginess. Possibly more than was strictly warranted, but who could say?

    ¡°I know, but it¡¯s an emergency. You¡¯re needed.¡±

    ¡°Fuck.¡± She quietly swore, before pressing the button to respond. ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡±

    ¡°Some American kid fancied himself an explorer, and set about driving to the north pole in the best Arctic Transit vehicle money could buy. Damn thing¡¯s an apartment on treads.¡±

    ¡°He got stuck?¡±

    ¡°He got stuck. Won¡¯t tell us how, probably wasn¡¯t paying attention and drove into a snowdrift. He called for help on his Sat phone, but the wind¡¯s picking up, and you¡¯re the closest for miles.¡±

    There was silence on the line for a few seconds, until the radio sputtered back up. ¡°Sam, do you read?¡±

    ¡°This station isn¡¯t big enough for two, Andrea.¡±

    ¡°I know, sweetheart. I know. You¡¯ll only have to hold him for 48 hours, then a rescue team will be able to get through. They¡¯ll pick him up, then swing back around to dig out the vehicle. The kid¡¯s life is at stake, Sam.¡±

    Sam took a deep breath, let it out, and picked up her spear. ¡°Fine. What are his coordinates?¡±

    She took them down, and started packing the sled for a two-hour journey, both ways. She packed extra fuel, flares, emergency kit, and lastly, buckled on a set of winter gear.

    Not that she needed it any more, but it never hurt to be careful.

    ****

    John was in the middle of cutting fruit when the bell above the door rang. He looked up to see a man with dark skin and close-cropped hair sidling up to the bar top.

    ¡°Can I help you, sir?¡± he said.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said the man. ¡°Can I get a Gin and Tonic?¡±

    ¡°Rail?¡± At the man¡¯s nod, he grabbed a glass and began pouring the two-ingredient drink as the man slid onto one of the bar stools. ¡°Coming right up.¡± Huh. He would have pegged this guy for a whiskey drinker.

    ¡°Not your busy period?¡± The man asked with an easy smile, and slid over a twenty.

    ¡°No, sir. That comes later, when everyone gets off work.¡± The two were the only ones in the bar at the moment, and while John¡¯s statement was technically true, it never got particularly busy.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    ¡°It¡¯s a pity, this is a nice place¡± said the man, and it was. While the bar was small, the whole room was constructed of rich, stained hardwood. The walls and ceiling were decorated minimally, but ornately, and every surface in the room was polished to a dull shine. The room was lit to a soft glow by lamps in glass sconces on the walls, and the bar itself looked to be made of one solid piece of wood, with sleek and modern taps and fixtures attached. The room was beautiful, luxurious without being imposing, and clearly well-loved and maintained. ¡°It¡¯s just in such an awful location.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know about that, sir. We do all right.¡± John replied smoothly, as he began to move the cut fruit into partitioned containers, but it was true. The location was awful. It was almost as if the bar wasn¡¯t looking for much business, but just enough to operate as a bar.

    ¡°Do you now? Are you the owner?¡± John shook his head, and slowly wiped down the countertop. Something was starting to bug him about this man, possibly in the way he spoke, or the way he held himself.

    ¡°No sir, I¡¯m not. I¡¯m just watching the bar for a friend until he gets back from a business trip.¡± He said, and studied the man more intently, resting his hands on the bar. The way the man only ever touched the glass with his fingertips stirred a vague familiarity as the glass was raised to his lips.

    ¡°Hey, John?¡± The man said, and color began to drain from both of their faces. He had never told the man his name. John paled as the man¡¯s skin began to lighten. His hair straightened, changed color and began to grow at a rapid rate. His facial features rearranged themselves, giving way to high cheekbones and a strong jaw, as the man gave that same slow smile. John knew this face, better than he knew his own.

    ¡°Did you miss me?¡± said Andrew Redd, one of the most notorious criminals in Seattle.

    ****

    In the slums of New Delhi, there was a rumor being passed from person to person. It was one of those only spoken in the dark, and only then among those you trust absolutely. This rumor was powerful, because it lent those who previously had no hope a spark, and made living in the refuse just that much more bearable. It wasn¡¯t much, but for the broken and downtrodden men and women who called this place home, it was enough.

    The rumor changed depending on who was telling it, but the most common form went a little like this.

    In the most crowded streets of the city, there lives a spirit. The spirit never shows itself, but it is there, present and watching.

    They say that if you are injured, or sick, or crippled, and if you go to one of these crowded streets in the early mornings or late evenings, when the press of bodies is slow, and allow yourself to be seen by the crowd, the spirit will take notice of you. When the spirit sees you, you feel it first as a shiver in your spine. Next, your mind is overcome with a supernatural calm. Finally, you grow very tired, and need to fight to stay awake.

    When the moment passes, you will feel stronger, more whole. You will not be cured completely, but will feel improved from even the gravest of ailments.

    Those who experience this always come back, trying crowded street after crowded street, hoping to find the spirit who takes their pain away. Sometimes they find it, and they grow stronger. Sometimes, they don¡¯t, and they grow weaker. Those who have been following the spirit since the beginning say that the effect has grown since the first time it was felt, and the very first of them are almost all the way healed.

    Ones club foot has almost completely straightened out. Another is beginning to regain sensation in his legs, lame for so long. Another still has been coughing less and less, and the flush of color is returning to his skin.

    They say that one woman has even begun to regrow a lost arm, millimeter by millimeter.

    The craziest and most fanatical of them insist that the spirit is feeding on their ailments, taking them into itself and using them to grow stronger.

    They are absolutely right.

    ****

    ¡°Baby, where are you going?¡± Lindiwe De Beer called to her daughter, who was in the process of racing out the door. The girl stopped midstride.

    ¡°Off to build my empire, Mama.¡± Kaya said, knowing her mother wouldn¡¯t listen.

    ¡°Be back before dinner. I don¡¯t want you out on the street after the sun goes down.¡± She said, and her daughter nodded, and raced out the door. ¡°Silly girl,¡± she muttered to herself, and put the phone back to her ear and resumed jotting down notes. ¡°Mr. Johnson, I¡¯m sorry to keep you waiting. You were saying about your companies order¡­¡±

    The girl raced out of the suburbs at a breakneck pace, never stopping, never slowing down until she reached a quiet stretch of road, where under a shady tree her closest confidant was waiting.

    ¡°Nathi. Any news?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve given the orbs to as many people as I can without making them suspicious, and even paid a friend to give them out at his school. I¡¯ve given away all that you gave me.¡± The boy seemed nervous, shifting from foot to foot and searching the area with darting eyes, as if he thought something would jump out at any moment. The boy was a full five years older than her, a 14 to her 9, but he was more skittish by a mile, and less¡­ precocious, let¡¯s say.

    ¡°Good.¡± She breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°Progress. I have more for you to give out, spread them wider this time. You¡¯ve done well.¡± She favored him with a pat on the shoulder, which took considerable effort considering their difference in height.

    ¡°What is this about, Kaya?¡± He said, hands in his pockets and eyes continuing to dart. ¡°Why are you having me do this? Is this helping you, somehow? You promised you could help her.¡±

    She let out a breath. She needed to bring the boy in, she had decided. He was useful, loyal, and most importantly, her friend.

    ¡°Now, I can¡¯t tell you everything,¡± she said, and he sputtered, but she continued to speak. ¡°But, I can at least tell you what the orbs are for. Do still you have one?¡±

    He nodded.

    ¡°That you¡¯ve been carrying with you for a week?¡±

    He nodded again, and brought it out. To him, it looked like a plain black marble, or possibly a particularly round, smooth stone. To her, however, it glowed from inside with a weak, golden light.

    ¡°Watch closely now,¡± she said, and when he focused on it, she breathed.

    The marble shattered, turning into a fine powder which formed into a cloud of golden dust. As he watched, the cloud streamed toward Kaya and into her, seemingly driven by the power of her lungs. She waited for the dumbstruck boy to process, and eventually he spoke.

    ¡°That¡­ that¡¯s going to help you cure my sister?¡±

    ¡°No, Nath. With these, I¡¯m not just going to cure your sister of the virus.¡± She said, handing him a small handbag filled with marbles. ¡°I¡¯m going to cure everyone.¡±

 Chapter 13

    Chris¡¯s thoughts were turning like a waterwheel, spinning like a top, ticking away like gears in an expensive Swiss watch. Each of his ideas fell into place with unmatched clarity, and he could physically feel his subconscious humming underneath, like the purr of a great cat. His brain had been stuffed with cotton, and lubricated with jelly, but now it was stripped clean. He was a well-oiled machine, wielding his focus as a scalpel.

    He was currently bringing his great brain to bear, searching for a way out.

    ¡°Is this¡­ necessary, boss?¡± he said, buying time. His expression was cool and unbothered, betraying no hint of the brain running full tilt underneath.

    ¡°Yes. Your clothes are falling off you, and you¡¯ll need the skill levels.¡± Nova replied coolly from her recliner, eyes focused on a tablet in her lap, typing away at entries on a list.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t Juliette work for the costume department? Wouldn¡¯t she be better suited for this?¡± His gaze involuntarily slid to the sewing machine that was likely very expensive in the 80¡¯s, but was now occupying a position of honor on the living room table.

    ¡°Yes, which is why she will be showing you the basics tonight.¡± Juliette reached over Tina from her position on the other side of the couch and sympathetically pat him on the back. ¡°You can finish deep-cleaning the house, if you¡¯d like, but this should be your next project.¡± She looked up from her tablet, and noticed the discomfort in his bearing. ¡°I thought you would enjoy this sort of task?¡±

    Kristina laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, he will. He¡¯s just annoyed that he¡¯s being told to do it. If he had thought of it first, you wouldn¡¯t be able to tear him away. You like doing things for people,¡± she reached up and patted him on the cheek, ¡°don¡¯t you, you big softy?¡±

    As he swatted her hand away, his ticking clock brain insisted that she was right. He likely would enjoy altering clothes to fit for his friends and himself, he was just being stubborn. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    ¡°Good¡±, Nova muttered, and moved to the next item on her list. ¡°Alright, next is covering our bases. If our group is going to eventually see combat, and Chris believes it will,¡± she looked over to confirm with Chris, and he nodded grimly. He had spoken with Sarah too much to think that they could get through this without fighting. ¡°then we need to designate one of us as the medic, preferably with a few shifts to help us heal. If no one else is willing, then I will¡­¡±

    ¡°I volunteer¡±, interrupted Max¡¯s basso rumble, amusement coloring his voice.

    ¡°Oh, alright then.¡± Their leader said, visibly relieved. Nova had no interest in being the team¡¯s designated healbot. It sounded terribly stressful, and not particularly interesting. She was meant for dealing damage, not fixing it. ¡°What¡¯s your plan?¡±

    ¡°I had Chris look up a few shifts for me. We think these two will work well together.¡± He passed Nova a notecard, who entered the information onto her tablet.

    Directed Regeneration: 0/X (100)

    Upgrades the subject¡¯s immune system into a new class of cells, significantly more effective at the repairing of injuries and wounds of all kinds. Simple wounds such as lacerations often heal at a rate visible to the naked eye. This immune system functions without direction, but in emergency, can be concentrated on life-threatening wounds, keeping the subject from death. Higher levels in this shift improve number, speed, and efficacy of the cells, as well as degree of control. Slightly increases resistance to disease. Slightly increases growth resulting from musculoskeletal damage.

    Immune Overwrite 0/100

    Gives subject the ability to overwrite another human¡¯s immune system with their own, given focus and physical contact from the subject. Takes a period of directed focus to take effect, and the overwritten human¡¯s immune system gradually retakes control after physical contact is broken. Amount of time and focus required to overwrite decreases with points invested. Time the overwrite lasts increases with points invested, up to 48 hours when fully purchased. Subject¡¯s immune system becomes DNA null, eliminating immune rejection.

    ¡°Good backup plan, boss?¡±

    Nova thought for a moment, and passed the card around the room. ¡°Can directed regeneration regrow limbs and organs?¡±

    ¡°It can, we checked. It¡¯s slow at low levels, and can¡¯t handle nasty diseases, but still. The combo should let me play off-tank and healer at the same time.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Good backup plan. Now, next item is¡­¡±

    ¡°Hold,¡± said Chris, and everyone in the room turned to look as his eyes unfocused.

    Are you ready to begin the next phase of system integration, Christopher?

    The room watched as Chris grew tense and let out a sigh before replying. ¡°I don¡¯t exactly have a good track record of enjoying new aspects of the system, Sarah. You told me you can¡¯t integrate my friends for months yet, so what do you mean?¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    I have finally integrated enough with your world that I can begin my next phase of testing. Did you believe that I was only evaluating how your bodies react to the system? I also need to evaluate your decision making, and how you respond to stressors.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t sound like I¡¯m going to enjoy this testing.¡±

    It contains elements of struggle and risk, but overcoming challenges is something you have demonstrated enjoying in the past.

    ¡°Do I get anything out of it, or are you going to force the issue?¡±

    You always have a choice, Christopher. Often, it will be strongly in your best interest to agree, but you always have the option to refuse. The system is for your benefit, this is not a hostage situation.

    Chris cleared his throat, wrapped his arm around the girl at his side, and looked seriously around at the Rogues Gallery. His friends. He spoke aloud for the first time in the conversation. ¡°She wants to test me, see how I respond to stress¡±. The atmosphere in the room grew tense. ¡°Alright, what do you want me to do?¡±

    At 8pm local time, you will be given the option to enter an Instance, something of a pocket dimension, where you will be tested. You will experience an extended scenario, in which you will need to rely on your ingenuity, personal strength, and shifts in order to succeed. These Instances will take place once a month, and you will only have one chance to accept each one. If you decline, you will have no choice but to wait for the next cycle.

    Chris dictated all of this to the group, Nova frantically taking down the words as they were spoken, onto her tablet. After he was finished, he prompted Sarah to continue. ¡°What do I have to gain?¡±

    After the Instance is complete, you will be assessed rewards based on your performance. These can take many forms, but if you choose to be rewarded in points, you have the possibility to earn more at once than you have accumulated up to this point.

    He dictated this as well, and the room broke out in whispering. He paused for breath, then asked the question that was on all their minds. ¡°And what happens if I fail?¡±

    Your performance up to the point of failure will be assessed. If you perform poorly enough, you will be assessed a reward point penalty, or be stripped of shifts if you have none to spare.

    ¡°Since I¡¯m certain these will involve combat, can I die? If I die in the matrix, do I die in real life?¡± The room held its breath, waiting for an answer only Chris could hear.

    If you are about to sustain a fatal injury, the Instance is automatically failed. Upon the end of a scenario, by success or failure, your injuries will be stabilized, but not fully healed. You cannot die as a result of an Instance, but you will feel the full extent of pain from your injuries.

    ¡°But I might wish I had, huh.¡± He relayed this to the group, and they broke out in frantic discussion. 8pm was barely 20 minutes away. The group consensus, after a few minutes of arguing, was that the reward wasn¡¯t worth the risk. Chris had only fought in life or death combat once before, and in a worst-case scenario, he would end up grievously injured and down an unknown number of reward points. Just as they were about to take a vote, with Chris¡¯s as the tiebreaker of course, Juliette spoke up.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the stick?¡± she asked the room. She had a habit of asking the right questions, so they each considered the question seriously. Ben was the first to respond.

    ¡°Well, getting hurt and losing points is a pretty big stick.¡± He posited, trying to wrap his head around her train of thought.

    ¡°Not a stick. When someone is trying to sell you Choice A, they give you the advantages of picking A, the carrot, and the consequences of picking Choice B, which is the stick. Failing the instance is a possible consequence of picking A.¡± Juliette said, leading them by the nose. They would need to reach this conclusion on their own, they learn better that way.

    ¡°Having to wait for next month is the stick. Losing an opportunity.¡± Nova replied, confidently.

    ¡°Closer, but still no. The other door closing is a built-in consequence of making a choice. Sarah wouldn¡¯t have given us the option if there weren¡¯t serious downsides to picking Choice B. Think.¡±

    Tina¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°The other four,¡± she breathed. ¡°If they gamble and win, they¡¯ll be too powerful for us to stop. We¡¯ll fall too far behind¡±.

    ¡°Fuck.¡± Chris swore, and the rest of the room echoed his sentiment. ¡°We¡¯re idiots.¡±

    ¡°Not idiots, single-minded.¡± Juliette said, looking each of her friends in the eye, one by one. ¡°Shall we vote?¡±

    The Rogues Gallery always voted by show of hands, a time-honored tradition since the first time they had ever been together as a group. Back then, they had been deciding which reaction to attempt in their first Chem lab. Now, they were deciding whether their friend would risk grievous bodily harm for power.

    The two Chrises voted yes, as did Benjamin and Juliette. Max and Nova voted no, both for the same reason. They didn¡¯t want to see their friend, their family, in pain. Also, deep down, they both believed that with careful planning and enough preparation, their group could handle anyone. No matter what rewards they received. Alas, they were outvoted.

    ¡°Can I bring anything with me, Sarah?¡± Chris asked the air, as the clock rolled around to 7:59pm.

    No possessions you carry will follow you through.

    ¡°Ah well, it was worth a shot.¡± He said, raising from the couch and stepping to the center of the room. He addressed the crowd of worried faces as if giving a Shakespearian monologue. ¡°Well, my loves, will you have some bandages and booze waiting for me when I get out? I feel like after this, I¡¯m going to need a drink.¡± He said, and with a step to the left, he was gone.

    ****

    Chris came back to himself with the sensation of a soft cushion under his butt. He opened his eyes to the familiar sight of his living room ceiling.

    ¡°Wait, did I not go anywhere? Did I lose my memories of the instance?¡± he muttered, looking around, trying to regain his bearings. He took in the tableau of his friends in their usual places around the room.

    Unnaturally still. Unnaturally pale. Gashes adorned their skin, bone-deep lacerations that he had missed on first pass, as they were completely bloodless. The bodies reclined in a caricature of their usual poses.

    Chris scrambled off the couch, out of the cold arms of his best friend in the world, and stumbled backwards until his back hit a wall. He pushed on his Speed shift with all his might, frantically trying to regain some sense of control. It did nothing to slow the jackrabbit beat of his heart.

    From this perspective, he could see what he couldn¡¯t from the couch. Burned into the carpet, in block letters a foot tall, was a single word. ¡°Survive¡±.

    ¡°Sarah, you are one sick son of a bitch¡±, he gasped, and the bodies began to move.

 Chapter 14

    Chris scrambled through the door to the garage and slammed it shut, throwing his back against the door.

    He fought to keep from hyperventilating as his renovated brain attempted to reestablish control. He could feel it shackling his levels of Cortisol and Adrenaline, righting the ship and returning him to functionality. It took half a minute of erratic breathing, and a retch or two, but eventually he regained the ability to think coherently. His mind buzzed and spun as he scanned the bare garage, searching for anything useful.

    Goddamn it, pull yourself together. What do you have at your disposal? Status!

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: Fear

    Shifts: Intelligent Design, Speeded Per. and React. (FD) 9/X (60), Mental Health 10/50

    Skills: Running 7(1), Boxing 5, Self-Control 5, Endurance 4, Flexibility 3, Meditation 3, Cleaning 3, Multitasking 3(1), Pain Tolerance 2, Driving 2, Knife Fighting 1, Cooking 1, Dancing 1

    Unallocated: 2 points

    Yes, I know I¡¯m afraid. Fuck you. He lamented his decision to forgo offensive shifts for mental ones, though logically he knew that without them, he would be a sobbing wreck.

    His eyes finally alit on Ben¡¯s beat-up old tool-chest, and he darted over. He could hear the corpses moving on the other side of the door, but nothing else. No moans, no breathing, just the shuffling of feet against carpet and the rustling of shifting clothes. He knelt, and threw open the chest to find the one object reminiscent of a weapon in the room, a two-foot prybar that Ben had affectionately dubbed ¡°The Persuader¡±. He grabbed it, and stumbled to his feet in time to hear a sound that sent dread snaking up his spine.

    The creaking of a door. He hadn¡¯t locked it.

    He turned and leveled his prybar at the door, rounded end out, to see it slowly swing open. The first to come shambling through was Tina, of course it had to be Tina, cold and pale and utterly dead.

    ¡°Tina¡­ Kristina.¡± He begged. He never used her name any more, only darling or dear. ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer. If that¡¯s you, and I¡¯m hallucinating, I could hurt you. Just let me tire myself out, or call the police. Please, just don¡¯t come any closer.¡±

    The corpse continued to trudge forward, implacably. It moved haltingly, with great effort, as if wearing a body too heavy for its musculature to carry. A chef¡¯s knife was loosely gripped in its right hand.

    Chris resisted the urge to back away into a corner. If he gave up the bottleneck of the doorway, he would easily end up surrounded. His clockwork mind continued to feed him tactical information like this, even as his emotions threatened to immolate his skull from the inside out. Survival was the main goal. The only goal.

    He continued to plead with her as it moved closer and closer, until it was almost within range, when he responded with the only thing he could think to do. He took a wild, loping swing, a slow swing, a haymaker, one that would be easily avoided if it was Tina, right? One that she could duck without thinking. She had always been faster than him, so there was no way she wouldn¡¯t dodge, right?

    She didn¡¯t.

    The blunt side of the prybar hit the corpse¡¯s head with a sickening crack, and it stumbled to the side, almost falling before just barely catching itself. Then, it turned, and resumed its march.

    Chris was beyond coherence. It was only his most recent shift that kept him on his feet, kept him fighting as he took another swing. This one he took two handed, with a proper stance, and it caved in the corpse¡¯s skull, dropping it like a wet sack of flour. No blood splattered the walls. That would be too human.

    The corpses seem to be moving faster as time passes, some distant, cold part of him registered as he continued to kill, to butcher. He took down Ben with a single blow to the head and Nova with a kick to the chest and an overhand swing before the corpses got fast enough to threaten him. Ben¡¯s corpse had been wielding the Multitool he always carried, and Nova¡¯s corpse had the other kitchen knife.

    Max was next through the door, and he proved more problematic. The corpse carried the claw hammer that they used to hang pictures, and swung it in slow, dangerous arcs. Chris needed to break its elbow before he could get close enough to bash its skull in.

    The last through the door was Juliette, with her pocketknife that she used as a stagehand, moving towards him with empty eyes. The corpse moved to just outside swinging distance, and waited, with the patience of the dead. They stood like that, floor strewn with the bodies of their friends, until Chris calmed down enough that he was no longer on autopilot. The minutes stretched, one combatant¡¯s terror slowly giving way to determination, the other silent as the stone.

    After five minutes had passed, Chris stepped forward and took an experimental swing, and the corpse counterswung, aiming for his forearm, but it was still too slow, not even at human speed yet. They retook their positions, and held for another minute.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    These aren¡¯t my friends. They have some intelligence, but it¡¯s not them. Its just Sarah, trying to break me.

    Well, she wouldn¡¯t be able to break him yet. He shifted the prybar into one hand, and stepped into another swing. When the corpse counterswung, he was easily able to grab its forearm with his free hand and yank it off balance. As it stumbled, he crushed its skull.

    With the final combatant dispatched, he dropped into a crouch and waited, watching the twice-corpses for movement. During the standoff, he had managed to subdue his panic, fear and guilt, and replace them with a knife¡¯s edge focus on completing the Instance. He had nothing to gain by crying, swearing or shouting at god. Or in this case, shouting at Sarah. The only thing that he could control in this blasted hellscape was himself, and his only way to hurt Sarah was to show that he couldn¡¯t be broken. So, he waited, and his mind ticked away.

    Minutes passed with no movement from the twice-dead, so Chris stood.

    ¡°Not over yet, huh?¡± he muttered as he walked back through the open garage door into the living room. He took in the empty room, with the single word burnt into the carpet. ¡°Survive. For how long? Hell of a time to go silent, Sarah.¡± He climbed the stairs to Ben¡¯s bedroom, and moved the blackout curtains to the side in order to peek out the window.

    He saw dead roaming the streets.

    Roughly 15 walking, no longer shambling, corpses were wandering around the neighborhood, each armed with a makeshift weapon. Chris lived in the ¡°Student Ghetto¡±, a somewhat offensive sobriquet for a cluster of streets to the south of campus occupied mostly by ramshackle duplex and triplexes, rented out by landlords to poor undergrads for cheap. More specifically, he lived on Carson Lane, which consisted of two cul-de-sacs connected by a road up to the main street. From out the window, he could see his cul-de-sac, a hint of the other one, and the road out, but no farther. There seemed to be a wall of blackness, vertical and rising to the horizon, partitioning off the neighborhood.

    This did not bode well for the Instances win condition.

    At least the dead didn¡¯t seem to be actively hunting him. Also, since his neighbors were almost entirely college students, none of them appeared to have guns. Lucky him.

    He carefully weighed the options before realizing that he shouldn¡¯t be carefully weighing the options, and the longer he took, the faster these creatures would get.

    Fuck. Wait, I don¡¯t see Johnny.

    He needed a better weapon, and while nothing he owned came to mind, his neighbors, the two men he split a duplex with, were both good ol¡¯ country boys. They likely had something.

    His engine of a mind churned, then spit out a plan. While it wasn¡¯t a particularly good plan, it was something, and he needed to move. Fast.

    None of the dead were looking up, so he quickly grabbed a lamp, sorry Ben, and eased the window open, sliding out onto the roof. He eased across the roof, careful not to dislodge any shingles, and made his way to his neighbor¡¯s window. As soon as he was sure that no corpses were looking in his direction, he chucked the lamp as hard as he could at the driveway of one of the houses across the way.

    Right as it landed, with a crash that belied its weight, Chris broke in the window with his prybar, leaning on his speed shift to get the timing right. He was thankful that whoever had this bedroom had invested in blackout curtains which deadened the noise.

    Without checking to see whether his distraction worked, he stepped through the window and into the bedroom. He received a cut on his forearm for his trouble, and this t-shirt would never be the same again, but he was more or less fine. The room was, blessedly, empty.

    He pressed his ear to the bedroom door. All was quiet, but that didn¡¯t mean anything. He slowly eased open the door, and crept down the stairs to check the living room.

    Standing there, eyes locked on the front door, was a corpse. A firewood axe sat in its grip, and it rested in a fighter¡¯s crouch, statue still, ready to pounce on anyone who came through the door.

    Oh Johnny, I¡¯m so sorry. He thought, as he crept up behind his amicable neighbor and dispatched him, with one heavy blow to the head. I promise I¡¯ll get to know you better after this. That is, if I¡¯m not in a mental hospital.

    He searched the house, but the only real useful item was the firewood axe in Johnny¡¯s hand, which was surprisingly dull. The real prize came when he searched the garage.

    There, amongst other things, was a three-foot breaker bar, a crowbar, bigger than the one he had, and two sharp, trident-style gigging spears. Never had he thought that he¡¯d be grateful his neighbor hunted frogs.

    Goddamn, Johnny. You should have been the one to survive the apocalypse, not me.

    He gathered them up, and moved to the living room to try and think a plan. The corpse got thrown bodily into the garage, where it wouldn¡¯t bug him. Even with his turbo-charged brain, he still wasn¡¯t that great of a planner. When you struggle to complete step one of any plan, you fall out of the habit after a while. Screw you, depression. These days, he mostly left the planning to Nova.

    All the cars had mysteriously disappeared from their driveways, and he didn¡¯t want to get trapped in one and surrounded anyway, so that was out. He wasn¡¯t particularly stealthy, especially with a crowbar, so going out and trying to play assassin would probably get him surrounded and killed. He could try and set traps, Home Alone style, but all the time he would need to spend on them would end up balanced out by the corpses getting faster.

    After about a minute, he had a plan, but he didn¡¯t like it.

    First, he started moving furniture. He used chairs and dressers to barricade every door on the first floor except one, both outside and interior doors, just to have a second line of defense.

    Second, he blocked off the only first floor window with a bed turned on its side. It wouldn¡¯t hold long, but might act as a deterrent.

    Third, he took the two couches and lined them up with the door, forming a corridor to the center of the room. Then, he took all his supplies, weapons and water bottles salvaged from the fridge, and arranged them so that they¡¯d be in easy reach from the center of the room.

    Preparations almost complete, he raided Johnny¡¯s closet. He pulled on a leather jacket, and slid an oversized pair of carpenter¡¯s jeans on over his own, thankful that Johnny was at least three sizes bigger than he was. With a belt, they didn¡¯t seem to restrict his mobility any. He also found a sturdy pair of work gloves. Pity the steel-toed boots didn¡¯t fit.

    Finally, he pulled out his phone and connected to the Bluetooth speaker sitting on Johnny¡¯s coffee table. He turned the thing all the way up, cued up his Thrash Metal playlist, and threw open the front door.

    The only thing louder than the screaming guitars was the thudding of his pulse in his ears.

 Chapter 15

    In a cut away pocket of the universe, suspended in perpetual twilight, there were only three sources of noise. There was no wind to shake the treetops, no thrum of idling engines, no whirring of AC units. However, despite the lack of sources, the entire area was being rocked by cacophonous din.

    The quietest in the Instance was the sound of shuffling corpses, the swish of clothing and the scrape of feet against pavement as thirty-odd bodies all moved towards one central point. This was not loud enough to shake the ground. The next loudest was the sound of a man fighting for his life, swinging and smashing and stabbing with all his might, with a pounding heart and gasping breath. This too was not loud enough to vibrate the air.

    The loudest was Avatar¡¯s ¡°Feathers and Flesh¡± being played at blistering volume over poor Johnny¡¯s soundbar, and it rocked the earth.

    Chris leaned into the music, letting it distract him from the grim reality of his situation as he smashed and stabbed anything that moved. The first few corpses had been easy, and he was falling into a rhythm. Stab through the eyes with a gigging spear as soon as they get within range, then step forward as they reel and kick their chest while pulling out the spear. This wasn¡¯t enough to kill, but it blinded them and knocked them back into the horde, slowing the tide.

    After blinding six this way, he lost a spear. He hadn¡¯t been fast enough at kicking back the seventh, and it blindly lashed out, pulling the spear down with it as it fell back into the horde.

    Chris grabbed the other spear, and his resolve set with the pounding of the drums. They were speeding up, but so could he. They were still moving slower than humans, and he had fought humans. These were nothing.

    He rationed his strength as best he could, leaning on his speed shift when a body entered the doorway, and dispatching it with brutal efficiency. He only had a few seconds to recover between each exchange, but that was fine. It was how he fought in the ring, anyway.

    When his second spear snapped under the force of a corpse¡¯s baseball bat, he took up the crowbar and began smashing skulls. When the crowbar was lost, drawn down under the weight of a falling body, he wielded the breaker bar as a club, shattering limbs and crippling his former friends and neighbors. When the steel bar was bent beyond recognition or usefulness, the blunt wood-axe came into play, severing spines and wrecking skulls with its dull edge. When the wood handle splintered, with an overzealous blow by a man pushed to the brink, the prybar that had gotten him this far re-entered the fray.

    With every lost weapon, Chris gave ground. With every corpse that fell, the entryway of the house grew more and more clogged, as the remaining dead had to climb over the bodies of their brethren. With every body added to the blockade, Chris bought himself more time to rest, more space to breathe, and more rage with which to swing. And with every second that passed, the dead grew faster, and stronger, and smarter.

    Eventually, the tide slowed to a trickle, then a halt. Chris was grateful for this, as his arms and upper torso were bruised and cut beyond recognition, and he was swaying on his feet, about to drop. He had been fighting for what, 15 minutes, basically nonstop? He supposed he had intelligent design to thank for his survival. If not for the shift refurbishing his body, giving him the body control of a dancer and the health of an Olympic athlete, he would surely have fallen in minutes.

    Our hero collapsed to the ground, and began nursing a water bottle as he surveyed the carnage. The couches forming the entrance hallway had been forced apart by the press of bodies, and the entryway now resembled a mass grave. Bodies stacked upon bodies, all with crushed skulls or severed spines, and all bloodless as a stone. He had not fought honorably, often dropping a corpse while it was struggling through the morass, but what was honor to survival?

    Chris was most thankful, however, for the music, filling the air with shrieking guitars, drowning out the deafening silence. Part of why the first fight had been so horrible was how quiet it had been, the corpses making no noise but their movement, letting the room fill with nothing but fear and sweat. He quietly resolved to carry a speaker with him whenever he could, from then on.

    Grimacing, he toasted the air with his water bottle. ¡°How¡¯s that for survival, Sarah?¡± Then, as one song wound down into silence, he heard it. The tinkling of shattering glass.

    As he watched, with a kind of grim resignation, the bed that he had used to block the main window tipped, and fell to reveal six more figures, armed with bats and knives and hammers.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°You¡¯re a dick, Sarah¡±.

    ****

    Chris sprinted up the stairs, pursued by a half dozen pale figures. They were fast, now, faster than the average human, and as far as he could tell, they never tired. He had made it through the last wave because he had managed to face them effectively one at a time, leaning on his speed shift, combat experience, and superior weaponry to take them down, only suffering superficial damage himself. Six would tear him to shreds.

    He crashed through the open bedroom door, slamming it shut behind him. This was his backup plan, his method of escape, a habit engrained by almost three years of Nova¡¯s meticulousness. She would be proud of him for having one, but the actual plan itself¡­

    Let¡¯s just say that he didn¡¯t give himself great odds of passing this instance.

    He frantically grabbed a plastic jug, placed on the nightstand during his earlier preparation, and eased out onto the roof through the broken window. The door splintered behind him. He had remembered to lock it this time.

    As he carefully made his way across the roof back to Ben¡¯s window, he emptied the contents of the jug onto the roof, trying to cover as much of the surface area as possible while still giving him places to step. A distinctive scent filled his lungs.

    Peanut oil. For frying, presumably.

    He silently thanked Johnny, again, for being a little bit country as the corpses made their way out of the room and onto the roof. He watched, one arm bracing himself against Ben¡¯s windowsill as all six corpses clambered out of the broken window and began sprinting across the oiled shingles.

    Only one made it to him.

    As Chris swung with his free arm, dislodging the last corpse from its perch on the roof and watching it plummet the 15 feet to the ground, he saw the rest of the corpses hit the pavement one at a time. None were still, but all broke bones, crippling themselves with fractured ankles and wrenched knees. As he considered going down to finish them off, the world came to a shuddering halt.

    Congratulations, Christopher.

    <u>Scenario Passed</u>

    Grade: 88%, B+

    Time: 1:08:36.25

    Positive Modifiers: Establishing contingencies to address the possibility of hallucination, Procuring multiple weapons, Manipulating environment to your favor, Rendering all assailants invalid, Restricting flow of assailants to a manageable level.

    Negative Modifiers: Injuries Sustained (Severe Bruising, Mild Laceration, Mild Blood Loss, Severe Muscle Fatigue), Time Taken (Over 1 hour)

    Chris found himself standing in a featureless void, starting a white writing suspended in the air before him. He grimaced, and addressed the air.

    ¡°You¡¯re a monster, you know that, right?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°As long as you know.¡± He read through his performance report. ¡°How is taking an hour and eight minutes a negative?¡±

    A superhuman in one of your stories would pass this instance in minutes. The best time of any of my test subjects in a similar scenario was 42 minutes, 33 seconds.

    ¡°Shit. What was their grade?¡±

    92%.

    Chris swore colorfully for a moment before calming down. ¡°So, what happens now?¡±

    Now you choose your rewards. Your performance netted you 38 reward points. You may choose to take all of them, or spend them on personalized rewards such as items or discounted shifts presented now.

    ¡°Show me.¡±

    Your B+ grade grants you 4 personalized options, based on your performance, and access to a heal.

    Full Body Heal ¨C 2 points

    Dimensional Clip ¨C 4 points

    <ul>

    <li>Based on staples from human media including inventories and bags of holding, when affixed to a bag or container, establishes a dimensional pocket inside allowing storage of up to 200kg or 5 square meters. Facilitates retrieval of items stored.</li>

    </ul>

    Impact Absorption 0/X (30) ¨C 3:2 ratio of points invested, up to 20

    <ul>

    <li>When subject impacts with a blow, through a melee weapon or their body, the force of the impact on themselves can be absorbed and converted into energy for use by the user¡¯s body. This energy can be used by the user to ablate exhaustion, speed healing, or be funneled to an external source. Experienced users of this shift can fight nigh-indefinitely.</li>

    </ul>

    Collapsible Baton ¨C 8 points

    <ul>

    <li>3-foot heavy baton with molded grip, constructed of carbon metamaterials, the most durable material currently available on earth. Collapses down into a 4-inch section of its grip, losing much of its weight in the process. Soulbound. Repairable. Upgradeable.</li>

    </ul>

    Sympathetic Speaker ¨C 3 points

    <ul>

    <li>Stores music played around it, up to 12000 hours. Plays music back by resonating metal in the immediate vicinity. Possesses rudimentary intelligence and responds to verbal commands. Soulbound. Upgradeable.</li>

    </ul>

    Chris let out a low whistle. ¡°Soulbound, what does that mean?¡±

    No one lacking your unique biological signature will be able to activate the item. In addition, if the item spends 24 hours at a distance of over 100 meters from your person, a homing function will activate, and the object will make its way back to you.

    ¡°Chef Boyardee style, huh?¡± he muttered.

    Not quite.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take all of it. Except for the heal. I can handle that part on my own.¡±

    Full investment into the shift?

    ¡°Yeah, 20 points.¡±

    Excellent choice. Would you like that applied before I send you back?

    ¡°Why not. And Sarah?¡±

    Yes, Christopher?

    ¡°You¡¯re a monster.¡±

 Chapter 16

    For the fourth time today, Chris came to on a ripped leather couch, the familiar smell of his home filling his lungs. This time, however, he kept his eyes firmly shut. He had no desire to face what was waiting for him in the living room. Not yet, anyway.

    He cast about for his status, taking stock.

    <u>Status</u>

    Ongoing Effects: Moderate Bruising, Mild Laceration, Mild Blood Loss, Moderate Muscle Fatigue

    Shifts: Intelligent Design, Speeded Per. and React. (FD) 9/X (65), Mental Health 10/50, Impact Absorption 30/X (30)

    Soulbinds: Collapsible Baton, Sympathetic Speaker

    Skills: Self-Control 9(4), Running 7, Endurance 6(2), Boxing 5, Blunt Weapon Fighting 4(4), Pain Tolerance 4(2), Flexibility 3, Meditation 3, Cleaning 3, Multitasking 3, Driving 2, Combat Sense 1(1), Knife Fighting 1, Cooking 1, Dancing 1

    Unallocated: 18(+3 Scenario, +13 Skill) points

    His breath hitched, and he forced himself back into a steady breathing pattern. 13 skill levels, 51 reward points all told, and all it had cost him was an hour of breaking his friends and neighbors. That, and this awful stiffness in his arms and torso that ached whenever he took a breath. Sarah hadn¡¯t been exaggerating, that was more than his entire previous total.

    It seemed he had gained two new skills, Blunt Weapon Fighting and Combat Sense, which tracked given how much he had needed to rely on his weapons and his instincts over the past hour. Self-Control had shot up, and that was likely to do with how he had used his shifts, slipping in and out of a faster timeframe, pushing his focus beyond its limits. The levels in Endurance and Pain Tolerance, he thought as he suppressed a wince at a line of fire carving up his side, were self-explanatory.

    How these skill levels functioned was a difficult concept to wrap his head around. Supposedly they were only descriptive, and represented how well he could do specific things, but they did seem to be helping, somehow. With every level in endurance he did seem to bear the strain of effort better, and with every level in self-control his mind was quicker to obey. The levels in pain tolerance especially, which if you had asked Chris a week ago, he would have been loath to recognize as a skill, seemed to be blunting the waves of magma rolling through his body every time he took a breath.

    Sarah had said that his procedural memory would no longer decline. Did that mean that if he could do something once, he could do it forever? Were these skills being written into his muscle memory as if etched in stone? Maybe that was the bottleneck that kept humanity from ever truly mastering a skill. Memory is constantly being washed away, a sand castle before the tide of time, and we can build it up faster than it falls, but possibly only up to a point? When you reach a certain level of knowledge, of mastery, is every new thing you learn balanced by losing something old?

    Well, he wouldn¡¯t have to worry about that anymore. Apparently, whatever Sarah had done to him insulated him from the tide. He had been raised up out of the water.

    Hopefully when his friends joined him, that wouldn¡¯t make him feel so alone.

    He opened his eyes to the dim light of the kitchen¡¯s fluorescent bulbs, and worked on fighting through his exhaustion to focus his eyes on the ceiling.

    ¡°How do you feel?¡±, a soft voice floated over from his right.

    Juliette. ¡°About as good as I look.¡± Chris groaned out. ¡°How do I look?¡±

    ¡°Like shit.¡± Nova. Brusque as ever. ¡°Was it worth it?¡±

    He thought for a moment as his eyes finally focused, resolving the pale ceiling. ¡°Yeah, I think so.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡± Nova again.

    He finally tore his eyes from the ceiling, casting his eyes about the room. The blinds were closed, and Nova and Juliette seemed to be the only ones here. He watched as Juliette rose from her seat and made her way into the bathroom. ¡°Later, please.¡± He coughed, and winced as agony shot through his chest, then receded. ¡°What time is it?¡±

    ¡°One in the morning.¡± Nova said, checking the time on her sleek, black laptop, resting in her lap. She was using the time to get work done, apparently. She glanced conspicuously at his lap. ¡°New toys?¡±

    He looked down to find three bulging packages, in the form of slate gray envelopes, arrayed about his legs. He also noticed that his shirt was whole again, only slightly blotted with blood, all of which was wet, and slowly spreading. Sarah had said that he couldn¡¯t bring anything with him, so what clothes had he been wearing? His ticking clock brain began working on the problem, and he forcefully stopped it. Later. He responded to Nova in the affirmative as Juliette tracked back into the room, spare towel and first aid kit in hand.

    ¡°Here, up.¡± She said, helping raise his back off the couch, creating another flare of pain, and putting the towel down behind him. She then helped him shuck off the shirt. Both girls winced at the mass of bruises adorning his torso, and the constellation of cuts, mostly concentrated on his arms. Juliette started cleaning the cuts with a damp rag, to get a better look at them. It took all his self-control to keep still as his arms burned.

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have gotten through without ending up like a crash test dummy?¡± Nova said, deadpan. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have to tell you to avoid the other guys weapons.¡±

    Chris chuckled, darkly, and the room seemed to come into sharper focus as some of the exhaustion fled. ¡°I¡¯ll remember that for next time, boss.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Juliette ceased her ministrations and sat down, heavily, on the couch next to him. ¡°Some of these are going to need stitches.¡± She turned to look at Nova, resignation in her deep blue eyes. ¡°We need to take him to the hospital.¡±

    ¡°Unless,¡± said Nova, with a twinge of hope in her voice. ¡°Did you earn enough points for a healing shift?¡±

    Chris, on a hunch, reached for the biggest package in the middle of his lap. He tore it open to reveal a four-inch section of matte black cylinder, seemingly molded to his right hand, and a silver card which read:

    <u>Collapsible Baton v1</u>

    Dimensions: 3-foot length, 1.5-inch circumference, 7 pounds.

    Material: Carbon Polyfiber, reinforced with crystalline carbon lattice.

    Durability: Full

    To extend, squeeze with each finger starting from the bottom, rolling up, then back down. To collapse, do the reverse.

    By default, will deaden the conduction of concussive force back to the user. To increase this conduction, rotate where the barrel of the baton meets the grip clockwise, up to 180 degrees. 180 degrees corresponds to full conduction, 0 degrees corresponds to full deadening.

    To view this information via the system and access repair and upgrade functions, reflect on the object¡¯s status while in physical contact.

    Soulbound. Repairable. Upgradeable.

    He held the cylinder loosely in his right hand, and rolled his grip up and down. The baton responded immediately, flowing like liquid shadow, the grip extending four inches backward and the barrel extending outward, creating a uniform rod of reflective black, interrupted only by a thin band of silver where the grip met the barrel. ¡°I think I already have one.¡± He said, slowly working himself into a standing position, ignoring the protestations of his bruised and battered body. ¡°Come on, lets go on a field trip.¡±

    The girls followed him outside, Nova intently reading the card, and Juliette spoke with a faint smile on her face. ¡°Of all the weapons, you went with a pipe? No swords for you, huh?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s based off of how I beat the scenario, where I didn¡¯t have much choice of weaponry.¡± He said, spinning the baton, testing out how it felt in his grip. Seven pounds didn¡¯t seem like a lot, but it was heavy. Roughly three times as heavy as any baseball bat he¡¯d ever held. He could get some force behind this. ¡°Besides, I kind of like it.¡± He cranked the barrel forward, and as a silver band appeared, circling the very tip of the cylinder, the whole baton began to resonate. He felt¡­ connected to the thing, humming with the slightest movement, and he could feel the vibrations running up his arm.

    It felt like motion, flowing into his veins through his palm, similar to the thrum of heavy bass at a concert. It was the slightest trickle of liquid power, starting to energize his body, eroding away the fatigue in a slow stream just from the jostling of the baton in his hand while he walked.

    Yeah, he could work with this.

    The trio made it out of the cul de sac and into the brush that surrounded the neighborhood, walking until the light of the streetlamps barely reached them, and they were surrounded by small trees.

    Chris faced the biggest one, called his shot, and swung hard, one-handed at the tree.

    The rush of power forced him to his knees.

    He could feel his whole body vibrating, buzzing with the energy of motion as the shock traveled up his body through his arm. He could tell that he was mistaken earlier, the power wasn¡¯t in his veins, it was in his bones, shaking him to his very core as the vibration was metabolized automatically into energy and health.

    The girls watched, dumbfounded, frozen in the act of calling an ambulance as Chris¡¯s edges blurred, fuzzy and indistinct, seemingly shifting out of phase with the world. After only a second, though, he came back into focus, slowly standing from his kneeling position, and they all watched as the ugly purple bruises faded to a pale green, then yellow over less than 20 seconds. They stopped there, as Chris ran out of energy.

    ¡°I think I know why this shift wants me to stop at 30 points.¡± He said, his voice having lost the thick coat of exhaustion, as he experimentally stretched and jumped up and down in place. He then geared up to take another swing, two handed this time. ¡°I need a battery¡±.

    ****

    Chris filled the two in on his new shift as they walked back to the house, and once inside, Chris ducked into his room and came out wearing an old paint-stained t-shirt. He wasn¡¯t bleeding anymore, but he was still dirty. His body was in top form, it had healed up completely with only a few blows, and he felt like he could run a marathon.

    He hadn¡¯t been overwhelmed by any of the strikes beside the first, and could stay on his feet and even continue fighting through them. He found, however, that when the power finished its work, while he could still absorb more, it wouldn¡¯t do anything for him. The power didn¡¯t make him stronger or faster, or more powerful in any appreciable way, and when it was done healing him and restoring his energy, it began fading away, draining like water through a sieve.

    When he made it back onto the couch, Nova made him open the other two packages. Their cards read as follows.

    <u>Sympathetic Speaker v1</u>

    Dimensions: 3x2x1in

    Adheres to any metal surface, releases on command. Records music played around it passively.

    Responds to vocal commands from soulbound user, resonates metal to conduct music.

    Soulbound. Upgradeable.

    <u>Dimensional Clip</u>

    Dimensions: 2x1x1in

    Attuned User: Chris

    Attaches to any container or bag, establishes a dimensional pocket inside allowing storage of up to 200kg or 5 square meters. Stored items can be retrieved by an attuned person touching the clip and thinking of the item. Clip can only be removed from its container by an attuned user, and doing so ejects all contents of the pocket. If clip is destroyed, the pocket and all contents are as well.

    An attuned user passing the clip to another human attunes the clip to the other human. There may only be one attuned user at a time.

    The ¡°speaker¡± took the form of an unmarked silver rectangle, about the size of a cassette tape. Chris stuck it to the fridge and resolved to start filling it with music the next morning. His roommates were asleep, presumably. Playing music would be inconsiderate.

    ¡°Why are you guys still up, by the way?¡± Chris said, working on opening the last package.

    ¡°We¡¯re the second watch.¡± Juliette explained, examining the baton. ¡°We didn¡¯t know how long you¡¯d be, or what shape you¡¯d be in when you got out.¡±

    Chris looked around, quizzically. ¡°And with two of you it would be easier to get me to the hospital?¡±

    ¡°Or to talk you down.¡± Nova stared him down. ¡°What did you have to do in there?¡±

    ¡°Are you alright? You¡­ seem okay.¡± Juliette said.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m okay.¡± Chris said leaning back, rolling the clip around in his hand, testing its weight. ¡°It was touch and go for a minute there, but this Mental Health shift has kept me pretty level.¡± He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and took a beat before continuing. ¡°It was a zombie apocalypse scenario. Starting here.¡±

    Nova quirked an eyebrow, quick on the uptake. ¡°¡­Us?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Juliette sucked in air through her teeth. ¡°That¡¯s horrible.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t fun.¡± Chris rose from the couch and walked over to the recliner, a small silver clip and its requisite card in each hand. He offered both to the occupant, who was apprehensively watching his every move. ¡°Here, as compensation.¡±

    Nova¡¯s eyebrows shot up, and she stumbled over her words for a moment. ¡°For killing me? You don¡¯t have to¡­¡±

    ¡°No, I know.¡± He said, enjoying that he had managed to fluster their unflinching leader. ¡°You¡¯ll get more use out of it than I will.¡±

    Nova stared, wide eyed, and looked to the couch for support. She found none in those laughing blue eyes. Eventually, she deflated, and took the offered items.

    ¡°Just try and get hurt less next time, alright?¡±

    ¡°Of course, boss.¡±

 Chapter 17

    Chris couldn¡¯t sleep. It was currently four in the morning, and he was seated at the scarred wooden table in the living room. It served as their dining room, study space and worktable all in one, and he was currently using it to fold and sort his collection of shirts into two separate piles.

    It wasn¡¯t that he was nervous, or wired, or hopped up on caffeine. He couldn¡¯t sleep because he already had.

    After he had assured the girls that he was fine, and wasn¡¯t going to have a breakdown anytime soon, they had both gone home to get some sleep. Chris decided to follow suit, as while the new shift had wiped the exhaustion of his body, it had done nothing for his mind. Before he fell asleep, he had allocated two more points to his mental health shift, just for the sensation of his brain being scoured clean. He finally collapsed into bed around two, and slept like the dead.

    He woke two hours later, completely refreshed.

    He only had himself to blame for this, he mused as he tossed a free shirt from some fundraiser into the smaller, but growing pile. There are some physiological processes that occur during sleep, but it¡¯s mostly for maintaining the health of the brain. Since Chris had¡­ outsourced that, he seemed to barely need any. It was, objectively, a good thing.

    But on the other hand, he really enjoyed sleep.

    There was no telling how his body clock was going to react to this. Now that he only needed two hours of sleep at a time, would he be able to stay awake for longer? Would he still run out of mental energy after sixteen hours and have an ever-shifting sleep schedule, working on an 18-hour day? When he maxed out the shift, would he need to sleep at all?

    It seemed that he had already failed in his quest to stay human, and he hadn¡¯t even noticed when it happened. Good thing he didn¡¯t get panic attacks any more.

    ¡°Drama queen.¡± he muttered, as he finished sorting out his clothes. The pile of too-big shirts and free promotional t-shirts went into a laundry basket for practicing his sewing, and everything else went back into his dresser. ¡°No way to go but forward, I suppose.¡±

    In order to do that, he needed to figure out what next. Well, cleaning, for one. He dug the stain treatment spray bottle and a rag out of the laundry room and began scrubbing away at spots on the carpet as he thought.

    He would finish deep-cleaning the house. That was a given. Another day or so and they might even get their security deposit back, not to mention the skill levels. Maybe he would clean the girl¡¯s apartments, too. Back at the cabin, when he had started his crusade against dirt, it had just been an exercise to prove that he could. A way to show the world and himself that he was in control of his actions, that he could make himself do something unpleasant. However, after he knuckled down, he found himself enjoying the rush of accomplishment after scrubbing an area clean, and the opportunity to be literally surrounded by his successes in the form of a clean environment.

    Now, he found the actual act relaxing, a form of active meditation as the environment transformed under his hands. Maybe he should open a maid service. Clean while you sleep, wake up to a tidy house.

    Huh. That might not be a bad idea.

    After, he would start in on sewing, but what would follow that? It was clear to Chris that the best way to gain skill levels was fighting, as evidenced by his skill list. He had fought with actual risk twice, and his combat skills made up roughly a third of all his skill levels. He definitely could advance peacefully, focusing on non-combat skills, but fast enough? What would the advancement of a soldier look like? He was just a college student.

    That thought gave him pause, and he needed to ask.

    ¡°Sarah, that scenario was meant to test me psychologically, right? The fighting wasn¡¯t all that hard.¡±

    You have combat experience in the form of boxing, so others may have experienced the scenario differently. However, your assumption is correct. The scenario was not designed to test your combat prowess.

    ¡°What about the others?¡±

    Similar, but not identical. You were all tested psychologically, yes.

    ¡°And someone got a 92? The only reason I made it at all was the mental health shift.¡±

    Yes.

    It seemed that she wasn¡¯t going to volunteer any information, he would have to ask.

    ¡°I only got that shift because of my¡­ history. Did any of the others get something similar?¡±

    I will not give you information on the others purchases, Christopher, nor any specifics. If you wish to know, find them and ask.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll assume they didn¡¯t, then. I¡¯m the only person I can think of that would buy mental health over superpowers. Are they just that much stronger than me?¡±

    Sarah was silent for a moment, seemingly evaluating what she could, should, say.

    All my test subjects suffered a mental breakdown of some kind during the scenario, Christopher. You performed admirably.

    ¡°Oh.¡± He paused in his scrubbing for a moment. ¡°How many failed?¡±

    That, I am not permitted to say. You are only allowed to know of the highest performer.

    He couldn¡¯t help but feel for the other four. Up to this point, he had only thought of them as his competition, but if they had just gone through what he did¡­

    There was a reason his mental health shift was now at 12 points.

    Speaking of, he had 16 points banked and useless, each one a potential superpower, waiting in his status menu.

    Before the girls had left, he asked Nova what shifts he should look at next. She shut him down. Hard.

    ¡°You can¡¯t ask me to make these decisions. If, for whatever reason, it went wrong, you would only have me to blame.¡± She said.

    ¡°It¡¯s really personal,¡± Juliette chimed in. ¡°Like asking someone to pick out a tattoo for you, or a pet, but even more permanent. No sane person will pick out a superpower for you.¡±

    So here he was. Spoiled for choice.

    You got this far by working on your inefficiencies, tackling your limiting factors. He thought, scrubbing. Your mental health was one, that¡¯s been addressed. Your need for sleep, which apparently is a crutch, has also been addressed. What other limiters do we have?

    Well, there¡¯s the new shift. It gives me more energy than I can use, so finding a way to use it, or store it, is a priority.

    Alright, how to do that? You don¡¯t need more firepower, everything you¡¯ve faced so far could be easily handled by the baton and your speed. Storage will be necessary, but just keeping it isn¡¯t enough. With the amount I¡¯m absorbing, I¡¯d end up with more than I could ever use to heal. I still don¡¯t think that its enough to duplicate, yet. Damn.

    Juliette said something about finding ways to improve other than just reward points. Maybe¡­

    He sent a vague query into the system, and this is what it spat back.

    Kinetic Skeletogenesis 0/100, 0%/0%

    Seeds your skeletal structures with a crystalline lattice that stores kinetic energy. Energy stored is slowly cannibalized to expand the lattice, reinforcing the bones and increasing storage capacity. Does not affect the skeletal structures functions, such as blood generation, except for providing structural support. Lattice will eventually replace the structure of the bones entirely, with a colossal amount of energy investment. Reward points invested seeds the lattice farther into the bones, allowing for greater expansion. Impacts that reach the bones are slightly ablated, and absorbed into the lattice.

    Wow, that is remarkably inhuman. He thought. The first steps on the road to becoming a golem.

    ¡°Sarah, what is this percentage bar?¡±

    Shifts that provide the opportunity for additional improvement show how much of that improvement has been made. Reward points invested will increase the cap of that progress bar, energy invested will increase the progress.

    ¡°Would this shift show up on an MRI?¡±

    The radio waves emitted by the machine would either be absorbed by the lattice or pass through it without interacting, so it would be invisible to an MRI. At higher levels, however, the amount of lattice replacing bone would appear as cracks in the bone, or perhaps bone density loss. At low levels, it should not be noticeable.

    ¡°I¡­ think I can be okay with this.¡± He said, musing. ¡°If you asked a philosopher what makes someone human, I doubt bones would make the list.¡±

    There is a story, widely attributed to Diogenes, about how a king¡¯s bones cannot be distinguished from those of a slave.

    ¡°I guess this would make mine distinguishable from those of a king.¡±

    But still recognizably the bones of a man.

    ¡°Good enough for me.¡± He let out a deep sigh. ¡°Any chance you can tell me what the next scenario is, so I can prepare?¡±

    I can tell you that it will be more difficult.

    ¡°Not helpful.¡± He griped, and continued scrubbing. He was almost done with the carpet.

    I don¡¯t need more firepower, not really, but I could use a panic button. Something to break out if I¡¯m hopelessly outmatched. Then I need to quit branching out. If I end up with 20 shifts at 10 points, someone with 2 at 100 would demolish me. Something that makes me more dangerous. Something¡­ insane.

    Eventually, he came up with this.

    Doubletime 0/300

    Doubles the rate at which your body experiences time, mental and physical, for 5 minutes. Causes severe withdrawal effects when the duration expires. Reward points invested decrease cooldown, from 150 hours to 30 minutes, and decrease withdrawal symptoms.

    That¡¯s ridiculous. He thought. Wait, can I just put one point in and stack a ton of these? The cooldown would be huge, but I could plow through a scenario before the duration ended. That can¡¯t be right. Unless¡­

    ¡°Sarah? Is there a cap on the number of shifts you can get?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°And you weren¡¯t going to tell me? How many?¡±

    It depends on many factors. Each additional shift puts a strain on your biology, though additional points in one does not seem to. May I remind you that this process is experimental?

    ¡°You don¡¯t even know, do you?¡±

    I do not know. It seems to vary from human to human. When you hit your safe cap, I will let you know. One of my test subjects has already hit their cap.

    ¡°Shit. Can you give me a rough number?¡±

    Anywhere from 5 to 12, not including intelligent design. If you wish to know for certain, you may purchase shifts with one point until you reach the cap, then refund them, though the invested points will be wasted.

    ¡°I¡¯ll pass. Well, that plan is shot.¡±

    I am currently working on a way to adapt your bodies to increase the cap. When I find it, you will be the second to know.

    ¡°Thanks.¡± He finally finished his scrubbing, and decided to let the stain remover sit, and invest his points.

    No time to waste, he has class today.

    He went back in his room and laid on his bed, to avoid freaking out his roommates. He made his point selections, 10 points in Kinetic Skeletogenesis, 3 in Doubletime, and 3 in his Speed shift, to give it a little more oomph.

    He invested his points, and for what felt like the millionth time in a week, blacked out.