《Rank Zero: Cyberlinks Book 1 (LitRPG)》


 Chapter 1: Hound

    ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want some backup?¡± asked a voice from the neural comm. ¡°You fail this again, I don¡¯t think you can afford another respawn this month. Your body insurance will bury you.¡±


    Terry ¡®Hound¡¯ Locke surveyed the Crimson Stone apartment complex from behind the tinted windshield of his combat car. He kept the driver¡¯s window down, letting him take in the scents. Non-Player Characters, NPCs, ambled about on their day off. Players strode along with eyes fixed on their destination. Newbs gave off a sharper scent of sweat as they moved by Hound. Low ranking players faced a new world of struggles.


    According to his intel, Hound¡¯s target lurked here under the alias Lisa. He¡¯d killed her three times already in the past several months. The fourth assassination would finish his contract and pay him a cool million on top of the individual mission payouts. Unfortunately, this time around hadn¡¯t gone as smoothly as the last three. He¡¯d been killed three times, and the respawn fees totaled over half a million dollars.


    ¡°If you guys come in with me, I¡¯ll barely break even on the contract,¡± said Hound. ¡°This last mission pays the highest.¡±


    ¡°Breaking even''s better than going into the negative and ruining your credit, right? She knows you¡¯re coming, even if she is under-prepared. Me and three others can steamroll whatever mercs she bought for protection.¡±


    The easier the mission, the lower the payout, like any balanced video game. Contracts on the other hand, paid out for completing a set of missions within a fixed timeframe, but payouts only varied by number and type of missions, not difficulty. Hound made his living by taking on crazy hard missions that paid out greater than the contracts. But in order to get the best missions, he had to take on high risk contracts. If he failed to complete the contract in any way, he¡¯d forfeit all previous mission payouts, and this was the fourth and final mission.


    ¡°I need this mission payout bad.¡± Between the mission and contract payouts, he would have enough money to quit gaming and follow his dream. He could transfer the in-game money to the real-world by purchasing post-tax tokens which converted to Martian credits. Then he could buy his ticket and escape the dust covered rock.


    ¡°Shit. Well you¡¯re not kidding with a gamble like this. Best of luck to ya. We¡¯re on standby if you change your mind.¡±


    Hound terminated the neural comm connection and stepped up to the curb. His 2010 Camaro ZL1 represented the last generation of muscle cars before Earth moved away from fossil-fuel engines. Hound figured the developers put them into the game for the coolness factor. Though its simple black paint job could be a throwback to early stealth fighters with the weaponry and armor concealed beneath. Scanners could only detect unusual metal density. He gave the heavy metal door a push, smiling as it closed with a solid thud. The old whip looked odd alongside hover cars, but suited his low profile. Then again, Hound also carried a gunpowder pistol on his hip with an action that dated back to World War One. The rule of cool dominated game design.


    With a few thoughts and eye gestures, Hound pulled up his Advanced Link Scanner. His ocular implant brought up the linkware program like a HUD.


    Each player maintained a connection to the game¡¯s hub world, the Plinth. The links showed as spectral graphs in Hound¡¯s vision and the program could automatically find the link of his target. But, some players installed a Link-Scrambler to alter the connection¡¯s frequencies, like changing an ancient graphic equalizer, throwing off the scanner. Using the data from his intel, Hound compared graphs from other locations the target frequented. Hundreds of graphs crowded his vision. He sighed. Fucking pointless.


    Clearing the graphs, Hound tapped into police monitors covering the area. criminal players cut their links entirely during some operations, risking Experience Point loss while on a mission. Hound pulled up the all disconnected links over the last hour and compared them to the known frequencies of his target. His lips drew back revealing fangs. He found a match.


    Hound stepped away from his Camaro, pausing to glance back before heading to the apartment complex with a forward lean to his gait. His altered limbs and elongated torso gave him the ability to pursue his prey on all fours when the need arose. The scents drifting out of the red and brown buildings flooded his long snout. Janitors cleaned the outside of the place with cheap chemicals, NPC families cooked weekend dinners, and at least one group of kids shared a smoke. The stone walls gave off an earthy smell while the plastic replicas above made Hound question their safe use as habitats. He pulled up his own Intermediate Link-Scrambler and made sure his link frequency was masked before entering the building. The large number of bodies in the building interfered with long-range scans, but once inside a short-range scan could make him.


    Inside, Hound¡¯s sensitive ears filtered out idle conversations. Footsteps of loitering NPCs echoed off the concrete floors and high ceilings. Players with the Link Wrangler Class put shady people on edge, but Hound¡¯s reputation brought fear to those on both sides of the law. The Bounty Hunter occupation operated alongside the game''s police, but anyone who could afford Hound could afford to bend the law their way. He gave no fucks about who paid his price so long as the Plinth sanctioned his missions.


    Getting link wrangled meant getting locked in isolation on the Plinth for a set amount of time depending on the crime committed. To get repeatedly link wrangled like his contracts often had him do to people, meant no chance of making money. Essentially, Hound ended gaming careers for a living. He admitted it was a cruel job, but Cyberlinks was a hard game. And life is even harder. Heading to the northeast wing, he ran a few more scans. It looked like his target occupied the fourth floor.


    Stepping out of the elevator, Hound caught sight of two plainclothes guards in front of the wing¡¯s entrance. As he approached, they asked to see his apartment key. Hound gave them a key card with his ears sloped back. Reaching down as if to check his boots, Hound sprung forward on his bestial legs. He slammed one guard against the wall, knocking him out. Twisting around, he put two 10mm rounds in the chest of the other guard before the man could draw his weapon.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Pulling up his hacking program, Hound unlocked the entryway. Apartment doors lined either side of the hall. He selected a door at random to crack open. As the lock popped two armed men stepped out from further down the hall and opened fire. Shooting back, Hound slipped through the opened door. Shit. This was bad.


    If Hound got killed on this mission again, it would be his fourth death this month. His body insurance company would jack up his rates astronomically. Hound popped out into the hallway and gunned down one of the guards as he made his way up the hall. He heard the other guard screaming for backup.


    The door behind Hound opened and two mercenaries with rifles stepped into the hall. Oh fuck no. High-end alloy plates covered them head to toe, save for a tinted visor over their eyes. That visor was the only viable target his 10mm could penetrate while their rifle rounds would pass through his soft armor like nothing. He bolted a few meters ahead and shouldered through a fire exit onto an outside staircase.


    Hound reached into his jacket for a grenade. Rifle fire struck the metal door frame and sent burning spall into his unprotected skin. He shielded his face, yanking the pin out with a long fang. Reaching down, he blindly chucked the grenade into the hall, hearing mercs scatter at the sound of metal clattering on the floor. One of them burst into the fire escape, knocking Hound down the stairs to the grated landing.


    Shrapnel from the explosion struck the merc standing in the doorway. Hound rolled onto his back and aimed his weapon. The merc recovered and raised his rifle. They both snapped off a round. Hound¡¯s shot punched right through the soldier¡¯s faceplate, splattering the visor with blood and brains. A high-velocity bullet tore through Hound¡¯s abdomen, spreading ripples of pain. He rolled over and clutched the wound as his opponent tumbled down the stairs, landing next to him.


    Hound felt the full pain of the damage done to him. His active military status earned him special permission to disable the game¡¯s Automated Pain Response System (APRS). While the APRS forced pre-scripted responses and restrictions, like wailing and falling over, instead of physical pain on most people, he had the ability to work through the agony instead. He saw and smelled the normally censored gore, like from the head shot. Sometimes that could be enough to trip the player¡¯s trauma monitors, but active military already trained under the same conditions in their own virtuals.


    Hand over his gut, Hound picked up his weapon and got to his feet. He pulled out a healing patch from his jacket and slapped it over the wound. According to the damage report on his Combat HUD the bullet missed his arteries and vital organs. The steel-frame 10mm in his hands felt heavier. Blood soaked his soft armored vest and leather jacket. Fuck. He glanced down. It looked as bad as it felt, but he could still win this fight.


    A grenade flew through the doorway. Hound¡¯s eyes widened. The grenade soared past him and over the railing to the ground below. He checked the other merc for a link signal. No, he was fighting a dumbass NPC. Hound pulled out a smaller concussion grenade and let the spoon land at his feet. The merc crept onto the stairway. Hound underhanded the cooked grenade. The little grenade let loose a short-range concussive blast with no shrapnel, sending a red mist out onto the courtyard below.


    Hound crouched over the dead merc at the bottom of the stairs to examine his carbine. The trigger mechanism had a bio-lock built into it. Hound spent several precious seconds unlocking the weapon before shouldering it. It felt good. He reached back down and filled his jacket pockets with the dead guy¡¯s magazines.


    Shaking from adrenaline and blood loss, Hound took the steps one at a time with his new weapon trained on the doorway. Back in the hallway, approaching footsteps echoed from the central building. He pulled up his map and found the link feed of his target. She must be sending messages through her linkware. Doesn¡¯t matter. She broadcasted her exact location to him.


    His fangs bared, Hound sprinted down the hall. Room 438. He hacked into the door and moved through the apartment. A brown-haired woman sprang up from behind a counter, her rifle at the ready. Hound put two shots into her chest and a third through her head. She slumped to the ground. Dead, but still receiving a link signal.


    Walking up to the corpse, Hound unfolded a headband shaped tool feared by all players. As a rank 3 Link Wrangler, he got access to an upgraded version of the delinker, the tool that intercepted the player¡¯s link signal and forced them back to the Plinth. The signal still transmitted for a few minutes after death unless the brain was completely destroyed. He crouched and placed the pads over the woman¡¯s temples. In a few seconds, he¡¯d hit payday.


    Light and noise exploded behind him. His reinforced ears saved him from the deafening blast, but not the shock. A full fireteam of soldiers stormed the apartment. Hound raced for cover behind the counter. Something hot drove itself through his spine, knocking him to the ground. Blackness took over. The familiar experience of death.


    Hound appeared in a familiar room. His heart pumped on overdrive as he looked around. Gray and barren walls surrounded him. His apartment on the Plinth. He¡¯d died and reappeared in the hubworld, a giant space station floating a good distance from the game¡¯s planet.


    A message popped up in his vision,


    <<<<<>>>>>


    Mission Failed


    Assets Lost:


    Custom Tanfoglio 10mm (estimated value $3,100)


    Intermediate Link-Scrambler (estimated value $100,000)


    Soft-Scale Body Armor (estimated value $25,000)


    Body Replacement Cost: $1,112,000 (Current Funds: $532,350)


    <<<<<>>>>>


    Holy shit. How could he fuck up that badly? He stared down at his clawed hand. His customized body gave him an edge in his profession, but he couldn¡¯t afford to bring it back. Beside him, a window covered the entire far wall of his apartment. Countless stars illuminated the room from their sea of black. An accurate depiction of nothing. He pulled up his Main Menu screen and logged out of Cyberlinks.


    He opened his eyes in the real-world and looked down at the body of Alec Rye. Deprived of alterations and fantasy equipment. Clothed in a gray nylon shirt and khaki shorts. Sitting on a faux leather armchair next to a pedestal, was his real body. Reality affirmed itself with the dull ache from the neural band over his temples. A parody of his wrangler gear.


    Pulling off the band, he set it on the pedestal and picked up the glass of water waiting for him. He downed it and moved across his sparse condo while performing a series of calisthenics. Stretching motions eased the tautness brought on by the all-nighter. He stopped when he reached the window spanning the entire west side of his condo. At the horizon, the sun set behind a series of red sand dunes. Alec stepped out onto the roof of the condominium and waited for the sky to turn dark.


    The city lights flickered around him and Trestle City buzzed with evening air-traffic. When the last of the sunrays departed, he saw what he waited for. His gaze fixed on Earth, a small blue speck in the sky. It looked smaller tonight.

 Chapter 2: Soft Reset

    Alec awoke to a splitting headache. Sleep had only come to him in starts and spurts last night. When it did get going for a length of time, it subjected him to heart-racing nightmares. He originally planned to play Cyberlinks all day, but with his character effectively finished, he had no intentions of crawling out of bed at a reasonable time today.


    But something persisted in keeping Alec awake. He sat up and listened. His home¡¯s AI spoke to him,


    ¡°Incoming urgent call.¡±


    ¡°Block it,¡± Alec croaked. He told work he had off today. The Core Defense Force hired him part-time as a private instructor at Trestle City¡¯s Reserves outpost. He ran their new urban combat program on a strict schedule, mainly so the job didn¡¯t interfere with his missions in Cyberlinks. Or his sleep.


    The AI persisted. "The caller is Mila Stanley," said the monotone voice. "She claims to be your body insurance agent from Civitas Mundi."


    Alec¡¯s heart pulsed, forcing his mind awake. He heard about Stellar Link''s subscription retainment policies. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reached for his aug-glasses.


    "What do you want?" asked Alec.


    The face of a woman appeared in the center of his vision. Her brown hair was cut to a chin-length bob that flared out at the ends. Pointed cheekbones contrasted with her small round chin. Only a few lines around her mouth showed that she was a woman who aged extremely well.


    "I''m calling to discuss body replacement. You can¡¯t let this string of bad luck keep you down. You¡¯re too skilled for that." Her tone matched her plastic smile.


    Alec sat there for a moment, trying to slow his heart-rate. He rubbed at his neck and shoulders as the tension bulged his veins.


    "What''s it going to cost?"


    Mila''s smile fell. "You''re looking at just over a million for your current genetic configuration."


    Burning heat returned to his skin. He had roughly half that amount. "I have nowhere near that. What if we drop the enhancements? What''s a stock body gonna run me?" His specialized body gave him an edge as Hound. The ability to track players without raising his tech-signature. Without it, would anyone even give him a contract? Might as well be the death of his character.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "It''s not so much the enhancements. It¡¯s the risk to continue insuring you. A stock configured body would still run you 850,000 dollars." Mila forced a frown.


    Alec laughed. "I could just buy a body for a fraction of that."


    "Yes, but that wouldn''t help you rebuild your credit. Four deaths in a 30-day period has sunk you deep. And not just for your body insurance. This will factor into your available missions. Your only chance to rebuild is to get in a new body with continued insurance coverage." The plastic smile returned. "And start completing missions without dying."


    Alec''s forearms tensed as he made fists. "You know how much cash I have. I can''t pull funds from my world to help." He opened his hands and stared at his palms. "It''s time to say goodbye to Terry Locke."


    Mila''s face sank, and it looked genuine. Probably because she might lose a commission. "There is an alternative path we can take." She stared off at something next to the camera. "We rarely offer this to clients as it puts us in a lot of gray areas, but you''ve been a good client and a hell of a bounty hunter. To lose you would be to lose a city asset." Some warmth came to her face.


    "We call it a Reset. All of your Skill ranks will return to zero, and you will forfeit all Certification Points and unlocks.¡±


    Alec stared out the long pane of windows. Mountains towered beyond the cityscape. In between lay a vast landscape of red sand. Sand that constantly attempted reclamation of dilapidated buildings and the squatter''s children living in the outskirts. He pictured their dry eyes surrounded by red crusted skin.


    The squatter¡¯s presence expanded along the fringes of the city as jobs came and went, clinging to the high-grav zone. How far could he go as a full-time instructor in the Reserves? How long could he stay in this condo when they decided his skills had no use?


    "Now what''s it going to cost me?"


    Mila made a thin line of her lips. "Only 650,000. You have more than enough assets we can claim to cover the difference. You''ll be given a new identity and body, along with some low-level assets to make it look like you''ve been around a while." She tilted her head. "With your advanced skills I''m sure your ranks will return quickly."


    "At that point why don''t I just ask the admins to create me a new account?"


    The smile vanished from Mila''s face. "Because then you''ll lose your relationship with us. You''d start from complete scratch with none of your prior assets. With a new identity from us, we can help you build new credit faster." The lines of her face hardened. "If you''re looking to quit, you might as well give this a shot just to see what happens. You¡¯ve got nothing else to lose."


    Fuck. She had a point. "All right. Do it."


    Mila grinned. "Thank you." She glanced off again. "We need a few days to set this up and find you a body. With the slow-moving time in your world, that should be today around sundown for you."


    "I''ll login then. Goodbye"


    "I''ll personally see you when you get back. Thank you." She cut the connection.


    Alec laid back down though he didn¡¯t intend to fall asleep. Maybe his gaming career wasn¡¯t fucked.

 Chapter 3: Emmett Turk

    Alec spent his morning at the gym, then took a military shuttle to the firing range on the outskirts of town. The electric guns of the front-line forces had no interesting actions or distinct smells. He spent most of the afternoon firing his traditional gunpowder pistol, basking in the scent of cordite. His reinforced eardrums protected him from the supersonic crack of the 7mm, one of the few enhancements he allowed the Core to install in him.


    Recruits wrinkled their noses at the site of the weapon. Most of them opted to forgo a sidearm, keeping their kits light. They never considered the enemies in the city to their backs, only the imagined foes in the desert ahead of them. He stared at their rifles. The soldiers mistook simplicity for reliability. They had no combat veterans among them. No one that faced the Scourge years back.


    The shuttle took Alec back to the city as the sun dipped towards the horizon. After showering, he paced around his condo until he received the call. Mila announced the successful reset. He could explore his new body on the Plinth before returning to the game. Terminating the call, Alec put on his headset.


    He found himself in his tiny room on the Plinth, lying on a plain futon. Pure starlight shined through the window at the far end. The apartment lights came on at Alec¡¯s mental commands. He pulled up his stat screen.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    <<<<<<>>>>>>


    Player Information


    Name: Emmett Turk


    Class: Free Agent


    Link Connection not yet established.


    <<<<<<>>>>>>


    It looked like a brand-new character sheet with every skill rank at zero. In theory, those numbers should immediately skyrocket when he gets into action, at least enough to match whatever equipment the banks left him. Alec, now Emmett, walked over to a mirror that went up to the ceiling of his apartment. What the fuck was this?


    A tall, tanned model stood before the mirror. Emmett watched his face redden. Perfect teeth bared above a sculpted chin. Did his insurance company not realize his job required discretion? Hound had distinct features, but he did his best to keep them subtle. Everything he added served a function. Plus, players made animal-like alterations all the time. The epic chin and excessive height called attention to itself for the sake of it.


    Emmett pulled up the Cyberlinks Main Menu screen and scrolled to the account section. He stared at the Delete button for a moment. With a sigh, Emmett exited the menus. He needed to at least let Mila show him the other benefits of the reset. Across the room, blue light filled the room from the nearby planet, Carthose. He activated the link to his body on the planet surface.


    The apartment melted into a whirlwind of colors as Emmett¡¯s digital self traveled through the link.

 Chapter 4: Realism

    Emmett opened eyes and found himself surrounded by pink walls, submerged in a viscous fluid. A mask kept the liquid out of his eyes. Attached to it, a tube led up to the tank¡¯s ceiling. Before panic set in, the liquid drained. He sank to a kneeling position and panted.


    Why did the game developers insist on a stupidly realistic entry sequence? Why couldn''t he just magically appear in the world like some of the other mainstream games? He looked up at the small metal door in front of him. Mila peered through the viewport. She stepped back as the door opened and a medical tech hosed him down.


    The freezing cold water jolted Emmett to his feet. "I hate this fucking part," said Emmett. He¡¯d gone through this ordeal too many times this month. Reminders of his failure stung more than the hose.


    With the shower done, Emmett stepped out of the pod and accepted the robe Mila held out.


    "I didn''t think you¡¯d meet me here," Emmett mopped up his face with the sleeve of the robe, ¡°at the pod.¡±


    Mila gave a professional smile, but the strain in her eyes suggested genuine concern. "We don''t often do these types of things. Your satisfaction is pretty important to us."


    "I''m not exactly satisfied with this body," said Emmett. His new throat burned, making him envy the players with the APRS turned on. "Are you aware of my prior profession?"


    Mila narrowed her eyes. "I am. We didn''t think you''d be particularly pleased with it, but this is what we had on hand." She waved her arms in front of her. "We can''t get you through the initial character creation process without a new account. You can just alter the body later when you have the money."


    Emmett sighed through his teeth. "Fair enough. I might not even go down that path again."


    "Why take the path that led you here?" Mila glanced around the room. The other tech left, leaving them in a dull white room with a few pieces of monitoring equipment. Emmett took a moment to take her in. She had the same bob cut as before, but her age lines stood out even further. Maybe it was that look of concern drawing them out.


    "Who knows? By the time you can afford genetic alterations, you might like this body."


    An antiseptic smell burned Emmett¡¯s sinuses as his shock wore off. He let out guttural hacking sound.


    Mila winced. "I take it your brand-new sinuses are pretty sensitive?"


    "That''s an understatement," gasped Emmett as he walked towards the door. The new body sequence was designed around the APRS. Players felt none of the horrible sensations when coming out of the tank. Not even the smells! They just watched a movie through the eyes of an actor doing all the suffering for them. Emmett stumbled over to a sink and hacked a moment before talking again.


    "What else do you have for me? I take it I get more than the usual newb handouts."


    Mila caught up with him and opened the door. "Most of your assets were seized in the transaction, but we kept a few of your items in a lockup across town."


    "Where are we?" Emmett stumbled down the empty hall. His new muscles needed to break in or something. "And what things do I have left?"If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Mila let him put an arm around her for support. "A few of your most used items. A couple of weapons. Some armor kits. And one of your combat cars. Oh, and we¡¯re on the west side of Breaker District."


    Emmett felt some of his muscles ease. Starting players needed years to afford a combat car, months at the minimum.


    "Any linkware?" asked Emmett.


    Mila shook her head again. "I''m sorry, but we can''t preserve any of that with a reset."


    Without any Certification Points he couldn''t use his old linkware anyway, but those assets led to his biggest success. He fired up his link interface. A bare-bones display overlaid itself across his vision. As fresh meat, he only had access to basic scans and damage reports. He tilted his head to get a look at Mila. She lacked a link signal, identifying her as either a player that cut her signal, or an interesting NPC.


    With the massive NPC population in Cyberlinks, only some of them had developed personalities and capable intelligence. But a few here and there got a nice processing boost, making them harder to distinguish from real people. They always had a few tics though. The biggest giveaway was their repulsion to those with a link. They referred to players as link riders.


    The two staggered over to a locker room. Mila read off a number as Emmett made his way around the bend, his hand along the wall. He set himself down on a wooden bench. The moment of privacy took the edge off.


    Without the APRS, Emmett needed the break to remind himself this was a game. He literally switched off the shield that obfuscated the unpleasantries of reality. Basically, he played in military training software. With stat points.


    Mind clear, he opened his locker and took out a set of clothes and a padded backpack. He donned the oversized T-shirt and cargo pants before scrounging through the pack. Inside he found a Glock 34 holstered to a thick belt. Next to that a plastic box held smartplugs for his ears. He clipped the weapon to his belt and stepped out of the locker room, feeling lighter as his muscles activated. Mila waited for him.


    "You look a little bit better," said Mila. She stood with her hands behind her back and looked Emmett up and down.


    Emmett allowed himself a smile. "You guys couldn''t spare me a soft armored vest?"


    Mila pouted. "We left you with more than enough money for basic equipment."


    She led the way to the building¡¯s front lobby where Emmett finally saw sunlight. Stepping through a set of double doors, Emmett felt the rest of the tension in his body give way as he looked up to the high ceiling. Sunlight sparkled off a crystal chandelier, leaving streaks across Emmett''s new vision. Beige walls replaced the sterile whites of the medical rooms.


    "So, how much did you guys leave me?" asked Emmett.


    Mila walked past a receptionist, ushering Emmett to a private office in the corner of the lobby. She closed the door behind them before answering. "A little over $10,000 cash. That''s what a highly skilled new player could amass in a few weeks." She looked up for a second. "Your remaining assets are worth around 100,000. It you wanted, we could seize the rest and give you the cash value."


    Emmett sniffed as he waved her off. "No thanks. That¡¯s fucking robbery." He knew the combat car alone would fetch three quarters of a million on the open market, but he couldn¡¯t move anything big as a Rank Zero without raising suspicion.


    "The banks came up with that number, not us." She took a seat behind the desk. "You¡¯ll want to find a storage solution soon, then. We can only hold the assets in our lockup for about a month. You won''t be able to afford it after that."


    Emmett nodded. He figured as much. Even after a month, he won''t be able to use any of those items. High-end gear required rank.


    "Anything left to do here?" asked Emmett.


    Mila pulled out a signature pad. "I just need you to sign these release documents, then we seal off everything here and pretend this never happened."


    Emmett grabbed the stylus. "Is there a way anyone can discover me?¡± He stared down at Mila. ¡°I pissed off some powerful people."


    "Unless the admins open up an investigation on you, this will stay between us." She sent Emmett back the same stare. "We have far more on the line if discovered than you do. Nobody can push a button and start fresh. If you expose this reset yourself, we will come after you."


    Smiling, Emmett signed the pad. "Of course you will."


    They shook hands and then Emmett made for the door.


    Pausing, Emmett asked, "I gotta know, are you linked?"


    Mila leaned back in her chair. "I''ll let you try and figure that out."

 Chapter 5: Epic Newb (Preview)

    Outside, Emmett took in the lemon sent of Breaker District¡¯s affluent parts. The architecture, and even the smell, took inspiration from the pre-departure city of Sorrento in Italy. Lemon trees lined the sidewalk, keeping out the smells from the City Core.


    The stone walls around Emmett made him frown as he recalled his final mission in the eastern side of town, where the Italian esthetic got replaced by a foul smelling knockoff. West Breaker District carried the most opulence, so the resemblance to Italy had few faults. People even made their way around in compact ground vehicles.


    With fresh air in his lungs, Emmett stopped at a corner caf¨¦ and took time to go over his equipment and stats with a fresh cappuccino in hand. The hot drink¡¯s aroma killed the lingering stench of the growth-pod as he looked over his inventory list. He had an above average pistol for a starting player, basically the competition version of your run-of-the-mill Glock. The rear panel of his pack contained soft armor. Reinforced fabrics made up his clothes and they seemed purpose-built for concealing weapons. Not a bad start.


    All of his Skill ranks sat at zero with the reset, but he did have five Cert Points to distribute. What career path could he take besides bounty hunting? Previously, Having the Link Wrangler Class made him no friends and many enemies, but that Class made the most profit by far. Especially as lone wolves. Few other missions paid as well as high-level bounties without investing years, and at that point you''re looking at political classes. Emmett had no desire to manipulate pathetic NPC''s.


    He decided to play it safe and spend his Cert Points on a Link Wrangler build. Worst-case scenario he just had to pay to get them reset if he ended up not using those unlocks. His display showed him a series of messages as he made selections:


    <<<<<<>>>>>>


    Every 10,000 EXP earns you a Cert Point, this includes both Skill and Class EXP. Free Agents require a diverse Skill range due to lack of Class EXP. Class rank ups always give two Cert Points. Every new player starts out with five. Skill Decay from Plinth evaluation will subtract from your Cert Points once below the last 10,000 EXP threshold. The rider will lose the last point they invested in if no points are in reserve. You must read any guides or manuals associated with the certification in order to receive it.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Equipment Cert purchases:


    [Mil-Spec Pistols]: You may now rank up using common service pistols in 9mm, 40 S&W, and 45 Auto.


    [Mil-Spec Rifles]: You may now rank up using low-impulse military grade rifles in common calibers of 5.56mm NATO and 5.45x39mm.


    [Basic Light Armor]: You may now rank up using light armor made of simple soft and hard materials.


    [Basic Link Scanner]: You may now rank up using simple scanning linkware.


    [Light Ground Vehicles]: You may now rank up while operating light ground vehicles under 4,000 kilograms. Please watch the safety video and complete a supervised course to complete your certification.


    <<<<<<>>>>>>


    Emmett skim-read the care manuals to receive the certs. The driving course had to be dealt with later. He opted for Light Ground Vehicles instead of the Basic Link-Scrambler so he could use his combat car as quickly as possible. But without the Link-Scrambler, he most likely couldn''t get discrete missions.


    Muffled gunfire came from the building across the street. Emmett walked towards the business plaza. Shattered glass from stray rounds greeted him as he stepped into the lobby. Rows of flowers surrounded by waist-high stone walls encircled the spacious center of the room. Stone pillars rose up to the glass ceiling. A perfect set up for a gunfight.


    A battered fireteam smashed through a door on Emmett''s left. They stumbled to the walled plants and settled down, examining one of their wounded comrades. The biggest of them, a man with tattoos coming down in circuit patterns on either side of his Mohawk, clutched his limp cybernetic arm.


    "There¡¯s no power running to the muscles," said a man hunched over the big dude¡¯s busted arm. He wore a set of wraparound ballistic lenses. Probably a combat visor with enhanced sensory data.


    Their man on point waived at Emmett. "Hey newb! Get the fuck out of here. We¡¯re losing this fight."


    What was the most newb thing Emmett could do in this situation? He ran up beside the point man.


    "I can help," said Emmett, drawing his pistol.


    The point man stared at Emmett. "You gotta be fucking¨C"


    Broken glass and dust sifted as the ground shook. Emmett and the point man glanced over the stone wall to see a one-ton battle suit in the center of the lobby. It held a 7.62 caliber machine gun on one shoulder, and a 50 caliber rifle on the other. Its feet knocked around crumbled tile as it turned in a circle. Seven or eight ropes dropped down from the shattered ceiling. A heavily armored fireteam descended, shooting at Emmett and his company the whole way down.

 A Final Note from the Author

    Hey guys! Sorry to get the last chapter off apruptly, but that was the maximum Amazon allows me to share. The final draft has been published to Amazon.com. You can read it for free in Kindle Unlimited. Simply borrowing the book really helps me out.


    Amazon.com Link</a>This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    I want to thank everyone for the feedback on this book! The comments really helped improve the final draft. I''ve gone back and updated the previous chapters to the published versions. This is my first LitRPG novel and I hope to write many more.


    Thanks again everyone!