《Frozen Soul (Completed)》 Prologue – The One Known as Mistwalker November 21, 2018 ¨C Rithenal Outpost, 20 miles outside Wichita, Kansas Standing at the top of the observation tower at this outpost in what the locals called ¡®Kansas¡¯, Sub-Leader Krex decided that he truly hated Earth. He was a Silexian warrior, from the desert planet of Silex 4. This pitiful planet of mostly water was far too moist and cold for his liking. The locals were soft, mammalian types. None of them had the lovely scales of the females back home. And this backwater world had never even heard of most of the common forms of entertainment in the galaxy! The system wasn¡¯t the source of any rare minerals either. Of course, he knew why Earth was so important to the Rithenal Empire. This system (called Sol by the locals) was a strategic nexus of warp nodes, located in a critical space between the Rithenal Empire and the Kuprulu Alliance. It was also, due to a quirk of interstellar mechanics, the single jump point connecting to several resource-rich worlds that were either uninhabited, or at least unaffiliated with any of the major galactic powers. Whoever could take and hold Sol would have a strategic advantage over the entire arm of the galaxy. Of course, this wasn¡¯t the first time someone had tried to take the Sol system. But prior attempts to take the system had always failed, primarily because the Asguard always took such an interest in the species covering Earth. Supposedly they were some long lost branch of the Asguard race, or something like that, and they listed the system as a Protectorate. Because of them, all prior attempts to take the system had failed. That didn¡¯t stop others from trying, though. A little over a hundred cycles ago, the Krax Imperium had brought a fleet of their warships to the system, in an attempt to annex it, and the Asguard responded in force. The battle was a massacre, with the Krax fleet being utterly wiped out, while the Asguard lost only one of their four ships. The Krax flagship had tried to crash-land on the planet, but was destroyed in the atmosphere over a place the humans called Tunguska. And only forty cycles later, the damned Ross¡¯ell decided to try and set up a research station on the planet. Fortunately, the Asguard came and wiped the disgusting grey aliens out before they could set up one of their damned gravity weapons on the planet. Krex had no love for the Asguard, but he didn¡¯t want to be within ten light-cycles of anyone crazy enough to use point singularity weapons! Of course, the Asguard were busy with other problems right now. Krex didn¡¯t understand all of it, but it seemed they were fighting a machine empire in another arm of the galaxy. Whatever the case, this meant the Rithenal Empire had a chance to take and hold the system, and use it to dominate their neighbors. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The invasion had been swift and brutal. Their ships took out military and government installations around the world, allowing them to take over in the chaos. But within a tenth of a cycle, the local populace had already begun fighting back. Unknown to any, save perhaps the Asguard, the explosion of the Krax warship had unleashed unstable particles in the atmosphere of Earth, sparking mutations that gave people powerful abilities, not unlike the Krax warriors themselves had. But while the rigid Krax breeding programs kept their powers stable and predictable, the humans were chaos personified, with no two being quite the same. With their superior abilities and weapons, the Empire¡¯s forces had managed to maintain control, for the most part, but the death toll was staggering. The people of Earth used what prisoners called ¡®guerilla tactics¡¯. Instead of facing the Empire¡¯s legions in honorable combat, they ambushed patrols, poisoned food supplies, and did everything possible to make life unbearable for the soldiers posted to this void-spawned rock. But recently, things had gone from bad to worse. It had started with isolated patrols, complaining of an unnatural mist rising up around them, before all contact was lost. When the search teams went to look for them, all they found were the bodies, brutally maimed, with looks of terror on the soldiers¡¯ faces. That was four tenths of a cycle ago. The attacks had continued since then, with an entire outpost falling just a tenday ago to this enemy the troops began calling ¡®Mistwalker¡¯. The bodies had actually been mutilated after death, the heads of the fallen piled in a disgusting cairn with a single message, written in Rithenal Standard: ¡°All will die.¡± A yell from the soldier next to him brought him out of his reverie. An icy mist had begun to form outside the outpost, and was rapidly moving their way. Sub-Leader Krex drew a deep breath, and said, ¡°Sound the alarm. And pass the word that I¡¯ll pay fifty credits to whoever brings me the head of this Mistwalker.¡± As the sirens went off, the Sub-Leader turned, and went to his quarters to gather his best weapons. Time to show this mammal that the soldiers of Silex weren¡¯t like those pathetic Kratuans or Brakthels that had fallen to the Mistwalker before. Chapter 1 – Emergence December 24, 1998 ¨C Atlanta, Georgia (MC Point of View) [--marking the 90th anniversary of ¡®Emergence Day¡¯ today. On Christmas Eve, 1908, loyalists to the old Ottoman regime attempted to storm the capital by force. However, the loyalists were defeated by Karanl?k, the first recorded Mutant in history. Karanlik, named after the Turkish word for ¡®Darkness¡¯, used his shadow powers to halt the loyalists in their path, allowing security forces to take them into custody. Afterwards--] I tuned out the history lesson as I continued walking down the sidewalk. Who wanted to hear about the damn freaks, anyways? It wasn¡¯t natural, being able to read men¡¯s minds or walk through walls or any of the crap those mutants were able to do. It wasn¡¯t RIGHT! Used to be, there were only a few of them, but the freaks breed, and they¡¯d been slowly increasing in population, to the point where they now counted almost 20% of the population in ¡®civilized¡¯ areas. These days, you couldn¡¯t go a day without seeing something about the latest super-battle. My classmate Carl got caught up in the fighting between Mister Devious and Lady Justice. Got a face full of plasma when that ¡®heroine¡¯ bitch was trying to fry Devious, and he dodged. He escaped, my buddy got a nice crispy hole in what used to be his head, and all his parents got was a fucking ¡®I¡¯m so sorry,¡¯ card. That¡¯s what they don¡¯t want you to think about when they talk about supers, though. All those missed shots go somewhere, just like when cops start shooting. But cops at least can get hauled in front of the courts if they shoot a kid in the face accidentally. Supers? Hah! Name three superheroes who have ¡®come out¡¯ with their true identity while they were still ¡®active¡¯. That¡¯s right, you can¡¯t, because the only two who tried got slapped with lawsuits and criminal charges for reckless endangerment. So, yeah, I might have ¡®issues¡¯ with the so-called supers. Damn freaks. Only good thing about school is I don¡¯t have to put up with that crap there. Yeah, school, mister voice-in-my-head-narrator. I¡¯m fifteen, and in the eighth grade. But since I¡¯m doing this, I might as well go all the way, right? Name¡¯s Mirikon. Mirikon Mollen. Yeah, stupid name, but that¡¯s what happens when your parents decide to name you after their D&D characters. Just lucky I was a guy. My mom¡¯s character was named Shallinareth. As for why I¡¯m walking in the rain on Christmas Eve (no, I will NOT call it Emergence Day!)? Shopping. Last minute gift shopping for the family. Well, stocking stuffers, really. As if the Freak Patrol wasn¡¯t enough, dealing with holiday crowds was enough to get on anyone¡¯s nerves. We lived out in DeKalb, over in the Decatur neighborhood. Pretty area, but not much in the way of gift shopping, really. But MARTA is your friend, especially if your main means of transportation is your own two feet. Riding the train into town to get to the Lenox Square Mall was simple enough. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. I¡¯m no weight lifter, but I¡¯ve always been built like a defensive lineman, which is where I play come football season. That, combined with the fact that I don¡¯t go out of my way to start shit, means my parents are fine with me riding the train, at least during the day, and in the ¡®nicer¡¯ parts of town. The Freak Patrol (ok, that¡¯s not the local super-team¡¯s name, but see if I care) being based Downtown not far from Five Points doesn¡¯t hurt, either, at least in their opinion. Anyways, that means I¡¯m doing my little holiday jaunt on my own. Which is better, really, since going in groups through this madhouse is fucking crazy. Where was I? Oh yeah, shopping. Like the fucking Battle of Helms Deep in the mall, and I¡¯m pretty sure I leveled up a couple times with the body count. No, not really. What do you think this is, some fanfic where game windows pop up in front of you all the time?
Well, kindof, yeah.
SHUT UP IMAGINARY GAME WINDOW! Ok, so I¡¯m not really crazy, but I like games and stories, and I come by my geek cred honestly (yes, a jock and a geek). So I sometimes ramble in my internal monologue. Keeps life a bit more interesting. When people aren¡¯t trying to make my life miserable, at least. ¡°GODDAMNIT! LOOK WHERE THE FUCK YOU¡¯RE GOING, ASSHOLE!¡± Sorry, bastard knocked me into a fragging gutter full of nasty ass water. Didn¡¯t look all that big, but felt like it. Probably one of those freaks with really dense bones, or something. I mutter a few more choice curses (including some in Wonderlandian) as I push off the ice and get back to my feet. Wait, ice? How the hell that get there? -------------------- Author''s Note: Since I''m *totally* an author now I thought I''d throw one of these up. Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think. You have constructive criticism? I''m all for it. After all, there''s only a small chance I''ll get better if I don''t know what I''m doing wrong. The rambling, stream of consciousness style is likely not going to be the norm for this story, but I think it works well in these areas where you''re trying to get a character''s gut reaction to things, and set the tone of the character, at least at the beginning. Ferris Bueller''s Day Off wouldn''t have been nearly the same if it started off with a third person narrator instead of the character breaking the fourth wall, after all. Chapter 2 - Breaking Down February 2, 1999 Emergence. That¡¯s what the world called it when a mutant¡¯s powers first activated. 95% of mutants Emerged during puberty, or around ages 10-17. The remaining 5% are called latent mutants. Though they possess the genes for mutant powers, they do not typically express themselves. However, there are verified records of latent mutants gaining powers in response to extreme stimuli, like significant physical or emotional trauma. The Chernobyl Man, a 35-year-old worker who was trapped in the reactor room during the famous meltdown, and gained the ability to create an energy shield that blocked radiation as a result is perhaps the most famous example of this phenomenon. In those who Emerge during puberty, in addition to whatever powers the person may gain, their bodies tend to become ¡®optimized¡¯, genetically speaking. Speed, strength, senses, and so on are all increased to the high end of what a normal human could experience. Likewise, they produce more of certain chemicals than a normal human does, such as adrenaline. This process also tends to make the mutants more photogenic, though there are exceptions. However, the process also creates intense hormonal shifts, in addition to what normally occurs during puberty. This leads to the primary issues when dealing with the newly Emerged. Most new mutants have little control over their powers when they first activate. They tend to respond to emotional triggers until the Emerged learns to control their power. Given that teenagers are emotional wrecks to begin with, even before the additional hormonal changes that come with Emergence, this means that, for at least the first year, a mutant¡¯s powers may activate sporadically, or without their consent. Emerged powers typically fall into one of four categories. While some may possess traits of multiple categories, these powers tend to fall into the same theme (an energy controller using that energy to make their body fly, for instance). The categories are: Body Manipulation: This includes most changes to the mutant¡¯s body. Superhuman strength, metal skin, shapeshifting, being able to secrete poisons, and so on are typical of powers in this group. These powers tend to be simple in scope, but can be incredibly powerful. Also included are powers that cause direct changes in other people¡¯s bodies, such as the rare Healing power. Most of those unfortunate mutants who possess altered physical features (like a beak, or excess layers of fat, or slimy skin) have them as a result of body manipulation powers. Body Manipulation powers are by far the most common, at 52% of the mutant population. Mental Manipulation: This includes such things as telepathy, mind control, precognition, and other powers that are primarily mental in nature. These powers tended to be rather insidious in nature, a fact that was balanced out by the fact that most of their users tended to use actions or other things as a mnemonic to focus their abilities. This category would be the one that is most feared (or at least mistrusted) of the four. Approximately 15% of the mutant population has Mental Manipulation powers. Technological: This includes things like technopaths, super-science, and other such abilities. It also is the one branch of powers that has been found to be able to grant ¡®normals¡¯ the ability to use powers. While some super-science creations can only safely be used by their creators, many can be used by others, and some can be mass produced. The rarest of the four, only 5% of mutants have Technological powers. Environmental Manipulation: This includes control of the four elements, as well as most ¡®creation¡¯ type powers, and even spatial manipulation abilities like teleportation. Other than Body Manipulation powers, these are the most common, with 27% of the mutant population. The remaining 1% are known as ¡®Wildcards¡¯. These powers are inherently unpredictable. One of the best known Wildcards is Nemesis, whose signature ability allowed him to instantly counter any power used in his vicinity. This is all important because, as a teenager who had been brought up to distrust and fear mutants, and indeed verged on racist prejudice against them, young Mirikon Mollen was going through an incredibly difficult time right now. The incident on Christmas Eve was easy enough to ignore. But the events that followed could not simply be put aside. It started the day after Christmas, when his uncle had gotten a little too much egg nog in his system. As he had been through three failed marriages, and was working on his fourth, his uncle believed himself to be the perfect fount of relationship advice for the young man who had been single all his fifteen years of life. So what if that ¡®advice¡¯ came in the way of teasing jokes and questions about his masculinity or sexual orientation? He¡¯d held it together during the family gathering, but later, when he was in the bath, Mirikon fumed. And as he let his thoughts run wild with pictures of getting revenge (some poetic, some simply violent) upon his uncle, time passed by, until he realized that he¡¯d been in the bath for an hour. As he tried to get out of the bath, he realized something else: he was currently stuck in an ice cube filling the entire bathtub. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Getting out of that situation without being discovered had been¡­ problematic, to say the least. But it had also shattered any chance of his denying what had happened to him. To say he had trouble coming to terms with this new reality would be understating the situation quite a lot. After the initial shock passed, he barreled full on into anger and self-loathing. The emotions would key his uncontrolled powers, sometimes freezing objects he was touching, and sometimes just causing a cloud of icy mist to follow him. And these outbreaks caused him to panic, which did absolutely nothing to get them to die down. One lasted for a solid hour before he was too drained to worry (and thus relaxing enough for the outbreak to stop). The next few weeks were predictable enough. As his mental state deteriorated, he became withdrawn and isolated. People started asking if he had started doing drugs, or if there was something wrong at home. Of course he couldn¡¯t tell them the truth, that would mean accepting what he was becoming! No, he drew in on himself, his self-loathing feeding on itself in a vicious cycle. Finally, it came down to one night, early in February. His parents had taken his little sister out to a movie to celebrate her birthday. He was invited, of course, but he couldn¡¯t, wouldn¡¯t go with them. The disappointed look on his sister¡¯s face as they left was what finally broke his trance. As his parents drove off, Mirikon went to his dad¡¯s study, and pulled out the gun that his father kept there. It was a revolver, a .357 Magnum like in that old cop movie. That would do the job, right? Mechanically, he wrote out a suicide note. Even in his own head, he knew it sounded trite and clich¨¦, full of how he couldn¡¯t accept what he was, and how he hated himself for being like this. In a daze, he placed a single bullet in the cylinder, and spun it. It took him another half hour to work up the nerve to place the gun under his chin. He took a breath, held it, and then slowly pulled the trigger. Click. Mirikon sat there, stunned for a moment, before letting the breath he held go. He¡¯d only loaded one bullet. He¡¯d only needed one, after all. But he hadn¡¯t considered that spinning the cylinder might line an empty chamber up with the barrel. Now he had time to think, and he began having second thoughts. And third. And fourth. But he didn¡¯t put the gun down, or move from the chair. Eventually, he pulled the trigger again. Click. Another empty. Now he was really getting desperate. He just wanted everything to be over. The fear, the guilt, the depression. Would the next pull give him release? Click. His hands barely able to hold the gun from trembling, Mirikon was about to just move the cylinder straight to the bullet, when he saw headlights in the window. Looking up at the clock, he realized it had been almost four hours since his family left for the theater, and now they were back! Dropping the gun in a panic, mist swirled about him as the young man ran from his father¡¯s study, and up to his room. He didn¡¯t stop to think, just grabbed his leather jacket, a harmonica, and a beat up old leather hat, and ducked out his bedroom window, just like all those nights he¡¯d snuck out of the house before. Only this time, he wasn¡¯t trying to avoid curfew, but himself. He ran. He didn¡¯t know where he was going or how he would get there. He just ran, and the mist shrouded him as he went, hiding him from view. He just kept running, until finally, he found himself at the rail yard, staring at the freight trains being loaded, even this late at night. Now that the panic had started to run its course, it shifted straight back into anger. Anger at himself for being what he was. Anger for not being able to do the deed. Anger for trying. Anger for running. Without thinking, he threw his fist through a plate glass window, and was rewarded with pain, as glass shards cut a long slash on his hand. Pain! Pain cut through everything he was feeling and thinking, distracting him from his self-destructive feedback loop. And that allowed him to calm down, which stopped the mist surrounding him. Pain? Pain could do this? That simple revelation brought a smile to the young man¡¯s face. Pain would be his key. That would help keep him from losing control. Pain would make him stronger. Pain would make him safe. And looking up at the moon that was just starting to wane from full, he laughed. Chapter 3 - Riding the Rails Author''s Note: No, this isn''t an April Fools chapter. Not doing that crap on a story I''ve only just started. And I am so thrilled to have people following and favoriting this story! Got comments? Love to hear ''em. Got aspects you''d like me to go into? Let me know. ------------------- February 10, 1999 (Mirikon¡¯s POV) As much as I would have loved to wallow in self-pity and generally beating myself up for being an idiot, that lizard part of my brain that is all about ¡®not dying¡¯ decided that I needed to actually do some stuff. A bullet to the brain is quick. Starvation isn¡¯t, and really, I¡¯m not a fan. That night at the rail yard, I slipped onto a refrigerated freight car. Figured that if I lost control, no one would notice there. They also wouldn¡¯t notice the results of my ¡®practice¡¯, or so I hoped. Yeah, practice. Ship¡¯s already sailed on me being a freak, so I¡¯ve gotta get a handle on this, at least enough to keep it under control. See, I¡¯ve already figured that the main focus of my powers is an environmental type, mainly what the egg heads call ¡®cryokinesis¡¯. The rest of us call it Cold Control. In other words, I can freeze shit, and do some other things. Leastways, I will be when I get a handle on it. And I need to get a handle on it, because uncontrolled environmental type powers can be bad. As in ¡®force of nature¡¯ bad. A thirteen-year-old girl in Italy with geokinetic powers accidentally set off Mt. Vesuvius when her powers went berserk last year, burying Pompeii in lava. Again. A crazy plant-controller down in South America turned a section of the Amazon rain forest into a jungle of death, the trees killing anyone who came close. He¡¯s still out there, because no one can figure out how to get rid of him without burning the jungle down. And the list goes on. So yeah, I need to learn control. So far, I¡¯ve discovered that in addition to the normal ¡®boosts¡¯ we freaks get (stronger, faster, and so on), I¡¯ve got a few extra enhancements. As in, I¡¯m sitting in a freezer right now in just a pair of underwear, and I¡¯m not even chilly. So I¡¯m probably immune to the cold. Of course, ¡®immune to cold¡¯ doesn¡¯t mean ¡®immune to cold things that hurt you¡¯. I could probably shrug off a beam of pure cold energy as if it were nothing, but stabbing me with an icicle will do just as much damage as it would to anyone else. I know that because I accidentally tried it when I slipped on the ice. And that¡¯s when I learned I could use ice to stop bleeding, sealing wounds. Of course, in anyone else, that would be¡­ bad, since they¡¯d probably go into hypothermia before the wound healed. But as emergency first aid, it could be useful. Right now, I¡¯ve basically got an idea about my powers. The two main things I¡¯ve found is the ability to freeze the air into an icy mist, which is useful for sneaking around, or throwing off some security guard who doesn¡¯t want me by the trains, and the ability to create ice, even make shapes out of it. I don¡¯t know the limits of this, but I think I could do some really cool stuff, eventually. Now, I¡¯ve stayed with the trains for the last few days, switching out as need be, to keep on the move. I think I¡¯m somewhere in Iowa now. So far, I¡¯ve done OK as far as food and water goes. Well, not really. I¡¯ve been scavenging from vending machines when the train stops, and then getting on a new train to head elsewhere. Also why I have no clue where I am right now. But I¡¯m in the mood for something a bit more filling than Cheetos and Coke, so I guess we¡¯re going to start that whole ¡®life of crime¡¯ thing. See kids, ain¡¯t it glamorous? Getting off a moving train is dangerous. Anyone who tells you differently is lying. But then, crossing the street can be dangerous, so there¡¯s really no point in worrying about it so long as you know what you¡¯re doing. First thing to do is find a good spot to jump. Ideally, you¡¯re looking for places that won¡¯t impale you or crush you on impact, because that¡¯s bad. So jumping directly into a tree line or rocky areas isn¡¯t a good idea. Fortunately, this is Iowa (I think), and you can¡¯t get much more boring than this, except for Utah. So finding a good spot is easy. Now, when you land, you might think you¡¯re going to do like you see people do in the Olympics, and stick the landing, or something like that. And you¡¯d be a moron. You¡¯ll break your legs like that. Crumple like a sack of bricks, and roll the shoulder. This¡¯ll help reduce the shock, and spread any impact around. Also makes you less likely to break important bones. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Looking down at my clothes, I realize that I could really do with a change of clothes. And a bath. But we¡¯ll have to wait on that. Slipping off to the side of the railroad, I begin trekking towards town. Off to one side, I see what looks like ponds set up for irrigation. Not being picky, I take the time to wash my face and hair, before using a neat trick I picked up, freezing the water on my skin and hair, and then shaking it off. Instantly dry. Feels good to be at least somewhat clean again. By the time I get into town, it is already late at night. Thankfully, this is a sleepy little suburban community. I think I saw the name Ottumwa as I was coming in. Anyways, this isn¡¯t the big city, and we¡¯re honestly miles from anywhere important. Which is good, because that means there¡¯s only going to be local cops to deal with as I do what I¡¯ve gotta do, not supers. I think Iowa has a super team, but they¡¯re off in the capital, so I don¡¯t have to worry about them unless I get the idiotic idea to stick around for a few days. Which I won¡¯t. First thing is to get some supplies. Now, some people would start by knocking over a convenience store. That¡¯s stupid, because that¡¯s where all the desperate idiots go. It is also the reason why most of those desperate idiots get caught. I need supplies, not the cash from the drawer and a carton of Newports. So we¡¯re going to go to the mall. The mall¡¯s already closed, but that¡¯s not an issue for me. We¡¯re not going to be using the doors, after all. First things first, I hit up the Goodwill. In the back, at the loading dock, I use mist to hide my features as I get to the door. I¡¯m no master thief, so this is going to be getting in, finding the things I need, and getting out again without making too much noise. Getting in isn¡¯t hard. I simply froze the lock off. OK, so that was more difficult than I thought it was going to be, but it worked, and that¡¯s what counts. Opening the door, I know I¡¯ve already set off the alarm, so time to get to work. A big garbage bag from the supply closet, and then I go to the ¡®mens¡¯ section. I¡¯m not picky. I get t-shirts and jeans in my size, a few pairs each, and some other essentials. I even find a couple pairs of sneakers in my size. Its been ten minutes, and I can hear a mall cop opening the grate leading to the rest of the ¡®mall¡¯. Well, of course you¡¯re not going to send SWAT out for an alarm at a local mini-mall. After all, it is probably just some punk kids getting into trouble, right? I¡¯m not looking for trouble, so I slip out the way I came, and find a dark corner to change into my new clothes. Nothing fancy, but I feel better. Now, time to get more actual supplies. Which is why I find a sporting goods store a little way away. This time, I want to have a bit more time before the cops come, since I¡¯m not too far from my last crime. This time, I go in from the roof. No really, the vents in the roof for these big sporting goods stores are perfect for what I¡¯m going to do. Yeah, I know, you¡¯ve seen Die Hard, so you know it isn¡¯t exactly comfy in the air vents, but I make do. Fortunately, there¡¯s a vent that comes out only a few feet above some shelves. Somehow, I manage to get down without breaking my neck. I¡¯ve got some basic clothes, so now I¡¯m doing shopping for gear. A hiking backpack, a travel cooking kit, matches, flint & steel, rope, a couple carabiners, hiking boots, and a second knife are the main things I take. Well, I also grab a metal baseball bat, because bats have better reach than knives. In the manager¡¯s office, I freeze the door to the safe, allowing me access. There¡¯s almost a grand in the safe, so I steal it, too. That¡¯ll take me a long way, once I get out of this town. Last thing before I go, I take the tapes for the security system. This place still used VHS tapes, so that makes everything easy. Making sure I got my kit together, I head out the back door, tripping the alarm, and begin moving down back roads until I get to the railroad. Getting on a moving train is tough, but not as much as you might think. Trains slow down a lot in residential areas, so getting on isn¡¯t too much trouble. The tapes from the security system I toss under the wheels of the train before getting on. Climbing up on top of the freight car I¡¯m on, I smile, and decide to take a nap until morning. I¡¯m looking forward to actually being able to buy breakfast for a change. Tales of the Void Traveler For those of you who want to read more from the Frozen Soul universe, please check out my new fiction, Tales of the Void Traveler Earth is no longer alone in the universe. Twenty years ago, aliens invaded, thinking that Earth would be an easy conquest. They were wrong. Humanity fought back, and won their freedom in a war that scarred the heavens and left trillions dead in its wake. But after the war was done, and peace declared, there were plenty of places needing rebuilding. And humans also began branching out into the stars themselves. The first human colony outside the solar system was founded by a ¡®former¡¯ supervillain named Iceblade. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He called that colony Sanctuary. Others might call it a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Some may call it a land of unbridled opportunity. Some just call it home. Being known as a place where anyone can find anything if they¡¯re willing to pay the price, Sanctuary developed a bustling shipping (or maybe smuggling) industry, using mostly ¡®independent contractors¡¯ on small freighters notable more for their speed than the size of their hold. One of these freighters is the Vigilance-class corvette named the Void Traveler. This is the story of Void Traveler and her crew. Amazon Announcement So hey, this is not a chapter, but I do have some fairly awesome news for fans of my first story ever! I went and did a thing, and now Frozen Soul is available through Amazon! The complete story, plus a couple side stories that my Patreons got to read early. I just wanted to thank everyone who has been with me from the beginning, and everyone since who has come to enjoy Iceblade''s story. Thank you one and all!The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Kindle: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B071R125QT Paperback: https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/1521068836