Vacation And Violence

I don’t know how long I slept, but I do know I had never felt better since I arrived here. Even with the incessant droning of the insects within me, sleeping in a relatively warm bed for the first time in what felt like months was a welcome relief. Even when I finally woke up enough that I could no longer deny I was asleep for a few more hours, I still wanted to ignore my gnawing hunger and thirst; even so, I eventually gave in and acknowledged that I couldn’t just sit in bed until the world stopped being insane.

Especially considering I doubted it ever would.

I sighed as I sat up, idly running my hands through my fur, finding all the little holes for my new parasites and the strange texture of the oil that lay just beneath my fur. I had been changed radically from the word go, and I knew that even if I had a mirror I wouldn't be able to recognize myself no matter how long I looked. That thought made me faintly sad, but I pushed the feeling aside before it could finish forming; sadness never helps anything.

Deciding that I should take stock of my new supplies and take another look at my new form in this surprisingly clean little dungeon, I pushed myself to my feet and began looking around. My Paranoia could tell me most of what was in the room, but I felt it best to personally explore just in case; there was a difference between knowing it was there from Paranoia and actually seeing it with my own eyes.

The very first thing I noticed as I took a few steps away from the bed was that despite the fact I could very clearly see the oily black substance on my paws, I left no footprints behind. A few quick tests showed the fluid clung to me and only me so hard it was near impossible to get any of it to come off without outright scraping it and even then the removed piece would evaporate extremely rapidly. That was more than a touch relieving, it would have sucked to have to constantly change out foot gear just to avoid leaving such an obvious sign of my presence.

The second thing I had apparently missed before I slept that now jumped out at me from a glance at myself, was that my tail was still white despite what Shimmer Skin said it would be. My only guess as to why that would be came down to the power of my name; Whitetail wouldn’t be a very fitting name if my tail was no longer white. I had seen that merely giving myself a name had mattered to the system, so having the essence of that name maintained made some amount of sense… if you turn your head and squint. Strangely, it still faded into darkness just as well as any other part of me and clearly didn’t reflect light (something I could apparently still tell despite seeing through darkness like daylight), but I could very easily tell it hadn’t changed color despite that. It stood out to me only because I knew it was white, but seemed to act on the environment as if it were just as dark and shadowy as the rest of me. I put that down to bullshit magic and moved swiftly on before the madness of a stark white that acts like abyssal black drove me any more insane than I already am.

Finding nothing more about myself I had missed (and not wanting to look too closely at or think too much about the uncomfortably large tunnels in my flesh), I began exploring the bunker in earnest. As what little I had seen from the surface suggested, it was mostly one roughly thirty foot room with the only side room being a small bathroom (with a toilet that seemed to dump straight into a yawning void of some sort, much to my concern). The main room had a small outcove for a decent sized bed, a small kitchen area with what looked like a stove, some cupboards, and large white box that seemed to function like a refrigerator despite lacking any external signs of electricity, a small section with some comfy looking couches and a coffee table, and a large empty section with what looked like an assortment of training equipment and a few thousand kilos of some strange orange powder shoved into it. Observe told me the powder was something called “greld”, a drug that caused euphoria and slightly increased strength, but given Observe had utterly failed to inform me the flies crawling around my intestines were parasitic, I wasn’t about to try it despite it not warning about addiction or any side effects.

A quick search of the cupboards found them filled mostly with canned or dry goods, and a shitload of coffee beans. Now, I hate coffee, so much so I was tempted to stack the bags of it up in a pile and burn it for warmth; however, I decided it was better to have it in case I needed it and the buzzing beneath my skin did make a good point that a fire that large would probably suck all the oxygen out of here very quickly. I decided not to think too hard about that last part, and picked a few cans of what looked like soup to have for… breakfast? I didn’t know what time it was and I didn’t care.

It took me a while to figure out how to get the stove started, it being a decidedly magical thing rather than the electric or gas I was used to. At first it looked like just a sheer plane of black crystal, but eventually I discovered small runes on the top seemingly formed from the crystalline pattern itself; a decidedly impressive display of complexity for such a simple appliance, but not one that really helped me figure out how to turn the fucking thing on. Eventually I discovered that the initially decorative seeming set of six runes along the front were actually what allowed you to choose between heat settings; pushing some mana into them showed they ranged from barely hot enough to be uncomfortable on my bare paw, to so searing hot it curled my fur from three feet away.

I’m sure the fact my first thought upon discovering this was that I should use it to train my heat resistance said something about my thought process, but I set that aside for after I had the first hot meal of my new life. After finding a pot and mixing together a bunch of random soups to simmer for a while, I settled down on one of the couches and happily spent the next few hours lazing about and eating so much soup I felt like my stomach would explode. It was the best time I’d had since waking up in this fucking shithole world, and I took my time with it even with the lingering anxiety of knowing I was technically wasting time I could be using to make myself stronger.

I told that little part of me to fuck off, even ignoring the flies happily buzzing around the second bowl I had set up after the little fuckers kept trying to steal my soup before I could eat it myself. Greedy little fucks, I knew they were eating some of the stuff in my stomach already, they don’t need to take it off my damn spoon too! The soup was slightly overcooked, held a mixture of tastes and textures I couldn’t identify, most of the ingredients looked like nothing I’d ever had before, and I ate way too fucking much of it, but even so it was one of the best damn meals I’d ever had! Eating nothing but uncooked rats and dirt for days can really change one’s standards, I guess.

Even though a large part of me wanted to curl up in some blankets and just while away my time on that couch until I died of old age, I knew this safety and comfort was a lie that could be taken from me at any moment. I don’t have the power to protect what is mine, and until I do I can’t allow myself to just sit around and waste time no matter how much I want to. So with a sigh of reluctance, I put the remains of my soup away in the fridge, briefly searched for any clothes (finding only a black scarf long enough to wrap around my body that I decided was better than nothing), and slowly trudged to the exit. I was dragging my feet, knowing that the world outside had nothing but pain and misery to offer, but I still climbed that smooth stone ladder regardless.

The very moment I exited my new bunker, I was vindicated in choosing to hide; at the end of the alley, not thirty feet from the rotting corpse hiding the entrance to my bunker, was a lean and dirt covered man wielding a rusty machete. He had numerous crude tattoos of unrecognizable symbols covering his visible skin, many of them visibly infected and swollen. No wonder, considering the filth he was caked in, clearly not having washed himself in… well, probably ever. More disturbingly, his veins were swollen and oddly orange, hinting at some sort of condition I had never heard of; though, I have no idea what kind of horrible fantasy diseases this place has, so my ignorance here doesn’t mean much.

Given my last experience with filth-caked men in alleys, I decided to Observe him immediately.

Name: Gace Eikton

Race: Human

Main Title: Dragon-oil Gang Member

Level: 12

Hp: 227/342

Sp: 432/512

Mp: 200/200

Main Trait: Greld Adapted: After years of constant greld usage, he is no longer capable of coming down from his high. He must consume at least one gram of greld per week or die, however he receives double the benefits and half the downsides.

So a drug addicted gangbanger, lovely. If I had to guess, which I do, I’d say he was aware of my new bunker (or at least its former owner) and was looking for a fix. Now, I have little interest in become addicted to “greld” (and felt vindicated in not trying any now that I know it’s definitely addictive), but everything in that damn bunker is fucking mine and this asshat isn’t taking a fucking drop. I got eaten alive by flies for that shit, I can feel the maggots squirming in my guts; even if it was fucking worthless, I’m not gonna let anyone take it if I can help it.

I watched the thug putz around the alley mouth, tapping random stones with his ill kept machete and flipping over pieces of garbage. His bloodshot eyes swept back and forth rapidly over the alleyway, but seemed to pass right over my shadowy form; the orange veins in his eyes nearly filled his sclera entirely, making it questionable whether he couldn’t see me through my natural camouflage or just had poor vision. I’d need a lot more data to judge how effective my natural stealth was before I go betting my life on it, but it seems promising so far.

I watched with unhidden contempt as the barely sapient mass of human refuse scratched along well trodden scars on his arm, shaking and jerking about erratically from what I’m sure is either the beginnings of withdrawal or some side effect of whatever greld does. I was about to move to engage the indolent fuck, when his head exploded in a shower of blood and brian matter.

I blinked, slightly dumbfounded as gore splattered all over the wall and the thug’s corpse collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Now I know what that looked like, I’d seen more than enough people get shot to recognise such an attack, but this is clearly a medieval fantasy world so that doesn’t make any sense. Not to mention, I hadn’t heard a gunshot; though, I suppose the magic of this world may well be able to eliminate such things.

A tall, blond haired man walked into the alley, spinning what my mind almost refused to accept was clearly some sort of rune engraved revolver of a model I didn’t recognize. He smirked, idly kicking the headless carcass as he walked by. He wore a set of what looked like red welder’s goggles, a brown trench coat over a green sweater, and brown slacks tucked into black boots.

More pressing than his outfit however, was the way he was clearly staring straight at me. His smirk widened, “Well now, we don’t see your kind up on the surface too often nowadays; not since the last uprising anyway.” He very notably didn’t tuck his pistol away in the holster on his hip as he waved his free hand at me, “So what are you, some kinda forward scout? No, you don’t have the look; I’d bet you’re a freshly evolved rat, eh?” He didn’t pause a moment for me to address any of his questions as he pulled a cigar from within his jacket, lighting it with a snap of his fingers. “Just gettin’ used to your newfound self awareness and lost in the big scary city, right?” He blew a large smoke ring out as he waved his cigar at me.

I decided to play along, simply nodding my head and letting him make whatever assumptions he wanted. He grinned, “Well, you are one unlucky son of a bitch then.” He shrugged, running his hand through his oily hair without any concern for the lit cigar in it, “Or, you may be one of the luckiest; depends on your point of view, I s’pose.” He waved a hand, pointing his cigar at the general area, “This here is Sector Three of Malkaeth, just about the shitiest part of the shittiest city on the fuckin’ planet. We are smack dab in the middle of the two biggest rival nations on the continent, are famous for producing lunatic psycho killers, and only our massive fuck off walls have kept this shithole from falling to any number of forces outside. This sector is where they dump the worst of the lot; mutants and monsters living shoulder to shoulder with beggars and thieves.”

He took a long drag, his expression mostly hidden behind his thick goggles. “Some have argued the nobles let this sector be such a shithole because it creates the sort of environment powerful warriors rise from, but I frankly don’t give a shit.” He didn’t bother with any fancy shapes this time as he slowly emptied the smoke from his lungs in a long sigh, “Only reason I stay in this awful fuckin’ sector is the opportunity it provides; lawmen almost never come here, which makes it prime ground for a clever guy like me.” His goggles caught what little light streamed into this tiny alley, seeming to glow an ominous red as he stared down at me. “Your kind aren’t welcome anywhere, but I happen to not give a shit about those or any other laws, so I’m gonna give you an offer you won’t find anywhere else; join my gang, and I won’t kill you.”

I tensed, muscles tightening in preparation for actions even as I considered his words. He seemed to notice my apprehension as he spread his arms to the side, though the lack of concern for any threat I could pose on display was less than comforting, “Hey, it’s not all bad; you’ll get a safe place to sleep, food and water on the house, a decent paycheck, and free access to any of my brothels if you fancy.” I didn’t fancy really, my sex drive having been pretty much dead since I arrived here and spending my time fucking prostitutes just sounded like a waste of time I could better spend training or killing… which slightly disturbed me on reflection, as I was decidedly not asexual before I arrived. Something to think about later, I suppose.

The rest of that offer was somewhat enticing, even if I didn’t trust this guy as far as I could throw him. I also didn’t particularly like being press ganged, regardless of any benefits it may come with. I decided to Observe him, just in case his stats would give something away that I could maybe use to get out of this.

Name: Markus Loriant

Main Title: Gang Leader

Race: Human

Level: 38

Hp: 426/426

Sp: 212/212

Mp: 302/310

Main Trait: Steel Eyes: He has replaced his eyes with those of a Steel Drake, giving him enhanced perception and an affinity with metal.

None of that inspired any confidence in me being able to take him in a straight fight, nor did the thunder like cocking of his pistol as he seemingly grew impatient. I sighed, “Alright, I’m in.” My voice was scratchy and low, sounding like someone who gurgled barbed wire for years and hadn't spoken in just as long. I sounded sickly, and the extremely faint droning buzz that trailed my every word only exemplified this sense of unwellness around me.

His grin stretched across his face, “Well then, welcome to the Burnpike Lords.”