A flash of light appears as Alastair’s form emerges back into the forest. Looking around, he doesn’t see any signs of Derek or his pseudo charge. Although it would be very hard to see anything in the blackness that the forest covered underneath the night’s sky. Sniffing the air, he catches a whiff of campfire smoke as well as dozen other smells that threaten to overwhelm him. Oil, discharged ozone, and tangy blood became the chief of these as the wreckage was nearby.

Sighing, he heads to the camp fire while going over the numerous pages still blinking in his eyesight.

Enhanced Physiology Revealed!

Innate Trait Enhanced Human Conditioning Acquired

Innate Trait Psion Alpha Acquired

Innate Trait Power of Blood* Acquired

Innate Skill Quickening Acquired

Marksman has reached Intermediate!

You have leveled up 5x!

A Bounty has been placed on your head!

Pushing on the tab for the Enhanced Human Conditioning, he is greeted with a lengthy page.

Trait Name:

Trait Type:

Trait Rarity:

Enhanced Human Conditioning

Innate

3

Your body has undergone a series of genetic and bionic changes that has accumulated into an enhanced physiology. With the cybernetic implants all over your body, with some supporting the bone structure, it would be difficult to defeat you without destroying the vital areas first. You require more energy than the average human in all situations.

· Str, Agi, & Vit have permanent +250 bonus

· Species peak Attribute potential has risen

· Stam & Psi abilities cost 35% more

· Stam & Satiety drain rate increased by 35%

WARNING: Traces of foreign DNA have corrupted system scan. Cannot ascertain true characteristics of core DNA without user guidance. Cannot ascertain user Attribute potential with corrupted DNA files.

“Damn,” he mutters, “Guess they got the scan correct after all.” Closing the tab, he opens the next two pages.

Trait Name:

Trait Type:

Trait Rarity:

Psion Alpha

Innate

4.5

Psion’s have been known to be reproduced within human society at one in every million. Those that can utilize their abilities without killing themselves or others are one in every 10 million. Even then, only one in a billion actually excel in the field.

· Wis, Int, and Presence have permanent +320 bonus

Trait Name:

Trait Type:

Trait Rarity:

Power of Blood

Innate

3.5

Your skill path hinges upon the use of your DNA. This can be used as a medium to focus your psi energy effectively and ‘safely’. Although, safety is relative to those who use their blood as a medium to effect the world around them. It is an old and very dangerous trait to harbor as it may kill the user if the required amount of energy isn’t present within both blood and psi.

Psi tuning can no longer be acquired Psi energy or Health can be replenished at a 1:2 transference ratio. Can only be used by sacrificing one for the other. Can be used to offset the imbalance of hosts body reducing Satiety and Stamina drain by 10%

Requires a thorough understanding of a species physiology. Requires understanding of the Psionic power being used in order to imitate it.

Skill Name:

Skill Rank:

Skill Level:

Skill Experience:

Quickening

Advanced

1

90%

A type of body augmentation skill that gives the user a temporary limit break as time slows around them. Temporarily changes sclera and iris to black as long as skill is in use.

· Time dilation 20% for 10 seconds

· 500 Psi

· 1 hour cooldown

Active, Buff

Nodding, he remembers back to the first instance that he had when he emerged from the Tank with this ability. He was almost killed because of the ability that it invested within him. Although at the time, he did try killing his way out of the facility with a spoon and plastic fork.

Sighing, he hates at how his abilities had been summed up in such a roundabout way. The very fact that some had been preprogrammed into the game system did little to alleviate the feelings he was now bottling into a ball. Remembering that there was one final page, he opens it.

Wanted!

Alastair Thawn

Dead or Alive

30,000 Credits

He closes the page as he makes the final push over a hill. As he crests, he sees the campfire burning brightly amidst the oppressing atmosphere around him. The girl was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and bandages while Derek sat beside her on a log. Luckily, the girl was asleep. Looking to the old man, he could tell that the old man was keeping watch, even when he was cleaning a simple oversized revolver. They were about thirty meters away give or take.

Alastair took his time so as not to disturb the forest’s mood. He knew more than most on how to keep his peace within an already peaceful environment. It was just another testament to the years of hypno-conditioning that had been drilled into his mind and body along with the personal experience to match. The conditioning itself only worked on those born with trace genetic markers that helped in memory retention in the brain as well as the muscles. He didn’t know how or why this happened, but still it happened. Sadly, there wasn’t a way to replicate the process of said conditioning. The technology involved had been destroyed via his last encounter with the Warsworn facilities across Earth.

Thinking about it, it wouldn’t be long until said conditioning broke. He needed to find an alternative form of remembering aside from meditation and a mind palace. Sure, he remembered and kept the major things, like how to hotwire a starship or how to disassemble a human in five seconds flat; but it didn’t stop the loss of information. It was a queer effect the conditioning had on him. Through it, he could be imparted centuries worth of experience and knowledge in the form of differing martial arts and survival techniques. Yet his mind couldn’t retain it.

A normal human within their lifetime will begin to forget things on a nearly daily basis after they reach a certain age if they don’t have the right gene markers. For most, seeing as the current health care system could ensure a person lived to the ripe old age of 150 quite comfortably, this would be around 130 years or even 140. That was of course dependent on whether they survived long enough to reach said age. He was now at the stage of beginner’s forgetfulness, even though he was more than a century younger. There was too much white noise in the form of returning memories. Post-traumatic stress will do that to pretty much anyone.

Just as he approaches he camp, Derek’s head slowly turns upward from his cleaning. The cloth pauses momentarily before continuing its repetitive cleaning of the barrel.

“Well that took you a while.” Derek bluntly states, having very little regard for the child next to him.

“Had an issue come up in my realm,” he replies, “how long was I out?”

Derek places the piece he was working on next to the others on the log before reaching behind him to throw another log upon the fire.

“Eight hours, give or take.” The old man grumbles picking up the same piece to inspect it. “Next time, don’t leave without taking care of your charge.”

Suitably chastised, Alastair looks around sheepishly.

“Anyway,” Derek continues, “you lied to me.”

Taken aback by this, Alastair sifts through his interactions with the old man as he tries to understand where this is coming from.

“No, I haven’t—”

“Then Tal lied to me.” Derek interrupts, going back to his cleaning by dropping the current one and picking up the cylinder.

To call this outburst puzzling and quite childish would be an understatement. Not bothering to question the old man’s line of thinking, he sets his large pack on the ground and cradles the rifle as he sits down.

Alastair watches him, wondering at age of the weapon considering its lackluster exterior. It was old, very, very old. The factory date that was stamped upon the underside of the barrel was faded to the point that once crisp digits came out as curved and fused numbers. The weapon itself was a 6-shot. Not a very well-known piece of weaponry considering the fact that this world hadn’t sported or even advertised it since he had arrived. Reaching out his senses using the Power of Blood, he tapped into the feelings of the old man.

He looked down through the old man’s eyes, gaining a momentary glimpse of the weapon in hand. The weapon itself wasn’t important, yet the memories made with said weapon were another story altogether. Various emotions were inlaid into it, love, joy, hate, and sadness. Recollections of memories flashed through the man’s head as his youth passes him by. And once more, in the quiet glow of the moonlight, he secluded each of those memories back into his psyche. It was at that moment that Alastair retreated from the old man’s mind, feeling as if he had intruded upon memories not reserved for him. He heard another ding, signaling that he had unlocked another skill, but he refused to open it at this time.

The minute’s pass in unadulterated silence as the warmth of the fire crackles in the twilight shifting through the leaves above. It didn’t take long before his breathing had settled into a slow meditative rhythm. Just as he is about to fall into the black abyss of memories, he hears Derek mumble a question he had heard so many times before.

“What are you, boy?”

Meanwhile in Dictator’s Demise …

A pristine mahogany office suite with a lavish interior, looks out on the city from one of the Treyns’ that overshadow the city. A redwood desk faces a wide sliding glass window looking out onto a small balcony that leans out upon the moonlit city. Yet, despite the hour, an old man with a full black and grey beard, a bald head, and a white robe can be seen sitting at the desk with the holo-image of an entrepreneur.

“What do you mean we don’t have enough votes to put the bill through?! I thought this was going to work! You promised me that it would Primarch Luciana!”

“I did no such thing Mr. Gordyn. I said it may have a chance at working. The key word in there is ‘chance’, it’s not a guarantee.

Let’s be frank here, my job is to make things flow smoother and to ensure the diplomatic process is functioning like it should be Mr. Gordyn. It is not to ensure your company gains exclusive privileges and building rights to certain areas of commerce.

Now if that will be all, good evening.” He says softly and turns off the screen. Reaching up, he massages his temples as another long day comes to an end. The fact that he had yet to hire a secretary for this kind of work did little to calm his aching head.

Slowly, he edges out of the chair and half walks, half shuffles over to the window and opens it ever so slightly. He takes a deep breath of fresh air, basking in the purity of it filtered through the massive Treyns as the wind gusts upward.

Another day done. He thinks as he leans against the railing. A day that usually isn’t interrupted by a pesky businessman or an activist is a rarity these days. Just another day at the office he used to tell himself. If only he knew what a day would look like considering the amount of time that he usually spent answering queries and bill proposals from progressive interns and prospective politicians alike. It had been weeks since he had seen his wife. Months since he had seen his grandchildren.

Turning, he gives the office doors a quiet longing stare, hoping against hope that that would be all and he could leave. Yet just as he takes a step forward towards the gates of heaven, the herald of hell springs up once more.

“You have 30 unread messages Primarch Luciana, would you like me to read them to you or would you like to go through them yourself?” An automated female voice states from his pocket. He sighs.

“Anything important or from old friends that I should be concerned about Vivi?” he asks softly.

“You have 1 message from your son, 3 messages from a Major Corschev stating that Commander Ramaeus has left his post, 1 message from—” she continues, listing each one by the order of his specified significance levels.

“Hold on a second.” Luciana says as he slides back into his chair. “Did you just say Ramaeus has left his post? What is the reason for this? Did he explain?”

It takes her a moment as she opens the entirety of each message and interprets for him.

“He states that he doesn’t know, however 1 message from Director Tal at Intelligence Operational Headquarters states that Commander Ramaeus is heading here with someone. He doesn’t give an explicit reason except for a smiley face emoticon.”

The old man freezes at the last part of the sentence and takes out the PDA from his pocket.

“Open a priority holo-call to Director Tal, Vivi.”

A shove shakes him from his reverie. Blinking quickly, he feels the area around him only with his senses.

“Wake up princess, time to move.” Derek’s rumbling voice growls above him. “Time to earn your keep. You saved her, you take care of her.”

His stomach grumbles audibly as he rolls his shoulders loose of the tension he had been harboring all night. Looking out, he is greeted to the sweet dew of a brush’s kiss as it twists upon the forests setting moon. Twisting and stretching, popping sounds resound in the quietness of the underbrush.

Collecting his things, he straps the pack to his back and sets the rifle onto its strap between his back and the pack. Checking the game chronometer, it was roughly two hours before first light.

“How much farther until this ‘Dictator’s Demise’?” He asks, unsure of what to expect as he lifts the girl gingerly.

“We have about 12 more hours till we reach the outskirts.” The old man replies, dousing the remaining embers long since settled down to a warm smolder. Immediately after, he darts off in one direction.

Hoisting the little girl to where he could safely carry her without having a chance at falling, he follows the old man.

“Derek hold up, I’m carrying twice as much weight here!” Alastair says as he struggles to keep up.

“I will not hold up princess! Start movin’ your ass before I have to come back there and move it myself! It’s going to get darker before it gets brighter here and ain’t no one want to be out in this part of the forest in the sun!” The old man retorts. “It isn’t my fault that you wanted to save the girl, you were the one who insisted on it. All I said was to test your strength against the slavers!”

Despite the speed with which the two were traveling, the hours would pass by in awkward silence as they made their way deeper in the forest. With each passing moment, a question would rebound off of his mind’s walls. He remembered the weird look the girl had. A silver-ish tail and ears. Looking forward, he watched the old man’s back. Hesitant on whether or not to pose it.

Thinking it would be better to ask rather than leave the query unanswered, he asks, “So what is she?”

Derek slows as he hears the question, just enough to pull back beside him.

“She is of the people of Aamar. A subspecies of humans that resides within Wild Space.” He says, seemingly not feeling the exertion of the labor.

“And that would be where?”

“Wild Space.” Derek repeats, as if that was the answer to life’s persistence problems. Turning to his charge, he sees the puzzlement stretched across his face.

“Of course,” he sighs, “I forget you Spacers don’t actually know anything about Wild Space. Alright then, short explanation!”

Derek slows to a walk, prompting Alastair to do the same.

“5,000 years ago, the sentient races, those known at least, sent colonial ships into Wild Space. At the time, we only knew it as space and not for what we know it as today. At the time, there wasn’t much trouble traversing the stars and each ship had everything it needed to start colonizing the habitable worlds further in.

Needless to say, each ship had a commander that was renown in a specific area. For the humans, the most notable were Aamarius, Jiran, Faehnrich, and Strigani. With each passing month, they would report strange structures on habitable and non-habitable worlds. Structures that by themselves were unnatural in the extreme. They decided to explore said ruins and structures, thinking that there may be some clue to races and cultures that had already laid claim to the stars.”

The old man pauses and makes a gesture in front of him that may have been a prayer of some kind. He remained that way for a good few minutes before Alastair asked, “Well, what happened?”

It took some time before the old man regained his composure.

“That was the moment that everything changed, and every major species within the Neos Galaxy came to know of the date known as ‘The Severing’.”