Post by Lone Dancer on Jul 25, 2023 19:53:47 GMT
He shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t be doing this. Such thoughts spun around in circles in his mind as he moved closer to the super-mall, keeping close to the shadows the ruins cast. The air was so spiced with cinnamon that it was hard to breathe.
His fists were clenched as his head was on a swivel, hyper-aware of every noise that could be a clawthing. He tried to creep around, watching his feet for any loose rock that could scatter and alert things to his presence. Slinking through the rubble, he went over the plan in his head.
Find out what is going on inside the super-mall. Simple, really. The challenging part was not dying in the process. As long as he didn’t get swarmed by a bunch of clawthings, Zed was vaguely confident in himself. He kept ignoring the voice in his head that he was being an idiot.
He needed Thread, and this was the current location to get Thread. Here’s to Kinetic Blast living up to the Blast portion of its name. He wanted to massage his temples: he was so going to die. How’d it go, nothing ventured, nothing gained? Right? Right. So he told himself to keep on marching.
There was a massive crack in the road Zed was taking, and it led so far down that he decided to take a detour through the ruins instead. He found himself within a valley of sorts inside an entirely collapsed building. The debris made various piles and mounds around him, forming half a bowl shape. He took tentative steps, wary.
That’s when he heard it, the signature laughter of a clawthing. A pit of dread slowly built up in his stomach as it pierced the air. He took deep breaths to calm himself; panicking would not help him. Monkey brain did as it does and rocked back and forth in the back of his mind as he tried to focus.
The hairs on the back of his neck shot up as he heard the laughter and scuttling of claws getting closer. The sole saving grace was the fact the sound was singular. Feeling the fingernails bite into his palms, he unclenched his fists. The wound on his left palm had mostly sealed up by now, but it was aggravated by how he dug in his fingernails.
The first appearance of the clawthing’s grey skin was on the rubble pile ahead. It stood over him, surveying the location. Slowly its head turned to face him, hopping down with an air of predatory confidence. Zed’s mouth was dry, but he raised up a hand. He had a new trick up his sleeve. He wasn’t sure if the gesture was needed, but it made him feel better.
The clawthing tilted its crumpled face at him, considering him. It shook its head and laughed. Zed’s dread turned to something else at the sound. Anger. A pattern surfaced to mind, little lines of shimmering silk appearing in his vision. There was a definite sense of oddness, like having muscle memory for something he had no recollection of.
The silk, or rather Thread, coalesced over his extended hand. It formed into a basic interwoven square, a pattern reminiscent of waves in the center. The entire square had a slight tint of red. It looked and felt crude, but the clawthing did have a response to it. It stopped laughing.
All of this happened within a few seconds, and when the clawthing bunched up to pounce, Zed did the final motion. He ripped the newly made Tapestry in half.
There wasn’t a sound, or some flash of light. The clawthing went from ready to leap, to slammed into the concrete behind them. Zed could hear it squelch and crack as it shifted around, trying to pull itself up. It was still alive, unfortunately, but it moved with a limp; the side that slammed into the rubble was covered in that oily substance clawthings had for blood.
The base of his skull was hot, but Zed ignored it. He was focused on the clawthing. It had a sense about it like it was reconsidering. But his confidence just soared, given the display. He just cast- correction, wove something! It was far more effective than he first thought it would be.
He raised his hand again, intending to finish this. As the Thread began to appear, he heard a chorus of laughter all around him. Oh god. The clawthing in front of him joined in, with a rasping sound. His chest became tight when he realized several more clawthings had appeared. His mind went into overdrive.
Okay, he had the Kinetic Blast for an unknown amount of uses. If he had to guess, likely two or three more. Second, he was in a lower position, given he was in a valley of collapsed ruins. There was the injured clawthing in front of him. It was unable to pounce. The others still could.
Well, he did tell himself he would die here. It was peaceful for a moment as acceptance washed over him. Then the survival instinct kicked in. And it kicked in hard. He gave one more look around, the calm before the storm.
Alright, he really was surrounded, but it was only three others. One behind him, and one on either side. He couldn’t shake the sense they were toying with him, the sole reason they hadn’t attacked yet. He glanced back at the injured one. And the pile behind it. A plan clicked.
All he had to do was run past the injured clawthing first. Easy enough. The command to his legs finally went through, and he burst into motion, sprinting straight at the clawthing in front of him. This was stupid, but it didn’t matter.
He covered the short distance in a blink, surprising even the clawthing. Now the risky part. With its good limb, it swept at him. But he was ready for it. He jumped, landing directly on the clawthing. It crunched, and it screamed. Zed winced, almost fumbling his step as he used it as a fleshy springboard to scramble up the rubble.
Thankfully the sound was cut short. So was any celebration as the three uninjured clawthings were on his tail. But unlike the last chase, Zed could actually do something other than run away. He turned around, using his newfound height to buy him the seconds he needed. It also conveniently lined them up.
Thrusting his hand out, he channeled something. Every last strand of Thread he could spare. He wanted this to hurt. The woven square that formed was larger with the wave pattern spikier. It was dyed a deeper red than before. He stared back at the clawthings clambering up after him. They weren’t laughing anymore.
Unlike the first, this one had resistance when he began to instinctively tear it. It was bristly to the touch. Again, the clawthings had a response. This time, they paused, right as they made it up to where he was. That pause was all he needed.
There was a moment of ringing silence. A brief pause. The air rippled in front of him with a crack. He stepped back; the pile he was standing on became unsteady. Concrete shot up in blasts of crushed dust, blocking his view. He waved it away as much he could, and tried not to breathe in.
When it settled, he cautiously peeked over. Everything below him was doing its best impression of a pancake. Shattered concrete mixed with oily blood formed a tar-like substance that covered what looked like the remains. A laugh of his own escaped his lips, and he couldn’t help himself as he devolved into maddened chuckling, only stopping by the flaring headache.
He tried to think of some quip, anything to say. All he could was weakly laugh as he held his head. Everything was hitting him at once, and adrenaline withdrawal for the second time today wasn’t doing him any favors.
“Fuck.”
There, that summed up his thoughts nice and succinct. He repeated it when he realized that he might have ruined his chances of harvesting Thread from them. Maybe the Interface could work its own magic.
Speaking of magic, what happened was playing on repeat. How the Tapestry formed, tearing it in half, and then the devastating results. Zed looked up at the bright blue sky. It contrasted so deeply with what was below. If it were any other occasion, he would be jumping for joy.
He did what he would call magic. Yet, to unlock it required almost dying once, and then he almost died again while using it. Both times, he got lucky. If that glass shard didn’t work, or there wasn’t the pile to scale to buy himself precious time, or-. He stopped himself. Going down that hole wasn’t doing him any favors.
He would gladly take what he could get. He survived against the odds. He just had to keep doing it. But he couldn’t rest here. He had to figure out what happened to the super-mall, though the recent reality check made him less inclined.
It was also quiet, to the point he didn’t trust it. What he did was very noticeable, after all. He would check to see if he could harvest the Thread from the squashed clawthings, and leave. Even if he had to dig out the corpses, he would do so. He needed that Thread, especially since he just used all he had.
He very much didn’t want to be caught without any means of defense. So he carefully descended down, wary of any shifting, and began to step through the ooze. It was sticky, clinging to his shoes and slowing him down. He didn’t know where to place the Interface, so when he pulled it out, he awkwardly held it in his arms.
Partially kneeling, he opened it up. The sound of it whirring and beeping to life was comforting in its own way. Like before, he briefly saw the words ArachnOS flash on screen before the prompt appeared.
Thread detected. Sources of bio-interference: deceased. Note, sources obstructed. Please remove obstructions to harvest.
So he would have to dig them out. While trying to hold the Interface steady with his left arm, he used the other to dig through the tar. It was uncomfortably cool to the touch, and viscous. He pulled at the concrete chunks, very aware of the time he was taking doing this.
Five painful minutes later, the Interface beeped at him, informing him that enough of the obstructions were removed. Zed got a fun look into the insides of a squashed clawthing. If he hadn’t emptied his stomach prior, he would’ve done it now.
Looking away, he typed an affirmative when the Interface asked to harvest. He stared at the screen, pointedly making an effort not to look at how the cable writhed around through the remains and ignored the squelching sounds.
Mercifully it was a quick affair. The cable slunk back into its compartment, with Zed hoping for it to be thoroughly sterilized. However, the Interface informed him he would have to repeat the process again to remove further obstructions on the other buried remains.
He was aware of the time he was spending, but it was still suspiciously quiet, and he wanted to get as much as he could from this haul. So, he moved to a new spot which he suspected to hold more remains and resumed digging.
His arm was quickly tiring from being the sole excavator during this process, and Zed debated with himself about placing the Interface in the sludge. If it could survive the earlier fall and tumble, it should probably be fine. Or, that’s what he told himself as he gave in and placed it on a patch with more concrete than tar.
The actual speed increase was minimal as his left hand stung every time the cut brushed against the tar. Still, it made moving the larger chunks easier as he no longer had to leverage them with one tired arm. Now he had a tired arm and an injured hand, a great combination.
The smell was starting to build up in this thick layer of unpleasantness, a scent of bile and something sickly sweet. He could feel his face crinkle at the stench. The interspersed amounts of cinnamon did it no favors, either. Oh, the things he was doing for a bit of Thread.
As he dug, it also let him process earlier events. Despite his efforts to remain chipper, he was frankly quite tired. Fear of being mauled to death before you know it was a potent motivator, but it only took you so far when you’re physically spent. Even now, his legs felt like jelly, and it was a miracle he could still walk much less run.
Perhaps the seeming regenerative properties of Thread kept him on his feet longer, using similar principles that stitched his left hand together. Which in itself brought a whole host of questions that he needed to find answers for. Why didn’t it do anything about the metal slot in his right palm? Would it interfere with surgeries or other procedures?
That last one made him pause digging. Without thinking, he brought his hand up to his chest. He felt nothing through the coat. Relief flooded over him, and he let out a shaky breath. Slowly, he resumed digging. The stench was still awful. At least the cool air didn’t exacerbate the issue.
Interface beeped again; enough of a clawthing’s corpse was revealed. Picking up the machine, the outer chassis had the tar try to cling to it, but it was easy to break it free. Wiping his hands off on his pant leg, he typed in yes. Like before cable slunk out, shuffled around inside the body, did its thing, retracted, and it was done.
Now he could push for two more, but the longer it was silent, the less he trusted it and was finding it harder to justify to himself to stay. Kinetic Blast was efficient; by harvesting the first clawthing, he was able to kill four more later. By that sound logic, he should be able to kill eight more now. It was almost absurd how much of a power-up Kinetic Blast was. He was beginning to understand why his father was so obsessed with the stuff.
The next step was to insert that Thread into his body, refill his stores and get another augment or two if he could. Exciting stuff for him. His end goals were nebulous, not much beyond ‘Don’t die’ and ‘Find out what the hell happened’. Shaking his head, he pulled himself up.
Closing the helpful machine back up, he placed it back onto the harness. Doing so, his hands brushed over the straps. He remembered how he first found it, all splayed out on the same table he found the Interface and the note. It was a size too big, and he had to re-adjust it to fit his body.
He wasn’t sure about how to feel about the prospect that his father once wore this. It felt like he was literally carrying the legacy his father left behind with the Interface. It was part comforting, part daunting.
Fussing with his coat, he looked around. About time to leave the ruins behind. Ideally, he would find somewhere safe enough to augment, but he doubted it would be anywhere near here. Maybe he could come back later, and harvest the final two then.
He was a little disturbed at how quickly his terms of thinking have changed, seeing the clawthings less as terrifying foes and more as resources to be exploited. But so is the desire to live. Yay survival instincts?
Withdrawing from his thoughts, he stretched and patted his legs. They were tired, but he could still walk. Craning his neck, he gave a final look around. Still alone. For a brief moment, the crushing weight of solitude pressed down against him but he shoved that too into the things to deal with later pile.
Making sure one last time the Interface was securely on, he re-adjusted his coat and began to climb out of the valley of rubble. His hands were sticky, but not for long. Tar was sloughing off his hands and clothes. His stomach felt funny, and he chalked it to the smell.
He thought back to how the oil evaporated once he harvested that original clawthing in the facility. Similar thing must’ve happened here. He’d have to ponder the why later. Once he was back at the top, he continued to march forward.
Emptiness permeated this place. He felt exposed, even when sticking close to the shadows. His eyes darted everywhere, trying to take in everything. Sometimes he thought he spotted something in the corners of his eyes, but when he turned to look, nothing.
He flexed his left hand, rolling the fingers around. As he fidgeted, he exhaled. He had to remain level-headed. Even with everything weighing down on him. If there was one thing that disturbed him, it was the complete lack of human corpses.
Sometimes he’d pass by cars, long abandoned. Sometimes only half a car, one side inexplicably gone. He’d walk by the occasional bench, or peer inside what looked like an old storefront. Empty. Always empty.
Never a sign of a person besides him.
He was tempted to yell out, just shout anything into the emptiness. Free the world from the silence that suffocated it. He held his tongue. Part of him was ashamed at himself for doing so. He simply added it to the pile of things.
He had stopped walking to run his right hand over some moss that was growing. It was soft to the touch, almost blanket-like. Feeling this sign of other life did bring some solace. A momentary distraction from everything else.
Pulling back, he stood there. Looking around, he realized something unfortunate. He was lost. He whirled around, trying to orient himself back to his destination. The super-mall. The ruins around him obscured his view of the horizon.
As he did so, he felt a pang of hunger. Reaching into his bag, he ripped out a water bottle and chugged it in one go, hoping it would help. It did not. He clutched his stomach, which was now pulling no punches to inform him he was starving.
He stumbled to the side, trying to take in deep breaths. But it was its own kind of pain, one not easily subdued. While he always acknowledged how he hadn’t eaten pretty much anything since he left Stasis, it was always oddly an afterthought.
Something clicked. Thread. While he still felt hunger earlier, it was never to this extent. If he had to figure, something about Thread suppressed the feeling. But he just went and used it all earlier. So that’s why it is hitting him now all of a sudden.
His stomach let him know that there would be consequences if he didn’t get something into it soon.
He couldn’t help himself when with shaky hands, he pulled out the Interface. He didn’t want to do it here, but his stomach clawed away at him. He needed to buy himself more time. More time to think, to search.
He found himself sitting down, leaning against the mossy wall. The briefcase was on his lap, closed. Popping the latches with a click, he opened it. The Interface woke up from its sleep with a whir, ready for use. A welcome message appeared on screen.
Greetings, Zed.
Sufficient Thread levels for multiple operations.
Suggested actions:
Prepare augmentations? Y/N
Yes, yes, and yes again. The metal cable slunk out like it always did, and appeared thankfully pristine. This time, Zed didn’t hesitate to offer his right palm for insertion. In fact, the weird feelings were a welcome distraction from the stomach pains.
Arm paralyzed, his eyes darted back and forth. The street he was on was empty, and the only sound he could hear was his breathing intermixed with the Interface’s idling noises. Looking back down at the machine, he skimmed over the options.
Available Thread is sufficient for (2) basic augments or (1) advanced augment. Separate choices with a comma.
Tapestry (Thermal Spark):
Implants new Weave pattern, allowing the user to weave Thread into thermal constructs. Input 1 to select.
Body Foundation:
Restructure muscle fiber to a prime state for further augmentation. Input 2 to select.
Mind Foundation:
Prepare new neural pathways to facilitate further augmentation. Input 3 to select.
Weave Stabilization:
Increases Thread efficiency in Weave constructs. Input 4 to select.
(Advanced)
So, he could get two for the first time if he wanted. If he weren’t experiencing racking stomach pain, he would be ecstatic. He was also introduced to the concept of advanced augments, which he would have to mull over later.
For a brief moment, the prospect of just getting the mind and body foundations done was tempting. However, there was a conundrum. It would give him more options down the line, but that in itself was a potential problem.
He clenched his teeth; there was another bout of stomach pains. Clearly, he should hurry up. For a second, he had a flash of clarity. Eh, fuck it. If he died, he died. His left hand clacked in two and three, separated by a comma like it asked.
Finger on the enter key, he figured it couldn’t be worse than what he was currently experiencing. He liked to tempt fate like that. He pressed down, and the last thing he saw before everything faded to blissful oblivion was a figure off in the distance.
His fists were clenched as his head was on a swivel, hyper-aware of every noise that could be a clawthing. He tried to creep around, watching his feet for any loose rock that could scatter and alert things to his presence. Slinking through the rubble, he went over the plan in his head.
Find out what is going on inside the super-mall. Simple, really. The challenging part was not dying in the process. As long as he didn’t get swarmed by a bunch of clawthings, Zed was vaguely confident in himself. He kept ignoring the voice in his head that he was being an idiot.
He needed Thread, and this was the current location to get Thread. Here’s to Kinetic Blast living up to the Blast portion of its name. He wanted to massage his temples: he was so going to die. How’d it go, nothing ventured, nothing gained? Right? Right. So he told himself to keep on marching.
There was a massive crack in the road Zed was taking, and it led so far down that he decided to take a detour through the ruins instead. He found himself within a valley of sorts inside an entirely collapsed building. The debris made various piles and mounds around him, forming half a bowl shape. He took tentative steps, wary.
That’s when he heard it, the signature laughter of a clawthing. A pit of dread slowly built up in his stomach as it pierced the air. He took deep breaths to calm himself; panicking would not help him. Monkey brain did as it does and rocked back and forth in the back of his mind as he tried to focus.
The hairs on the back of his neck shot up as he heard the laughter and scuttling of claws getting closer. The sole saving grace was the fact the sound was singular. Feeling the fingernails bite into his palms, he unclenched his fists. The wound on his left palm had mostly sealed up by now, but it was aggravated by how he dug in his fingernails.
The first appearance of the clawthing’s grey skin was on the rubble pile ahead. It stood over him, surveying the location. Slowly its head turned to face him, hopping down with an air of predatory confidence. Zed’s mouth was dry, but he raised up a hand. He had a new trick up his sleeve. He wasn’t sure if the gesture was needed, but it made him feel better.
The clawthing tilted its crumpled face at him, considering him. It shook its head and laughed. Zed’s dread turned to something else at the sound. Anger. A pattern surfaced to mind, little lines of shimmering silk appearing in his vision. There was a definite sense of oddness, like having muscle memory for something he had no recollection of.
The silk, or rather Thread, coalesced over his extended hand. It formed into a basic interwoven square, a pattern reminiscent of waves in the center. The entire square had a slight tint of red. It looked and felt crude, but the clawthing did have a response to it. It stopped laughing.
All of this happened within a few seconds, and when the clawthing bunched up to pounce, Zed did the final motion. He ripped the newly made Tapestry in half.
There wasn’t a sound, or some flash of light. The clawthing went from ready to leap, to slammed into the concrete behind them. Zed could hear it squelch and crack as it shifted around, trying to pull itself up. It was still alive, unfortunately, but it moved with a limp; the side that slammed into the rubble was covered in that oily substance clawthings had for blood.
The base of his skull was hot, but Zed ignored it. He was focused on the clawthing. It had a sense about it like it was reconsidering. But his confidence just soared, given the display. He just cast- correction, wove something! It was far more effective than he first thought it would be.
He raised his hand again, intending to finish this. As the Thread began to appear, he heard a chorus of laughter all around him. Oh god. The clawthing in front of him joined in, with a rasping sound. His chest became tight when he realized several more clawthings had appeared. His mind went into overdrive.
Okay, he had the Kinetic Blast for an unknown amount of uses. If he had to guess, likely two or three more. Second, he was in a lower position, given he was in a valley of collapsed ruins. There was the injured clawthing in front of him. It was unable to pounce. The others still could.
Well, he did tell himself he would die here. It was peaceful for a moment as acceptance washed over him. Then the survival instinct kicked in. And it kicked in hard. He gave one more look around, the calm before the storm.
Alright, he really was surrounded, but it was only three others. One behind him, and one on either side. He couldn’t shake the sense they were toying with him, the sole reason they hadn’t attacked yet. He glanced back at the injured one. And the pile behind it. A plan clicked.
All he had to do was run past the injured clawthing first. Easy enough. The command to his legs finally went through, and he burst into motion, sprinting straight at the clawthing in front of him. This was stupid, but it didn’t matter.
He covered the short distance in a blink, surprising even the clawthing. Now the risky part. With its good limb, it swept at him. But he was ready for it. He jumped, landing directly on the clawthing. It crunched, and it screamed. Zed winced, almost fumbling his step as he used it as a fleshy springboard to scramble up the rubble.
Thankfully the sound was cut short. So was any celebration as the three uninjured clawthings were on his tail. But unlike the last chase, Zed could actually do something other than run away. He turned around, using his newfound height to buy him the seconds he needed. It also conveniently lined them up.
Thrusting his hand out, he channeled something. Every last strand of Thread he could spare. He wanted this to hurt. The woven square that formed was larger with the wave pattern spikier. It was dyed a deeper red than before. He stared back at the clawthings clambering up after him. They weren’t laughing anymore.
Unlike the first, this one had resistance when he began to instinctively tear it. It was bristly to the touch. Again, the clawthings had a response. This time, they paused, right as they made it up to where he was. That pause was all he needed.
There was a moment of ringing silence. A brief pause. The air rippled in front of him with a crack. He stepped back; the pile he was standing on became unsteady. Concrete shot up in blasts of crushed dust, blocking his view. He waved it away as much he could, and tried not to breathe in.
When it settled, he cautiously peeked over. Everything below him was doing its best impression of a pancake. Shattered concrete mixed with oily blood formed a tar-like substance that covered what looked like the remains. A laugh of his own escaped his lips, and he couldn’t help himself as he devolved into maddened chuckling, only stopping by the flaring headache.
He tried to think of some quip, anything to say. All he could was weakly laugh as he held his head. Everything was hitting him at once, and adrenaline withdrawal for the second time today wasn’t doing him any favors.
“Fuck.”
There, that summed up his thoughts nice and succinct. He repeated it when he realized that he might have ruined his chances of harvesting Thread from them. Maybe the Interface could work its own magic.
Speaking of magic, what happened was playing on repeat. How the Tapestry formed, tearing it in half, and then the devastating results. Zed looked up at the bright blue sky. It contrasted so deeply with what was below. If it were any other occasion, he would be jumping for joy.
He did what he would call magic. Yet, to unlock it required almost dying once, and then he almost died again while using it. Both times, he got lucky. If that glass shard didn’t work, or there wasn’t the pile to scale to buy himself precious time, or-. He stopped himself. Going down that hole wasn’t doing him any favors.
He would gladly take what he could get. He survived against the odds. He just had to keep doing it. But he couldn’t rest here. He had to figure out what happened to the super-mall, though the recent reality check made him less inclined.
It was also quiet, to the point he didn’t trust it. What he did was very noticeable, after all. He would check to see if he could harvest the Thread from the squashed clawthings, and leave. Even if he had to dig out the corpses, he would do so. He needed that Thread, especially since he just used all he had.
He very much didn’t want to be caught without any means of defense. So he carefully descended down, wary of any shifting, and began to step through the ooze. It was sticky, clinging to his shoes and slowing him down. He didn’t know where to place the Interface, so when he pulled it out, he awkwardly held it in his arms.
Partially kneeling, he opened it up. The sound of it whirring and beeping to life was comforting in its own way. Like before, he briefly saw the words ArachnOS flash on screen before the prompt appeared.
Thread detected. Sources of bio-interference: deceased. Note, sources obstructed. Please remove obstructions to harvest.
So he would have to dig them out. While trying to hold the Interface steady with his left arm, he used the other to dig through the tar. It was uncomfortably cool to the touch, and viscous. He pulled at the concrete chunks, very aware of the time he was taking doing this.
Five painful minutes later, the Interface beeped at him, informing him that enough of the obstructions were removed. Zed got a fun look into the insides of a squashed clawthing. If he hadn’t emptied his stomach prior, he would’ve done it now.
Looking away, he typed an affirmative when the Interface asked to harvest. He stared at the screen, pointedly making an effort not to look at how the cable writhed around through the remains and ignored the squelching sounds.
Mercifully it was a quick affair. The cable slunk back into its compartment, with Zed hoping for it to be thoroughly sterilized. However, the Interface informed him he would have to repeat the process again to remove further obstructions on the other buried remains.
He was aware of the time he was spending, but it was still suspiciously quiet, and he wanted to get as much as he could from this haul. So, he moved to a new spot which he suspected to hold more remains and resumed digging.
His arm was quickly tiring from being the sole excavator during this process, and Zed debated with himself about placing the Interface in the sludge. If it could survive the earlier fall and tumble, it should probably be fine. Or, that’s what he told himself as he gave in and placed it on a patch with more concrete than tar.
The actual speed increase was minimal as his left hand stung every time the cut brushed against the tar. Still, it made moving the larger chunks easier as he no longer had to leverage them with one tired arm. Now he had a tired arm and an injured hand, a great combination.
The smell was starting to build up in this thick layer of unpleasantness, a scent of bile and something sickly sweet. He could feel his face crinkle at the stench. The interspersed amounts of cinnamon did it no favors, either. Oh, the things he was doing for a bit of Thread.
As he dug, it also let him process earlier events. Despite his efforts to remain chipper, he was frankly quite tired. Fear of being mauled to death before you know it was a potent motivator, but it only took you so far when you’re physically spent. Even now, his legs felt like jelly, and it was a miracle he could still walk much less run.
Perhaps the seeming regenerative properties of Thread kept him on his feet longer, using similar principles that stitched his left hand together. Which in itself brought a whole host of questions that he needed to find answers for. Why didn’t it do anything about the metal slot in his right palm? Would it interfere with surgeries or other procedures?
That last one made him pause digging. Without thinking, he brought his hand up to his chest. He felt nothing through the coat. Relief flooded over him, and he let out a shaky breath. Slowly, he resumed digging. The stench was still awful. At least the cool air didn’t exacerbate the issue.
Interface beeped again; enough of a clawthing’s corpse was revealed. Picking up the machine, the outer chassis had the tar try to cling to it, but it was easy to break it free. Wiping his hands off on his pant leg, he typed in yes. Like before cable slunk out, shuffled around inside the body, did its thing, retracted, and it was done.
Now he could push for two more, but the longer it was silent, the less he trusted it and was finding it harder to justify to himself to stay. Kinetic Blast was efficient; by harvesting the first clawthing, he was able to kill four more later. By that sound logic, he should be able to kill eight more now. It was almost absurd how much of a power-up Kinetic Blast was. He was beginning to understand why his father was so obsessed with the stuff.
The next step was to insert that Thread into his body, refill his stores and get another augment or two if he could. Exciting stuff for him. His end goals were nebulous, not much beyond ‘Don’t die’ and ‘Find out what the hell happened’. Shaking his head, he pulled himself up.
Closing the helpful machine back up, he placed it back onto the harness. Doing so, his hands brushed over the straps. He remembered how he first found it, all splayed out on the same table he found the Interface and the note. It was a size too big, and he had to re-adjust it to fit his body.
He wasn’t sure about how to feel about the prospect that his father once wore this. It felt like he was literally carrying the legacy his father left behind with the Interface. It was part comforting, part daunting.
Fussing with his coat, he looked around. About time to leave the ruins behind. Ideally, he would find somewhere safe enough to augment, but he doubted it would be anywhere near here. Maybe he could come back later, and harvest the final two then.
He was a little disturbed at how quickly his terms of thinking have changed, seeing the clawthings less as terrifying foes and more as resources to be exploited. But so is the desire to live. Yay survival instincts?
Withdrawing from his thoughts, he stretched and patted his legs. They were tired, but he could still walk. Craning his neck, he gave a final look around. Still alone. For a brief moment, the crushing weight of solitude pressed down against him but he shoved that too into the things to deal with later pile.
Making sure one last time the Interface was securely on, he re-adjusted his coat and began to climb out of the valley of rubble. His hands were sticky, but not for long. Tar was sloughing off his hands and clothes. His stomach felt funny, and he chalked it to the smell.
He thought back to how the oil evaporated once he harvested that original clawthing in the facility. Similar thing must’ve happened here. He’d have to ponder the why later. Once he was back at the top, he continued to march forward.
Emptiness permeated this place. He felt exposed, even when sticking close to the shadows. His eyes darted everywhere, trying to take in everything. Sometimes he thought he spotted something in the corners of his eyes, but when he turned to look, nothing.
He flexed his left hand, rolling the fingers around. As he fidgeted, he exhaled. He had to remain level-headed. Even with everything weighing down on him. If there was one thing that disturbed him, it was the complete lack of human corpses.
Sometimes he’d pass by cars, long abandoned. Sometimes only half a car, one side inexplicably gone. He’d walk by the occasional bench, or peer inside what looked like an old storefront. Empty. Always empty.
Never a sign of a person besides him.
He was tempted to yell out, just shout anything into the emptiness. Free the world from the silence that suffocated it. He held his tongue. Part of him was ashamed at himself for doing so. He simply added it to the pile of things.
He had stopped walking to run his right hand over some moss that was growing. It was soft to the touch, almost blanket-like. Feeling this sign of other life did bring some solace. A momentary distraction from everything else.
Pulling back, he stood there. Looking around, he realized something unfortunate. He was lost. He whirled around, trying to orient himself back to his destination. The super-mall. The ruins around him obscured his view of the horizon.
As he did so, he felt a pang of hunger. Reaching into his bag, he ripped out a water bottle and chugged it in one go, hoping it would help. It did not. He clutched his stomach, which was now pulling no punches to inform him he was starving.
He stumbled to the side, trying to take in deep breaths. But it was its own kind of pain, one not easily subdued. While he always acknowledged how he hadn’t eaten pretty much anything since he left Stasis, it was always oddly an afterthought.
Something clicked. Thread. While he still felt hunger earlier, it was never to this extent. If he had to figure, something about Thread suppressed the feeling. But he just went and used it all earlier. So that’s why it is hitting him now all of a sudden.
His stomach let him know that there would be consequences if he didn’t get something into it soon.
He couldn’t help himself when with shaky hands, he pulled out the Interface. He didn’t want to do it here, but his stomach clawed away at him. He needed to buy himself more time. More time to think, to search.
He found himself sitting down, leaning against the mossy wall. The briefcase was on his lap, closed. Popping the latches with a click, he opened it. The Interface woke up from its sleep with a whir, ready for use. A welcome message appeared on screen.
Greetings, Zed.
Sufficient Thread levels for multiple operations.
Suggested actions:
Prepare augmentations? Y/N
Yes, yes, and yes again. The metal cable slunk out like it always did, and appeared thankfully pristine. This time, Zed didn’t hesitate to offer his right palm for insertion. In fact, the weird feelings were a welcome distraction from the stomach pains.
Arm paralyzed, his eyes darted back and forth. The street he was on was empty, and the only sound he could hear was his breathing intermixed with the Interface’s idling noises. Looking back down at the machine, he skimmed over the options.
Available Thread is sufficient for (2) basic augments or (1) advanced augment. Separate choices with a comma.
Tapestry (Thermal Spark):
Implants new Weave pattern, allowing the user to weave Thread into thermal constructs. Input 1 to select.
Body Foundation:
Restructure muscle fiber to a prime state for further augmentation. Input 2 to select.
Mind Foundation:
Prepare new neural pathways to facilitate further augmentation. Input 3 to select.
Weave Stabilization:
Increases Thread efficiency in Weave constructs. Input 4 to select.
(Advanced)
So, he could get two for the first time if he wanted. If he weren’t experiencing racking stomach pain, he would be ecstatic. He was also introduced to the concept of advanced augments, which he would have to mull over later.
For a brief moment, the prospect of just getting the mind and body foundations done was tempting. However, there was a conundrum. It would give him more options down the line, but that in itself was a potential problem.
He clenched his teeth; there was another bout of stomach pains. Clearly, he should hurry up. For a second, he had a flash of clarity. Eh, fuck it. If he died, he died. His left hand clacked in two and three, separated by a comma like it asked.
Finger on the enter key, he figured it couldn’t be worse than what he was currently experiencing. He liked to tempt fate like that. He pressed down, and the last thing he saw before everything faded to blissful oblivion was a figure off in the distance.