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Gamma Protocol (109)
🕑 Added 2025-12-02 08:13:55 +0000 UTC[109]
I hated the roof.
The metal plate beneath me vibrated with enough violence to rattle teeth. Every pothole sent a jolt straight up my spine, and my fingers cramped around the welded roll-bar, digging into the steel just to stay seated. Logically, I was very sure I could survive a fall at this speed. I had enough durability to turn the asphalt into a skid mark before my skin broke.
My lizard brain didn't care, it screamed for a seatbelt.
“Stop trying to reach out for the safety bar, I keep having to change cameras to hide the gesture,” Quinn’s voice crackled in my earpiece, tinny and bored. “Drone three is panning for a profile shot. Try to look less like you are holding onto a toilet during turbulence.”
I grunted, shifting my weight. “Safety hazard.”
“It is branding,” Vesper corrected.
“I have hours of you killing F-Class monsters with your bare hands and this scares you?” Quinn asked.
“All you have to do is look pretty and look scary,” Isia chirped in with a snicker.
I resisted the urge to flip the drone off.
Hot wind whipped past, carrying the district's distinct scent of burning plastic, old rot, and that faint ozone tang of the Wall. The sun beat down the convoy as we rolled through the ruined streets, turning the roof into a griddle. To any normal human, they would’ve fried their butt by now. To me, it felt like a heated seat. My skin drank the heat, another reminder that my biology had left standard limits in the dust miles back.
I adjusted the mask. The faux-bone-but-actually-plastic had nearly flown off a few times, I kept having to tighten the straps.
“Chat loves the lighting,” Quinn added. “Views are up. Keep looking stoic.”
I bit back the comment about how my face was literally hidden entirely from view. I could’ve been grinning with my tongue out and no one would know but me. Not that it mattered, without any actual access to chat, the only indication of their existence kept being the tiny comms device. It made it easy to feel like I was just a guy in a skull mask sitting on a moving truck, trusting the voice in my ear to tell me if I looked like an idiot or not.
To my right, a low hum cut through the rattle.
Bear rode her custom bike like she’d been born on it. Chrome and neon, silent electric torque moving a frame heavy enough to smash through brick. The rumbling sound of a fake detonation engine came from the speakers tucked away underneath. My hearing had gotten good enough I could catch the crackle of static even over the roar of the wind.
No mask for her. Her war-painted face was her brand, wearing a confident smirk that played well for the stream. She glanced up and gave me a brief nod, one I did not know what it meant. Theatrics? Asking if I was good? Something else?
I just gave a stiff nod back and remained put.
Professional. We were being professional.
Ahead, the Third Wall swallowed the sky.
The part of me that had grown up in Frontier City had felt a certain comfort to the presence of the Third Wall… once. The “tiny” walled city I’d grown up in had no real horizon, just the walls surrounding it. Here it was different. It wasn't a structure you saw in the distance; it was the distance. A sheer cliff of gunmetal grey almost scraping the clouds, casting a permanent, premature twilight over the district's eastern edge. A silent reminder of who was inside, and who was left out here to rot.
We rumbled past a few collapsed buildings. Gaunt faces watched from the shadows. Hollow eyes. Too hungry to cheer.
My grip on the roll-bar tightened until the metal creaked and bent. We were the sole supply-line for food for our portion of the district. If we didn’t get the food, more people would die. The fact that this was also being used as a publicity stunt left a bad taste in my mouth even though I knew how important it was to get the message out there.
“Movement. Three o'clock.” Isia's voice snapped.
I turned my head right, eyes zooming in. A metallic shape scuttled behind a pile of rebar.
“Threat?”
“Probably some sort of scavenger bot.”
“Shoot it?”
“Waste of a bullet,” Isia scoffed. “Unless it pulls a pin.”
She was right. We were loaded with credits, but we couldn't afford to waste resources on paranoia. There were dozens of scavengers throughout the ruins. Even this far after the attack, many people kept finding valuable things among the rubble.
The convoy rolled on, a parade of scrap metal held together by prayer and solder escorted by the Polar Paws in their bikes.
“Approaching the trade zone,” Vesper announced from the cab beneath me. “Look sharp. The corpos aren't going to be happy to see us.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” Isia growled, and it received a small chorus of agreements.
I stood up once the truck started slowing down, hooking my food on the bar to ensure I didn’t lose my balance. The shadow of the Third Wall swallowed the convoy, and the temperature barely plummeted, the early morning heat still lingered on the asphalt.
We rolled out of the baking district sun and into the cavernous throat of the logistics hub, a massive brick-shaped hole at the base of the wall where the road led to a sudden stop. The hub was empty, which immediately raised alarms. No crates, no forklift drones, no containers, nothing.
“What the fuck?” Isia’s question was what we were all thinking as the convoy slowed to a stop. “Where’s the food?”
I stood on the roof of the lead truck and scanned the bay to confirm it was as empty as it looked. “Don’t do anything stupid, people,” Vesper ordered. She climbed out of the cab, knuckles white as she gripped her datapad.
I hopped down. My boots hit the polished concrete with a heavy thud. Bear stepped off her machine, heavy boots crunching on a stray piece of gravel. With her deepening frown, the air in the room seemed to get heavier.
A wide door on the far side hissed open. A man walked out wearing a grey suit that clearly cost a small fortune. He stopped, flanked by four guards in full corporate riot gear.
The instant the guards spotted Bear their grip on their weapons shifted from comfortable but ready to fully letting go of them, letting the firearms to hang from their slings. The gesture was too exaggerated and theatrical to be instinctual, they’d practised this.
“They’re going to try something,” I hissed under my breath.
“Just stay calm,” Vesper replied, less for myself and more for everyone else. The Saints were tense in a way that Bear’s gang wasn’t. “Contract ID 99-Alpha-Zinc,” Vesper called out. “We are here for the pickup.”
“My name is Krell,” he answered, trying to look bored but he kept peeking glances at Bear. “Contract 99-Alpha-Zinc. Flagged for administrative review. Status: Void.”
The temperature dropped by a degree.
“Void?” Vesper took a step forward. “We pre-paid. The credits cleared this morning. That food is for a designated Emergency Zone under CYPHER mandate.”
“Inventory reallocation,” Krell said, smooth as oil. “We received a priority requisition order twenty minutes ago. The stock has been moved.”
“Moved where? By who?” Bear asked, her words making the guards flinch.
“To a Priority Buyer,” Krell answered, looking strictly at Vesper. Ignoring the meguca wouldn't make her go away, but he was trying. “A private security contractor submitted a Critical Infrastructure Support request. They paid a four hundred percent markup for expedited release.”
“You sold our supplies,” Isia spoke up flatly. “We need those. By today.”
“The buyer proved their personnel are essential for maintaining regional stability, therefore they take priority,” Krell droned. “Under Bylaw 77-C of the CYPHER emergency protocols, essential personnel take precedence over general humanitarian aid during resource scarcity.”
“Bylaw 77-C requires a declared state of imminent infrastructure or engineering-related failure,” I said.
Krell's eyes snapped to me.
I walked past the nervous guards and stopped next to Vesper.
“Unless there’s some fusion powerplant about to explode that we haven’t been told about, then the fourth district lacks such infrastructure.” I tightened my jaw as I measured Krell, my intensity making him squirm.
Good.
His jaw tightened. “The buyer's credentials were verified by the Compliance Department. They are feeding troops securing vital corporate assets. That classifies as critical infrastructure.”
“Troops?” There was vitriol in Vesper’s voice. “Whose troops?”
“The ones tackling critical infrastructure issues,” Krell said with an upturned nose. “It is not our fault nor concern if you were not kept informed of the situation.”
Bear took a step forward. The guards took a collective step back, pressing themselves against the wall. They knew that neither could stop her. They knew the blast doors wouldn't stop her. "Bring it back," she said.
The blast doors hissed open before she could take a step.
A lone figure walked through, no, walked was the wrong word, she floated. Hovering inches off the concrete, encased in white tactical armor, spotless and sleek in that way that screamed “the custom design alone costs more than a house”. My eyes flickered to the firearm at her side, sizing Bear up with a sneer.
“It seems-”
“Is that a Garan VX Semi Automatic Vortex-Mode Railgun!?” I blurted out, stepping closer and slightly to the side to get a better look. “Is this a prototype? Oh, wait, a pre-release? I’d heard some beta-testers were…”
“Axel?”
I froze, glanced around, noticed the looks and the silence. “Ah.” I was violently thankful the mask kept my face hidden in its entirety, stepping back quickly. “Sorry.”
“I knew you had low standards, but this is just sad even for you, Ballistic.” Bear broke the silence before the awkwardness could sink any deeper.
The meguca, Ballistic, snapped towards Bear, the sneer intensifying. “That’s rich coming from the only meguca in the city that managed to lose a monster. Don’t you have your pay-per-view fake wrestling channel to tend to?”
I pretended I couldn’t feel Vesper’s eyes drilling into the back of my skull.
“I’m not leaving empty-handed,” Bear growled. “And you’re not going to stop me, either. Can’t blow up your payday for whatever pocket-change they’re giving you. That’d be bad branding.”
Ballistic’s eyes narrowed behind her visor, her hand on the railgun twitched. “And you’re not going to do anything,” she responded. “A meguca attacking a corporation, live on stream? That’s not going to look too good for sponsorship deals, now will it?”
“Sounds about right,” Bear replied with a laugh. “Good thing Caveman over here is on my team.” Wait what. “Tell you what, a simple arm-wrestling, you beat him, we leave fair and square.”
And suddenly the attention was right back on me. “I don’t think…”
“Hard pass,” Ballistic scoffed. “Not going to waste my time on some Fourther scammer playing pretend superhero.”
The air in the hangar changed.
It didn't just get quiet. It got heavy.
I heard the distinct creak of plastic as Vesper's grip tightened on her datapad until the casing groaned. Behind me, everyone shifted, and I caught the sound of a few guns having their safeties clicked off.
“Give the word,” Isia's voice hissed in my ear, stripped of all humor.
They were ready to start a fight for this, because this stranger had insulted me. I sensed Bear’s gaze on me too, clearly waiting to see how I’d respond. If a fight broke out, it was easy to imagine we’d have the upper hand at least until or unless the corporation had considerable backup. But that was not what we’d come here for.
“Five thousand credits,” I said before anyone did anything. “I’ll pay that much, just for the honor of an arm-wrestle. If I lose, I’ll pay fifteen more. If I win, we get the supplies.”
“I bet the First District folk will love the story about how you chickened out from a win-win bet like that,” Bear quickly added with a grin.
Ballistic froze, shooting a brief glare at Bear before turning to look at me with a slight scowl. “Fifteen, and that gun you got on your hip.” She gestured at my Bulstra with her chin. “That piece of iron’s wasted on you anyway.”
Krell sputtered. "Ms. Ballistic, you cannot wager company-"
“Agreed.”
Ballistic floated down. Her boots touched the concrete with a sharp click, stepping closer, cocking her head as she looked me over. “You don’t have cybernetics.” Her voice lingered, it was almost a question. “Get me a box, this’ll be quick.”
The look she shot Krell left no room for complaints, the guy practically ran out of the room, followed closely by the two guards. After about a minute, one of the guards came back with a metal crate carried by a squatish cargo bot. Ballistic hadn’t stopped eyeing me up as if trying to figure out whether I was suicidal or just insane. I stayed still, pretending I was more confident than I felt, but overall focused more on how to go about this. I felt confident I was no pushover, not after the boost to my baseline stats. But I didn’t know anything about Ballistic other than the name she’d picked for herself as a meguca and the railgun.
My best bet would be to take her out before she unleashed her powers.
“I hope your insurance will cover this,” she warned as she took position, resting her elbow on the surface of the box. Despite the white armor, her arm was slender, her palm almost fitting within mine, the touch cool from the ceramics.
“Ready?” Bear asked.
She squeezed tightly, yet it was almost comfortable. We both nodded.
“Go!”
Whether from shock or impatience, she slammed her force into my palm, but had not put her weight behind the gesture. My arm didn’t move, her eyes began to widen right as I pushed back with everything I had.
Her hand flew in an arc towards her side.
And stopped an inch off as her whole body began to glow a pale white. She’d reacted too fast, she was using her abilities, whatever they were.
Jaw clenched tightly, I used my other hand on the box for better leverage, pushing harder into it. Ballistic was looking at me with wild eyes and fighting to hold on, her arm twisted in an awkward angle as she fought to push back. Her grip on my hand was tightening until my bones began to groan.
I had to do something, anything, to finish this before she recovered.
“Your hand is soft,” I whispered through gritted teeth.
Ballistic did a double-take.
The moment cost her the final inch.
CRACK
The polymer surface fractured under the impact, leaving the box dented where her hand had struck the hard surface. For a moment we both stared at it, then she looked at me in absolute bewilderment.
“Good game,” I grunted before she could say anything, stepping back, shaking my hand out and holding the wrist as if I’d somehow injured it. Theater, because It’d be weird if I hadn’t strained anything there.
Ballistic cradled her hand against her chest. She looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time. There was something sharp in her gaze as she scrutinized me from head to toe like I might be hiding some piece of equipment she’d missed. “What are-”
“This engagement is not legally binding!” Krell’s voice came out in a shriek, stomping closer though only to a few dozen meters.
“Shut up,” Ballistic said. “The deal stands, give them the shit they paid for.”
“But-”
She turned to him, a single glare causing the man to shrink on the spot. He sputtered, looking between her and then to me, chock-full of indignation for another few seconds before he hurried off. Ballistic waited a moment, then gave me one last look. “Caveman, was it? I’ll remember that.”
Ballistic walked off, the doors hissing shut behind her.
A cold chill ran down my spine as I suddenly realized I’d publicly humiliated her. I really hoped this didn’t come to bite me later, the system not throwing up a quest about my days being counted was as good a sign as I could’ve hoped for at least. Actually, why hadn’t the system given me a quest? I’d thought it might have been tied to animosity because Shadow, but Elder Fulton’s quest hadn’t shown up until after the beatdown.
So what was the actual criteria? Or maybe there was a limit to the number of active quests?
The thought was interrupted when a hand landed against my back with enough force to nearly send me stumbling. “Nice grip, Caveman!” Bear said, smacking me a second time, harder. “Let’s get the crap loaded up and out of here before that bitch changes her mind.”
The slap stung through my shirt, but the adrenaline stung more. There were a few mild cheers, and Isia gloated through the comms, but we took Bear’s warning to heart. The threat of Ballistic potentially changing her mind added a little pressure to everyone as we hurried to load the boxes and pallets onto the trucks and cars.
Krell’s grunts and bots seemed just as eager to get us out of there.
I fell into a rhythm. Grab. Lift. Throw.
Why use a forklift when I could haul a fully loaded container cube?
---
Two hours later, the noon sun hammered down on us, turning the asphalt ahead into a mirage. I'd regained the dreaded spot atop the roof of the lead truck, gripping the roll-bar as the electric engine hummed beneath me.
Bear had taken position alongside the truck.
She wasn't smiling anymore. She was watching me.
My earpiece crackled. "You sandbagged," Bear said, cut off from the stream.
I looked down at her with some surprise. Wind whipped her hair, but her profile was stone still. "She almost recovered," I answered back, surprised.
"Not with her, during our match." Her eyes narrowed slightly.
She meant when we'd done the bet, that whole 'spectacle' stream show we'd put up back then. I'd won by technicality, and it had gotten me a chance to survive Shadow.
It felt like an eternity ago. "I am stronger than I was back then."
"What are your powers?"
"That is very confidential information." I quickly answered. "I drink my proto-milk."
"Cute," she scoffed. "Want to test yourself out?" She glanced up, polarized goggles hiding her eyes, but I could feel the weight of her stare. "No need for cameras, just a good wallop."
It wasn't a threat, and yet it almost felt like one. "I'll think about it."
"Alert," Quinn's voice cut through the private channel, sharp enough to make me wince. "Drone signatures. Multiple. Stationary."
My head snapped up.
"Where?"
"Crossroad ahead," Quinn said. "They aren't Corp, but definitely not ours either."
I stood up on the roof, balancing against the sway of the truck as I squinted into the heat haze. "Bear," I said, switching back to the main frequency. "Heads up."
She revved her engine, the playfulness vanishing instantly. "I hear it."
The road ahead narrowed, passing between two crumbling ten-story apartment blocks that leaned over the street like tombstones. There were at least a dozen drones, each the size of a baseball and looking partially made with scrap.
"I see them," Isia said, her voice tight. "I don't like the feel of this, I think we-"
I didn't get to hear the rest.
There was a ringing sound, a feeling of pressure, heat, and light. Gravity quit. The asphalt beneath the truck disintegrated at the same time as twin fireballs erupted out of the buildings at either side of us.
The lead truck lurched upwards for half a second and then plummeted, nose-diving into the sudden void where the street used to be.
My grip on the roll-bar tore metal. Through the windshield, I saw Vesper thrown against the dash, the driver screaming soundlessly in the vacuum of the fall. I threw my weight backward, a desperate, instinctual attempt to anchor a falling vehicle and failing to find anything to anchor to.
Above us, The shadows fell, the sky blotted out by the toppling building as it plummeted down on us. Bear moved before I could find purchase, silver chains spreading out like spiderwebs, wrapping the truck cabin, her, and me in a chain cocoon that blotted out the world.
Then, gravity caught up to us and we crashed.
Authors Note: Internet got cut off, sorry for the delay!
Comments
Ran
RiP Axel. 🫡 It was an abrupt end, but that happens sometimes.
