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Chapter 64 — Backbone (2), [Super-Charged: Transfiguration]
🕑 Added 2024-10-03 13:56:12 +0000 UTCA/N: Sorry for the delay, I’m still fixing up my new place. It looked abandoned at first so rent’s cheap, but it’s semi-livable now. Shared bathroom though, unfortunately. It should be done in 3 days, and I can return to my usual schedule.
Leslie groans in agony, his vision flickering violently while he’s being carried away on an unexpectedly soft back.
“You’re unwell, human. Rest. His Lordship has need of you.” Echoes a velvety voice that sounds just like his mother’s, before she lost her retirement fund to bail him out of jail and succumbed to the stress soon after. It’s the same voice she used when tucking him into bed; the same tone she used to reassure him there’s no monster under his bed… With that same warm, smoky resonance he found so… Strangely comforting too.
Those few words instantly calm his restless heart.
Nestling into what he initially thought was silky white fur, he inhales the scent of white lilies and, for the first time, dreams not of nightmares but of something serene and ethereal.
Even the craving for the illegal white powder has faded, replaced by a deep satisfaction no drug could provide. ‘Lord, I beg of you, don’t let this be a dream… And if it is…’
He wants to say, ‘Don’t let it ever end,’ but is brutally snatched away by sweet oblivion instead.
When Leslie wakes up next, he’s already in a bed, clad in a hospital gown that feels even thinner than the rags he used to wear while hiding under the bridge that had become his makeshift home for the past year and a half. “Where—”
He instinctively turns in search for his labrador, spotting the majestic creature deep in sleep in the corner of the room.
He almost doesn't recognize her with her shiny, well-groomed coat and a clearly luxurious spiked collar he could never have afforded; downtrodden as he is.
“Lab!” Leslie whispers, taking note of the healed scar running from her nose to the middle of her snout. At his call, the dog gently stirs, her eyes gleaming as she leaps on him; mouth wide-open for a bark that immediately quiets upon hearing her owner’s hush.
“We gotta get out of here, girl.”
Stumbling through the unfamiliar building, he suddenly freezes.
‘There’s no limp?’
Leslie distinctly recalls his shin being shattered during his encounter with the thugs.
‘How come there’s no limp?’ Even with the most advanced technology on the planet, he couldn’t have healed so quickly, and even if it's possible, the homeless addict doubts anyone in their right mind would waste millions on a lost-cause like him.
What he knows for certain is: Whoever holds such power, he most definitely doesn’t want to cross them. “Come on, girl!”
Though he’d vehemently deny it if asked, the fact he couldn’t afford such a procedure certainly contributes to his urgency. Already homeless, Leslie knows paying back this debt along with the compounded interest could take several lifetimes of slavery at the very least.
Eyes finally landibg on a door with a blinking exit sign, he rushes toward it.
The unlocked door should have been a warning, but in his delirious, half-awake state, the thought doesn’t occur until he finds himself face-to-face with a man in his twenties behind a desk with the book ‘Lord of Light’ pinched between his fingers. The lack of facial hair suggests youth, but the angry red scars over his left eye tell tales of combat well beyond his years.
“… I thought this was the exit?”
“Yeah, ‘bout that… I had the signs switched on purpose.”
“Why?” Leslie asks, genuinely puzzled. “Isn’t it confusing?”
“It is, but if it helps stop patients outfitted with millions in cybernetics from escaping without so much as a thank you, then I’d say it is well-worth the trouble.”
“That’s your only security measure?”
“For now.”
Feet casually propped on the table, the young man takes a bite of the apple Leslie didn’t even realize he was holding.
“As you might have guessed, I only recently acquired the building. I was planning to install solid steel doors, fingerprint, iris recognition, and, for the fun of it, automatic mounted guns. But, due to an unforeseen accident—mainly, me forgetting to set it all up—the building is as barebone as it comes.”
The suited man cringes and gestures toward the seat in front of him, covered in leather so expensive Leslie’s heart nearly starts to bleed as lowers himself on the furniture.
“Coffee?”
“That’d be… Nice.”
"Stella?" A stunning woman descends gracefully from the ceiling, her mere presence soothing Mr. Loe's turbulent emotions; the same woman who carried him to safety, if he had to guess. "A cup of coffee for our friend, please. Sugar?"
"Two cubes will do." He replies, tapping on his kneecaps nervously.
“Sorry about your leg, by the way. Stella’s a better surgeon than I by a mile, but she was swamped with Lab. Good news is, I managed to find you a replacement after… Well, after… How’re you feeling by the way? Any phantom pains?”
“Phantom pain? And what do you mean ‘after?’ What did you do?”
The man clicked his tongue. “Lab was in rougher shape… Don’t get me wrong, your leg was bad and you were bleeding like crazy, but she would have died had I done her surgery. Would you really trade your dog’s life for a leg that could be replaced anyway?”
The rhetorical question silences his protest, for both Leslie and the man know he’d choose Lab over himself EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.
“What happens now?”
“Sign here,” The man answers, gesturing to a document he hadn’t noticed earlier. “Work for me, and achieve greatness you can’t possibly fathom… Or, refuse; return your millions-dollar worth of leg; and go back to scraping by on the streets with Lab. The choice is yours.”
“Not much of a choice, is it?” Leslie resentfully mutters.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let a high-profile target walk around with a prototype of my work. You understand the risks.”
“High-profile? I’m just a homeless bum.”
“A homeless bum with a bounty on his head?”
“Bounty?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?”
The man chuckles, taking a bite of a half-eaten apple before continuing. “You thought a group of thugs just randomly attacked you under the bridge for no reason? They were hired killers. I found a wad of cash in their leader's pocket, along with your picture… Make of it what you will, but my guess is General Thauss is afraid his son’s ‘good deeds’ will get on the News and hinder his career. The guy’s in line for a huge promotion, you see… Be real awful if his son’s tried and found guilty for his crimes, wouldn’t it?”
The man—Leslie’s boss whispers, leaning over table as though they’re schoolyard kids passing around ancient secrets.
“Anyways, how’s your new leg? I haven’t tried it myself and honestly have no intention to, but I heard it’s a real ‘kicker.’ First one manufactured by yours truly by the way.”
“This is the prototype?” Leslie runs his hand over the prosthetic leg, awestruck.
It feels so real—no telltale signs, no pulsing lights like in those sci-fi movies he used to love. For all intents and purposes, it is his leg... He could live his whole life never realizing it’s a marvel of engineering and computing.
“Little trickster. You never amputated my leg… This is all a ploy to get me to sign my freedom away—”
“[Voice Command: Power-Down].” The man interrupts.
With a quiet hiss, the leg detaches at the joint, artificial skin peeling back to reveal the intricate machinery whirring within. ‘Blue…’
Coursing through the wiring is a vibrant, electric blue substance, humming louder than a Hellcat engine.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” A smug grin spreading across his face, the black-haired man lectures. “Lithium is so last century, don’t you think? One canister of ‘Ethirium’ can power this cybernetic for five years straight. Pretty fucking neat, huh? [Voice Command: Power-Up].”
Watching as his ‘leg’ hisses and closes around his stump, Leslie lets loose a weary sigh.
‘Dickhead was telling the truth… Fuck.’
“You ready to talk business?”
Said ‘Dickhead’ goads, annoyingly giddy as he taps on the document.
“Come on, working for me isn’t so bad! You get a high salary and a bonus for every contract. Plus, I forgot to mention that Lab’s veterinary care is covered for free. She might not be the healthiest pup in town, but she could be under our care.”
“What will I be doing?” Desperate as he is, Leslie knows better than to sign sketchy documents without knowing the full details.
"Publicly, you'll assume the role of Leslie Owens, the CEO of an up and coming security firm.”
“And privately?”
“You’ll work for me, obviously. Think of me as the major shareholder, holding 51% of the company. You are technically in charge, but every decision you make, big or small, will go through me to ensure our interests align. Once that’s clear, you’ll have free rein, as long as you keep training more recruits for me.”
"You're going to supply the recruits, right?"
"Yes, but only for the first year… After that, you will need to manage it yourself. I'll be assessing your performance; if you do well, you'll get a pay raise and even cooler gadgets. If not, you'll be demoted and a replacement will take your place."
"So, you’re providing everything to start the company? What's in it for you?"
The man interlocks his fingers and grins.
“I'll be honest—I plan to establish a country, and I want you to lead its military.”
"Are you half-mad?" Genuinely taken aback, Leslie questions.
“I am—”
— Infinity —
“—As sane as can be. I have the capital, and soon I’ll have the land for it. The only problem is the population, which is where you come in.”
The door flings open, and in walks Stella carrying a tray with Leslie’s beverage and refreshments for us both.
“Thank you, luv…”
Following my example, Leslie mumbles a silent ‘thank you’ at the homunculus; eyes rapidly scanning the document.
The thing’s iron-clad to ensure both his benefits and mine, but reading every contract thoroughly is a trait I approve 100%, especially since he’ll take on the role of the CEO.
“Typical… Loony-bins never admit they’re loony.”
“Think of it as an investment, only instead of money, you’re putting in your time and effort.”
“Do you really think the UN, NATO, and others won’t notice? Assuming you solve the population and infrastructure issues, will they even recognize your authority?”
“I hear South Africa’s quite nice—hot and humid, sure, but their land sells for cheap; the soil is fertile… Hell, did you know it’s referred to as Eden in old maps?”
Africa as a continent is much, much larger than any landmass on the planet.
They have the people, the land, the raw materials and resources freely available…
There’s no place better to build my Empire.
“As for the UN and NATO… Why should I care about their opinions? By the time my Kingdom is ready to be announced to the world, I will be nigh untouchable; a God among mortals. What good will their legitimacy do me then?”
Even now, I could probably take down an army with ease.
A nuke might be a different story, but it would have to hit me first.
“You’re mad…”
“Madly ambitious, you meant?” I correct with a grin.
“No, just mad. Fucken’ loony son of a whore.”
“Maybe…”
I neither deny nor agree, tapping my thigh quizzically.
“But I am capable. I know I am, and you—whether you want to admit it or not—know it too.”
“I know you can change the world,” Eyes flickering between my face and his leg, Leslie mutters to himself. “But for better or for worse, I’m still trying to decide.”
“Such a naïve black and white view of the world, Owens. The bad always goes hand-in-hand with the good… Just as resistance with progression.”
As much as I find Karl Marx’s ideas to be nonsense, I do agree with him on one thing: struggle.
Change always comes with some form of struggle—be it mental, physical, or economic.
One look at history, and one will see the chaos that has accompanied all major transformations.
I’m certain my products will disrupt the big players in major industries like oil, energy, healthcare, and tech, but I welcome it in all honesty.
The more resistance there is, the more satisfying it will be when I inevitably win.
“It’s statements like that which make you sound so bloody untrustworthy.”
“Untrustworthy?
Did I send people to silence you AND your dog?
Did I invent a neural agent capable of wiping out whole populations?
Did I poison your drinking water or spray untested chemicals on your food?
Did I inject water into your steaks to raise cost or fund wars to launder money?
If I’m untrustworthy, then what the fuck do you call your government and the big corps selling you toxic shit to save a dime or two?”
If it were Leslie’s intention to get a rise out of me, he succeeded.
‘Untrustworthy… What a joke.’
“I’m just ambitious, like everyone else… A singer dreams of winning a Grammy, a writer hopes to get their work published, and even wage-slave working a regular job aspires for promotions. Why is it wrong for me to want?”
“Your ambitions are overwhelming…” He protests weakly.
“So what? Great people have great dreams. So I want to be a God—who doesn’t?”
He looks into my eyes, searching for something—a hint of doubt maybe—that just isn’t there.
When he realizes I’m dead-serious, he breaks eye contact.
“… Can I think about your offer?”
“I’m a busy man—you have 10 minutes starting… Now!”
Leslie quietly reads through the documents I’ve handed him.
I don’t disturb him…
While he may not be the strongest candidate for the role, Leslie possesses something that others lack: A sense of honor.
He could have turned a blind eye and allowed General Thauss’s son to get away with everything, but he chose not to.
That decision cost him dearly, yet he never resorted to theft or crime.
I already have skilled people in my camp, plus the honorable in Sven and Connor.
What I lack is someone who embodies the essence of an ordinary, everyday man striving to survive and make a positive difference in the world—and that’s who Leslie is.
Drug abuse might be an issue, but it’s nothing a good dose of [Hypnosis] can’t fix. If necessary, I will embed the compulsion in his mind; alter his brain structure to withhold dopamine whenever he puffs on coke instead. Bored by my own thoughts, I click my tongue to gain Lab’s attention.
She glances at her owner for approval before lazily crawling over to me. “Good girl,” I murmur, tossing a treat into her mouth while gently scratching her head.
“Ahem…”
We both turn to see the man giving us an odd look.
“What? You have 10 minutes.”
“It’s been 30.” He replies. “I read through the contract 12 minutes ago.”
“Oh…” Well, that’s embarrassing.
Coughing, I toss him an old quill. “Prick your finger and sign it in blood.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
After the Geas is set, I store the contract in the drawer, toss Leslie Loe—now one Leslie Owens—a copy, and flash my practiced-prize winning smile. "Want to see something cool?"
"...I'm not sure we share the same definition of 'cool,' but go ahead. It's not like I can stop you."
"Stella, do you have the plans for the building renovation?"
“Here you go, sir.”
[Alteration], though considered basic, might just be one of the most versatile Spells in Alchemy.
The main issues are the complex calculations needed to rearrange atoms—calculations only the Golem masquarading as Lord Einzbern could process, and the frankly immense mental strength required for large-scale control…
Issues that [Super-Charged: Transfiguration] can easily bypass.
The best way to put the Spell is: I will; it does.
“Thank you, Stella.”
To solidify my memory, I focus on the renovations as references and press my palm against the floor.
“Watch, and marvel.” Declaring proudly, I channel Od into every nook and cranny, willing the transformation to begin.
The old wooden doors morph into large steel ones, equipped with all the security features that Stella and I brainstormed.
Peeling paint is refreshed, while cracks mend themselves in seconds.
The outdated energy lines are replaced with Etherium wiring—the energy medium from Cyberpunk Earth known for its efficiency—powered by several nuclear reactors that could potentially power the building for decades; centuries even if used sparingly.
The transformation takes place in seconds, yet the building looks no different appearance-wise.
Let alone Leslie, even Stella looks at me like I was a monster while I continue to use the second [Charge] to dig into the earth crust, turning the landmass beneath our feet into reinforced underground base stretching miles deep.
"What the Hell are you—alien, demon?!”
"I like to consider myself human,” I chuckle. “But truthfully? I think I've become something new... Something more… Something…"
Evolved.
Comments
Ano Nymous
A ton of gacha
Hoang Nguyen Bui
Since we’ve just got a new SAO game this month. This just makes me wonder if we can get Type Moon MMORPG for Fate or Tsukihime. I mean we have 7-9 classes of Sevants with Phantasmal Species so why don’t we have that game function similar to Final Fantasy, Zelda or World of Warcraft.
Hoang Nguyen Bui
He’s back!
