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C77 — Crisis (2) (Paid-Patrons)
🕑 Added 2024-11-20 04:04:53 +0000 UTCSilently, I stalk the guard up the stairs, narrowing my gaze as I spot several more of the Super-Soldiers patrolling the upper floors. Although [Structural Grasp] isn’t functioning properly, I’m quite confident in my earlier assessment—the Nanosuits they’re wearing are inferior copies, quite possibly designed that way intentionally to cut costs.
They might even be the North Korean versions from the first Crysis.
It has always puzzled me why no one had a Nanosuit, aside from Alcatraz and Prophet, in Crysis 2 and 3. Maybe the studio released a patch I missed… or a remake that I died and reincarnated way too early to play. Shucks.
“Looks like a false alarm.”
“I told them Prophet wouldn’t show up!”
Suppressing the urge to respond, ‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ I follow the CryNet Enforcers up the next floor, slipping by as he grumbles, “What a waste of time.”
“Do you know who this guy is? Have you read his files? His team singlehandedly stopped an entire alien invasion.”
“He won’t show. We outnumber the guy 50 to 1.”
“I dunno… From the feedback, the guy’s basically Rambo with a Nanosuit.”
“We are, too.” Sounding quite tired of the conversation, the taller CryNet Enforcer adjusts the heavy gun strapped horizontal to his chest and continues through the door, which slams shut behind them.
Fortunately, I was ready, leaping over his head just in time.
Inside, the main server fans out in a circular pattern along the walls, with stacks of holographic interfaces hovering in mid-air. Looking left and right, memorizing their pattern, I pray my Storage Ring still works, laughing when the Mystic Code scans everything and safely digitalizes them. It is as I suspected… The Mysteries in Mystic Codes can function past the death of Gaia.
It's nowhere near perfect, and the consumption of the Lesser Source is far more taxing, but they still work, and that’s really all what counts, doesn’t it?
"Hey, wasn't there a server cabinet here earlier? And one over there too!"
The CryNet Enforcers banter as I tap my foot impatiently.
"I told you to drink less coffee."
"I'm not imagining things, dude. There were definitely cabinets here, I swear!"
"And now there aren't, so either someone managed to grab two-meter cabinets made of steel and glass and sneak them out right under our noses, or there never were any cabinets—which seems more likely? Move along already. Looking at these things is driving me nuts. No idea how those scientists read anything with these damn holograms."
“Took the words right outta my mouth, buddy.” If only he knew how right he was.
Once the Enforcers are gone, I return to my work, my eyes flicking to the clock ticking down in my peripheral vision.
With their main server completely gone, it doesn’t take long for the backup system to activate, changing the room’s lighting from a blinding white to an even more jarring red.
“Intruder! Intruder! All security personnel, move to the main server.”
Echoes the robotic voice over the speakers, while I ignore it and kick the fire exit twice, sending the bulletproof glass shattering off the metal frame as I descend; unbothered by the presence of the CryNet Enforcers flooding into the fire exit.
From the top floor, voices echo down, thick with tension. “I told you, man! I knew something was off!”
“Yeah, yeah! Focus on finding the intruder first or this will come out of our paycheck.”
It's too late now. Not that they stood a chance to begin with, but I’m already in the main lobby, casually making my escape while whistling the tune of ‘Theme from New York.’
Next stop? Roosevelt Island, where Jack Hargreave’s frozen body awaits.
I’m sure the crazy old bastard will try to screw me over, but there’s not much scheming can do against overwhelming might.
Strolling down the street, nearly blinded by the sunlight reflecting off the sidewalk, I drop out of [Notice-Me-Not] to ask for directions.
Finding the Hargreave Biomedical Center was far easier than tracking down a privately owned island, but eventually, I manage to find it.
To get to the island, one has to be ferried across the water, and since the island is private property that only specific people are granted entry without any fanfare, that’s sadly out of the question. I wasn’t invited by Hargeave, nor was I on the list of those with access. Not many are, I assume.
However, I possess superhuman strength and endurance, the ability to go completely unnoticed by both men and machines, and the desire to command an army of Nanosuit-wearing Super-Soldiers.
The security firm I put Leslie in charge of has been doing quite well.
I wouldn’t rank them on the same level as the ones trusted by politicians, but a few of the guys—mostly former Royal Marines—have been hired to protect the homes of the Lords. I’d say that’s a resounding success.
Once I’ve reverse-engineered these Nanosuits, I’ll hand them over to Leslie to use as he sees fit… With a little extra, just in case they decide to turn on me.
I’m not getting Horus’d today, or any other day for that matter.
Leaping onto the water, my feet hitting it with such force that it feels like solid concrete as I bounce toward the island.
No point leaving this for later, right? Landing with a thud, still shielded by the last Charge of [Notice-Me-Not], I frown in confusion as I feel neither the hard-packed dirt nor the foliage I’d expected; it was of something else—someone else, unnervingly still beneath the soles of my shoes. “Oh…”
It's an Enforcer, no doubt sent by Hargreave to the island. This is, after all, his residence—the place where his aging and vulnerable mortal shell is currently preserved in a frozen block.
This is probably one of possibly hundreds of guards he’s stationed in and around the island. Luckily, I didn’t ‘mean to’ land on the CryNet Enforcer, which means my Perk is still intact. After checking on the man, I narrow my eyes in displeasure. I have forgotten what it means to wear one such Nanosuit… Forgotten why I call them ‘Bonded’ in the past.
Once worn, the Nanosuit is calibrated to a specific individual and requires a process called ‘Skinning’ for extraction. And yes, it’s as unpleasant as it sounds.
Unfortunately, without my Magecraft, retrieving the technology may prove a bit of a hassle… “Or will it?" I wonder aloud, my eyes landing on my Ring as I gently polish its surface. Though it can't store sentient beings, who’s to say it can’t ‘Skin’ the Super-Soldier for me? “Yes!”
I hiss a cheer as the helmet dissolves against the Ring’s engravings.
Then, the screaming starts.
I can’t tell if the man is even conscious, he certainly doesn’t look like he is, though he definitely sounds the part. I’ve never heard a grown man shriek like this; usually, it’s just groans or grunts when they’re hurt. ‘Skinning’ must be excruciating, an experience I’ll more than willing to admit I’m not too keen on trying anytime soon. I doubt my lackeys are either. ‘I’ll have to fix that.’
And when I said ‘I’, I truly meant myself—not John or anyone else.
These tasks are far too important for me to delegate to someone else.
“You heard that?!”
Gradually, the Suit vanishes into my Ring, safely stored away as I blend into the tree. With one of his Suits missing, Hargeave will soon realize something’s up, but so long as [Notice-Me-Not]’s active, I should be alright.
“These look like footprints!”
“Cautious… He might be lurkin’ ‘round here somewhere!”
Bounding towards the distant building, I cover the gap in two swift leaps, landing confidently on the top floor as if I own the place.
Hargreave’s office is just one floor below, and with that realization, I stomp my foot down, forgoing stealth entirely.
I watch in astonishment while cracks spider through the structure.
I half-expect the whole thing to collapse like my previous life, but it holds firm. “Figures.” Beneath me is a layer of steel, coating the whole of Jack Hargreave’s office.
“Titanium with copper sandwiched inside and a final layer of lead?”
I wonder aloud after inspecting the fissures from which light spill outward.
And I thought I was paranoid.
Then again, this is the same old man who presumed he could do a better job against an alien invasion and tries to repossess the only working Nanosuit from a trained marine.
His judgment must be clouded by old age because no matter how I try to make sense of his logic—no matter the angle, it just doesn’t add up.
After all, he’s the one who spearheaded the Nanosuit research… The guy has two of them displayed in glass cases right inside his office for fuck’s sake! Just upgrade one and voilà–he will have his own Suit to kill Cephs.
Why chase the Nanosuit that’s already bonded to its Prophet, and has integrated with another marine’s body through an open wound?
Even if he'd gotten his hands on the Nanosuit, how would he deal with the mass of artificial CryFibril lungs spilling out of it? Old age seems the only explanation… Old age and all the ‘fun’ brain diseases that come with it.
“Who’s there?!” I hear him shout as the third stomp finally collapses the roof, and I drop out of [Unnoticeability].
“You…” The dusty old man murmurs, “You’re not Prophet.”
“What gave it away? My dashing good looks, my accent, or the fact that I’m not a tall, six-foot black guy in power armor?”
“All of the above.” It’s not often I meet someone who entertains my nonsense. Why are all the interesting folks always the villains? “But I suppose you’re here because you want something from me?”
“That, you’ve got right. How’s the back pain, Jack Hargreave?”
“Could do without, but I assume you’re not here for chatter?”
“No, I’m here for everything you have on the Nanosuit and all your military equipment.”
Calling CryNet a company is a massive understatement.
They own several battalions, each equipped with cutting-edge technology, which CryNet also supplies to the US military.
Everything Jack Hargreave has—everything he’s developed over his lifetime—I want.
“My security team is swarming the building as we speak. You’ve seen them, right? You really think you’re in a position to bargain?”
“You do realize I took one of them down without even trying, yes?”
“A sneak attack. What about seventy of them with heavy weaponry?”
I could breach his safe room without breaking a sweat, but… I want a test run against the Nanosuit prototypes. “On second thought…” Why not have my cake and eat it too?
Snorting, I flick his desk aside like a piece of paper, my fist slamming into the false wall behind it. “You—!”
“Relax,” I wink at the hidden camera I know he’s watching through. “This is just to demonstrate that I could have killed you the second I walked in, and chose not to. No Nanosuit has ever punched through a wall this thick, has it? Watch closely.”
I punch again, taking my sweet time as Hargreave’s voice grows increasingly frantic. “St- Stop!!”
The third punch loosens some of the screws and obliterates the fake wood hiding his little sanctuary.
“Here’s Johnny!”
The fourth punch caves in the steel doors, partially revealing what’s inside.
Frozen in cryogenic sleep, Jack Hargreave’s digital face is visible through a screen above the tank.
The avatar wears across its face an expression of contemplation, while his voice reflects pure terror.
I doubt Hargreave ever thought he could feel fear again after his run-in with the alien squids in his early years—yet here I am.
With one last push, I pry the door open, jamming it in place as I stride to the tank. “Holy shit…” I mumble, staring at the silhouette inside the block of ice. “You’re fucking ancient.”
His bald head looks sickly even through the blurred glass; his hands and feet are too small for his skeletal frame, draped in wrinkled skin.
“As you can see,” Hargreave sighs, “I’ve seen better days. You have me cornered, young man… I’m at your mercy. But if I may know one thing before you start… Are you human?”
“That’s your question? Not ‘How are you doing this?’ Not even ‘What are you?’”
“If I had asked, would you have been truthful? Assuming you answered at all.”
Cunning old bastard. “I’m human… I was born on Earth, went to school, and suffered through five math classes in a row like everybodyl else. Does that answer your question?”
“Are you… Aware of what is to come?”
“Of course I am. I believe I can help you with your little Ceph problem. In return, I want your technology… Every. Last. Bit. Interested?”
"You have my undivided attention," Jack demands, "But how can I trust you'll keep your word?"
"The same way you trust my sketchy background," I reply with a shrug. "For all you know, I could be a Ceph agent trying to gain your trust.”
“Very well. Let us parley.”
Our little word game lasts about five minutes. Hargreave's a lot more subtle than me, but I'm the one calling the shots.
I get to be direct.
It's the divine right granted by the 12-gauge in my Storage Ring, the superhuman strength I have, coupled with the fact he’s a frail old man with a foot and a half through Death’s door.
Our time is unfortunately cut short by the arrival of his Enforcers, announced by thunderous gunfire and hails of molten slag blocking my escape routes. I flick away a stray bullet that reddens my nail, and up I go, sitting on the old man cryogenic tank. “Gents, your boss requires a demonstration. Don’t take this personally.”
Launching myself off the bulletproof surface, I slam my fist into one of the Enforcers’ stomach.
The armor flares bright red in an attempt to absorb the impact, but against my current strength, it's useless. My fist is a bullet train packed into eight inches of bone and knuckle. He never stood a chance, not even with the Nanosuit 1.0. “Strength Mode?”
“You’re familiar?”
I dodge another burst of gunfire and grab a CryNet soldier, using him as a human shield against the stream of bullets his comrades just fired.
Just before his armor power gives out, I toss him aside.
While mercy’s not usually my modus operandi, there’s really no need to kill him.
Every life I take here is one less soldier for the coming invasion—one less protector which New York’s going to desperately need soon.
“Shoot him down!”
“What the fuck is this guy?! I’ve never seen anything that fast!”
The Enforcer I thought I’d taken out earlier suddenly yells from the wreckage. “Careful! Motherfucker hits like a freight train!” I was holding a lot back, but staying conscious after a direct hit from me… That’s a better record than any Magus I’ve fought thus far.
Coordinating their attack, they spread out through the ruins, climbing to the upper floor to use it as a vantage point. Surrounded by bullets that wouldn’t kill me but would cause some pain, I summon my Swordspear. Twirling the Mystic Code with such speed that it creates a small tornado, I deflect the bullets effortlessly, “Where do you think you’re going?”
As soon as the shooting stops, I launch Senza at them, grinning as it rips the building apart. Literally.
“What the fuck? The fuck’s this guy?!”
Leaning against the cryogenic tank, I taunt. “Out of bullets yet?”
Silence.
Even through their helmets, I can sense their sullen expressions.
"Time for a melee then," Discarding the restricting vest, I fold the article of clothing and stretch in my white button-up. “Don't worry, to make it fair, I won't use any weapons. How's that?"
All of them—all seventy-plus of men shimmer, then turn translucent.
It’s a futile tactic.
Locking my forearm with one of the Enforcers, I grinned as his Nanosuit flashed bright red, “Strength-Mode?”
I let him savor the illusion of advantage for a heartbeat before tilting my head away from his telegraphed punch. Yanking him off his feet, I hurl the poor lad at Mach 2 into his comrades, then turn to engage the next.
“All of you… Come on up! I don't have all day."
