Chapter 29: Priorita Has Left the Chat

  The Ashen Relic. For a long time I couldn’t figure out whether getting it was a blessing or a curse.

  The moment another human’s memories melded with my own, reality shifted.

  In that moment, I realised just how much of my life had been built on lies. So many of the ‘truths’ I’d taken for granted turned out to be complete and utter horse-shit.

  Implants and emotion control for all?

  Sure—if you were poor.

  An assigned career, whether or not it fit your dreams?

  Only for the drudges.

  A family?

  Hell, even Seth didn’t realise that people like me, born without pedigree were dosed to stay sterile.

  The price of peace, eh?

  How long could that possibly last?

  ***

  The sound of Tyler’s sobs triggered something in me. Old pain, wounds that had never scabbed over, ripped raw and bloody.

  I stood frozen in place.

  He pulled at the rod through her chest, slapped her cheek, begged for his sister to wake… but she was already gone. Tammy’s head lolled to the side. Her eyes were open, vacant in death, and to me they looked a piercing blue they’d never truly been in life.

  The same blue as Ariel’s, as Elena’s, and her poor dead daughters.

  She began to sag, drooping as though her body was made of melting wax. Tyler tried in vain to hold her together, but she slipped through his arms, hit the floor—and kept going, disappearing entirely within seconds.

  A moment later, there was a ping—and her items, her entire inventory, appeared where she’d been.

  A tinny of Pabst fell from the pile, clattering down the steps one by one until it hit my boot. I picked it up and stared. Was it the booze that had killed Tammy, or me? Would she still be here if I hadn’t had a go at her for drinking on the job, or was this inevitable?

  Tyler still howled, the sound echoing off the stone hieroglyphs. I could hear Ariel’s soft sobs, faint. It reminded me how young she was, just a kid.

  No kid should have to see these horrors. To kill as we had, and would continue to.

  This fucking place.

  It was so wrong, sickening, obscene.

  Our reality.

  Predator beckoned. I was angry already, but it would feel so good to slip into that white-hot rage. I’d run through this vault like the incarnation of bloody death.

  Ping

  Skill Up: Resistance - Cognitive Dissonance 8 -> 9

  And just like that, I felt better. It was like my brain had gone through a carwash. Anger and grief washed clean in a flash, replaced by pragmatic clarity.

  What a relief.

  I looked about through fresh eyes, Tyler still hung over the spear that had impaled his sister. Ariel sat on the stair below me, head in hands and shaking with gentle sobs. Paddy peered out around the corner, watching, his eyes old and unreadable.

  This was taking too long.

  They all just needed to get over it.

  We were in a death game.

  People would die.

  Inevitably.

  My mind reeled and the stairwell spun around me. I tasted bile and thought I might chunder as nausea twisted my gut.

  What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I wanted to feel—needed to, if I was going to remain human.

  These skills, implants and brain fuckery were messing with my mind, controlling me.

  To my surprise, it was Paddy who took charge. He’d always seemed younger than me, perhaps because of the accent, the jokes and the acne scars. But in reality he was a couple of years my senior and had studied philosophy in college.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  He slipped past me, knelt and spoke to Tyler so softly that even I, with my superhuman senses couldn’t understand.

  I retreated down the stairs to the empty trial chamber. I needed to think about what had happened. What I’d done.

  Ariel followed.

  “You had to do it.” She said, but there was something off in her expression. Overwhelmed and afraid. She didn’t want to be having this conversation with me. Her eyes tracked just slightly to the left and right as she spoke, letting me know she was reading a script.

  I raised a hand and cut her short. “Save it kid, it’s alright. I’m alright. You don’t have to do what they tell you to.’

  Her eyes flashed, and I knew she was receiving more orders from Earth. For a moment I thought she would start to read their script again, but instead she spat some familiar French curses and her eyes cleared.

  She was a strong-willed kid, and one day, if she had the chance, she would grow into a formidable adult.

  “It’s not right, kid. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have been put in this position. You’ll get a lot of advice as you grow up, but you make the final decision. Always you.”

  “Oui,” she whispered, not looking at me. Her eyes remained clear.

  She looked to be lost in thought, so I gave her some space, walking across the chamber.

  The burning torches made the chamber stifling, the air reeking of dust and old death. At least it didn’t stink in here like the rest of the planet.

  I took the opportunity to check my notifications. I’d received several while in that spiral stairwell.

  I clicked the first, an achievement and it appeared in my HUD. Priorita read it and she sounded particularly gleeful.

  ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: “Oops! All Trauma!”

  “Uh oh! Did your precious meat-sibling just expire like an overcooked kebab made of regret? Tragic! Absolutely tragic. And also—let's be honest—a teensy bit hilarious. The viewers love it when stuff like this happens. Especially when it’s your own stupid fault! Don't worry, contestant. There's always more where she came from...”

  Effect:

  Luck +1

  Adaptability +1

  The Survivors Guilt trait.

  I fought to keep my face neutral, knowing Priorita said inflammatory shit like this just to get a rise out of me. To my surprise I kept my silence, but inside the anger burned.

  I looked down at the can of Pabst still in my hand. One of the big buggers, 473ml 16fl.oz. and 4.7% alcohol. A half dozen of these and I’d have been hammered. Tammy must have had a hollow leg or something.

  It opened with a crackle and hiss.

  I poured some out onto the stone temple floor in tribute to the fallen. “This one’s for you, Tammy. I hope that wherever you are, it’s nothing like this place.” I tried not to think of the recycled. Was she out there somewhere now, lobotomised, stripped of self and enslaved?

  The beer was still ice cold as I took my first swig. It was bloody delicious. I thought of pouring some out for Chris. Was he back on Earth? Watching me right now? Or was he here, fighting for his life.

  I slugged back the beer in long, deep draughts. Chris’d be pissed with me for wasting good lager.

  Ping

  A title appeared in my feed.

  Title: You Drink this Stuff Willingly?

  “Wow, you just intentionally drank a poison. Are you stupid or something? We can’t have you killing yourself… So here’s something to make sure you don’t get any ideas!”

  Skill Up: Resistance - Poison 0 -> 1

  The slight tingle I’d gained from the beer faded as though it had never been.

  Priorita spoke again, but her voice was different, deeper and more husky. I knew that the words were just for me.

  “I wonder if Tammy would still be alive if we had given this skill to her.”

  There was a pause.

  “Or did she have it the whole time? Perhaps she wasn’t drunk after all… Guess you’ll never know, Allan.”

  “Yeah, fuck you.” I muttered, before I could stop myself. I hated giving her the satisfaction.

  She let out one of those creepy, baby giggles.

  I clenched my jaw before I could say anything else.

  The words stung, but not as much as they should. That damn cognitive dissonance resistance messing with me, no doubt.

  I was itching to continue onwards, down the spiral staircase to the next trial chamber, but knew the other needed more time. Instead, I dove through my achievements, there was a whole menu just for the titles and their effects. The part of me that was Seth geeked the fuck out.

  Most were snarky little things, listed as minor that only boosted my stats slightly. I was pretty sure that they were more for Priorita, and the viewers’ enjoyment than anything else.

  Some though, were the real deal. Priorita gushed excitedly over the gold-tagged major First Blood title I had received for killing that Gosporian bug, back on day one. Apparently I’d been the first human to take a life.

  But as she spoke, something strange happened. She stumbled over her words mid-sentence, then paused, gasped and hissed like a cat getting its tail yanked. The communication cut off and I had to read the details of the title myself. Not that I minded.

  Title: First Blood

  Effects:

  Double stat gain until level 10.

  +1 Evolution point (Unlocked at level 10)

  Now that was some seriously good shit, even if I didn’t know what an evolution point was.

  I read through my other major titles, including:

  One Arm Bandit—for getting my arm eaten off.

  Centurion of Carnage—for taking a hundred lives.

  Fungi Fashionista—for using the alien, fungal sap to glue the Gosporian carapace to my arm.

  Dungeon Crawl Cosplayer—though I couldn’t make sense of that one.

  Priorita didn’t come back for any of them.

  Weird.

  It wasn’t like Priorita to miss an opportunity to orate, or to fuck with me.

  The radio silence was unnerving. I mean, it wasn’t that I missed her, or was worried about her, shit, I hated the sadistic bitch. But I’d grown accustomed to her… The incessant yammering, snarky comments and the way she narrated my day.

  “Uh…” I muttered, casting a quick glance at Ariel to make sure she wasn’t listening. “You doing OK Priorita? Wanna tell me some more about my titles? I’m, uh, about to head to the next trial chamber.”

  Silence.

  I was dragged from my menu-diving by the sound of footsteps on stone. Paddy and Tyler emerged from the spiral stairwell. The Irishman looked grim, but gave me a slight nod—solidarity, or maybe just exhaustion.

  Tyler looked worse. He looked hollow. Like something vital had been scooped out of him.

  What the fuck could I even say?

  Priorita’s jab about Poison Resistance rattled about my skull like a migraine. I stepped toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was rigid beneath my grip, eyes averted—but at least he didn’t swing for me.

  My neck prickled as I turned away, walking toward the stairwell’s mouth. There were condors carved into the jade.

  “There’s only one way forward,” I said. “And that’s down.” I paused, then added, “We all knew the risks when we came here. Finish the trial… or die trying.”

  I turned back and met Tyler’s gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, broken, and brimming with rage he hadn’t yet decided what to do with.

  He’d have to get over it, or he’d be with his sister soon enough.

  I hated how easily the thought came.

  Still, I turned. And started down.

  We had a vault to crack.