Callia wandered the streets, it smelled of burned plastic, grime and splattered oil on every corner. A corner, mind you, that felt like a trap every time you went around one. She had done her best to keep to the shadows, while she pondered and access her situation.
Eavesdropping where she could, she listened. The sounds of the distant megacity could be heard blaring all the way from here, she had spotted several hover cars, moving in and out of the far-sighted skyscrapers. All of this felt familiar, like she had seen it all her life, but rather that this place was the out-of-place actor.
It was alive after all. The system, it was everywhere, integrated into the lives of the denizens of the slum at least, as far as she was concerned.
Stars glittered past the broken moon, it was clear as crystal. She wasn’t from here. Nor was she familiar with this system. It was utterly alien, like a video game brought to life, serving as a prison warden.
The air on this planet was strange; she couldn’t describe it as she didn’t have a visual reference to base it on, she knew it was lighter to breath than it did earth, she moved easier too. Jumping came naturally, she’d bet a slug could jump.
Earth? The original planet earth? Was that where she was from? Was that home?
Callia shook her head. Her slippers scraped against hard tar—her body was moving on instinct. She wasn’t aimlessly wandering but assessing. Reconnaissance, was the closest thing she could equate it to. She’d need things to survive. Get the gist of how it worked around here. A weapon. Food. Anything.
Reevaluate, access, maneuver. Plan, strategize, execute, triumph.
Callia slipped into an alleyway for her safety.
A man had been tailing her for some time. She did her best to move where there was no foot traffic and no drones to spot her, she did her best to move, where there was no foot traffic, and no drones to spot her. The moment, she heard him shuffling after her, frantically. She knew her suspicious were true. Callia devised an opportunity. This place was perfect, quiet, no onlookers bar a strange black cat with a mutated Eye set of and the occasional drone.
She kicked off her slippers, wouldn’t want them to get dirty; it’s all she had. Then shifted her nimble feet, ready to roll out a punch. A kick to the groin if needed.
He stepped from behind from the alleyway–he appeared to be half-naked, sweat trickling down his flushed face, a wide smile or maybe something sinister plastered all over his mug. He was drunk, judging by his smell, but competent enough not try anything in view.
His eyes were lecherous, like he wanted a piece of her. And he came for his prize.
“You lost sweetheart? He purred at her. Closing the long distance between her, he whistled and hummed between his words. “Hospital gown? Walking aimlessly? I say you just got out from half death. You look, lonely. Looking for some…fun company.”
He got closer. That was a mistake; her demeanor, if anything, made it clear.She didn’t want to be near him, And he was going to make the last mistake of his life in a moment.
She walked a bit away, to see if he planned on chasing her. Her footsteps picked up speed, losing his drunken stupor, he threw the bottle of emptied alcohol down on the floor then dashed towards her.
“Hey! I’m talking to you. Bitch!” He grabbed her wrists. Callia lets it happen. Then, when his body was close to hers, she moved instinctively before she could even process it.
She twisted his arm in turn, slamming her knee into his ribs. He cried in pain.
She heard a bone crunch—maybe a muscle snap or two.
The shock in his face lasted for a half a second. Then he got pissed. She lets go of him, he staggered. Then swings at her. She dodged effortlessly, sidestepping his savage attacks. She brought her body around, pushing her knuckles against his jaw. Too fast, way too precise. She shouldn’t be able to do this. But she did, and that disturbed her.
He falls backwards, then lunges–and she dove away, staining the gown with blackened dirt, black tar, and the greasy grime of the asphalt.
He came back again quickly, and pulled a knife out of his pockets. The drunk lunges again, this time she doesn’t dodge, she slams her fist into his forehead, then elbowed his gut. He let out a drunken wheeze, the contents of his last liquid meal spilling onto the ground. His knife fell on the floor.
And yet he doesn’t stop. He persisted.
“You’re mine!” he shouted, out of breath.
He tries grabbing her again–she lets him do it. A mistake, hadn’t he learned the first time. She twists his wrist, and it nearly snapped. He started screaming. She contorted his body, slamming it on the pavement, his head bouncing against the concrete.
He went quiet. Still as a church mouse.
The amnesiac was panting heavily. Pain erupted from the surgical wound. Her hands started shaking. Her body was acting on its own, speaking a language her mind did not, muscle memory. She could have done more, that psionic charge that she could flare up again, would be easy kill him with. Send him flying across a roof, but she didn’t.
She knew how to kill, and efficiently so, a trained killer then. The doctor, Kara, had mocked her as she kicked her out, called her a soldier, was that what she was? She also knew her name, which Callia had recently learned coincidentally, or did the system tell the doctor that. Perhaps she owned a set of belongings that had been kept under wraps. Without telling Callia a thing.
A split second of panic flickered in her, immediately suppressing her thoughts. The man lay motionless on the floor. Was he dead? Did she kill him? Would the system report her for doing so? Were there laws in place that would stop an individual like her from defending herself…?
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Her vision flickered, and then a screen popped open again, intrusively, pixelating before becoming clear and rigid. They were called stats? A rating assigned to her.
She stared at it in confusion. She’d seen stuff like this before somewhere in her life but never like this, without some kind of neural interface. This was all wrong. She checked her eyeballs, touching them for some time—pinching, squeezing, and even poking her iris.
Augmentation may have been installed by Doctor Kara.
No.
She saw the thing ping before she landed in her clinic. This was something else at work. Perhaps, this system thing had penetrated her mind, infected her with some electro-biomechanical virus, tethered her to its existence. It wasn’t so strange, despite being amnesiac, her brain swore on stranger things.
It would make sense that the dome—the oversized emoticon—glared at her, making it clear where she stood in its hierarchy.
What a joke.
A fucking emoticon.
Vitality (VIT):12(Tough, can take hits.)
Mobility (MOB):12(Fast, reactive, combat-trained.)
Focus (FOC):9(Base 10 -1 from Amnesia – Occasional lapses, trouble holding thoughts together.)
Processing (PROC):8(Base 10 -2 from Amnesia – Slower cognitive recall, scattered memory.)
Resilience (RES):10(Baseline – Mentally tough, but not unbreakable.)
Instinct (INS):10(Baseline – Her gut reactions are good, but unrefined.)
Kinetics (KIN):12(Base 10 +2 from Military Conditioning – Built to serve.”
Psionics (PSI):13(Base 10 +3 from Psionic Affinity – Strong natural or engineered psionic potential.)
Military Conditioning:+2 to all physical stats (VIT, MOB, KIN). Your body remembers the drills, even if your mind doesn’t.
Psionic Affinity:+3 PSI. You were born with it, or maybe it was forced into you. Either way, it’s yours.
Amnesia (Debuff):Memory corruption detected. Inconsistent recall, occasional disorientation (-2 PROC, -1 FOC).
Active Status:
Condition- Bad
Surgical recovery
Hunger
Sleep deprivation
Teetering on the edge
Whatever accessed her, whether it was this system, watching her. It felt like being part of a tabletop game. Judged. Callia growled, swiping at the screen, she didn’t want to see it at the moment.
It vanished, into the void.
The man below her groaned. He was alive after all. She wasn’t going to let him off easily. But she didn’t want to kill him either, the consequences could be telling and severe, she needed to play safe. Dip her toe in the water, before she plunges her body into its deep, dark depths.
She put the heel of her foot on his back and pressed down hard.
“Fuck, Arrrghhh, who the fuck?” he groaned.
“Answer my question, or I’ll end you,” she said, scowling daggers at the bastard.
“Where. Am. I?”
“Goodrift, bitch, where else. This is paradise. Fuck you.”
“No!” she shouted. Pressing her heel down she brought it up, and kicked him in the back.
“What planet am I on?” The system told her, but she wanted her own confirmation. “And be truthful, or I’ll splinter your spine.”
“Sol-77b, Echo Earth. You an outsider or something?”
It still meant nothing to her, for all she knew, this was some test, or a simulation made to fuck with her.
“What’s the system?” she demanded
He laughs, spits blood. “What, you grow up in a cave?”
Something clicks in her head. If the system was common around here, it clearly wasn’t wherever she was from, and she wasn’t from this planet. She came from somewhere else, farther away. The burning ship made it clear, she needed to find a way there.
“The burning ship, where did it crash? I need to know?”
He crackled. “What, are you fucking stupid? That place off-limits, authorities won’t let anyone in.” He made a gasping sound like he realized what went on. “Wait, are you one of those fucking invaders? You came here looking for trouble and got your shit wrecked, heard there’s a hefty price for one of your heads, live of course.”
A bounty. Or were the authorities, looking for ‘them’ for reasons or interrogation. Either way, she didn’t want to be caught.
Callia crouched next to him, searching him thoroughly. He flinched. “Hey, da fuck are you doing?”
“Get up,” she demanded. “Get up! Or else.”
He did as she demanded, flinching, half afraid of being pummeled into the ground again.
“Strip,”
“What?”
“I said strip, you cunt”
He laughed. “Oh, now you want to get it on,
If I knew you were playing this hard to get, I’d—” She punched him across the face, blood leaked from it, he held his hands together, eyes bloodshot, in panic. He hurried up. Throwing it to the ground.
“And your pants, keep your underwear, your vest, and your shoes,”
He sighed, “shouldn’t have gotten drunk.” he complained.
“Oh, It's too late for regrets, I’m feeling merciful today, If I catch you preying on unsuspecting ladies, I will kill you for you. You got that”
He nodded, closing his eyes. His drunken temper seemed to have quelled. The man walked off. Stumbling against the walls of the alleyway. Half-collapsing.
Alcohol or beat down?
She pulls the hoodie over her head, it fit nearly perfectly, but his cargo pants were oversized, the belt would have to be tightened, considerably, she slipped on her slippers. A glint of silver caught her eye. His knife, he had dropped it. She picked it up, and felt it in her fingers. The weight of carrying it was familiar, comforting, it put her at ease.
The system pinged.
[Combat Victory: Reward – 70 TP Earned]
[Loot obtained — Stolen clothing]
[ — Combat knife ]
[TP threshold — peaked, suggest user Callia chooses an assigned class soon.]
[Choose a class; a role in this world?]
[Y/N]
“No,” It was too early to make decisions or to play with this thing? What did it mean by class, or role rather, a way of life, a way to fight, what did mean? She needed more information? She couldn’t treat it like a role-playing game, this was physical, somehow.
“Alright system, what the hell are you?” she mutters into the air.
There was a slight pause, then nothing. Then, like static, whirred itself into her brain"
A screen flashed.
[Central Directive override]
Then an audible voice made itself known. Old and gruff like an old wizard.
[The admin. God. The Sovereign of this world. Your new best friend. Your enemy. The only thing that matters. Your savior, Callia Phalen]
“Bullshit, tell me where I come from!”
[No. Your journey will be your own. Ticktock Callia Phalen. Play or be vanquished for life.]
It vanished.
“Hey answer me,”
Another screen flashed. [Central directive override, overridden. Transferring administration to Goodrift Administrator.]
“What?”
Text flickers again. [ (?? ? ??)This is the Goodrift administration system. No more stalling, dear. Get to work. Or you’ll end up homeless, wait you already are. "(– ? –)]
Callia sighed, this was too much at once. So there was more than one system?
“What if I don’t want to participate!”
[I may not have full control of the district, but I will hire someone to spank you (????? )?]
A chill went up her spine. The message disappeared.
She stares up at the sky, the stretching neon lights flowed into every crack of her reality. The city hummed, whatever she had found herself in it. She was starting to learn the rules. She had three goals at the moment. Find something to eat, pay off the bitch of a doctor, then find a way to that ship.
Questions, questions. The system rewarded her TP? For beating some asshole? What were the unspoken rules? What lines should she not cross. Where does she start? Classes? Who was she? Will the doctor forgive her?
Smells invaded her nostrils—burnt circuits, and next to it, there had to be a cheap food cart.
She wondered if they’d take some stolen knife or was she going to swipe food tonight, or was it morning already?
Heya! I'm using this story as benchmark into an unexplored genre. Trying to grow as a writer means taking on new things. Thanks for reading.
If this story, gets 30 followers, by the end of the week
