Chapter 1

  I was just about to drift off to sleep when the lights in my cell flickered to life again, that harsh white illumination they so loved around here. It was like a sand blaster to my retinas, even through my eyelids.

  The delicate circuitry in the walls, a copper alloy that liked to twitch slightly when carrying a current, clicked from one circuit to another, and the wiring in the floor hummed as the heating coils came online, bringing the surfaces to a semi-pleasant temperature that almost matched what my body was supposed to run. Why they didn’t keep it running all the time was a mystery, since I was sleeping on the floor and we weren’t exactly hurting for electricity around here.

  Was this punishment for the bed? Probably. Either that or another test I didn’t have enough PHDs to understand.

  With a tiny *ting* I could faintly hear through the floor, I sensed one of the coils fail. Oops. I went too far with that one. That part of the floor was going to be cold forever, I guessed.

  Still, the temperature control directly under me was working fine. Ooh, that felt nice. I wasn’t as affected by the cold as much anymore since I became an Exotic, but that didn’t mean I didn't enjoy a warm floor like the next guy. Nobody liked laying on a cold metal slab.

  As had become my routine, I rolled over slowly before getting to my feet, my motions very careful so as not to disturb the work I’d done as I’d ‘slept.’ The skeletal remains of my bed helped me rise, though it was just a loosely connected framework of hollow plastic bars now, barely able to support itself anymore, much less a whole Exotic with a good fourth of his body replaced by metal.

  Your sacrifice will be remembered, bed. I’ll write a tearful goodbye when I pen my memoirs.

  I yawned and shook my head. My sweat-soaked brown curls positively crinkled as I ran my fingers through them, and my hand came away greasy.

  Ugh. Why do I feel dirtier now than I did roughing it in the woods?

  I rolled my neck and stretched to get some of the tightness out of my body. Everything was sore and not just from my nightly beatdown either. My HP was maxed at 309, so I was perfectly healthy on paper. My MP was topped off too, though I would have known that even without checking, since I wasn’t currently writhing on the floor.

  The black, segmented metal of my prosthetic arm clicked and whirred when I flexed my tired appendages as if the mysterious metal passenger also had muscles to stretch, which it did not. At least, I was pretty sure it didn’t have muscles or any other conventional mechanical bits I would recognize. In fact, no one, not even my hosts or any of their experts, seemed to know how it worked.

  My little room was generally cube shaped with glossy white walls, about big enough to cross in twenty steps. I had a toilet with a built-in sink, a shower that was just holes in the ceiling where water could trickle down and give me a good soak, and what used to be a bed. All the furniture was uniformly built from light materials with lots of clean, white plastics and synthetic polymers that couldn’t be used as a tool or a weapon, which seemed a little unnecessary. I had Spatial Storage, and they knew that. I’d demonstrated it my first day here. Who cared if I could bash someone with a toilet seat when I could just whip out…well, whatever from my little pocket dimension at any moment?

  The plastic furniture burned, though, which had been both a source of frustration from my jailers and a life saver for me. Every time they asked me to spend mana for one of their tests, another piece of my cell got fed to my Engine. Sure it made the place a little less livable every time, but either my ego or my sense of humor saw the visible damage to the decor as a little hint of the real damage I was doing to this place under their noses.

  Sticking to my routine, I started on some light exercise, some body weight stuff: pushups, situps, jumps, and the like. I didn’t need to do them, per se. My body was a System enhanced magical machine now. I’d probably never need to exercise again. No, I did them because I needed to wake up, and it seemed to complete the prison aesthetic I was going for nowadays.

  Once my workout was done, I stripped off the remains of my clothes and padded over to the shower, pressing the button and letting the warm water rinse last night’s stale sweat and grime away.

  “Another bad night, Ryan?” a light, female voice asked over the intercom. I didn’t flinch, despite the doc catching me in a state of undress. Not this time. I was trying to be the new me, a less self conscious me, one whose blush reflex wasn’t the fastest and most reliable of his reflexes. Progress was… ongoing.

  How long had she been watching? Did she wait until I’d stripped to speak up?

  This has to be another test. It’s always a test. Don’t make it weird Ryan. Play it cool.

  In answer to her question, I nodded slightly and hoped the water hid my red cheeks. Instead, I watched the water run down into the drain and let the last couple seconds of the shower warm me before it was time to get back to it. I didn’t know this for sure, but I was fairly certain all the water I was using was collected somewhere and examined by people with thick glasses and weird hobbies.

  I killed the water and reached for a towel… of which there were none. Ah, yes. I’d Consumed those. They were the first things I’d fed to my core once I figured out what was going on with me. In truth, I could have dipped into my little stash of mendau wood stowed away in my pocket dimension to do the job, but I was keeping that little ace up my sleeve.

  So, towelless, I did my best impression of a dog, shaking myself dry, (again, trying not to think about how that looked to the doc) then decided to go for my last set of plain white pants and matching shirt. No shoes. They’d never given me any shoes.

  The walls, just like the floor, were flat and the texture of brushed steel, though they were actually some kind of metal I couldn’t identify and hadn’t developed an affinity for yet. It was tough as hell too. I’d been experimenting with scratching the stuff or, barring that, denting it with whatever was to hand, but it had held well to conventional methods. Interesting material.

  I switched Detect from Copper to Iron, and my perception shifted. The hidden heating coils and circuitry stopped shining brightly in my senses, and suddenly I was getting little sparkling pings from a few different locations within 15 feet of me. It used to be so disorienting to use Detect constantly like this, ‘seeing’ things without the use of my eyes, but I’d gotten a lot of practice lately. There wasn’t much else to do in my stupid white cube.

  Detect Iron gave me hits for five people outside of my cell, their hemoglobin at least. They all looked like walking circulatory systems when I viewed them like this, but if I mentally squinted I could almost pretend I was seeing the whole person. The motion from their mouths and lungs told me they were talking among one another, some more calmly than others.

  The tall, broad one with the slow and steady pulse was Dad for sure. He was characteristically quiet, just watching the others jabber at one another, listening intently with his arms crossed over his chest. I imagined he had that stoic frown under his beard, looking like he was weighing the costs and benefits of smashing something, the way he spent council meetings back home… well, before we lost our home.

  A little damp but dressed and presentable, I strode over to that side of the room where the figures had gathered and gave dad a little wave followed up with the cross-eyed stare I used to do during meals at home before meals became a separate thing in our house. Dad’s shoulders shuddered as he had a little private chuckle to himself. The others exchanged meaningful glances as their attention settled on me, one of the figures even indulging in a slight shiver, a gesture probably not visible to the others under his clothes, but I picked up on it just fine thanks to Detect.

  The slim, female figure reached over and keyed something on a pad, and the metallic white of my cell wall dissolved into clear, glasslike opacity. Then the circulatory systems resolved into real people, some familiar, some not. Dad was right in front of me, all solid muscle, thick neck, and black hair. He gave me a little nod from behind the others. There was a newcomer, a stocky clean shaven man with a widow’s peak to end all widow’s peaks and wearing an expensive looking suit. He was currently in close conversation with Inspector Nett, an unassuming, perpetually tired looking man, who wore, along with his usual suspicious scowl, his Colonial Special Police grays with his badge displayed prominently on his chest. I gave him a wave too, which he didn’t return. It was almost like we weren’t friends.

  Doctor Meechin, a tall, blonde, absolutely stunning specimen of a woman in a white lab coat, looked up from the control pad and scrutinized me like I was a slime mold under a microscope. Again, no indication that she’d just seen me naked, purely professional, colder than cold to an off putting degree.

  “Thank you for sticking it out as long as you did last night,” Dr. Meechin said. “We collected some good data on what’s happening to your body.” Her tone was robotic, cool like I mentioned before, but more than that, she had an uncanny intensity and focus to her that was creepy. The look she gave you, despite the rest of her being, aesthetically, what every teenage guy dreamed about, told you on some instinctual level that this wasn’t a being entirely like you. I’d long suspected she was an Exotic like Nett and me, but she’d dodged the question every time I’d posed it.

  Another press of a button from Dr. Meechin, and the channel was flipped to a wider mic. The well dressed man halted his conversation with Inspector Nett and stepped forward, motioning the others to join him. His voice was rough but slightly higher than I would have guessed.

  “For the official record: This is Proxis Local Family Representative Dolan Marshal. I’m here with Doctor Beverly Meechin and Chief Inspector Mark Nett. Others present in the room are here at the behest of the subject himself and the Colonial Authority respectively: Myron Kotes, the subject’s father, and Mr. White who requires no introduction.”

  Dad grunted in the barest effort of acknowledgement while Mr. White, who had been leaning on the wall far enough back for me not to pick up with Detect Iron before, gave the barest hint of a nod, his too pale skin and bland features setting him apart from all the more regular folks in the room.

  Representative Marshal cleared his throat and began in a less-formal-but-still-formal tone. “Ryan, how are we feeling today?”

  I shrugged, turning slightly to call attention to the wrecked bed and the remains of last night’s set of clothes. “Think I’m gonna need turndown service but otherwise peachy.”

  Marshal smiled politely, though it didn’t touch his eyes. Then he spoke to the the rest of the room. “Okay, people. This is an official proceeding. Let’s do this by the book.”

  So today was the day then. Decision day. I swallowed the lump that threatened to form in my throat.

  “Give me your reports,” Rep. Marshal ordered.

  “Cognitive and verbal tests are above average but not too far off from the mean Chosen range,” Dr. Meechin began, stepping up to the glass and reading from her data pad. “Physical and psychological assessments are clean with the exception of a slightly elevated stress response to darkness. This manifests in his vitals, excluding pulse of course. He does not have a conventional heart anymore, so we’ve taken to reading blood oxygen levels instead, which are often elevated. Examination of hair follicles and fingernails say he’s been abroad for 6 months plus or minus ten days.”

  This felt like a trial, but no one explicitly told me I couldn’t speak up. “A plant ate all my hair a couple months in, and I kept getting set on fire. That wouldn’t throw off the estimates, would it?” I asked.

  Dr. Meechin considered briefly then shook her head, but she surreptitiously keyed a couple notes into her pad as her partner stepped in.

  “That’s six months in what he describes as a category 3 rift event. All that as a Non Combat class,” Inspector Nett said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at me as he spoke. He’d done that every day since my homecoming, when he wasn’t beating the hell out of me, of course. “His Level and his Class don’t match up with the story he’s telling, and his combat assessments put him far above his actual level in capability.

  Combat assessments. So, that’s what he’s calling them.

  The man fought like a ninja, a ninja with a taser. Other than testing how much HP he could bash out of me by dawn, I didn’t see what he could possibly be learning from our nightly bouts.

  Nett continued, scowling all the while. “He won’t divulge the contents of his Status Screen, but far as we can tell, he’s got too many Abilities, at least seven distinct ones that he uses at a moderate proficiency. He’s also got an attack Ability, which shouldn’t be possible as a Non Combat. He’s got a Spatial Storage of unknown volume with God knows what inside. Then there’s his aura. If that’s a Level 0 aura, I’m a prima ballerina.”

  “Last I checked, it’s my right not to divulge my Skills and Abilities” I argued for maybe the hundredth time since my arrival. “If you, just for a moment, consider that my story is true, my whole situation matches my Level just fine, and you’ve been torturing me for having a weird tutorial.”

  The Inspector shook his head. “I’m still not buying it.”

  I consciously relaxed the muscles in my jaw to keep my frustration from showing in my voice. “And I’m still not selling anything,” I answered. “I’ve been honest, but that doesn’t seem to help things.”

  “Bah,” Nett scoffed. “Obfuscation isn’t the same as honesty, and you know that. He’ll talk about his tutorial for hours if you ask him, but ask for the point value of a single Skill and he’s suddenly reminding you of his rights.”

  I looked back at the wrecked bed and flexed my metal fingers. “Well, there’s this one skill… It’s pretty high up there. Handshake.” I held up my prosthetic and flexed the fingers dramatically

  The Inspector’s nostrils flared, and his hands balled up into fists. Was he was still sore about last night?

  Representative Marshal put up a hand for calm. “Yours is an extraordinary story for sure, Ryan. Please understand that we are going through this process to preserve not just your safety but ours as well” he pleaded. “Tell me if this summary is fair. Integrated by the System in the midst of a violent conflict and then transported to your Tutorial only to find the host world in the process of ending. Then you, a Level 0 and a Non Combat classed Chosen to boot, not only escape this endangered world but save it on the way out at great risk to yourself. One might call that… a heroic tale.”

  With every word he spoke, I felt pressure build in my chest, an ache that hadn’t quite left me even though I’d been home for a while. Rep. Marshal had boiled it down to what was relevant to him, of course. I couldn’t fault him for that, but the way he phrased things didn’t at all capture the substance of what happened.

  In answer, I mumbled something about having help, which was true but not in the way I’d led them to believe. The story I’d told them may have been a little on the dishonest side, emphasizing certain things, downplaying others, almost to the point where I hardly had a hand in saving Ralqir at all aside from bringing the scourge with me and purging them.

  For a while. I’d considered coming clean, telling them everything, but every time I tried, it felt… obscene. Like the act of sharing Ralqir with total strangers was a betrayal, and putting words to my memories would somehow rob them of their true color.

  How do you tell a researcher you witnessed the deaths of thousands? How you had your first kiss in the middle of a losing battle? Would you then tell them how much you were hurting? What box would they tick on their little forms that would encapsulate all that?

  I focused on breathing and worked to relax my body.

  Don’t. We’re almost out. Just keep it together a little longer.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Marshal went on, having realized I wasn’t going to say anything more. “But given the manner of your return, as a very powerful demon according to Mr. White’s report, we have to entertain the idea that your story fits perfectly because it is a ploy.”

  The hollow in my chest got a little colder and heavier.

  Inspector Nett took that as his cue to pile back on. “It’s suspicious for sure. For a Level 0, he’s unnaturally strong and fast. The few Abilities he’s shown us should tap him out quickly, but they don’t. He’s got a fully formed Core way too early, and to hear him tell it, he’s had it since the jump.” Then, in a move I absolutely didn’t see coming, the Inspector said something uncharacteristically helpful:

  “But, despite all that, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t tell you I believe that he believes he’s Ryan Kotes. He acts like a young man that’s been through a lot, but he’s got enough sense not to lash out. He’s been downright docile, not how I’d expect a demon to deal with captivity. What that means I’ll leave to you. Could be a deception or a coping mechanism from a hellish experience abroad.”

  Nett pinned me with that stare of his, as if he was taking the entirety of me in and running the numbers one more time. He didn’t expound further, though.

  “On the subject of his Core, It’s a true mystery,” Dr. Meechin looked almost excited for this part, tapping on her data pad and scrolling through her notes. “Scans so far have revealed nothing. Material analysis has similarly been fruitless. We’ve decided to attack the problem from a different angle while we get more equipment printed. If we could speak with the one named Barrow from Ryan’s story that would-”

  Marshal cut across her words. “Ah, yes. This Barrow person. I am not personally familiar with him, nor do we have any records of a Chosen with that name. I believe he has featured prominently in your past retellings, Ryan.”

  I blinked, feeling like I’d just been hit between the eyes.

  “What? Nothing?” I gaped. “He was-” He’d been a terror for the Outers for months before the Clan decided to flee to the city. He’d killed people, burned down homes. He had a whole reaver gang at his beck and call. How was there no record of him? I tried to catch Dad’s eye, but his poker face was excellent. Detect Iron told me he was fuming, though. His heart was going fast, and he was probably suffering from a blood pressure headache judging by the veins up there.

  “Nothing,” the Inspector echoed. “We’ve scoured the public archives, jump logs, military records, prison guest lists… everything. No Chosen named Barrow or any aliases that match to anyone living or dead.”

  “However he got it, his Core is nearly impervious to standard tests,” Meechin said. “It fits the story, but I have no hard facts. The metal is a black hole as far as scans are concerned. We need more specialized tools and more time.”

  What? Did she want to rent a mining laser or something? They’d tried everything to crack that nut, but my arm remained impervious to damage.

  “Dr. Meechin also says that you’re having issues spending mana,” Marshal said, shifting the topic.

  “I didn’t say that, actually,” Meechin corrected. “I said he is experiencing prolonged anti-regenerative episodes with acute-”

  Yeah. If not for that little problem, I might have decided to end my captivity much sooner.

  I cleared my throat uncomfortably. They were talking about one of the only Abilities I’d been truly open about since I’d noticed it. It had replaced Tempered Channels on my Status Screen at some point, and I was, to say the least, concerned.

  Crystalized Channels: By channeling the chaos of the void and the opposing elemental power of the maelstrom through your body, your essence has been forged anew. Your mana pathways are crystalized. Sensitivity to and control of foreign mana types severely decreased. Strength and control of personal mana type increased to a mythical degree. Personal mana type altered. Immune to all sources of void corruption.

  This asshole was the bane of my existence, an uninvited guest that wormed its way into my Status Screen and decided to be a diva. My mana channels were now a hostile environment to anything that wasn’t ‘me’ flavored, and any time the System tried to feed me mana, Crystalized Channels let me know it.

  Essentially, any time my mana dipped below max level, I would suddenly feel like I was about to give birth to a thousand baby suns through my stomach. It was some of the worst pain I’d ever experienced, and this was coming from a guy that set himself on fire voluntarily multiple times.

  “I can spend it just fine, Representative Marshal. I just can’t get it back,” I said, stepping on the long, clinical explanation the doc was giving. “My Core is the only way I can top myself off.”

  The Doctor frowned. “That’s more or less what I said. We’re calling it Kotes Syndrome.”

  I winced, both shocked and disturbed. “I- uh- get my own disease?”

  Meechin smiled a smile that would have been radiant on anyone else, but because it was her, it was just spooky. “It’s a tentative moniker that we will put in our papers if we can’t find a case that precedes yours.”

  Hurray. My own disease.

  Inspector Nett jammed an accusing finger at something over my shoulder. “You’ve been eating your bed again. The doc told you to ride this one out till morning, so we could gather data. If you cooperated, we could be done with this by now.”

  Dad chose that moment to enter the conversation. ”Speaking of being done with this. This is all bullshit,” he said in that folksy baritone he reserved for non-kinfolk, ‘city people’ he would call them.

  The three Exotics turned around, finally remembering that the Constance Clan headman was in the room too.

  “Ryan’s been cooperating exactly as much as any other Chosen would have,” Dad continued. “In fact, I’d say he’s been damned accommodating considering you’re stretching the law to keep him here.”

  Rep. Marshal’s eyebrows knitted together as he seemed to struggle to remember Dad’s name. Then he steepled his fingers and spoke for all of them. “Mr. Kotes, while I appreciate your input, we can, in fact, hold him for as long as we deem it appropriate. Demonic possession of any Chosen, even those as low level as your son, is a serious matter and requires extraordinary actions that we are well within our rights to perform. No case of possession has ever gone into remission before.”

  Dad didn’t back down. “Because it’s not remission. ‘Remission’ implies the threat is still there, and the evidence doesn’t suggest that. Ain’t nobody ever heard of a half demon. He either is one or he’s not. Legally, maybe you had a right to quarantine him after he got back and cured himself, but that law is meant to deal with pathogens. The window is something like ten days, and by my count you’ve had him considerably longer than that. You’re violating the law every second he’s in there.”

  While Marshal and the Inspector seemed to react badly to being called out for possibly unethical behavior, the doctor didn’t seem to have that reflex, cutting across the others’ objections to give the facts without regard for the temperature in the room. “Demonic possession is, thus far, unlikely given the data we’ve collected. Brain activity indicates that he is not experiencing abnormal mental stimulation or psychic tampering outside of normal testing parameters. That doesn’t mean we can’t still learn from him.”

  Wait, were they psychically tampering with me as part of the tests? Not okay.

  Marshal gave the good Doctor a withering look that she didn’t even seem to notice.

  “Mr. Kotes is correct that there has never been a case of demonic possession where the subject was lucid for so long, but we have also never had one in captivity,” Meechin beamed at me as she got the part about having her own demon lab monkey. I couldn’t hold her gaze. It was way too… excited.

  “You’re well informed on Chosen affairs, Mr. Kotes, the public ones at least,” Marshal acknowledged. “But you are human, and most accounts of possession are not likely in your history books. It might surprise you to find out that Chosen matters are often kept in house, so that we don’t cause a panic when we have to police one of our own. Given the nature of our existence, precedent is often overturned when new circumstances arise. Ryan’s circumstance is one of those times.” He sighed then, an exaggerated thing that I was pretty sure was fake. “After hearing from our experts here, I have to agree that his freedom will be delayed once more. The next hearing will be-”

  I opened my mouth to object. They did that in trials, right? However, our silent partner did the talking for me.

  “You’re right, Family Representative Marshal. Despite his being human, Mr. Kotes is well informed,” White said from the back of the group where he’d been watching the proceedings silently. Apparently, we’d all forgotten he was there. “And while he probably can’t cite the specific law from the books, he has the spirit of them down just fine. You cannot legally hold Ryan any longer. He speaks clearly. He has not hurt anyone aside from myself, and he is showing no sign of outside influence or psychosis.”

  Marshal seemed taken aback at White’s opinion. “Mr. White, of all the people here, I didn’t expect you to object to the cautious approach. It’s my people’s safety weighed against the boy’s temporary internment. If he is free of demonic influence, his time here will be a blip on a long and productive life.”

  The Representative paused to look to the other two for support, who seemed to be in ready agreement. Nett would be in favor of holding me until the heat death of the universe. His suspicion was a given. The Doc was probably looking forward to more microscope time before releasing me into the wild, while my rights and my freedom were more obstacles in the way of that than an inviolable law.

  “No. I do not believe you can do more without crossing the line from medical research to torture.” White began to tap his chin theatrically. “Perhaps what’s needed isn’t time in a lab.”

  Marshal made an emphatic motion with his hand. “We can’t just turn him out. He’s a Rogue with a unique class. Who would mentor him? No one’s ever heard of an Automator.”

  White raised an eyebrow. “All true, but if his story is real, there is not much a mentor can teach him anyway. He has already experienced more of Exotic life than Rogues even 10 Levels his senior.”

  “Someone has to watch him,” Nett insisted. “I still think he’s possessed, but even if you entertain the idea that he’s not, every Rogue needs someone there to show them the ropes. On his own the Families will eat him alive as soon as word of his existence reaches them.”

  A little self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of White’s mouth. “Indeed. That’s why I propose we send him to Sabium.”

  I blinked as my mind ran a blank on that subject. “Sabium? What’s Sabium?” I asked, but the others ignored me. Whatever Sabium was, it got a major reaction from Marshal and Nett.

  Marshal seemed taken aback, outrage at war with disbelief on his face. “Sabium? That’s for… Legacies, Mr. White, people born to this life and well placed besides. Even in the best of circumstances, Rogues would be set up to fail in that place, and failure means death or worse. Even just on a knowledge basis, he’s far behind what the others would be, not to mention training.”

  Dad spoke up again. “Mr. White, I’d like to lodge a formal complaint. The CA will want to hear about the blatant disregard for a new Chosen’s rights. Proxis used to value the law. The Marshal Family most of all.”

  The Inspector had a different reaction. He’d turned to face White almost like he was getting ready to fight him, while casting the briefest of glances over his shoulder at me, his expression twisted in emotion I’d not seen from him before. It was subtle, but it was there: Fear. Not of me, though.

  He stepped between me and White almost protectively. “I’m definitely arguing for locking him up as a demon and maybe learning something from him, but this is- You know what’s in Sabium. You want to send him right into the goddamned lion’s den? He may not be showing signs here at the ass end of space, but if he’s got any scourge in him he’ll turn in a week. Then they’ll have to put him down.”

  “Exactly,” Marshal agreed emphatically. “You’re turning a temporary internment into a potential end to a new Chosen’s life. Sabium would, more than likely, be the death of him. For his benefit and humanity as a whole, he stays here,” Marshal declared with what he probably meant to be finality. Then, realization seemed to strike him, visibly, like he’d just been slapped.

  “You’re doing this officially…” he gasped.

  “I am,” Mr. White affirmed. “I am invoking the Colonial Authority’s right to our spot in the next class.”

  “Hey!” I shouted, my voice going an octave higher. “Former demon here. What the hell is Sabium?”

  White leaned over to look past Marshal’s shoulder at me. “You’re leaving. Today.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Just like that, huh?

  I’d been working my way toward freedom since the time I’d gotten here, first through cooperation and cordiality, then through other means. I wanted my freedom. No, I needed it. I needed space, sky above my head, time to think without being on the run or fighting or under a microscope. I’d earned that much hadn’t I?

  Despite White’s word choice, I didn’t get the feeling I was receiving my freedom. Not today.

  2 of 2 Prerequisites met…

  New Quest: Homecoming

  Homecoming: Protect the innocent. Preserve humanity.

  Accept? Y/N

  The quest box popped into my vision as I was about to tell Mr. White just how much I loved my decisions being made for me.

  Really? Et tu, System? That’s not fair.

  “We don’t know what he’s capable of, White,” Nett said. He wasn’t quite done saying his piece, I guessed. “Put him in with a bunch of innocents, and it could be a bloodbath. Thank goodness he’s in there, so we can make sure before sending him among the sheep.”

  What did the System mean by ‘preserve humanity?’ Why now and not weeks ago when I first arrived? There was lots of humanity to be preserved then too, I was sure.

  I took a calming breath, pushing down that tense, foreboding feeling and locking it away.

  I’d feel like an asshole if I said No, wouldn’t I?

  Quest updated: Homecoming

  Homecoming: Travel to Sabium

  Constance preserve me! Mother fu-

  Not only was I being railroaded, but the System was in on it too.

  Any hope of being a free range Exotic in the near future went up in a cloud of System patented rainbow smoke.

  An absolutely filthy stream of profanity flooded my mental space for the span of five seconds. Then, I was done.

  I was done here. Done being meek about it too.

  I cleared my throat, interrupting an angry diatribe from Inspector Nett about how my freedom was all risk and no benefit, and suddenly every face was turned toward me.

  “Listen. You can’t keep me here.” Screw it. I wanted them to know.

  Marshal held up a hand forestalling my objection. “I know it feels unfair, Ryan. Just try to see it from our perspective.”

  “No, I get it,” I insisted. “But you literally can’t keep me here. If I really did want to hurt anyone, I would just… well, I just would have already.”

  Marshal looked dubious. “Maybe that is true, but we can’t go on your word alone.”

  I sucked air through my teeth, set my jaw, then reached forward until I was touching the window.

  Fine. Here’s your proof.

  Shape [22 MP/sec]

  My mana flowed from my hand, pouring into the metal, expanding and interweaving with the matter until it reached saturation. Then I was the window, or the window was a part of me. I knew it like I knew myself. I sensed the nanometer thin connections between the cuts, the ones I’d left connected to the whole, just enough to carry a current, which I’d figured out was how the stuff switched from opaque to transparent on demand.

  All it took was a tiny shift, a few molecules taken from here and put over here with Shape. Remarkably easy work now that my mana was juiced up and flowing through Crystalized Channels, a far cry from the herculean effort I used to have to expend.

  *CRACK*

  In an instant, the window became a solid wall again, except this time the smooth, unbroken surface was no longer either of those things. Tiny hairline grooves in a repeating square pattern ran up and down the wall, like a toddler had built the place out of toy blocks.

  Then I gave the wall a little push.

  You have created: Simple Metal Cube x 388

  Experience rate 0/min. [388 base, -388 class restriction: hand crafting]

  Damnit. I wanted that experience, and there was that new verbiage from the System again. Experience rate. The Automator class was yet another thing holding me hostage.

  Automator: A unique fusion of *^&^&@#, @!@!@!?, and the Animator class, the Automator is a powerful engine of change. A one man industrial sector. A planet devouring terror. A savior. They are all of these things, depending on the type of Chosen they wish to be. This power has come at a price. Unique class restrictions have been applied.

  The wall bowed in the middle then collapsed in a cascading waterfall of tiny white metal cubes. In the confined space, the sound was deafening, ball-bearings-in-a-paint-mixer deafening. The crumbling structure revealed the astonished faces of my captors a tiny bite at a time. The doc was typing in her notepad blindly, mouth open in a look of wonder. The Inspector looked nearly ready to burst a blood vessel. He had his hand up to his ear, his mouth moving as he spoke to someone on the other end of his comms.

  Once the majority of the cubes were on the floor, and the room was back to stunned silence, I spoke again, putting force into every word. “I’m not a demon.”

  Then the pain came on, a sudden volcanic eruption in my stomach that cascaded through my mana channels until my entire body was burning up from the inside. My breathing grew rapid and sweat beaded on my forehead. I had to fight not to curl up into a ball and lose myself to the agony.

  My mind was still working though. The pain hadn’t gotten debilitating yet. I fumbled for the sleeve of my shirt and activated Consume, reducing the fabric to glowing orange embers that spiralled into my fist and fed my Core.

  Status gained: Engine [4 MP/sec for 20 sec]

  Knowledge gained of material: Synthweave [21/50]

  Immediately, the pain started to lessen,

  It’s going to be okay. Breathe.

  The burning sensation battered at my mental walls, threatening to overwhelm my mind.

  I rode it out, forcing my body to slow down and let the problem sort itself out, not that I had a choice. Hold on.

  When I finally reached 284 of 284, only a handful of seconds later, I felt like I’d just been pulled out of a furnace.

  Marshal was looking at me like I’d grown three heads. “As the Inspector said, we don’t know what he can do,” he insisted, his voice strained. At some point he’d put his back up against the opposite wall, as far from me as possible. “That containment cell was well made. The amount of mana required to break it-” He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken.

  “True,” I agreed. My voice was tight still, a side effect of just having to go through hell just to use an Ability. “Slow going, too. The point is that I’ve been out for a while, but I stayed anyway.”

  White’s face contorted in a too-wide, predatory grin, showing far too many of his bleach colored teeth. Then he clapped his hands and started to rub them together excitedly. “Shall we draw up the release forms then?”

  Hey. Thanks for giving In my Defense a chance. New chapters will be posted Tuesdays and Thursdays, eventually ramping up depending on the amount of interest we can generate here.

  As of right now, Patreon is about 30k words ahead of Royal Road. Additionally, patrons have the dubious honor of access to my audio tracks where I do silly voices and pretend to know what I’m doing.