James needed a connection.
He had plenty of contact with millions of devices both on Earth and in the space around it. Reality Zero was as well-watched as it could possibly be, and even though it was in danger, he wasn’t losing significant observational capacity there. Sure, a satellite here or a town there went dark, but it didn’t matter in the long run.
Reality One was different.
He’d suspected, from the few merges they’d had with it since the 1970s, that it had a level of computer-based technology. The machining on the Undying that made it into Reality Zero was too precise and clean to be that of a society on the edge of failure, and too mechanical to be natural. It had the look of mid-2000s computer-assisted machining.
He’d as much as confirmed that within seconds of Claire’s Mergewalk. And with that confirmation, he learned something that the Halcyon System had been trying to hide.
It was an uncomfortable thought, because if ‘life’ went on after Merge Prime, it meant that the Halcyon System had only offered token resistance in its previous fights. It could lose the battle and still win the war.
It just chose not to.
James needed a connection so he could confirm that thought—or more importantly, so he could find proof that he was wrong.
He hoped he was wrong. He really did. But either way, he’d have to tell Claire if she asked.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t.
Location Unknown, Reality One, Time Unknown
- - - - -
Escaping the donut hole inside the walls is easy enough. I wait for a gap in the flamethrower coverage, then hop onto a gigantic femur and ride it out. The flamethrower starts up before I get out, of course, but a little—or a lot—of Smoke Form takes care of that easy peasy, and if my hoodie gets a little singed, it’s no big deal.
There seem to be plenty more hoodies where this one came from.
Then I’m back on the mean streets of Reality One.
I’m expecting a pretty straight shot following the canal. The truth is that I wouldn’t want to watch the procession of bones, sludge, and body part soup make its way through the city, and I can’t imagine the locals do, either.
James recaps what he knows. [What I’m getting from this so far is that Merge Prime permanently opened merge portals all over Reality One, flooding it with anomalies,] James says as I walk, [and the locals compensated by turning them into…something? Choke points? Farms? Fortresses? What I’m struggling with is what they’re doing with all the sludge and parts. Earth alone has several thousand open merges, to say nothing of the rest of Reality Zero. If Reality One is like us—or worse—what are they doing with all the, uh, leftovers from whatever they’re up to?]
That’s an uncomfortable thought. It’s also one I don’t want to engage with—not when I’ve got other questions to answer. They’re not Inquiries, but I want to know some things. One of them happens to involve the disposal for the sludge, but in all honesty, that one’s less important than figuring out why Reality One’s residents went with what seems to be a balanced but unsolvable equation, or why they turned into technonecromantic undead or whatever they are.
Either way, I’m only a couple hundred yards down the alley when the alarm goes off.
So that’s a problem.
It’s thunderous, ear-piercing, and loud in a thousand different ways. It drowns out the guns and flamethrowers, wailing and thudding and screaming endlessly.
From the safety—relatively speaking—of the alley, I’m not too worried about being found right away. I’m not too close to the canal anymore, and it’s got to have something to do with the monsters and mysteries pouring into the donut hole to their deaths.
If it’s about me—if they think I’m an anomaly that managed to escape death—that’s a problem. But if it’s not about me, it could be more of one. The thinlings managed to slip through. I’m not sure how they did it, but they did it. If they did, what else could? Could, for example, a devoured? Or maybe something worse? A burning man, or a fungal lord?
I’m not worried about fighting any of those. But I am worried about the locals—and about the big Undying James keeps talking about. I’ve only actually seen a couple of the smaller ones, but a big one’s probably tough enough to keep me from beating it and moving on.
So the best move is to hide.
I duck back into the warehouse and work my way through the empty shelves and the bone dust. No one’s been here in a long time. I’ll be safe for a while.
“What are the odds of something breaking through the donut hole?” I ask while I wait. I’m covered in dust—it’s sticking to my sweat—but at this point, it’s camouflage, not a nuisance.
[Based on what I saw and my Analysis, I’m shocked it’s not happening constantly. There’s something we’re missing, and I’m not sure what it is yet.]
“And what’s going on at home?”
[Broadly speaking? I still don’t have contact with either SHOCKS Olympia or the SHOCKS Victoria/Vancouver Island survivors. I still don’t know where Alexander is or what he’s up to. In general, resistance is faltering in Europe and South America, but the odds of victory aren’t any worse than when we left.]
I take that in. There’s a Truth there, somewhere. I think it’s that James knows I’m not abandoning Reality Zero, and so does the Halcyon System. So the odds won’t—
[Do you hear that?] James asks.
That is a rumbling. It’s faint, but once James hijacks my aural aug, it’s definitely there—a sound that wasn’t there a minute ago. It’s deep and barely audible over the wailing siren. I pick up the Revolver and climb a set of stairs into what looks like an office overlooking the warehouse; I want to know what’s going on.
But I also want to survive.
The office is full of ‘computers.’ I can only tell they’re computers because they’re laid out just like the computer lab simulation in the Experimental Sector; these are made of body parts, with a massive eye that stretches between the bones to form a ‘screen.’ Part of me—a small part that’s not utterly disgusted—notes that these are the first examples of flesh outside of the canal and the slaughterhouse that was the donut.
The rest of me wants to vomit, but James interrupts me before I can let that part take over, leaving a bile taste in my mouth. [I think I might be able to take those over.]
“Really? No way. You couldn’t do the ones in Provisional Reality Arc.”
[Yeah, but those ones didn’t speak the correct language. These might. Give it a try.]
I’m spared having to touch the disgusting gore-puters by a revelation. “Is that getting louder?”
[I don’t…yes.]
The rumbling has definitely increased, and it’s getting louder by the second. My feet vibrate from the floor shaking. Whatever it is, it reminds me of a train. No, of something bigger.
I ready the Revolver. The alarm cuts off.
The Revolver doesn’t matter a moment later. Thousands of gallons of acid water force the warehouse door open. It floods instantly, up past the first shelf—past the second. I start running, but there’s nowhere to run to. The only thing I can do is wait.
James’s Analysis says that we don’t have to worry about the acid.
That sounds like a lie—at least at first. I can’t help but worry about it. The acid keeps rising, up another shelf, then another. It roars past the warehouse outside, thrashing against buildings and shredding the streets. What went wrong? Did something at the wall break?
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More importantly, I still haven’t figured out where to go if it doesn’t stop rising.
I’m just about ready to try shooting through the ceiling when I notice that not only has it stopped, but it’s going down—and that the shelves and walls are intact below us.
[This has to be intentional,] James says. [They neutralized the acid, at least partially. Otherwise, the whole building would be toast. My Analysis says this is a planned event, not an accident or breach. The alarm ran too long for it to be unplanned.]
That…makes sense. It’s also the third time he’s reminded me of that, but it makes sense.
It also means the alarm going off signals it to the locals. They must have retreated to high ground, or at least gotten away from the canal. Either way, that’s a valuable bit of information on how this world works. I squeeze the Revolver’s handle and keep moving as soon as the floor’s damp instead of soaked. The acid burns my boot soles, but they hold.
All that watery acid has to go somewhere, so I follow the canal. It’s completely clear of leftovers now, and running a lot higher than it was before. There are no bones in it—no corpses, no monster chunks, and no living anomalies.
I keep walking, heading for the gigantic, canyonlike ditch at the edge of town.
The faster I learn how Reality One handled their Merge Prime, the faster I can get back to Reality Zero, and the faster I do that, the more time I’ll have to deal with our own Merge Prime. I need to manage that if I want to help Sora or Dad—to say nothing of Alice.
Alice is in the trickiest spot. I’m relying on SHOCKS Victoria’s automated defenses to keep her body safe, and on Madame Baudelaire to keep her consciousness together. Of the two, the Mindscape is infinitely more reliable. The automatic cannon didn’t even target Li Mei, and even though I’m pretty sure she’s not coming back, there could be—probably are—worse things in SHOCKS Headquarters VVI. There are definitely worse things in Victoria.
James talks me through those defenses. He’s adding to them all the time, it turns out. According to him, Alice represents about half a percent of the four-point-three percent chance Reality Zero has, and since that’s the second-biggest contributor to our survival, he doesn’t want to lose her either.
It’s a little callous to put it that way, but it’s how he’s thinking right now. Big picture, not small.
It takes almost an hour to work through the streets and alleys because the locals are everywhere. The Undying are out in force now that the alarm’s done—lots in the eight to twelve feet tall range, but a couple of what James calls the big ones. They’re closer to twenty-five or thirty, all bones and gears and blazing orange eyes on yellow plastic faces, and they look less like humans and more like four or six-legged mechs made of bone. I don’t know where they were hiding, but I know I can’t fight them.
Maybe one.
But definitely not more than one.
Anyway, it takes a long time to get past them. But eventually, I’m at the edge of town. The canal waterfalls over the edge into the deep ditch, and far down at the bottom, past the churning yellow-green mist, there’s a huge dam. It’s almost as big as the wall in the center of town. And beyond it is…just a gigantic building.
From above, it looks a little like a Walmart, if Walmarts existed here and were ten or twenty times the size. A huge, flat roof, bone-white, of course, with dozens of streams of acid flowing out of the far side. They keep going, then plummet into a cave at the end of the ditch.
“James, can you analyze this?” I ask.
[Get me inside. My best guess right now is that they’re processing the acid or something, but I can’t be sure without a closer look. Either way, this has something to do with your Inquiry. It has to.]
So, yeah. I guess we’re going inside.
It’s nothing like Walmart.
I’ve never been inside a chemical plant, but this is what I imagine they’re like. At least the smell’s not rotten anymore. It’s so acidic—so fizzy—that I can’t smell anything at all.
Most of the floor’s taken up by a massive pool that swirls like a whirlpool. Dozens of metal grids hang across it, catching debris like huge nets and depositing what they pick up on the pool’s edge. It’s like someone cleaning a swimming pool with a net on a stick, except it’s endless.
The big Undying are here—lots of them. I count fifteen before I give up. They’re sorting through the dripping-wet rubble, pulling stuff out, and dragging it away to another, smaller room behind a bone door.
[See what they’re doing in there,] James says.
I ignore him. I’m more curious about where all the acid slurry’s going. That’s really what’s going to answer my Inquiry.
The sucking roar of the whirlpool at the giant pool’s center is ear-popping, especially as I get closer. Everywhere that’s not an acid tank is either metal pipes that remind me of the ghost ship, piles of half-sorted detritus, or narrow—by the big Undyings’ standards, at least—walkways between stuff.
I stop near a ribcage that didn’t dissolve and survived the waterfall, duck inside, and think.
The question is ‘How did Reality One fall?’ That’s the variable I need to solve. But to get there, I need to work several other equations. Right now, the priority one involves the wall, the acid, and this place. It doesn’t feel like this reality fell. Not exactly. So I need to figure out either what it was like before Merge Prime or why the people who lived here decided to resist this—
[Watch out!]
I reflexively Smoke Form.
It’s the only thing that keeps me from being cut in half or folded over the enormous Undying’s bony, scythe-shaped arm. It passes through me, and as I reform with the Revolver in hand, I get a good look at the thing’s eyes. They’re not orange anymore. They’re blood red.
It skitters toward me like a bug. I start firing. The fire rounds slam into its body. Nothing. Just scorch marks. I use Bullet Time. Three shots, all at the eyes. Time picks up again, and all three shots hit. It screams. The eyes stay intact, but the plastic melts. There’s a skull underneath. It moves impossibly fast, and I have to Slither through it. It’s not enough; a jagged, skeletal back leg clips my shoulder, and I go flying.
How is this thing so strong?
[Analyzing,] James says. So that’s something. The longer I can keep the fight going, the better picture he’ll have. I switch to the gravity shells. Open fire as the Undying charges me. All four shots, no spacing, just straight into the thirty-foot-tall monster. It slows, and I slip away with Slither and Smoke Form together, but I feel the Stability drop.
[Stability 6/10]
And even though I’ve been able to keep things going, I haven’t hurt the monster. Not really. Its skull is fine under the plastic.
Mergekillers, maybe? Or reality skippers? I need more options—and better ones.
And the situation only escalates. There’s a second Undying, and a third. They’re both closing in, dropping rubble behind them. This is exactly what I was worried about—getting pinned in by a tide of monsters. I could fight one. Maybe two if I got super lucky. But there are dozens in here.
I abandon the ribcage. A second later, it’s beat to smithereens by the first Undying. I don’t waste any time; I’m already running, switching cylinders to the mergekiller rounds even though they’re useless. The fire lance shells are still recharging, and the gravity shells aren’t going to be ready for a while. They go into my pocket, I turn, and I pull the trigger.
The mergekillers ripple off, punching tiny holes in the massive bone limbs. They’re not enough to slow the Undying, but they do scream. I’m starting to think that’s not a good thing. A fourth joins the chase, and I stop shooting.
Instead, I focus on escaping.
The plan is…
I don’t know. There’s no time. I duck behind an acid tank. It explodes as the first Undying plows through it, showering me with acid. It burns, but I brush it off as best I can. Physical Anomaly Resistance will have to be enough for the remainder. I count. There are now…one…two…two Undying after me.
There were just four. Where are the other two?
There’s no time to find them. The two monsters are on me like mountain lions after a rabbit. Like me when I pilot my favorite Knights through the first levels of Knights of the Apocalypse for fun. I’m a trash mob, and they’re inevitable.
Even so, I keep running. My shattered void wings flare behind me for a moment, but there’s no Truth to be found here. They’re not hiding anything from me, and even if they were, Truthseeker wouldn’t find it. I don’t have time. Another blow zips toward my head, and I have to turn to smoke for another precious second.
That’s enough for the other two Undying to catch up to me. They’re carrying something together. It’s big. And it’s got an angry-looking nozzle. And that nozzle’s pointed right at me.
Southwest of Hurricane Ridge Visitor’s Center, Washington, USA - June 18, 2043, 7:15 PM
- - - - -
Lieutenant Olivia Rodriguez, formerly head of SHOCKS VVI’s Recovery and Stabilization Team Lambda-Four, knew shit was bad.
She couldn’t walk. She couldn’t breathe. If it weren’t for the mask over her nose and mouth, she’d have suffocated a long time ago. Half of her body felt stretched, kinda like those toys her grandparents had kept around with the rubber arms and legs. It wasn’t, physically, but it felt that way. The other half was normal, but…she shouldn’t be alive. Not after that.
She didn’t want to be alive.
Her whole team was dead, except for Daley. L4-4 was still around, but he was a shell of himself. He just did what he was told. Strauss wasn’t here. If he wasn’t here, he had to be dead, too.
They’d lost the Victoria/Vancouver Island Control Zone—and with it, all the anomalies she’d spent her life working to contain.
And Director Paul Ramirez had them hiking cross-country, working their way up an eight-thousand-foot-tall mountain to find the outside entrance of SHOCKS Olympia.
She couldn’t do anything to help. Only one of her arms and one of her legs worked right; the others moved when she told them to, but they moved too far. They’d strapped her to a gurney, and every so often, Paul undid the straps and rolled her onto one side or the other. That was the most movement she had. Other than that, she was stuck. Not that she could walk away, pick up an assault rifle, or even give orders. Her voice didn’t work right, either.
“Olivia,” Paul started for the dozenth time, “keep hanging in there. We’re going to get you to a facility that can help fix this, and we’re going to make them help you. And then, once you’re okay, you and I are going to end this disaster. I’ve got a plan, baby, and you and me? We’re going to win. I can beat Merge Prime.”
Olivia wanted to scream and shout and tell Director Ramirez that there wasn’t any ‘you and me’ anymore, that what had happened to her in Provisional Reality ARC wasn’t something that a SHOCKS facility could fix, that everyone—including her—would be better off if he did a little triage and realized that saving the teachers and civilians and agents was the right call, strategically. That they were colleagues with benefits, nothing more, and that ‘baby’ wasn’t acceptable no matter what.
Instead, she kept listening. The conversation had shifted. “I found someone. He claims to know where we’re trying to go, and he claims to have a shortcut. Something about him reminds me of the Pendleton girls. I don’t trust him, Olivia, but I think he’s telling the truth, and I know he’s useful. He says his name’s Alexander, and that he wants to help.”
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