Spec has never felt so alone as he lies there, blinded, sobbing into the void and embraced by pain. So much pain.

  “Thank you.” said a small voice to his left.

  “Summer?” his voice finally croaked out.

  “That was disgusting.” Summer says, her voice an anchor in this black sea of pain.

  “I’m lucky I didn’t see it then. Are you okay?”

  “We should be asking you that!” Juin practically screams from a bit farther away.

  “Of course you’re not okay, what were you thinking?! Just running past like a drug fiend seeing a syringe. I had the fucking hammer!” she continues, talking faster and faster.

  “Yeah. That was dumb.” he whispers, his voice not managing to overpower the alarms.

  “What? Shit, we have to get out of here. Do you have supplies in there? A first aid kit, something?”

  Juin gently helps him stand. Someone gags as he turns around but he fails to notice. With an arm around his shoulders Juin guides him inside own home. He tries to call out.

  “Dad? Dad it’s me. I’m home.” he croaks out into the darkness.

  “I’m sorry Spec. There’s no one here. You know what? He probably made it out when everyone evacuated. That’s the best scenario, right?”

  Spec stands silent as that strange thought manages to pierce through the pain. She is probably right. It should feel good, he should be elated. But relief declines his company. He feels robbed and stupid, heartless and abused. There is only one price here, one thing left to this sorry affair.

  He turns to the workbench in the tiny space, navigating easily by memory alone. He steps over the bucket of scrap that is probably still there, rests his hand on the metal bench and lets his callouses travel over the pockmarked surface. This is his friend. Something that has served him well and faithfully over the years and it will serve him now, for what he suspects will be the last time for a while. His hand stops when it finds the blank, pristine case waiting for him.

  Juin and Summer are both still talking to him while they search frantically for a non-existent medkit. Trying to reassure him, keep him out of shock. Juin keeps apologizing for some reason.

  He picks up the rag hanging to his left and methodically wipes each of his fingers, then searches for the right screwdriver in the pile of tools to his left. More than anything else, this is what he needs right now. For a brief second he recognizes that he is probably not thinking straight, maybe he should focus on something else. No matter.

  He opens the case and uses a thumb to appreciate the round, copper object within, removing a couple screws with practiced motions before he pulls out the small plastic case in his right side pocket. Worried voices move to his side, trying to pull away his arms to wrap them in bandages. They fall silent as they look at his face and then back down at what he’s working on.

  He uses tweezers to remove the processor he has worked so hard to acquire.

  “Juin?”

  “Spec… I’m here.”

  “Could you tell me if the blue side is pointing down? I don’t want to touch it to find out.”

  “Oh. Sure, yeah, it’s pointing the right way. It's a beautiful thing, Spec.”

  She sounds so scared. Maybe she thinks he’s dying, acting out his last wish. Maybe he looks completely and irreversibly mad.

  He breaths out slowly and inserts the processor into its carefully prepared cradle. Yearning for some kind of release and unable to wait a second longer he immediately inserts it into his empty eye socket and waits for the prosthetic to feel less cold, less foreign.. He feels a light prick, like being poked by a syringe.

  Spec bends over the table, waiting for the eye to boot up and connect to the tiny transmitter behind his ear.

  He waits. Still nothing.

  Just as he is starting to move his hand to remove the eye, his vision explodes into a white emptiness.

  //Establishing connection… 78%//

  //Connection established//

  //SYNTH intertwined with host//

  //Access granted to the EXCHANGE//

  //HAPPY HUNTING//

  Spec stands paralyzed as the words appear beside his own thoughtstream. A second ago there was nothing beyond his own inner monologue. Now it has a neighbor.

  //You’ve been granted the rare honor of complete access to the EXCHANGE! I am here to facilitate that access, among other things. You can call me Rima.//

  Spec hunts desperately throughout his mind for anything, anything at all to make sense of the situation. He has worked with every type of product, aug or piece of scrap he can find. Nothing resembled this.

  But the Exchange, that he understood. It was what enabled Berserkers to just keep going, to always push forward and always adapt against CONTACT. A direct line to the Guilds helping humanity fight against CONTACT, circling Earth in their alien spacecraft. The neighbor in his head claims to be that connection.

  It is infuriating.

  “You are here NOW? Oh, almighty alien freak, you finally feel like showing up?” Spec screams with the last bit of energy he had left.

  This day would not end. He has desperately tried to keep his head above the bloodbath he’s wading through, trying to stay remotely sane in the process. Now this, an absurd voice has invaded his precious processor.

  Nothing could surprise him anymore. He did not have the energy for it. All of it was too much, too fast. There isn’t even energy left to turn around and reassure Juin and Summer who had gone suddenly silent behind him.

  His vision flickers as the copper eye boots up, letting colors bleed back into the world.

  //The reaction is… understandable. We were not supposed to be introduced like this.//

  //Let us leave the screaming and explanations for later. All you need to know is this: You have been granted access to the Exchange. You may now exchange your points for a plethora of weapons, abilities and supplies.//

  //You have been awarded some points for your work in killing the CONTACT. I suggest you use them to buy something to stay alive. Specifically, I request your permission to interact with the Exchange on your behalf, for now. Do I have your permission?//

  Spec stays silent while trying to grab a labored breath. The conversation probably took a single second. Exhaustion and pain fight over his body, crowding the nerves. But as he leans over the bench he feels something familiar try to fight its way to his attention.

  He has to admit, he’s curious. Images of sleek laser weapons and perfectly crafted power armor circle the pain in his mind. Who knows what the Exchange has to offer? What could he create, what could he do, with access to the Guilds? His fingers travel over the copper eye in his eye socket, still cold and foreign. No longer would he have to scrounge through garbage to find junk that’s designed to be junk.

  After trying to fight the CONTACT he had resigned himself to a doomed escape as he hobbled after Juin and Summer. That’s if he survives getting out of this room. But this connection may represent a way to fight back. Another opportunity to escape, both this building and from the only future he had contented himself with.

  But that was for later. For now, Spec decided to give Rima a chance.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Yes. Please, save us.”

  //I will do nothing of the sort. But I will help you save yourself.

  Purchase:

  Basic Meat Mend Kit (100 p)

  Butcher’s coffee (50p)

  Balance: 200p//

  “Hey Spec, who are you talking to?” Juin says with resolve echoing through her voice.

  Spec slowly turns around with his palms open. His lone mechanical eye zooms in on the hammer in her hand before it moves to her face. She looks terrified. There is resolve there too, as if she’s bracing before a hit. Summer is hidden behind her, a protective arm thrown out to hold her there.

  He imagines what he must look like and holds back a flinch. Even without a mirror he imagines he looks horrifying, a walking corpse gone mad. That’s before he started to talk to himself.

  “So… Something happened. I know I don’t look exactly… trustworthy. But I need you to believe me.”

  “Well? Spit it out then.”

  “Sis, be kind. He’s trying to help.” Summer says, shoving a finger in Juin’s side. She looks chastised, but doesn’t put down the hammer.

  “I think I just got a connection to the Exchange.”

  “Like a Berserker?” both sisters say in unison, one exited, one confused.

  “Yes, exactly like that.”

  Juin looks at him with a blank expression for a couple heartbeats.

  “That’s fantastic!”

  “You believe me?!”

  “Well nothing else today makes sense, does it? So who am I to start questioning things now? Maybe I’m in one of those horrifying shows on Echo and everyone will yell “Surprise!”. Or maybe that would be worse, I don’t know.”

  “Damn. I can hardly believe it myself and you accept it, just like that?”

  “I think it’s kinda cool.”

  Spec looks at Summer. That’s probably a normal thing for a kid to say but he can’t figure out if Summer is too calm, or it’s him and Juin who’s not thinking straight.

  //The items have finished their teleport.//

  It is going to be hard to get used to that voice in his head. He turns around to the workbench and grabs it for support as his vision almost goes dark again. His lone copper eye takes in what appears to be two eggs covered in a thin layer of viscous slime, one markedly larger than the other.//

  “I have so many questions.” he says straight into the air.

  //Let me tell you, we said the same thing when we first met humans. Now open the boxes..//

  Lacking better ideas he simply picks up the larger egg and cracks it against his workbench. Luckily no egg yolk runs out to cover him, instead it cracks neatly in two to reveal a few strangely familiar objects. There is a blood bag with synthetic blood, identical to the ones he has seen at the hospital when he brings his dad. Next to it is a plastic stapler, which seems self explanatory and is probably more skin compatible than his own. There is also some sort of gel in a tube and finally a single lollipop. It’s even branded, even if he doesn’t recognize the brand. Which is more surprising than the actual lollipop.

  “I don’t know what I expected. Something more alien?”

  //This is alien! For us. Your biology is terrifying and foreign, so we are trying to combine human knowledge with our own manufacturing. Just use it, before you die.//

  Spec diligently picks up the stapler but gets no further, he only looks at it. Is he really going to staple his own skin?

  “Could you… Do you think you could help?” he asks, mustering the courage to look Juin in the eyes as he asks. At least he’s still able to do that much.

  “Yes, yes of course I’ll help. Seems simple enough.”

  Spec lets the bench take his weight as he mentally braces himself.

  Juin quickly seals the wound on his calf before turning the stapler to a small wound on Summer's arm, repeating the process. Spec chastises himself for being selfish and not checking on them. Then he collapses in place, his legs refusing to bear his weight any longer.

  The blood bag is more of a surprise as it squirms and latches onto his arm while Juin is turning it over, looking for an IV. Ten seconds later the entire content of the bag rushes around in his veins. After a quick wash in the sink to remove the blood, the ointment is applied over his eye and over other scratches they find. It leaves a pale blue bubble over each wound and feels like continually pouring water over it. It’s not painful, surprisingly.

  The second egg cracks as easily as the first one. It reveals a small vial filled with a fine powder with a deep red and almost disturbing color, as if someone had collected flakes of dried blood and grinded it down. Maybe his imagination is starting to run a bit wild.

  //This vial contains a cheap stimulant developed in the early days of our arrival on Earth. We would later learn that you humans considered the inspiration disreputable.//

  Spec tried to mentally roll his eyes. He fails.

  “Do I snort it?”

  //If that is your preference. Any orifice will do.//

  “Is it at least safe?”

  //No. It is, however, cheap.//

  He tries to carefully consider the pros and cons of taking the vial and finds he is too tired, so he throws the back contents into his mouth and feels the powder immediately dissolve.

  It feels amazing, predictably. The pain is dulled to a light throb at the back of his mind as he stands up and starts bouncing on his heels, suddenly eager to move. His muscles still feel sluggish and weak, as if they’re used to a healthier body but find themselves stuck with this one. A somewhat depressing feeling.

  “This feels incredible! Why didn’t we start with this?”

  //You would have never stood still for the rest.//

  “As glad as I am that you seem… better at least, we can’t stay here Spec. Can you work that connection of yours to get a weapon?” Juin says with an expression one would give a drunk when they’re on their third bottle. A mix of both concern and annoyance.

  “Probably. Can I?” Spec asks the empty air.

  //Certainly. Let me have look.//

  The girls sit down on the bed in order to not crowd the small space before the bench. They look at him expectantly and he shrugs back.

  “Everything alright?” he asks Rima.

  //Of course! There is quite a lot of merchandise available, I am not used to navigating through it quite yet. What more specifically are we looking for?//

  “Well, I presume I am practically broke, pointwise?”

  //Yes.//

  “And I know quite a bit about messing with corporate chrome but I have yet to fire a gun. So I think we need something cheap, reliable and easy to use.”

  //Then I have three different suggestions. First up is an old bit of mining equipment. It deploys a short-range net of high energy lasers in order to cut rock into more manageable pieces. //

  “Will it turn a CONTACT into mincemeat?

  //At short range, yes.//

  “It’s so weird hearing you talk to yourself. That thing sounds amazing though!” Summer exclaims with deadly excitement.

  //Next we have, for lack of a better translation, the Torus, originally created for gardening of exclusive plants on our home planet.//

  A model of the torus appears in his eye’s view. It’s exactly what the name implies, a donut-shaped chrome ring about the size of a dinner plate and a rim a couple thumbs thick . The sleek, elegant and ultimately harmless appearance fails to intimidate him.

  “How do you use it?”

  //It contains a perfectly shaped edge deployed around the rim of the tool. It is then thrown and remains in flight perpetually. I have taken the liberty of translating the control of the flight path to hand movements for ease of use.//

  Now that sounds more interesting. He does have experience with drones and this seems similar.

  //Finally, I feel obliged to offer you a handgun, of human make and firing armor piercing rounds. Old, crude, but apparently quite reliable.//

  Specs eyebrows rise in surprise. A handgun? It makes sense, humans have a long and storied history of killing each other. He would ask which model it is if the information would give him any insight. It would probably pierce the fat dragons’ hide or it wouldn’t have been suggested. But is that enough? How many bullets would it take to kill even one of them? Could he hit them, or even afford the ammo he would inevitably waste? Ironically the human made handgun presented to many unknowns.

  All options sound surprisingly effective for what was apparently a pathetic amount of points. The mining equipment seems terrifying. Short range however sounds terrifying for all the wrong reasons. He harbors no delusions concerning his fighting capabilities in close quarters. Usually he wobbles along both comfortably and efficiently, but he will never be an athlete.

  Or maybe he’s just convincing himself. The torus is as familiar as alien technology could be. It conjures an image of an efficient and inspired creator, someone who had envisioned a purpose and custom built the perfect tool to achieve it. He would of course butcher that purpose, which is exactly what he loves to do.

  “Let’s go with the Torus..”

  //Excellent! Hopefully, you will enjoy it. I will take the liberty of directly imprinting the control movements in your brain. I am sorry for the discomfort.

  Purchase: The Torus (195 p)

  Balance: 5p

  If Spec's copper eye could bulge out of his head it would have as he stumbles forward. It sure hurts, but mostly he feels violated, as if someone is holding his brain in their hands and is in the process of forcefully kneading it into a new shape. The pressure increases slowly, breath after breath, until his groan grates loudly against his throat and he finally lets out a piercing scream. Then suddenly the immaterial hands withdraw. Spec is left panting for breath in complete silence, once again reduced to resting his weight against the workbench. Juin and Summer look at him with worried expressions, trying to figure out how to help.

  “Water” he finally manages to whisper into the silence as he clutches his head.

  As Juin comes back with a glass of water he looks up at her, surprised she even heard his whisper.

  Wait. It’s completely silent, even the alarms have stopped their wailing. Everyone and everything must have heard his scream. Time’s up.