The car turns out to be an eight wheeled monstrosity armored in slick black plates overlapping its body, giving it a streamlined and predatory appearance. Spec has rushed through the last few hours, going from place to place.

  Kai showed him a small apartment for his father to stay in and he frantically tried to find Juin and Summer to invite them in. They had been slightly wary when he offered them a place to stay, even if it was just a cramped apartment slightly bigger than their hole in the towers. Not unlike his own reaction to Kai offering it to him in the first place. Mostly they had been relieved, especially when he framed it as if he needed someone to keep an eye on his dad while he was out. It’s even true, though he started to wonder if he was ever going to reach a place where everything didn’t need to be framed as a trade.

  Spec takes out a small vial of oil and lets a drop fall onto his eye, taking refuge in the ritual to recenter his thoughts. Now that the stress has left him a knot of worry and anticipation has taken its place in his guts. As he stands there and blinks a few times to clear his vision, two black plates suddenly part to reveal a cramped interior and an only slightly hunched over Kai.

  “Don’t just stand there like an awkward date, come in!”

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you.” Spec answers, still unsure when she wants formality and when she reverts back to talking straight..

  “Isn’t she a beauty?” Kai says as she sweeps her arms out.

  The interior turns out to have that odd mix of deadly efficiency and a personal touch that soldiers seem to put on everything they have longer than a week. Six seats made out of some kind of black gel sit facing each other in one end, while the other end is occupied by an armory. Most of the space is dedicated to a warhammer so big it’s almost comical, if not for the worn grip and slight scuff marks on the clearly augmented head. It screams “I am made for war!”, specifically close and personal slaughter.

  “It’s incredible.” Spec says with awe and wonder he thought had left him long ago, after dismantling so much poorly made chrome. “Why use wheels?”

  “Because if this crashes I’m slightly annoyed, instead of dead.” she says as she walks towards the front of the vehicle. There is no cockpit to enter, instead Kai grabs a wire hanging from the ceiling and plugs it into the port in the back of her head that connects to her aug.

  Noticing his dubious look she laughs and says, “Don’t worry, it’s not one of those slow AI driven ones. My synth’s the driver, we’ll get there in time.”

  “So what do we expect when we get there?”

  “Good question! We have no idea. We’re meeting up with another young Berserker who’ll report on what they’ve seen so far. We know they took hostages, which is rare, though we still don’t know why. It’s a bit of a shitshow but it shouldn’t be too difficult.

  “Hostages? Until they attacked the towers I thought CONTACT were just beasts. I didn’t know they were intelligent, capable of planning.”

  “They usually aren’t. No matter the situation, you need new gear.”

  The gel envelops him as he sits down across from Kai. The embrace feels cold, alien and way too alive for his preference. He has given the gear issue some thought but he’s not sure if she’s going to like his answer.

  As the armored truck starts moving Kai immediately launches into an animated and slightly confusing discussion about the best methods for slaughtering CONTACT and how to acquire said methods. Rima is brought in early on so Kai can berate them for not giving him the full tour of the Exchange. Rima’s words project out of a cheap feature in his copper eye he really thought would be more useful when he installed it.

  It turns out the Exchange is a mess. Most humans know about the massive space station orbiting earth, putting our own measly efforts to shame. What they don’t know about is that it’s merely the endpoint. A massive supply chain spans the systems, bringing weapons for slaughtering CONTACT to all the worlds that are willing to pick them up.

  The space station is an extremely expensive teleporting hub for Berserkers convenience. Who’s supplying all those weapons? That would be the Guilds, as most Berserkers call them. Their government, as Rima translates it even if that word seems entirely insufficient to Spec, buys the weapons and doles them out to Berserkers to use in their everlasting war against CONTACT, while the Guilds compete ferociously to supply those weapons.

  Oh, and the Guilds fucking hate each other.

  So they take measures to ensure Berserkers use their Guild and their Guild only for all their slaughtering needs. This includes having to buy access to their Guild Vaults, making sure their weapons only synergize with other weapons from the same Vault and steep learning curves for their specific controls. All in the name of safety and efficiency of course.

  Pretty tame stuff, in Spec’s opinion. He practically salivates as he dreams about taking some of that alien gear apart and seeing what makes it tick.

  “I’m a Brechen soldier myself.” Kai says with obvious pride, casting a loving look at her hammer. “Most Berserkers specialize in one Guild Vault to reach the higher tiers.”

  //The earthly translations for the Guild names are somewhat fitting.//

  “I don’t remember buying access to a Guild Vault while in the towers.” Spec says as he tries to sift through his muddled memories. The taste of salt and iron briefly visits his tongue.

  //The Torus was handmade and submitted to the Exchange by an individual.//

  “As the first buy goes, that’s certainly a strange one.” Kai says while her amused eyebrows approach the ceiling.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “I want to keep it. It may not be as deadly as a deadly as a gun or as terrifying as your hammer, but-”

  “Great! It’s certainly unique and it may not keep up as you progress,, but for now it saves us points.” Kai interrupts him.

  Spec blinks in surprise and then roots around in his bag as blinking does nothing for his eye. He’s certain he would have to defend his choice. He’d sometimes browsed Echo and marveled at peoples’ theorycrafting for so-called optimal loadouts for Berserkers. Suboptimal didn’t seem like a choice when you defend humanity, but he couldn’t let go of that feeling of command the disc gave him, how it seems to ignore the laws of physics and act on his will alone.

  “If I can use a hammer, you can use whatever you want to rip through CONTACT.”

  “Being as deadly as possible seemed like the only thing that matters.”

  “Spec, don’t be stupid. That’s like complaining to infantry that they’re not piloting a fighter jet. They’re good for different situations, so do what you’re good at.”

  The armored truck charges undaunted across the bridge connecting the two halves of Eastbridge like two siblings connected by a tenuous family bond. Spec’s first time over the bridge is somewhat anticlimactic, as the truck lacks windows. They’re reduced to watching the turbulent sea through cameras. The view and the low dwellings clinging to the bridge pass swiftly by, in stark contrast to their exhaustive discussion.

  He’s sitting at 990 points after detonating the propane tank in the towers, which is more than he expected but not much compared to the likes of Kai. After going over almost every Guild Vault he cannot afford, they finally settle on a purchase that he feels good about and briefly stop to allow the teleports to come through.

  Purchase:

  Saugan Light Armor Model 87 (580 points)

  Standard Argon-36 Core (130 points)

  PSR J36 System - Custom specifications (215 points)

  Balance: 65 points

  The armor he feels certain about. It looks somewhat like a hazmat suit in a dark, shimmering green color and with a hood and a rough texture. It’s like kevlar or synthetics that have been recycled a few too many times and then woven together. The large metal plates attached to the arms and over his chest look more like electronics than protective armor, leaving most of the suit uncovered. The rough fabric will easily resist cuts from teeth and claws while the electronics are reactionary, unleashing a massive shockwave around him in case of emergency.

  The armor is quite literally, otherworldly. He’s never seen anything like it. He’lll never be a natural athlete with his limp and general disposition, but with this armor he’s able to control the torus with ease, while keeping an emergency button to press in a panic.

  The modifications to the torus are trickier. After convincing Rima that yes, he absolutely does intend to open the torus, he’s able to buy what looks like a marble filled with bright blue gas. As he places the ball in the hollow center of the torus it snaps in place, hovering in the middle. It seems to act more as a key than a tool.

  As the glass ball snaps in place a seam opens up along the rim of the torus, splitting it in two. He jumps to reveal the inner workings of the torus, grabbing the top half of the torus in his lap and taking a look inside.

  It’s indecipherable.

  Spec’s never seen anything so wonderful in his life. After taking apart every piece of chrome he could get his hands on, most things start to follow a pattern. Some things are new, some are supposedly revolutionary, whatever the case he can usually decode the inner workings after a few shocks and a dictionary of curse words. It’s often a disappointing experience.

  The torus reveals nothing and everything at the same time. It’s the same feeling he got when he first took apart his father’s tablet as a little kid, understanding nothing at all of what he was seeing but feeling a sense of wonder all the same.

  Transparent cables twine around a metal ring circling the torus, with some cables branching out to connect to what looks like intricate metal sculptures, as if someone had made hieroglyphs in three dimensions. Spec takes a moment to check if his eye is working correctly as he sees the blue liquid that flows freely throughout the small space in the torus. It seems to defy any physics he’s aware of. It flows gently around the metal hieroglyphs in complete disregard to gravity or common sense. He can’t stop smiling.

  The feeling of returning to childhood only intensifies as he closely follows Rima’s instructions to install the modifications they discussed, understanding little but excited nonetheless. The PSR J36 System turns out to be several small metal canisters, which Spec carefully places inside the torus and connects to the wires. As he returns the top of the torus and removes the argon-36 core he takes a moment to pat the gel seat, appreciating the stabilization it provides.

  “So what did that do?” Kai asks as Spec turns the perfect chrome torus around in his hands, trying in vain to find a seam he knows is there.

  “Let’s keep it a surprise” Spec answers with a mischievous smile.

  “You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?” she sighs.

  ***

  They leave the bridge behind them and drive quickly through the north half of Eastbridge. It’s a maze of tunnels and streets running straight through buildings with straight lines and skyscrapers he’s used to. Then they suddenly leave all of Eastbridge behind them and enter the Swedish countryside. The bright yellow of the canola fields meet the clear blue sky on the horizon, the clean lines only broken up by the treelines planted between the fields and some gentle machines slowly trundling along. No human has tolled this earth for decades. They drive along on freshly poured tarmac cut through the fields as if a part of reality failed to render in.

  Small roads leave way for a poorly maintained highway, the low hills are replaced by a forest of birch and oak and excitement turns into hunger and boredom. They eat a light lunch of some fabricated meals Kai keeps in a fridge hidden in the ceiling, then she promptly falls asleep and waves away his questions for later.

  About five hours later they finally roll to a stop outside a deserted town, deep in the Swedish heartlands. Kai wakes up and gets out of the chair in the same movement, only to lie down again in the casket occupying the other side of the truck. Thin mechanical arms descend down from the ceiling, burying her in the heavy plates of her armor.

  Spec waits for her to get up and walk outside before putting on his own armor. It feels soft and dry inside, as if his body is suddenly covered with a light powder, eliminating all friction. He hangs the torus from a loop at his side and walks outside to greet the sun.

  They stand a bit outside the first houses of the town, surrounded by tall trees grabbing for the attention of the sky, leaving the ground for mossy boulders and ferns. He feels… unnoticed. The forest doesn’t care that they’re here.

  No celebrities yell for his attention as he breathes in the smell of the rich earth, no construction workers yell for him to get out of the way as they direct their drones to pour yet another layer of concrete.

  The forest doesn’t care, not about him and not about the abandoned houses humanity left behind just a couple decades ago. Spec has never felt anything like it.

  Somewhere among those houses CONTACT lie in wait, watching them. Spec shudders as he imagines that horrible squelching from their second mouths breaking the peace he just found. He grips his torus and tries to dredge up some courage. This time he’s the one doing the hunting.