Chapter 18: Recycled

  “Merde, Allan! What the hell are you doing?”

  I stormed out of the throne room, my boots hammering against the stone corridors. Ariel was hot on my heels, her voice sharp with frustration. I glanced back and was surprised to discover that more than a dozen of Victor’s so-called Chosen Ones had followed.

  “Who were you shouting at? Allan? Wait a minute and talk—”

  She cut off as I pushed open the enormous iron-reinforced gates and we got our first look outside. Fury still burned under my skin, but the sight before me doused it in shock.

  "Merde." Ariel’s voice was breathless.

  "What the—?" I didn’t have the words.

  “Well, fock me. Would ya look at that.” A gangly, red-haired man with adult acne slipped past me, craning his neck to look up. “We’re in a bloody cave then?” His Irish brogue was strong enough to saddle and ride.

  Ropes of luminous vines spiderwebbed the ceiling hundreds of feet above our heads, outlining the cavern in shades of phosphorescent green, blue and red. It was hard to tell, but it had to be miles long, and just as wide. I took several steps beyond the portal, my neck craning as I took in the sight.

  “Quite the view, eh?”

  I jumped, barely stopping myself from striking out. A woman stood beside me, her expression relaxed, completely at ease. She wore animal skins like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I muttered, muscles still tense. Ready. Just in case.

  “You spawn in the castle then?”

  “What gave it away?”

  She cocked a brow and flicked a glance to the open door where a dozen waited.

  “She’s not an idiot, lad.” Replied the Irishman. I glanced at his name and kill count.

  Patrick O'Reilly: Level 2 Human.

  Class: Not Assigned

  Role: Adventurer

  Kills: 9

  “Could you not get in?” He asked.

  The woman in animal skins snorted. “What gave it away?”

  I checked her info. This naming system was damn convenient.

  Radha Choudhary: Level 2 Human.

  Class: Chemical Engineer (Basic)

  Role: Researcher

  Kills: 8

  I could hear Ariel muttering to herself in French, the words barely a hiss.

  “So what’s in there boys, and why weren’t we invited to the party?” Asked Radha. Her dark eyes twinkled.”

  “Eh, you’ve missed a full half o’ nothing, lass.”

  Radha gave me a look. “Can you translate that for me Goldenboy?”

  I grunted with amusement. I’d worked with a bunch of Irish chaps on constructions sites and had a fair idea of the slang.

  But Patrick beat me to it.

  “I’m saying you’ve missed nothing lass. Just a bunch of politicians working their jaws like the world ain’t gone and ended.” He gave a crooked grin. “They’ll be at it for hours yet. I saw my chance to escape and took it.” He tilted his head to me.

  Radha gave me an assessing look, then nodded.

  “Glad to hear it. And the rest of your group? Were you a tribe on the previous stage? The largest I’ve heard of was a team of four.”

  She was asking a lot of questions and giving little in return.

  “Non. We are a tribe of two.” Came Ariel’s voice.

  “Well look at you two. Gold and Silver. Too expensive for my tastes!” She studied me, like a scientist observing a particularly stubborn lab rat. "Not bad Goldenboy.” She said. "Keep surviving, and look me up some time.”

  She gave a signal to a group of four that I hadn’t seen. It didn’t surprise me though. Somehow I'd known they were there. After a moment, I realised I had sensed them, or their nerve impulses or whatever, with my new class specific skill. The group passed through the great wooden doors to the castle, the dozen that had followed me parted as Radha's group vanished within.

  We spent what felt like the next hour or so exploring the town about the castle. Most of the people who had followed me from Victor’s throne room peeled away as we walked, but the irishman Patrick, or Paddy as he preferred had stayed. Ariel was withdrawn. Her eyes flashed as she dove through her menus and she jabbered away to nobody in French. Paddy filled the silence with commentary.

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  I knew there had to be over two thousand of my fellow humans here in this town, but it didn’t feel like it. I’d grown up in the suburbs of a city of millions. The buildings that lined the street, made of rough-hewn stone and shingles, were like something out of a history hologram.

  “What’s the plan then lad? Or are you just looking to stretch your legs?” Asked Paddy.

  The question caught me off guard, having come right at the end of a story about when he and one of his brothers had broken into a bakery to eat pastries. Apparently Ireland had a lot of ancient architecture, and the bakery had looked a lot like these buildings.

  I started to answer him, but a question struck me. “How old were you when you broke into the bakery?”

  “Dunno lad, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Old enough to sneak out o’ my parents house. Young enough that I didn’t know bakers wake up before the crack-of-dawn. My Ma tanned my hide for that one make no mistake.”

  “Didn’t your implant stop you?”

  Paddy frowned. “Implant? Who’d want to run a program like that?” He chuckled. “You must’ve had strict parents, eh? Bit of a naughty lad, were you?”

  His words made no sense.

  I’d been implanted at nine. For those first few years, the AI had been hypersensitive. Any hint of deviant behaviour—any surge in emotion—and it would flood my system with chems. Conditioning me. Training me.

  Was it not the same for everyone?

  We turned from a narrow, cobblestoned alleyway back into the main thoroughfare. A crowd had formed near a raised iron portcullis that led beyond the castle-town walls. We approached, and I realised a ring had formed. Within, two people fought.

  I clicked the axe icon on my hotbar and summoned Ebonrage. It was a comforting weight in my hands, but without my Hatchling Predator perk active, no surge of strength came with it. Shit. I’d hoped my new class would bypass that restriction. I eyed the flaming skull. No. That wasn't me.

  Ariel put a hand on my shoulder. “Hold up Allan, I don’t think they’re fighting.”

  I stalked closer, tense. There was none of the shouting I’d expect from a crowd watching people fight to the death. None of the terrifying cacophony I remembered from the clearing on the previous stage. Still, I kept Ebonrage out.

  As we drew closer I picked out words.

  “—With your lead foot ahead you can make yourself a smaller target. See? Art, take a swing to demonstrate. No not like that. Swing properly. Don’t be scared.”

  Either the software Priorita used to translate into English for me was having a hard time, or this bloke spoke with a Chinese accent that boarded on intelligibility.

  Guan Longwei: Level 3 Human.

  Class: Swordsman

  Role: Builder

  Kills: 17

  He made small movements, avoiding the clumsy thrusts and chops of a sweaty, middle-aged man with a gut that wobbled with each blow.

  “You see? He makes big motions, but I only need small steps. His effort is wasted,” said Guan Longwei. He stepped to the side, dodging a thrust, and as quick as a striking snake his sword was at the mans throat.

  We joined the crowd, watching as the swordsman demonstrated several pieces of footwork. But before long the clang of a clocktower signalled the end.

  “See his level?” Murmured Ariel at my side.

  “Yep.” An ember of anger had flared at the sight. He was the first level 3 I’d seen.

  “Didn’t Priorita say that there would be no conflict in the build phase? That we were isolated from the other civilisations?”

  “Yep.” I replied. Her real question went unasked. If there were no enemies, who had he killed? “Be ready.” I muttered.

  With the lesson ended, the crowd’s focus shifted. Conversation springing up as they dispersed. A tall, blonde lady with the kind of pouting lips I’d always had a weakness for bumped into me as she left the ring. She half apologised, glanced at the name above my head and let out a squeak. She bumped into folks as she fled. I sighed.

  The commotion drew eyes and before long a new ring had formed, with us at the centre. I gripped Ebonrage.

  “Christ lad, they’re on you like flies to shit eh?” Paddy’s words were not quiet, and drew a few chuckles from the folks ringing us.

  “Non.” Replied Ariel. “Like butterflies to flowers.”

  More laughter, and the tension that filled the air was broken.

  Guan Longwei slipped through the ring, raising a hand in greeting.

  “Goodness me, both a silver and a golden warrior. We are blessed to have such esteemed members in our company.” He glanced at Paddy, whose name was white. Then to his hair. “And an honourable red too. Truly blessed.” He offered a hand to shake, but I noticed that he had his front foot forward, offering a small target as he had just taught.

  I took the offered hand, finding his handshake firm. But I was tense, and released it quickly. If this man had killed a human so early in the second stage then we were in real danger.

  To Ariel he gave a short bow. She returned a nod. Paddy pulled him into a tight, one armed hug when he tried to shake his hand. He held him close as he spoke. “Don’t be so formal lad. The worlds gone and ended you know.” His eyes flickered to Ariel and then to me. “And in the spirit of being open here. I’m sure we’d all feel much more at ease if you explained your level.”

  The tension that had dissipated with the earlier jokes suddenly returned. The weight of many eyes. The slight pop of displaced air as weapons appeared in hands.

  "No secrets, Red Warrior. No conspiracy," he said, voice smooth as steel.

  He mangled the word conspiracy so badly that he had to be speaking without Priorita’s translation.

  But as I watched, even pressed against Paddy’s chest, his stance shifted slightly. His free arm hung loose, his hand remained empty. But I could tell he was ready to equip a weapon and strike.

  “Call me Paddy, lad.”

  “Call me Longwei, then.”

  “Aye, lad, Longwei it is. Then Longwei, what’s the word. Who’d you kill?”

  It was deadly silent in the circle. The air fairly crackling with it. With my new Stormsense I could feel as the firing of nerves rose in a crescendo. One of the spectators broke from the circle and ran away, down the street. I tensed, but nobody else moved.

  “I only had 7 kills when I came to this stage. But I have killed nobody.”

  The words sent a chill down my spine. At my back, one of the folks in the ring took a step towards us. I felt it with stormsense and whirled about, pinning her with a glance.

  “Explain.” I growled.

  “Where did you come from, to not know the answer?”

  “That isn’t an answer.”

  “I will trade this information—” Said Longwei, but Paddy cut him off.

  “You’re in no position to negotiate, lad.” The Irishman had summoned a long hunting knife and held it loose in his off hand.

  “Look around you red warrior. These people are more afraid of your shining titles than they are of my level.”

  Nobody spoke for a long moment. My hands shook, but I hid it by gripping my axe ever tighter. This would be so much easier with my perk.

  Ariel let out a disgusted sigh and smacked Paddy on the back of the head. “Men. Seriously. What next? Are you going to whip out your Quéquettes and measure who has the longest? Crétin. Listen.” She turned to the crowd. “There is no conspiracy. We awoke in the Castle. Now your turn.” She stepped towards Longwei. “Have you killed your fellow man, and if so, why?”

  At her words, a ripple passed through the ring. I noticed something I had missed before. Though all were still level 2, many had kill counts between 10 and 15. A higher average than had been in the Throneroom.

  “The castle is unlocked then?”

  “Oui. Now that is two answers. Your turn.”

  Paddy tensed.

  Longwei tilted his head to look me in the eye. His eyes were black and I couldn’t read them.

  “The Recycled are out there.”

  A chill crawled down my spine. “Who?”

  “The losers,” he said evenly. “Not just from Stage One. From every season before this one.”

  The world tilted. A ripple of unease spread through the crowd.

  Ariel’s breath hitched. “That’s impossible.”

  “So is surviving this game,” Longwei said, his gaze steady. “And yet, here we are.”

  My grip tightened around Ebonrage.

  The dead were walking.

  And they were coming for us.

  charm the algorithm into pushing my story ahead of the rest.

  Priorita to my Allan—tilt the odds in my favor, will ya? ??