Continuing on with my short story, "A Fold in the Rift," the title of which I hate, by the way. Please, send me suggestions on that one as I progress. Part one was posted last week and is available here. Again, I'm writing this on the fly, then I'll go through the editing process and clean it all up. It's like real life writing! I'm trying quite hard to avoid my long form writing; it's a challenge for sure, but one I will keep working on. On to the text:
Strictly speaking, there was a whole song and dance Zeke was supposed to do to calibrate his unit. He blew through the bare minimum required, tweaking settings on the fly, his body craving "the game" in the same way a junkie needs another fix. He could even see his jitters and his shakes, the feedback from the unit advising him that his wound up state could impact performance. Hey, it was called twitch gaming for a reason.
Zeke finished with the setup application and bounced back to the home screen of his console. He jumped straight into his gaming system, "Mist," the menu changing over with a flourish of color, sound, and...scent?
"They better not have coded in corpse smell," Zeke muttered. Still, he was floored. How did each new sensation feel more real than, well, reality?
Glancing up at the top of the frame, Zeke saw that Tyrin was online and already in session, playing a ranked game of "Warfighter 4: Beyond Sirius." Reaching out with his hand, he tapped the icon to join the match, his finger dipping into the floating icon, the object rippling over his flesh like space jello. It felt cool to the touch, with a rubbery texture. Zeke saw that the system had even correctly set his skin pigmentation to match his actual flesh, making his virtual hand indistinguishable from the corporeal counterpart.
The maxed out GPUs in his rig didn't waste a single iota in rendering the level, so that in the blink of an eye Zeke was standing on a high ridge overlooking a cratered battlefield, hulks of destroyed vehicles still burning in the background while immediately before him a new menu floated, letting Zeke pick his soldier load out.
"Zeke, that you?" a voice sounded in Zeke's ears, the game adding a radio effect, making the message sound as if it was coming through a secure channel.
"Dude, you can't imagine how much hurt I'm about to bring," Zeke said by way of greeting.
"You wish," Tyrin replied, not believing him. "Grab a scout kit and spawn at delta. There's a squad of rocket troops we need to flank."
Zeke closed the channel and smirked.
"Tyrin, you have no idea."
Instead of picking the scout kit, built for speed and stealth, Zeke picked an assault kit, one of a myriad number of options in the game's multilayered rock/paper/scissors system. Instead of sneaking around, an assault kit carried heavy weapons and armor to wipe out enemy infantry, other gamers in the case of this ranked match. His kit selected, Zeke spawned in, and almost immediately regretted it.
"Whoa!" he cried out in panic, his mind disoriented, his vision swirling. "They weren't joking about calibration."
Clamping down on his runaway panic, he managed to get a grip on himself and stop the drunken spin that his mind was stuck in. Once things wound down, though, Zeke was blown away by what he saw.
"Oh my God, it's beautiful," the words slipped out of his mouth involuntarily.
Everything he saw on the battlefield, what had once been pixels and polygons, was now pure art. From the glint of the sun to the smell of the acrid smoke, his senses were assaulted by the reality that came with standing in the middle of an alien world. He wanted to just stand there, to focus his eyes on the smallest detail, blades of grass, a strange blue bug, his own body and the strength that surged through it inside his soldier's armor. Not his soldier's armor, his own armor. This was his body now, and it was amazing.
"Man, I can kill everything," he said, grabbing his rifle off his back, amazed at the texture he felt through his fingers and palm.
"Zeke, what the fuck, man?!" a voice rang in his ears.
Turning, Zeke saw Tyrin moving towards him, crouching behind a rock to avoid enemy snipers.
"You were supposed to spawn as a scout!" his friend protested.
"No way, Tyrin," Zeke said. "Time for me to top the boards and move up the circuit!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tyrin said, letting Zeke actually see his friend's puzzled face through the visor of his helmet.
"Just watch," Zeke said smugly.
Taking off at a dead sprint, Zeke followed the markers Tyrin had laid down to show where the enemy was hiding. Leaving his friend in the dust, Zeke boldly jumped atop a ridge, precariously balancing on its edge as he ran, the sheer drop taking him directly behind the dug in enemy soldiers. As he reached their position, the sun cast a long shadow behind him, which fell ominously over the troops, alerting them to his presence.
"Too slow," Zeke grinned wolfishly as he vaulted off the tan rock formation, his body flipping through the air as he fell past the multitudinous strata.
He landed in a crouch behind a boulder and lobbed a grenade, the weight in his hand a tangible thing, the neural feedback astounding. Timing his moves to match the explosion, he burst from behind the rock as the grenade went off, wiping out two of the enemy soldiers, the points for each kill tallying up in his peripheral vision. He let out a burst from his assault rifle, cutting down two more men, then sprinted forward to viciously descend on the last man who was fitted with a cumbersome rocket launcher and thus was slow to react.
In one fluid motion, Zeke slung his rifle and pulled out an plasma knife, diving forward and tackling the man to the ground. With a single swipe he ended the man's virtual life, chopping the head clean off with his glowing weapon, warm blood splattering up onto his torso and mask so that he had to wipe it away with an armored glove. Standing up, Zeke looked around at the carnage he had wrought, literally out of breath from his actions. It hadn't even been close to a fair fight. His hardware was too slick to even be touched by these noobs.
"Holy fucking shit," Tyrin said behind him, only now catching up. "What the hell are you?"
A.C. Harrison
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter.
Strictly speaking, there was a whole song and dance Zeke was supposed to do to calibrate his unit. He blew through the bare minimum required, tweaking settings on the fly, his body craving "the game" in the same way a junkie needs another fix. He could even see his jitters and his shakes, the feedback from the unit advising him that his wound up state could impact performance. Hey, it was called twitch gaming for a reason.
Zeke finished with the setup application and bounced back to the home screen of his console. He jumped straight into his gaming system, "Mist," the menu changing over with a flourish of color, sound, and...scent?
"They better not have coded in corpse smell," Zeke muttered. Still, he was floored. How did each new sensation feel more real than, well, reality?
Glancing up at the top of the frame, Zeke saw that Tyrin was online and already in session, playing a ranked game of "Warfighter 4: Beyond Sirius." Reaching out with his hand, he tapped the icon to join the match, his finger dipping into the floating icon, the object rippling over his flesh like space jello. It felt cool to the touch, with a rubbery texture. Zeke saw that the system had even correctly set his skin pigmentation to match his actual flesh, making his virtual hand indistinguishable from the corporeal counterpart.
The maxed out GPUs in his rig didn't waste a single iota in rendering the level, so that in the blink of an eye Zeke was standing on a high ridge overlooking a cratered battlefield, hulks of destroyed vehicles still burning in the background while immediately before him a new menu floated, letting Zeke pick his soldier load out.
"Zeke, that you?" a voice sounded in Zeke's ears, the game adding a radio effect, making the message sound as if it was coming through a secure channel.
"Dude, you can't imagine how much hurt I'm about to bring," Zeke said by way of greeting.
"You wish," Tyrin replied, not believing him. "Grab a scout kit and spawn at delta. There's a squad of rocket troops we need to flank."
Zeke closed the channel and smirked.
"Tyrin, you have no idea."
Instead of picking the scout kit, built for speed and stealth, Zeke picked an assault kit, one of a myriad number of options in the game's multilayered rock/paper/scissors system. Instead of sneaking around, an assault kit carried heavy weapons and armor to wipe out enemy infantry, other gamers in the case of this ranked match. His kit selected, Zeke spawned in, and almost immediately regretted it.
"Whoa!" he cried out in panic, his mind disoriented, his vision swirling. "They weren't joking about calibration."
Clamping down on his runaway panic, he managed to get a grip on himself and stop the drunken spin that his mind was stuck in. Once things wound down, though, Zeke was blown away by what he saw.
"Oh my God, it's beautiful," the words slipped out of his mouth involuntarily.
Everything he saw on the battlefield, what had once been pixels and polygons, was now pure art. From the glint of the sun to the smell of the acrid smoke, his senses were assaulted by the reality that came with standing in the middle of an alien world. He wanted to just stand there, to focus his eyes on the smallest detail, blades of grass, a strange blue bug, his own body and the strength that surged through it inside his soldier's armor. Not his soldier's armor, his own armor. This was his body now, and it was amazing.
"Man, I can kill everything," he said, grabbing his rifle off his back, amazed at the texture he felt through his fingers and palm.
"Zeke, what the fuck, man?!" a voice rang in his ears.
Turning, Zeke saw Tyrin moving towards him, crouching behind a rock to avoid enemy snipers.
"You were supposed to spawn as a scout!" his friend protested.
"No way, Tyrin," Zeke said. "Time for me to top the boards and move up the circuit!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Tyrin said, letting Zeke actually see his friend's puzzled face through the visor of his helmet.
"Just watch," Zeke said smugly.
Taking off at a dead sprint, Zeke followed the markers Tyrin had laid down to show where the enemy was hiding. Leaving his friend in the dust, Zeke boldly jumped atop a ridge, precariously balancing on its edge as he ran, the sheer drop taking him directly behind the dug in enemy soldiers. As he reached their position, the sun cast a long shadow behind him, which fell ominously over the troops, alerting them to his presence.
"Too slow," Zeke grinned wolfishly as he vaulted off the tan rock formation, his body flipping through the air as he fell past the multitudinous strata.
He landed in a crouch behind a boulder and lobbed a grenade, the weight in his hand a tangible thing, the neural feedback astounding. Timing his moves to match the explosion, he burst from behind the rock as the grenade went off, wiping out two of the enemy soldiers, the points for each kill tallying up in his peripheral vision. He let out a burst from his assault rifle, cutting down two more men, then sprinted forward to viciously descend on the last man who was fitted with a cumbersome rocket launcher and thus was slow to react.
In one fluid motion, Zeke slung his rifle and pulled out an plasma knife, diving forward and tackling the man to the ground. With a single swipe he ended the man's virtual life, chopping the head clean off with his glowing weapon, warm blood splattering up onto his torso and mask so that he had to wipe it away with an armored glove. Standing up, Zeke looked around at the carnage he had wrought, literally out of breath from his actions. It hadn't even been close to a fair fight. His hardware was too slick to even be touched by these noobs.
"Holy fucking shit," Tyrin said behind him, only now catching up. "What the hell are you?"
A.C. Harrison
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter.
RSS Feed