Punish the System - 7

Once Connor put one foot in the Dungeon, everything shifted.

His spine snapped into alignment with a whispering click, like a safe being unlocked. His breath steadied and the buzz behind his eyes, the nag of old injuries, the dull knot in his knee from too many nights on concrete floors was gone. Not numbed. Gone. Like they’d never had the audacity to exist. Inside this Dungeon, it was like he’d become the best physical version of himself he could be. No pain. No confusion. No drag in the joints. Connor felt like a cog slotted into the right machine, after weeks of chewing gravel. The weight of the gun at his hip shifted and became brighter somehow.

He froze mid-step past the threshold. Billowing fog curled around him. Then his foot touched down. And the silence thickened. There was no noise at all. And it was a… stadium. Or had once been. He seemed to have appeared right in the middle of it, with empty stands rising around him in the distance in broken tiers, half-swallowed by slick grey growths like coral made of regret. The pitch itself was cracked marble, veined with rust and frost lines. Giant floodlights stood at crooked angles, their glass blackened or missing, buzzing faintly with static that had never been electricity.

Above, there was no sky. Just more fog, sitting heavy where a roof should’ve been. Occasionally, a pulse moved through it, like blood behind a curtain. The scale bent in strange ways. The far walls never quite settled in his vision, and the fog that ringed the edges wasn’t just thick.

And there was a new message.

DUNGEON CONDITIONS: Optimal
SENSORY LAG: Compensated
INTEGRATION SCORE: +12%

SHIELD STRENGTH: 100%

“Would you like me to quickly go through a Dungeon tutorial,” Izzy said, peering at him over her sunglasses, “Or would you prefer I shut up and let you die? In a most horrible way?”

“Those feel like two quite opposed options. How about we start with exactly how dangerous being in here is and work our way up from there?”

“It’s a baby Dungeon. Training wheel stuff, really. It’s the sort of thing most Candidates would look to clear in the first few days of their world being integrated.”

“Okay. Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. So I shouldn’t be too worried?”

“Oh, no. You absolutely should be. Especially as this Dungeon has never been officially cleared, which brings with it all sorts of uncomfortable questions. Plus, because this planet’s System is not properly online, you don’t have a Class, which ‘normal’ Candidates would do.”

Connor checked and then rechecked his gun. He couldn’t find any way to put his mana saturated bullets into it. Was he supposed to… trust that would work? 

“Well, colour me intrigued. Just so I know what I could have won, how would the whole Class thing have worked out for me?”

“Well, you’d have started with a Base Class,” Izzy said, pausing her movement near the bottom of his vision, “Something like Fighter, or Scholar, or Rogue. You know, one of the classics. But then you’d have been able to branch out. Hybridise. Customise. Had you wanted to be a Chrono-Medic with AoE healing and time-stop? Sure, we could have done that! Or did you have your heart set on being an Arcane Chef who buffed his allies with flaming soufflés? Done and done! I’ve read about Candidates who selected Bardbarian. They screamed and sang at things. At the same time! How delightful that would have been! Oh, and the Abilities you could have had, too! Active ones with cooldowns, passive ones that would have triggered based on your mood swings, environmental bonuses, conditional crits… Oh! And Traits! I’ve read of some Candidates getting a Trait just for not dying during the tutorial!”

There was a pause in the outpouring of information and Izzy’s voice became almost mournful. 

“But I do not think any of that will be available to you, Mr Connor. Isn’t that just the saddest thing in the whole universe? And now, here you are. Alone inside a Dungeon. Without a Class. What a shame!”

“Yeah. I guess. And I got a message about a shield?”

“Indeed, Mr Connor. Whilst inside a Dungeon, everything is wrapped in a little invisible bubble of mana which is nothing more or less than Resilience given shape. The higher a Spine score in that attribute, the thicker the walls around both a Candidate and a monster. However, this protection isn’t infinite. Each blow will chip away pieces until, at the very last sliver, the whole thing will shatter. It’s important to know that a shield will mend itself if you can slip out of combat long enough to catch a breath. Basically, though, a shield will absorb all incoming damage until… well, until it very much won't.”

“And what happens then?”

“Then, Mr Connor, you begin, I believe the term is that you will be ‘rawdogging’ damage. I would probably recommend avoiding that wherever possible. As previously mentioned, I’m afraid I shall not be able to do all that much effective healing again.”

Connor had all sorts of more questions, but then a targeting reticle flickered across his vision, then blinked out. He didn’t think it was exactly an aim assist, but more like a feeling of alignment with his weapon. Which was cool. He felt he could grow to like that.

While Izzy continued to whitter on about shields and damage, he moved forward into the Dungeon. The ground beneath his feet was cracked and veined with pale lines like frostbite. Considering the devastation a charging Troglonn had caused outside the hospital, he assumed it might well have been one of them that caused this.

 Or a whole bunch of them. 

Well, wasn’t that a comforting thought?

“I’m sensing you are suddenly feeling a touch nervous, Mr Connor. Would it soothe you to hear my considered thoughts about what I think might have caused all this strange kerfuffle to come about?”

“I mean, not really, Izzy. Not right now, anyway. Time and place and all that.”

 The space around him seemed to be fairly wide and open, but ringed by milky fog and the thirty-foot tall stands. There were no doors around the pitch to access them. Connor thought he was on his own, but then a sound came. A drag. Something wet.

He turned.

At the very far edge of where he could see, just where the densest bits of mist sat, a shape slunk loose from the floor. As though it had once been part of the surface and had just remembered otherwise. The thing limped forward, its head at a tilt as if listening for orders. Its torso was too wide and looked as if it had been badly stitched with wire. In its left hand, a snapped-off chair leg trailed across the floor, leaving a greasy smear.

“Interesting,” Izzy said, lifting her sunglasses and floating close to where the creature was approaching. “I was expecting this to be a Dungeon of exclusively Troglonns. But that’s a Carsenil. They’re… well, let’s just say it would be best to take it down from a distance.”

Connor didn’t need telling twice, he raised his gun and took aim. The target reticle bloomed without warning. It blinked once, aligned with the shambling figure and tracked it. Adjusted. Settled. Then he fired.

The air didn’t just shift, it buckled. The muzzle flare was a twisting blur that dragged the world sideways for half a blink, making his vision swim. He didn’t miss the number of bullets in the corner of his vision change.

MAG-SPOOLER: 4 Saturated Bullets remaining

For a moment, he worried that wasn’t going to be enough. Five shots into the Troglonn hadn’t made any impact at all. However, the effect on this monster of just one was considerably different. It didn’t crumple around its wound. It detonated. The bullet, if what he’d fired actually qualified as one and not as an RPG, hit the Carsenil mid-chest, and it exploded up and outward like a firework of wet cloth and bloodied wire. Thread, lint, splinters, and teeth, all lifted into the air as if a frog had been struck by a centrifugal god, then dissolved into a pixelated haze. 

There was no corpse left. Or even any trace of one ever being there.

A second of perfect silence followed. Then his gun hissed as if it were venting heat. The barrel blinked, then a countdown started in his HUD. Ten seconds. His shoulder throbbed from the kickback in sympathy for the dispatched creature, but only slightly. 

“Well. That’s a way to say ‘hello,’” Izzy purred.

Then something else moved.

Two more of the cloth and wire things, crabbing toward him from opposite corners. One had a lampshade where a head might’ve gone, stitched in place and leaking blue like a broken aquarium. The other had arms that didn’t match. One looked like a mannequin, smooth and jointless, while the other was roped with fur, like it had been sawn off a dead dog.

Connor adjusted to face the first, left foot forward, knees bent just enough to brace for the recoil.

The reticle blinked back into focus, not just hovering now but tracking each figure independently, flicking from one to the other like a suggestion. It buzzed in rhythm with his breathing. He didn’t question it. He accepted its aim and fired, switched focus and fired again.

Each shot made the air bend, not as violently as before, but still enough to make the mist pulse. Two hits. Two more ruptures.

The lampshade-head dropped first, the blue light sputtering out as its spine folded like wet cardboard. The fur-armed one took a half-step before its chest crumpled inward with a sucking hiss and it dropped to one knee, then vanished, drawn down into the marble with the same dreamlike finality.

MAG-SPOOLER: 2 Saturated Bullets remaining

The first cooldown ended and his ammo ticked back up to three. 

Connor felt the number rise, not just saw it, but felt it, like pressure equalising in his skull. Okay, he thought. Five rounds. One regenerates every ten seconds. I’ve worked with worse.

Izzy raised her hand at the edge of her vision. 

“Oh, oh, Mr Connor! Mr Connor!”

“How about we don’t do that again?”

“Fine. I just wanted to let you know that, technically, you’re currently carrying a pocket forge built to siphon neutral mana from the Dungeon’s ambience and fold it into ammunition. How cool is that!”

“Hang on. So,” Connor tried to get his head around that. “So, it’s not that I’m reloading. I’m regenerating?”

“Correct. Whilst inside the Dungeon, your gun will feed itself. It's practically eco-friendly.”

Connor looked down at his gun which, at least on the outside, looked pretty much the same. 

“Cool. So can I make it store more than five shots? You know, stack it up a bit?”

“Now you’re thinking like a Candidate!” Izzy said, offering him a hive-five and then slapping her own hand. “The answer is ‘yes.’ With effort. The chamber is defaulted to five because you’re new, soft, and liable to drop things. But with focus and intent, you could… persuade the System to stretch. Eight. Ten. Maybe thirteen, if you’re especially trigger happy!”

“Thirteen rounds?”

“Unlucky for some. But if you want a bigger mag, you’ll need to prove you can handle the kick. Form follows familiarity.”

Connor nodded slowly. 

“So, with effort, I can just… make more bullets?”

“Yes, indeedy. Manifest. Manifest until it hurts, Mr Connor.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but then noticed that something glowed around where the last creature had become vapourised. It appeared to have left something behind. A wireframe silhouette in mid-collapse, and at its heart, a mask. It looked as if it was made of stitched silk, delicate as cobwebs, and overlaid with rusted iron wire in the shape of a human face. 

Connor reached out and it folded neatly into his palm. It had no weight to it.

YOU HAVE RECEIVED A NEW ITEM!

NAME: Mask of the Known Stranger

TYPE: Armor

SLOT: Head

CLASS: Rogue (LOCKED)

EFFECT: Grants the wearer +2 Stealth and -1 Recognition by Lesser Entities

“Neat,” he said, and flicked it upwards. The mask dissolved mid-air and tucked itself into a corner of his mind. Having a spatial inventory was nice, but what the hell was it with a mask he couldn’t use? “I guess I can’t wear this then?”

“No, Mr Connor. As you can see, that item is locked to a Class and, as I have mentioned, that is not something you have. Incidentally, are you yet ready to hear my wider thoughts on that? I allocated a not inconsiderable portion of my operational runtime to consider the circumstances around how I came online and, combined with what we are witnessing within this Dungeon, I think I have some conclusions. Are you ready to hear them or are you still too busy with all the shooting?”

Connor sensed he was probably not getting any peace until he let Izzy share her theory. 

“Sure. Hit me, but make it snappy.”

“Hit…you? Oh, okay. I see. After reviewing approximately seventy-two percent of your planetary data archives, by the way, you people are unhealthily obsessed with cats pushing things off shelves, conspiracy theories, and half-naked Viking dramas, I’ve arrived at a working hypothesis as to what is occurring.”

“Which is?”

“Earth has obviously been seeded for an eventual full System Integration. I can identify numerous events in your history where the appropriate infrastructure has been quietly scaffolded within your existing cultures. Nothing explicit, but just enough to begin preparation for your eventual onboarding into the wider System.”

“This needs to be much snappier, Izzy.”

She stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry. 

“The System seeds in advance in order to create a more graduated situation which allows for timely adjustments by Galactic Oversight. Low-grade ambient mana infusion is the gold standard, with plenty of opportunities for small-scale anomalies to be squished and effective baseline exposure. The goal of all things is to stabilize your species and formally prepare you before full Systems Integration is deployed. 

It is manifestly clear to me, though, that humanity is still quite some distance away from the actual event itself. Several centuries, I would predict, based on your current rate of technological, ethical, and organisational development. Possibly longer, given your internet comment sections. Most well-regulated Galactic systems don’t just flip a switch and say ‘Congratulations, you now have colossal and unregulated powers! Let’s see how this works out for you!’ That, after all, is how you get fungal god cults.”

“Okay. Well, that all sounds objectively horrifying.” Connor really felt that he needed to shoot something again.

Izzy fluttered up and around before settling into the middle of his sight. 

“I am part of the foundational layer for Integration, Mr Connor. Integration Sprites are one of the earliest passive elements that are established on planets. We are buried away and meant to activate just after the Planetary Core comes online. Our role is to offer guidance, onboard new Candidates, distribute Classes, and to explain how not to set yourself on fire with beginner-tier spells.”

“Excuse me,” Connor said, raising his own hand. Then felt rather silly about it. It appeared Izzy was catching. “But isn’t the whole point that without a Planetary Core you can’t do any of that?”

“Well remembered, Mr Connor! No, as you say, I can’t do any of that. At least, not yet. Which therefore makes my activation somewhat of an anomalous situation.”

“So, to summarise, you’re telling me you’re an accidental software install from the future?”

“Indeed, Mr Connor. Although, for clarity, Sprites don’t glitch. We respond to external stimuli. Something, some massive, uncontrolled surge of ambient mana, must have triggered an emergency bypass in my integration protocols. Certainly, it was powerful enough to baffle my restrictions, and essentially tricked my runtime into thinking the System was live.”

“And then you woke up. Poof. Just like that?”

“Indeed. Poof. Fully active. At which point I saw you dying and I did what I was built to do. And after that? Well, here we are.”

“So I got shot, and the universe thought it was a good time to turn magic on?”

“Now, on that aspect of the timeline, I am unclear. Certainly, something definitely went bang, but I have, as of yet, been unable to find a source signature. There has been, as I have mentioned, no Planetary Core activation, no mana stabilization, and no extra dimensional handshake. There was, however, an undeniably noticeable spike which triggered my activation. And, as we can see, there is an active Dungeon in play. That too would have required sufficient ambient mana to come online.”

“Great. So I’m alive because you misread a surge and thought magic had arrived early.”

“But it’s nice to be the first, isn’t it?”

A thought suddenly popped into Connor's head. Leather Jacket. Not the man himself, but how fast the take down had gone wrong. One second he was walking away, the next he’d turned, impossibly fast, and his gun was firing.

What was it that had Izzy said? A massive, uncontrolled surge of ambient mana. Was that something Leather Jacket had caused? Did he, perhaps, have a Sprite of his own?

Then his reticule suddenly sprouted and connected to something in the fog.

He looked that way, but couldn’t quite see it. Not all at once. It was just a glint at first, like light catching the edge of something that shouldn’t reflect. He started to move toward it and, as he did so, the fog thickened, then buckled, then grudgingly parted as if it had been warned to do so.

It took just a few more steps, but then a shape came into focus. It was a crooked pedestal like it had been driven up through the marble by force. On it was some sort of crystal, but not an especially pretty one. It was tumour-like and wrong in a way that everything in this dungeon had been so far. Black veins spidered out from it and into the base, driving through that and into the floor with a tremble Connor could feel in his molars.

WARNING!

YOU HAVE DISCOVERED: Dungeon Core

NOTE: Destroying this object will collapse the Dungeon permanently.

REMAINING MONSTERS: 3

RISK: Minimal

“You can choose to crush it and dispel the Dungeon, or we can exit and leave it open. I should note that it would appear that by entering the Dungeon, Mr Connor, you have released all of the built up pressure, so you do not need to worry it will imminently purge any further creatures into the normal world.”

“What’s the benefit in not closing it down?”

“It’s always nice to have an XP farm. Or a loot sandbox,” Izzy shrugged. “It’s a baby Dungeon, but there should still be some decent stuff on its loot table. Especially as you don’t appear to have any issues dealing with the mobs. You’ve been one-shotting through their shields and… well, them really. It’s your call.”

Connor went to answer, but then paused. Because beyond the pedestal, out in the fog, he thought he saw something moving. And he didn’t think it was just another of the cloth and wire mobs. It seemed to be watching him. But then it faded away when he looked again. Gone. He was damned sure he’d seen it. He didn’t know why, but he sensed it would be to his benefit not to close this Dungeon down. Not yet.

He looked back at the core.

“Okay,” he said. “ It’s not like anyone else can just waltz in and close it, right?”

“Right,” Izzy nodded emphatically. “No one without a Sprite will even be able to see it.”

Connor thought about it some more. The fog held its line around the stadium, dense and still. He needed to properly explore this some more. Collapse could wait. 

“Fair enough. There’s too much I don’t understand. Let’s leave it be for now.”

“Wise choice, Mr Connor. Leaving a controlled instability for later exploitation? That’s textbook pragmatic, Candidate greed. It’s lovely to watch you grow.”

Connor holstered his gun and let the buzz of the fight bleed out of his shoulders. Then paused.

“Apparently, I’ve still got three targets left, don’t I?” And, somehow, he didn’t think that included whatever strange presence he’d noticed in the fog.

“Ding ding ding! And three bullets. You could wait for the next refresh and walk out with full pockets, or... treat this like a training field. You may even be able to expand your chamber, perhaps even with different ammunition profiles.”

Connor looked at the gun again, then at his HUD. Five rounds max, and quickly ticking back up. But the interface flickered at the edges, like it wanted to be pushed.

“Different profiles?”

“Sure, one day you’ll get the good stuff. Shaped rounds, AoE bursts, more elemental nonsense. For now, though, let’s not run before we can walk.” Izzy wagged her finger at him. “Try the basics. Mana is mana. But how it manifests? That’s down to will, image, and intent.”

He nodded and redrew his gun and focused.

The air stilled, his HUD glitched, and then…

MAG-SPOOLER: Round Type Selection

TYPE: Split-Load Ammunition (x2 Bullets)

MAXIMUM LOAD: 6 Rounds

DESCRIPTION: Fires two mana-forged projectiles in rapid succession per trigger pull. Each shot deals 60% base damage but counts as a single round for cooldown and ammo count purposes.

NOTE: The bullets are optimised for crowd control and mid-range suppression. Recoil is slightly increased. Accuracy penalty applies after 10 metres.

Connor read it twice. “So it’s an auto double-tap, basically?”

“Functionally, yes,” said Izzy. “Except instead of wasting your second shot in panic, the System kindly fires it for you. Think of it as helpful overkill.”

The remaining three creatures immediately popped into the open, one with a doll’s torso stitched sideways across its back, the other dragging a rusted length of fencing like a leash, while the third had no head at all, just a bulb of wire pulsing red.

His reticule triggered on all three and he fired two rounds, with the split-load hissing like tearing silk. One of the creatures exploded, another staggered and burst apart in a cloud of wet cloth and the third shrieked as it was struck. 

Three more dead. Quick as lightning.

Izzy clapped enthusiastically. 

“We are cooking with gas now, Mr Connor! I mean, granted, we’re cooking a tiny baby Dungeon rated for morons, but still. Go you go!”

Connor decided to take that as a compliment. There was probably one in there somewhere. 

“Do I get to make more bullets?”

“You’re welcome to try, Mr Connor. But mana retrieval within a Dungeon is fiddly. But if you hurry, the one that didn’t explode might still be bound to the Dungeon Core.”

Connor ran over to the one monster that hadn’t exploded and crouched near where the round had splintered through the beast’s chest. His fingers brushed a soft blue coin of light. He pressed it and it flickered, then winked out.

YOU HAVE RECEIVED AN ITEM!

NAME: Saturated Bullet
QUANTITY: 1

“Like finding change in the sofa,” he whooped.

“Remember, Mr Connor. That will only work when the body hasn’t fully dissolved.”

“Duly noted.”

He turned, eyes drawn back to the wire-and-silk mask hovering in his inventory. 

“So what’s the deal with this? If I can’t use it, should I leave it here?”

“No. Not at all!” said Izzy. hands clasped around her face in a show of horror. “Of course, it is not currently equippable by you, but if you are able to locate a Crafter Sprite, it will be able to reforge it into usable forms. Even one you can use outside the Dungeon. It will blend System logic with real-world anchors. It might become a charm. Or a hood. Or a bracelet that might choke you in your sleep. Who knows? Variety is the spice of light.”

“And you can’t do that for me?”

“Nope. Nada. Not at all. I’m an Integration Sprite. Crafter Sprites are… kinky.” Izzy pushed her sunglasses up her nose and then did a cartwheel. “Not all Sprites are as chilled and relaxed as me.”

Connor had so many answers to that. He decided to keep them all inside. 

“And how would I find a… Crafter Sprite?”

“Dungeon Drops, mostly. Maybe not from a baby one like this, but if you can find more advanced ones, sure.”

He tucked that information away for later.

“Anything else I should be doing before I leave?”

A new message unfurled across his vision like ink on warm paper.

SYSTEM ALERT!

YOU HAVE COMPLETED A DUNGEON RUN

MONSTERS ELIMINATED: 6

CORE STATUS: Active

LOOT COLLECTED: Mask of the Known Stranger (x1), Saturated Rounds (x1)

XP EARNED: 800

“Well, well,” Izzy whispered. “Look who’s growing teeth.”

*

“I know you told me to ‘shut up and leave you alone for a moment,’ but I find myself the bearer of both good news and also some bad news,” Izzy trilled.

Leaving the Dungeon had left Connor feeling uncountably tired. Izzy said something about ‘cross-dimensional travel being an acquired taste’ and, if that was the case, he had quite definitely not acquired it. He’d therefore been lying on the ground in relatively pain-free silence for a good few minutes and would’ve been quite happy to extend that into a lifelong policy. 

Thus news, of any type and flavour, felt unnecessarily bothersome.

“Before I ask,” he said, eyes firmly closed, “Is the good news actually going to be good news, or is it going to be the sort of thing that you feel is good news but actually turns out to be something deeply horrible wrapped in unhinged optimism? Like you suddenly using 800 XP to ‘force open my Class Pathway’”

“I have to say, Mr Connor, I do think you’ve been unnecessarily snippy of late. I explained that doing that was the only way to allow you to continue to develop. And it appears to have worked. Even if you did cry like a little girl as I did it.”

“Bite me, Izzy.”

“Okay, well, I don’t really know how to respond to that. Moving right along, the good news is that I can confirm absolutely no innocent bystanders were alerted to your fight with the Troglonn. The Dungeon incidenting clicked in, even though you were fighting a creature technically purged from a long-uncleared node. So that’s absolutely wonderful.”

Connor opened one eye. “Seriously, absolutely no one noticed anything amiss?”

“You’d be surprised how effective the spatial bubbles are. Also, how deeply unobservant the vast majority of people are in the normal run of things, Mr Connor. And around System activity, non-Candidates get a sort of… haze with an added perception lag. To tell you the truth, we could probably detonate a small warhead and most people would just blame it on the smell of the bins.”

Connor groaned and sat up. 

“So what do they think happened?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess. However, that question does segue somewhat into the bad news. I believe the two security guards currently approaching may have drawn the wrong conclusion about you lying around on the carpark floor.”

Connor squinted toward the far end of the lot. Two figures in navy jackets and hi-vis jackets were striding across the tarmac, walkie-talkies in hand and expressions that said ‘not again.’

“From the messages coming from their little handheld squawking things, they seem to believe you’ve passed out on hospital property after drinking too much. Possibly mid-theft. The one on the right seems quite invested in doing something about it. I remain unfamiliar with much Earth slang, but what does ‘rough up the slag,” mean?”

Connor sighed and started patting himself down for anything resembling dignity. 

“Wonderful. I always wanted to get beaten up by security after clearing a Dungeon. It’s important to have goals.”

“Oi! You!”

Connor sighed. Just a few more moments of quiet. A few more moments to lie with cracked ribs and a vaguely pulped spine under the soft glow of malfunctioning lights. Was that too much to ask? Apparently, yes.

The two security guards continued to power-walk across the car park with the self-assurance of men who hadn’t just been hit several times in the face by a Dungeon monster.

“Sir, you can’t lie down there!” the first guard barked. He was about a foot shorter than Connor and about twice as wide. “This is hospital property.”

“Tell him that technically we’re in a System-declared neutral instance zone, so that assertion lacks dimensional standing. And also, you don’t like his hair.”

“Be quiet for a moment,” Connor said.

“You do not tell us to be quiet,” the second guard snapped. He was even squarer than his colleague and with a moustache that belonged in a disciplinary hearing.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Connor said. “I was talking to…”

“Sir, are you drunk?” Non-moustache fat lad said, poking Connor in his chest.

“Oh, how I wish.”

“Hold the front page, Mr Connor. I have some most excellent news! Those 800 XP were not spent in vain! You are now the proud owner of a stable array! You now have core values, Mr Connor! Also, please note, your recent spectacular kill awarded sufficient XP to override your null-class flag and initiate matrix activation!”

“That’s…wait, what does that mean?”

“Sir,” growled Moustache, “Stand up. Now!”

“I am standing,” Connor protested, one knee wobbling under him. “Just… very slowly.”

The first guard circled behind him. “What’s your name?”

“Connor.”

“Connor what?”

“…Do I have to tell you that?”

“Yes!” both guards said in unison.

“I was just checking,” Connor said, “What with you both being rent-a-cops and having no authority beyond having the right to tell me to have a nice day. Izzy, can you just explain how that XP thing worked again?”

“Of course! Your defeat of the Troglonn as a Level 0 Candidate caused a soft-error flag to be overwritten by cumulative XP inflation. Then you cleared the Dungeon and I used the 800 XP earned to forcibly cause you to enter the stat matrix. Whoopie! Although, it appears that no Spine Points have been allocated for your victory. Which is a bit of a shame.”

“Okay. Well that sounds like… news.”

“Sir!” Non-moustache pretty much bellowed, “If you don’t stop talking back to us, we will have to restrain you!”

“Firstly, let’s be clear I wasn’t talking to you. And secondly, on your best day neither of you is going to be able to do so much as braid my hair.”

“So who else were you talking to?” said Moustache. “There’s no one else standing here!”

“That’s because I’m a neural-assist Integration Sprite!” Izzy said.

“Which I hope clears that up for you,” Connor said, nodding vigorously.

“Drugs,” Non-moustache said, giving his friend a significant look. “That’s what this is. Drugs. And lots of them. You on something, pal?”

“I’m on the edge, that’s what I’m on.”

“Do not sass me, mate. We’ve got you on CCTV.”

“Confirmation,” Izzy buzzed. “Your stats are now set-up and ready to go. Operation Level Up the Human is go, go, go!”

“Thanks for that,” Connor said.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” said Moustache.

“Not especially. I just have a voice in my head that’s too perky for words.”

The first guard tried to snap a plastic restraint around his wrist. 

“Right. We’re calling this. You’re coming back inside with us.”

“What? Why?” Connor said, pulling his arm free.

“You’re clearly a danger to yourself and others, mate. The best thing we can do is get you sectioned.”

Connor winced as his arm was re-yanked behind him. 

“You have to let me go!”

“I have to do nothing, mate.”

“I’ve run the numbers, Mr Connor, and you can absolutely take both of these guys.”

“You are not helping, Izzy!” Connor shouted.

“Too right Izzy isn’t!” said Non-moustache, “Whoever she is.”

They each grabbed an arm and started dragging Connor back towards the hospital with all the care and attention of hitmen escorting a nark into the woods.

It had been a long few days for Connor. What with the shooting, and the body bag, and all the nurses and the whole System thing. So, right now, he was absolutely not on board with being manhandled by Tweedledum and Tweedledee. 

He twisted, shifted his weight, and dropped suddenly, one knee bending and the other foot planting hard into the ground. Moustache overbalanced, and Connor rolled his shoulder to bring him down in a half-turn that left the man face-first on the tarmac. Non-Moustache flinched at the sudden violence and tried to put added pressure on Connor’ wrist.

“Let go,” Connor said. “Now!”

Unsurprisingly, the guard did. 

Connor took a moment to adjust his crumbled shirt, took one breath to make sure nothing new had snapped internally, and bared his teeth at Non-moustache.

“Mate, you are hospital security, not law enforcement. You have no statutory authority to detain, restrain, or eject me from hospital grounds without just cause. And, what is more, the moment you laid hands on me, you overstepped your remit under the Private Security Industry Act 2001. I’d strongly recommend you call your supervisor and ask them to read it to you, because there’s all sorts of long words and you might get confused.”

Moustache wheezed something from the floor about procedure, but Connor was having none of it.

“Unless you’re very lucky, and very quiet, I will have both your names on a complaint by noon. That complaint will be escalated. And that escalation will include the CCTV footage of you restraining a civilian without consent, ignoring a medical condition…” he gestured vaguely to his bruised everything “... and, by the way, failing to call an ambulance. In a hospital.”

Both guards stared. One made a half-hearted grunt of protest, but neither moved.

“Go on then,” Connor said, nodding back to the sliding glass-doors. “Run along back inside. Maybe read a little. The door signs have syllables too.”

The two shook themselves down and sloped off, grumbling, but not quite apologising, heads down like boys caught vandalising a bus stop. Connor watched them go.

Izzy was silent for a long moment until Connor was done.

“So…Would now be an appropriate time for me to tell you more about Class Pathing?”