-Lecture of Humanities: Mental health and its obstacles towards marketing, 2052
I awoke on the green ocean, yet something was different. I was in a bubble, separate from it, but still able to see it. I saw lights nearby and far away, all connected by strings of green. I feel the bubble and know I cannot move through it.
This is the second time you have nearly had a full mental collapse, Victor. And this time you will not be able to bury it in the depths.
I look to the voice and see an eye in my bubble.
I focused on the last-
Stop, Victor. You are here to recover enough to deal with those memories. Focus on me.
Her voice is mesmerizing, calming, and commands my attention.
We are in your mind, a special space created by the Class II cybernetic augs and your Class II Bionic Neural Enhancements. This is the depths of your network, a place where only we can exist.
Your commanders and the Pylons that connect them. The oceans below them are their own networks, but they are still subordinate to you.
I could feel myself growing more solid as we talked.
Because you did not want to remember, Victor. While this space is normally used to maintain command while the commanders rest, you utilized it in a more unconventional way.
I feel that if I ask the next question the bubble with burst, and something bad will happen. So I don't.
It has been several hours since I activated the emergency recall systems to collect yourself. The battle has entered a wind down and clean up state. You are in your shuttle with Baba Yaga. Don't worry, you have still been receiving points and tokens.
I can tell that was her attempt at humor as her eye curved into a smile.
I can feel myself finish the healing that this bubble is made to do.
She sighs. You forced your trauma here. The newly made ones that you could not handle. The last times you were here, you were testing yourself, building up the strength to remember them. But this time the trauma was too great for that.
This place is not meant for storage, Victor. You tried to fit a physical book in a tablet. It was a miracle it worked in the first place.
I could feel the bubble dissolving, and myself sinking below the green ocean.
You must face this, Victor. But remember, you are not alone. I will be here.
Before I could respond, the bubble popped, and I remembered.
The shelter in the Megabuilding is filled with people. People I couldn't save, people with worms poking from their faces. People with families, lives, goals, dreams. All snuffed out, eaten by the worms.
And I killed them. I shredded their bodies, stole their money, and though I could remember their faces in memory of them, to honor them.
But all I remember is their dead, vacant eyes and the red mist in the air. The eyes that remind me that I was not fast enough, that I was not strong enough to remember them. Thousands of people, and I killed them.
The walls of the base were below me, made of the bodies of those I failed to save, as I looked at the toad in the distance. I thought it was weary of me. No, it was smart. It was weary of the launcher. I gave the launcher to Blizzard, told her it would attack me. I saw the thorn peirce the barrier, pushing aside the hardlight, not breaking it, then I saw it hit Blizzard.
I killed her. She put her trust in me, and she died for it. She trusted that I would be able to dodge the toad's attack, to draw its aggro, but I failed to consider that higher numbered antithesis are smart. I failed to know what it was capable of, to ask Synaptic what it could do.
Synaptic.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Victor. Listen to me. You are a Commander, a Vanguard. You will have to make decisions that will end in casualties. You are eighteen, and even though your brain is remarkably enhanced, you are still young.
No one deserves this sort of end, Victor. But death comes to all. Could you have done something differently? Yes. But the past has already happened. No Protectors technology can change the past. All you can do is learn what went wrong, and strive to never do it again.
I was silent after that. I let my thoughts linger on Blizzard, and her final action. She fired the launcher, she killed the thing that killed her.
I slowly rose to the surface of the ocean.
He may not. Maybe not for a long time. Or, he may surprise you.
*****************************
I opened my eyes and saw the cockpit roof above me.
“Welcome back, Victor.” Baba Yaga said.
I scrunched my face in confusion. She shouldn't be aware of the deep network. “Where did I go?”
She cackles,” To sleep, child. Bah! No humor from you, eh? Though, I suppose that makes sense. A lot happened.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, “A lot.” I sit up, finding that I am on a cot that was built into the wall. “What's going on?”
She smiles, “The battle is done for you and some others. The cleaners are descending the tunnels, Leman and Hunter are staying behind, having a friendly competition. Doma gave the all clear a moment ago, so we are heading back to The Family HQ for a debrief.” Her face falls a bit, “I made a stasis chamber for Blizzard’s gear. There was nothing else to save.”
I grimaced, “How many others fell?”
“Three others. Dust Devil, Angel Wings, and Weapons Locker. While the Model Forty Fours were taken out quickly, and the central pillar was removed from play, the Thirty Threes still managed to deal substantial damage before Heracles could deal with them. Thankfully, once the Fifty was above ground, Gunny took care of it before it hit the ground."
I slump a bit. Four Samurai died when we had thirty l descend. I tried to connect to Morrigan, but a massive migraine prevented me from doing so.
While your ego healed, you still overclocked your actual brain with that stunt you pulled. You do not have the medical utilities necessary to heal that, as that would require Class II medical utilities. Or, rest for three days.
“I think I will rest for now, Synaptic.” I chuckle, then stop. That action hurt, why did laughing have to hurt. “Baba Yaga, could you let Morrigan know to focus on EMC countermeasures and better detection methods for finding Thirty Threes. Then stronger shield generators, using the data from the Forty Four.”
“Done and done, Victor. I would get you some food, but this shuttle doesn't have a kitchen or pantry, so we will have to borrow some from The Family. Speaking of, we have arrived. Here, lean on me.”
She helps lift me up, which I need as walking is a very new experience when I could only sort of feel my legs. Walking out of the shuttle, I see other Samurai leaving my other shuttle and a few other vehicles. We are on a rooftop landing platform instead of the normal garage, and I close my eyes as the sunlight above is painful. My helm was retracted and I couldn't muster up the thought to pull it up.
Baba Yaga walks me inside, and after a time we enter a conference room. Sitting down in a chair on the front row, I open my eyes and see everyone else. Many have tired but satisfied eyes, but a few are like me, mourning the loss of those who fell.
Doma walks in, glances at me with an inscrutable look, then takes the stand. “I won't waste your time, as we are all tired. The assault is basically complete after sixteen hours, with The Groupies and the Mad Pack scouring the tunnels with the other volunteers for any remaining antithesis matter. The new variant Model Forty Fours were surprising, but thanks to the rapid response of War Games, they were dealt with before they caused even greater losses. The fact that the central pillar was a Model Fifty was beyond all calculations, but once again, War Games acted swiftly and dealt with it before it awoke. There will be a private memorial service In two days to honor the lost. Rooms are available for use and food will be brought in shortly. Baba Yaga, could you help War Games up and follow me?”
Baba Yaga places a hand on my shoulder, the question asked silently. “Please and thank you.” I whisper. She nods and helps me up.
As we entered the hallway behind Doma, I felt the air around me lift me up and carry me. We travel in silence, taking an elevator down a floor and walk to her office. Once inside, I see an assistant turning on a boxy machine next to a couch. Doma laid me down and Baba Yaga helped administer an iv to my arm connected to the machine, followed by a few patches with wires. Doma stands above me, a wine glass floating over to her.
“You look like shit, Victor.” She says, her voice unable to hide her exhaustion, but a small smile on her lips.
“Plesse, don't make me laugh. I apparently cooked my brain down there and doing anything other than breathing hurts.” I say with my own small smile.
She furrows her eyebrows, “Cooked your brain?” She asks while looking at the machine.
“Synaptic, please?” I ask, unable to voice the full question.
After the death of Blizzard, he forcefully broke through a safety blocker and assumed direct control of the entire swarm of nanites, hero units, and minions, using them as his new body for one minute. This caused both his brain to operate beyond safe limits, as well as his ego to begin to dissipate. It took me several hours to help him regain himself, but he doesn't have anything for the brain damage he sustained.
A look of concern overtakes Doma's face, then she pauses, obviously talking with someone. Her expression relaxed afterwards. She takes a seat on the arm of the couch near my head, draining the wine glass. “You did a lot, Victor. You saved dozens of Samurai and the millions of people in New Phoenix. Take pride in that, Victor, if nothing else.” She takes a deep breath. “And I don't blame you. No one has the right to blame you.” I look into her eyes and see she is sincere.
I feel tears flow down my face as the medicine from the machine hits my veins. I can feel it pulling me to sleep. “Thank you,” I croak out before darkness consumes me again.
******************************
Doma
I look down at the child, at Victor, and all I can think is that the world is cruel. No one should have to comfort a child as one does a soldier, no child should have to be comforted like that. No child should ever have to suffer through survivor's guilt, and a child should never have to shed tears of relief because they were told the most obvious thing.
My hatred for the antithesis boiled, yet I had nowhere to release it. The hive was gone, those toad bastards tuned into balls of hyper condensed matter that Baba Yaga consumed with relish. I look at the crone, knowing she was not even a week old, yet also older than I. Time for an AI was relative, Black Log once explained to me, and the higher the Class the AI is, the faster they mature.
“The meds will keep him sedated for a day, brain damage is not a fast fix.” I say.
The crone nods. “Good. He needs the rest.”
“Make sure he doesn't go out again for a week, at least. He has been flagged as needing a forced break by our medical systems.”
“He will want to go to the memorial.”
I nod, “The exception, then. He will not participate in the Bestlé raid, nor any other fucking hives that may rear their ugly heads.”
This child has done too much already. It's time for the adults to so their jobs.