Mistrunner - Chapter 40 - The Beginning of the End

There’s a skill for every situation. That, as much as anything, is a source of hope. However, it is a shallow thing, mired in so much dread that it’s barely even relevant. Still, I’ve tried to lace my natural cynicism with a thread of optimism, no matter how thin.

Jeremiah Braddock III

“Is there a story behind the new haircut?” asked my uncle, looking me up and down as I plopped down beside him. I shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the inn’s common room, but I didn’t see Jo anywhere. She was probably sleeping it off – the “it” being a month’s worth of adventures that had been crammed into a single week. I had barely slept, and my vacation had been anything but relaxing. We had visited every part of Mobile, taking advantage of the small number of credits I’d been given by Jeremiah to great advantage. And I’d discovered quite a few things about myself along the way.

First, no matter how much alcohol I drank, I couldn’t actually get drunk – a fact I discovered when she and some of her friends acquired a few cases of beer. Even while they all drank themselves into oblivion, I remained stone-cold sober, which highlighted two things. Most notably, I really, really hated the taste of beer. But perhaps more importantly, I realized that drunk people are incredibly annoying when you’re the only sober one around. Still, I muscled through it, even making sure that nobody did anything too stupid.

Second, any questions about my sexuality were answered when one of Jo’s friends, Lane, took an interest in me. He wasn’t the most handsome boy I’d ever seen, but it wasn’t far off. And he liked me! I won’t go into too many details, but among the firsts I experienced during that week was my very first kiss. And it was perfect. I could only hope that I’d have enough time to explore it further.

But for now, I had my training to worry about.

“You got back two days ago, and you’re just now noticing?” I asked, flicking my hand through my white-and-pink curls. “For shame.”

“I noticed,” he said. “I just didn’t have a chance to talk to you about it. You’ve been going non-stop with those new friends of yours since I got back into town.”

I glanced at him, and with more hope in my voice than I wanted, asked, “Do you like it?”

He gave me a rare smile, saying, “It looks good. Not terribly practical for carrying out stealth operations, but yes, Mirabelle – I like it. Reminds me of your mother, actually. She wore her hair almost just like that when she was your age.”

“She did?” I asked. The woman I remembered kept her hair in boring braids that let her work without getting hair everywhere, so his statement was a bit of a revelation. Perhaps I was more like my mother than I really knew.

Not that it was what I wanted, of course. She’d squandered her opportunities, opting for an average life that got her killed. She’d actively chosen to be defenseless, and she had paid the ultimate price. That wouldn’t have been so bad – after all, people could do what they wanted with their own lives – if she hadn’t robbed me as well. I had grown up without parents, all because she was too afraid to take the opportunities my uncle had offered her. We might have had the same taste in hairstyles, but we were nothing alike. Not where it counted.

“Of course,” he said, reaching over and flicking my hair. “I think every girl goes through the side-cut phase these days. It was a bit of a niche back in my day, but I do like it. It looks good on you.”

“Thanks.”

For the next couple of minutes, neither of us really said anything. I could tell by his glassy expression that Jeremiah was reading something on his HUD, so I remained silent. Instead, I studied the inn’s other diners only to be disappointed when I saw that they were mostly the same crowd that ate breakfast there every morning, save for a couple of newcomers that were sitting in the corner.

One was an unassuming woman who looked average in every way. It was only because of Observationthat I noticed her at all, and I suspected that the rest of the inn’s occupants – with the exception of maybe Jeremiah – were entirely unaware of her presence. The other stranger was a big, beefy man with arms that looked like they were as big around as my waist. He was also in possession of the most glorious mustache I’d ever seen; thick and voluminous, it grew out of his sideburns. Wearing a bowler hat, he sat across from the woman, but never actually spoke to her.

After a bit, Jo’s mother appeared with a plate of eggs, bacon, and, of course, grits. However, this time, the normally white grits had a bit of a yellow tint to them. When I asked about them, she said, “We got a shipment of cheese in yesterday.”

“Cheese?” I asked, thinking about the yellow-ish goop available in Nova City. I’d never much cared for it, if I was honest. It always had a weird texture, and it tasted more artificial than other similarly manufactured food products. “Seems like a waste.”

“Shut your mouth,” my uncle said, the distracted look fading away. “You’d be saying something different if you knew what you were talking about.”

“I’ve had cheese before,” I said.

“You’ve had what passed for cheese back in Nova,” he stated. “Not real cheese. Go ahead. Try it. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”

I eyed the wrong-colored grits for a few seconds before grabbing the spoon and digging in. I only got a little – after all, I was extremely skeptical – before hastily shoving it into my mouth.

I think that was the moment I realized just how terrible life in Nova City really was. The flavor exploded in my mouth, overwhelming my taste buds. It wasn’t the slightly chalky stuff I was used to. Rather, it was rich and savory and entirely complimentary of what was quickly becoming my favorite food.

“Ohmigod,” I mumbled, the words unintelligible because I’d quickly shoveled another heaping spoonful into my mouth. “S’amazing.”

Jeremiah, as well as Jo’s mother, chuckled, but I didn’t care that they were laughing at my expense. I just had to get as much of the bowl’s contents into my stomach, and as quickly as possible. I hardly even paid attention to my surroundings as I scraped every last bit of it into my mouth. I might’ve broken a grits-eating record, I gobbled it down so quickly.

When I’d finally finished, I guzzled down some water to combat the salty flavors and settled into a more sedate pace as I polished the rest of my meal off. After I’d downed the last bite, my uncle gave another chuckle, saying, “I’ll never get tired of seeing you so happy.”

“Really?”

That came as something of a surprise to me. He wasn’t the doting type. Sure, he’d always looked out for me. He had always protected me. But he’d also denied me plenty of luxuries. I might’ve been confined like a fairy tale princess in a tower, but I hadn’t lived like one.

“Really.”

“I…uh…I think I found my new favorite food,” I said, my eyes flicking back to the corner booth. The two newcomers were still there and my eyes still wanted to slide away from the woman. Part of that was because the big, mustachioed man was so prominent, but I was certain that there were other factors in play.

“Noticed them, huh?” Jeremiah said, following my gaze.

“She’s using a skill.”

“She is. What kind do you think it is?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes, considering it. “Probably something like [Spycraft], but it’s a much higher tier than mine,” I said. “I don’t know. There’s more to it, though. A lot more. I feel like I wouldn’t have even noticed her if it wasn’t for the fact that they’re the only strangers here. And because I just got Observation.”

“You’re right,” Jeremiah said. “The second part, I mean. Her skill is a lot more complicated than [Spycraft], though. Come on. I want you to meet them.”

He stood up and, before I could object, crossed the common room to where the pair were sitting, I followed meekly, and when I arrived, the woman asked, “Did she see me?”

“She did.”

“Interesting,” was her response. Her voice was just as unassuming as her appearance. “I’ll do it, then.”

Jeremiah nodded, responding, “You can drop the skill, Vana.”

With an annoyed expression briefly disrupting her otherwise placid features, her figure shimmered, and where an unassuming person had once sat, there appeared a slim woman with dusky eyes. She was pretty, held back from being gorgeous by a sharp, overlarge nose. Her hair was midnight black, and her eyes glimmered violet, announcing the presence of her optical implant.

My jaw dropped, and I breathed, “How? My skills can’t do that.”

“Practice,” she said with an impish smirk. “And lots of time. Believe me – you’ve barely scratched the surface of what your skills can do. You’re probably pretty strong by the standards of this backwater, but out in the real world? You’d get eaten alive. And I’ve agreed to help usher you along and teach you how to survive once the training wheels come off.” She gestured to the huge man across from her, adding, “Simon here, too.”

I glanced at the muscular man, taking in his full appearance. If I’d ever seen anyone with more muscles, I couldn’t remember it – which was saying something, considering I grew up around Nora. He had the features of a brawler, with all the lumps and misshapen pieces that came with it.

“You don’t look like a Simon,” I said.

“Oh?” he asked in a surprisingly genteel voice. “And what do I look like?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Something like Brick, maybe? Or Crusher. You know, normal mook names,” I answered.

“And that’s what I am to you?” he asked. “A simple mook?”

“Uh…no?”

“Is that a question?”

“I don’t –”

“Leave her alone, Simon,” the woman said, grinning. “You know that’s exactly what you look like. It’s like you came from the Henchmen R Us megastore.”

“Ugh. Really? That’s your reference? That hasn’t been relevant in a hundred years. Literally,” said Simon.

“Your face isn’t relevant,” she muttered.

“Anyway…these are going to be two of your teachers for the next year,” Jeremiah said.

“A year? I thought we were almost done with the training,” I said, a bit of a whine in my voice. While I liked training, I was eager to see the end goal And now, instead of only a few more months, I was in it for another year? That didn’t seem fair, but I knew better than to object.

“Things change,” he stated. “With Vana and Simon available, I couldn’t pass it up. They’ve agreed to stay here for the duration of the last phase of your training.”

Vanna gestured at him with a piece of bacon, saying, “So long as you hold up your end of the bargain, we’ll teach this little girl everything she needs to know.”

“Consider it done,” Jeremiah said.

“What are you doing for them?” I asked.

“Not your concern,” he said, a predictable response. He loved me and trusted me, but he would never be the type to share unnecessary information. I’d long since gotten used to that about my uncle. “What you need to be concerned with is your schedule going forward. Check your messages.”

I focused on my HUD, and sure enough, there was a blinking icon denoting an unread message. When I opened it, I saw the schedule. For the first part of every day, I would be meeting with the Mistrunner, Helen. After that, I would have classes dedicated to my various [Combat Utility] abilities; those would take up most of my day. Then, I would spend time on the firing range, running various courses for my instructors. After that, I would be trained by Simon in [Close-Quarters Combat], which was his specialty. Finally, my day would end with instruction from Vanna in [Spycraft] and[Stealth Operations]. All in all, I would be going for at least fifteen hours of every day, which would leave little time for sleep, much less recreation.

“That’s…that’s a lot.”

“It takes sacrifice to be the best,” my uncle said. “Your skills so far, they’ve been relatively easy to advance. Going forward, you’re going to be hitting the higher tiers. You may even evolve one or two of your skills. As that happens, things will become much more difficult. The only way to combat that difficulty is by working harder for longer. As always, though, you have a choice – if you don’t think you can do it, we can head back to Nova City right now. You’re prepared to survive. But if you want to thrive, know that this is still only the beginning. You will always need to continue your growth. The training will never stop.”

“I’m not giving up,” I said, having made my decision before he even brought it up. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“She’s got a little steel in her spine,” said Simon. “I like that.”

“You’re just looking forward to beating her up,” countered Vanna.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he just gave a helpless shrug. Jeremiah ignored them both, focusing on me as he asked, “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Well, if you’re sure, then we’d better get to it, then,” he said. “Come on. Helen’s waiting.”

I rolled my eyes, which brought a fit of giggling from both Simon and Vanna. I guess it wasn’t just me that thought he was overly dramatic. Still, I hurried to follow him out of the Dewdrop Inn and into the heavily traveled street. The people of Mobile were nothing if not early risers, and we had to weave through plenty of traffic before we reached the building I dreaded the most – the one abandoned residence Helen had claimed for herself. It was a small building, but, since her arrival, it had gained a fresh coat of paint and all the amenities someone like her could want. My stomach knotted up the moment I laid eyes on it.

It wasn’t that I disliked my [Mistwalking]training. Because it was mostly comprised of doing mathematics and solving puzzles, I actually found it very satisfying. However, I couldn’t say the same for my trainer. Helen was, to put it mildly, a sour woman who clearly thought she was better than everyone else. And given what she’d shown of her abilities, I couldn’t really dispute that attitude. With a flick of her mind, she could overwhelm a fort’s defenses or completely disable an opponent’s cybernetics. I knew this because, to train my Mistwall ability, she’d subjected me to her attacks, over and over again. To call it unpleasant would have been quite an understatement.

Even so, it was necessary. The last thing I wanted was for my own defenses to come up short when it mattered most. So, after we went inside and I settled into the seat across from the woman, the torture began. And to my surprise, it didn’t let up until she called an end to our session.

“What? We’re not going to do puzzles or work on my other abilities?” I asked.

She shook her head. “You can do that on your own time,” she said. “For now, you need a strong defense. I’m sure that, after meeting that harlot Vana, you can see why.”

“Huh?”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “You did not make the connection, I take it,” she said. “Fine. She uses a skill that affects the minds of anyone in a certain radius. I am sure that you felt it.”

I nodded. “You’re talking about the skill that made her easy to ignore?” I asked.

“I am. Mistwallis a versatile skill that does more than just shielding you from other Mistrunners,” she said. “It also offers some protection against mental skills like what that…woman uses. You will need it functioning at the highest level if you are to follow her training. She is a detestable person, but she is talented enough at slinking through the shadows like a lowly thief.”

“Uh huh,” I muttered.

“In any case, our allotted time has come to an end,” she stated in her clipped manner of speaking. It reminded me of the doctor that had installed my cybernetics. She flicked her fingers at me. “Begone. And remember to do your training programs in your spare time. I will know if you slack off.”

Using all of my willpower, I managed to stay silent as I left her building. But as soon as I was out on the street, I muttered, “What free time?”

After that, I made my way to the low-slung building that contained the obstacle course, and there, I met with the same instructors who’d been teaching me for months. They were a combination of Milo’s amigos and other town residents, and they went over the various components of my [Combat Utility] skills. First, I was with Kimiko, who’d taken time out of her busy schedule to continue to teach me about emergency wound treatment. It was mostly theoretical knowledge, but soon, we would progress to more practical applications.

After that, Jorge lectured me about edible plants and animals, as well as different tricks to finding water in arid environments. He also let me in on his plans to teach me different bushcraft methods, including basic shelter construction. Given how much zoological knowledge we would cover, it almost felt like I was back in school – though this time, I knew he was teaching me accurate information.

Finally, that block of time ended with the best part – explosives handling. Again, this was taught by Anna, who took to it with her characteristic gusto. Her excitement was contagious, and besides, who doesn’t like the idea of blowing stuff up? Not that we had that chance on the first day; that would come later, I was sure. For now, I had to be content with merely learning about different, increasingly complex compounds.

After that came my time on the range, which saw me being taught by a trio of instructors. First came Milo, who taught me things about handling a pistol that I never even knew I needed to know. None were big changes, but I could see how, once I mastered the different techniques, Ferdinand II would be that much deadlier.

Next, I was instructed by one of the amigos, Gildar. He was a short, slight man who carried a drum-fed, automatic scattergun that looked as if it would knock him over the moment he fired it. To my surprise, he handled it with fluid finesse, and under his tutelage, I knew I would find new ways to use my own, oft-forgotten scattergun.

The last part of that block was the first time I’d received instruction from my uncle since leaving Nova City.

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, standing before the rifle course. It was a combination of long-range and short-range targets, all moving and designed to force the shooter to constantly adjust, just like a real battle. “Jorge’s going to take over most of the time. But when I’m in town, I’ll be teaching you. Now, let’s see what you’ve learned.”

I was eager to show off, so I hit the course running. And over the next couple of minutes, I cleared the whole thing more quickly than I ever had before. I didn’t miss a single target, and I skated between the different obstacles like I’d been born for it. So, I was more than a little surprised when my uncle said, “Okay, so the answer to that question is ‘not much.’ I should have known.”

“What? I ran the course perfectly!” I insisted.

“You ran it like a drone,” he said. “Like a normal soldier. You’re not that, Mirabelle. Never think that you are.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, but you will,” he said. Then, he proceeded to break down the run, one step at a time, pointing out every single thing I did wrong. Some were easily understandable – like a misstep here or there – but others sounded like he was asking far too much from me. For instance, he spent an entire minute chastising me for leaving my toe out of cover. A single toe! I wanted to scream at him that my toe didn’t matter, but he’d anticipated my outrage.

“What would happen if someone shot that toe?” he asked. “Just a single stray bullet, and you’d be limping along after that. It wouldn’t stop you, right then and there. You’ve got too many skills and too much Constitution for that. But it would slow you down and make the next shot that much easier. Before you knew it, you would be bleeding from a dozen wounds and wondering how everything went so wrong, so quickly. That’s the point, Mirabelle. You can’t afford mistakes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, do it again.”

I did, and this time, I was thinking so much about all the things he’d said I did wrong that I ended up taking twice as long to clear the course. However, he didn’t seem to care about the extra time, telling me that it was a better attempt. Or rather, his exact words were, “It’s still shit, but it was better than last time. Go again.”

And so it went until he told me it was time for me to report to Simon for my instruction in [Close-Quarters Combat]. When I asked when I was supposed to eat, he tossed me a ration bar.

“So, it’s like that, then?” I mumbled to myself. But I didn’t waste any time before tearing into the tasteless brick, downing it with a bottle of hastily drunk water.

My time with Simon was at least as revelatory as my uncle’s instruction, and he found even more fault with my melee techniques than my uncle had with my rifle handling. However, he was much nicer about it – even jovial, often grinning as I corrected my mistakes.

Finally, the end of the day loomed over me as I met with Vanna. She didn’t have her skill active, so her normal appearance was on display.

“You’ve had some instruction in avoiding notice, have you not?” she asked.

I nodded. “A little,” I said. “I’m decent at it.”

She snorted. “You’re an amateur until I say otherwise,” Vanna said. “So, here’s how we’re going to play it. I’m going to give you a few tips and tricks this afternoon, but tomorrow, we’re going to do things a little differently. Basically, we’re going to play a little game. I’ll designate some hunters – maybe some of Milo’s amigos; they’re good enough for this – and you’re going to be their prey. We’ll start in town, but in a few months, we’ll move outside. Manage to evade them, and you’ll get a prize. Fail, and you’ll be punished. What do you think about that?”

“Uh…what kind of prize?”

She clapped her hands together sharply, and a manic grin spread across her face. “That’s the fun part! It’s a surprise! Now, let’s get started. You’re going to need all the help you can get before tomorrow.”