Mistrunner - Chapter 17 - The Basics

I pity those who were born into a post-Initialization world. Sure, there’s the glitz and glamour of all the new technology, but it’s all an illusion. Pretty, useful things that make us that much easier to conquer and control.

Jeremiah Braddock III

That night, I got a surprise when, as I lay in bed, I pulled up my status. It read:

Name: Mirabelle Lisa Braddock

Class: N/A (Requirements Not Met)

Level: 3 (71%)

Constitution: 5/31

Mind: 6/31

Mist: 4/31

Skills: 7/7

· Cybernetic Interface (Tier 0) – 26%

o Bonuses Applied: None

o Slots Unlocked: 2

· Firearms (Tier 0) – 31%

o Bonuses Applied:

§ 5% Firearms Damage

§ 2% Reload Speed

§ 2% Firearms Accuracy

· Close-Quarters Combat (Tier 0) – 2%

o Bonuses Applied:

§ 5% Melee Damage

§ 2% Melee Accuracy

§ 2% Melee Speed

· Stealth Operations (Tier 0) – 0%

o Abilities:

§ Camouflage (F)

· Combat Utility (Tier 0) – 56%

o Abilities:

§ Triage (F)

§ Basic Explosives Handling (F)

§ Combat Focus (F)

§ Pain Tolerance (F)

§ Resistance (F)

§ Foraging (F)

§ Improvisation (F)

§ Regeneration (F)

· Mistwalking (Tier 0) – 26%

o Bonuses Applied:

§ 5% Misthack Speed

§ 5% Mistwalk Speed

o Abilities:

§ Mistwalk (F)

§ Misthack (F)

§ Mistwall (F)

· Spycraft (Tier 0) – 1%

o Abilities

§ Disguise

§ Deception

In addition to gaining a couple of percentage points of progress in my [Cybernetic Interface] skill, I’d gotten a big jump in [Combat Utility] as well. And it didn’t take long to figure out why, either. For one, I suspected that it was subtly influencing my mind. I knew that killing people – especially dozens of them – was supposed to be a traumatic experience. And it was, to a degree. I still wasn’t okay with what I had done. However, I suspected that it would have been so much worse if I didn’t have [Combat Utility] on my side. There was no PTSD-blocking ability or trait listed under the skill, but if it could keep me focused during combat, I didn’t think it was that far-fetched to expect it to have out-of-combat effects as well.

Or maybe I was just a psychopath. Either way, I didn’t feel nearly as bad about what had happened on the road as I thought I should’ve been. Of course, it would’ve been different if I’d been the aggressor or if I’d murdered people in cold blood; I suspected that there wasn’t a skill strong enough to make me okay with that. But with the situation having been what it was? I was distressingly fine with how things had turned out.

I also expected that I’d picked up some progress from watching Kimiko work. I knew it wasn’t much – after all, it’d only been a half-hour, at most – but it boded well for my future. Suddenly, those abilities at the bottom of my skill trees didn’t look so far away. With that in mind, I drifted off to sleep as I listened to my birthday present.

The next morning, I awoke to a banging on my door. Groggily, I dragged myself out of bed and pressed my hand against the door’s control panel. It slid open to reveal my uncle, who was fully dressed and grinning from ear to ear.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. “You ready for some real training?”

“Uh…I…I guess?”

“Get dressed. Wear this,” he said, shoving a bundle into my hand. I looked down to see that it was a pair of black pants and a matching shirt. A pair of boots appeared in his hands, and he handed those over as well. “I’ll get you four more sets of clothes. From now until I say you’re ready, that’s what you’re wearing. Got it?”

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” he stated. “Now, you’ve got fifteen minutes to get dressed and get downstairs. If you’re late, that’s less time you’ll have to eat your breakfast.”

With that, he strode away, leaving me a little taken aback. He’d never been what anyone would call a soft man, but in that brief interaction, I saw that our relationship, such as it was, had progressed into a new phase. He had discarded his status as my uncle and taken up the mantle of my trainer.

That in mind, I wasted no time in taking care of my business in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, and getting dressed. I went as quickly as I could, but even then, I barely made it downstairs in time to get a bowl of grits and a couple of fried sausages. I scarfed them down in a rush, and Jeremiah led me outside.

As early as it was, the sun hadn’t even begun to rise, but there were still plenty of people about. When I remarked on it, my uncle said, “These people work on a different schedule than back in the city. Nobody wants to be outside the walls after dark.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s when the real monsters come out,” he stated, turning and walking down the side of the street. There were a few gas-powered vehicles puttering about, but most of the traffic was on foot. “But you don’t have to worry about that. For the next eight weeks, you won’t leave the town. Instead, I’m putting you through basic training.”

“What for? I’ve been shooting since I was –”

“None of that matters,” he interrupted. “Your skills are too low-ranked. Your stats are little better than if you hadn’t been Awakened. We’re going to change that. And I’m going to tell you right now – you’re not going to enjoy it.”

“Way to get me excited,” I muttered, half to myself.

“The first four hours of your day will be spent in physical training,” he said. “At first, you’re going to feel like you’re dying. That’s fine. It’s expected. Push through it, and you’ll see your stats skyrocket.”

“And if it’s too much?” I asked, following him as he turned down a side street. A half-mile away was a wide, low-slung building that I expected would be our destination.

“You will progress more slowly,” he said. For a couple more minutes, we walked in silence, and when we finally reached the building, we approached a door. He stopped in front of it and turned to me. “I’m going to tell you the same thing my drill sergeant told me. If you loaf, if you don’t give this your very best effort, you’re only cheating yourself. If you’re going to spend the time to do it, if you’re going to go through all the trouble to train, you may as well make the most of it. I’m not going to ride you. Nor am I going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. You’re almost an adult, now – that Nexus Implant says that you’re old enough to be your own person.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Besides, nobody can make you give something your best effort. That’s on you. And only you. The only question is – do you want to be mediocre? If so, that’s fine. Lots of people are. But if you want to be good, if you want to be great, it’s going to take a lot of time, effort, and will.”

It was one of the longest speeches my uncle had ever given me, and I took his words to heart. I knew why he’d given me the Tier-7 Implant, and I had seen firsthand just how dangerous the world could be. And I suspected that the bandits were just the beginning. There were more dangerous things out there. My survival hinged on the training I was about to receive, and I was wholly committed to giving it everything I had.

“I understand,” I said, my tone leaving no doubt, and my uncle led me inside.

My unflinching resolve lasted all of about thirty minutes.

“I…I’m…I’m going to die,” I muttered between gasping breaths. “This…isn’t…worth it.”

Of course, when my instructor – a fit woman who hadn’t even introduced herself before ordering me to run sprints – blew her whistle, I straightened up and ran the prescribed distance. But in my mind, I kept grumbling right up until, thirty more minutes later, she called for a brief rest.

As I gulped down water, I looked around the building. Right then, I was in a huge, empty area, but within the building, there was also a wicked-looking obstacle course and an area populated by enormous metal weights. It wasn’t long before I was introduced to both.

The weights weren’t that bad – lifting heavy things wasn’t difficult, even if it was tiring. Sure, I was disappointed when I had to use the lightest weights, but I knew I would improve. But no – the bane of my existence proved to be the obstacle course.

The thing was at least a hundred yards long, and it contained multiple sheer walls, rope bridges, tunnels through which I had to crawl, and a host of other obstacles that proved too difficult for me to overcome. But it wasn’t for lack of trying. I even convinced myself that, if I was fresh, I could have finished it. Of course, in the back of my mind, I knew that just wasn’t true. The reality was that I just didn’t have the strength or body control to do the things I would have to do.

Which was probably the point. If it was easy, I wouldn’t gain anything.

Even so, I gave it everything I had right up until my uncle called out, “Okay, that’s enough!”

I’d been trying to climb a rope, and at his words, I let go and collapsed right beneath it. Closing my eyes, I tried to catch my breath, and I didn’t open them until Jeremiah’s voice cut through my blissful rest. “Alright, that’s enough lazing about,” he said. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do today. Next up is four hours of combat tactics. Then another four hours of range time. When you’re done with that, I expect you to spend at least two hours working on your mind puzzles.”

“R-really? That’s…when am I going to rest?” I asked, levering myself into a sitting position.

“When you’re sleeping,” he said.

After that, I began a long eight weeks, during which I was pushed to my limits. Whether it was my physical conditioning, my skill with various firearms, or my mental processing speeds, I grew my leaps and bounds. However, each time I took a step forward, the training program did as well, so I was always just shy of mastering whatever was in front of me.

For that first week, I constantly complained, if only in my mind. I told myself that there was no shame in quitting, that I could achieve the same results with a lot less effort; if I went a little slower, it would just take longer to reach my pinnacle. It was an insidious thought, and I pushed it aside. I had to trust my uncle. If he said my current training regimen was the right way to go about things, then I would give him the benefit of the doubt.

After that, time sort of blended together. I still gave my training every ounce of concentration I possessed, but everything else just faded into the background. In a way, I felt almost like a machine – emotionless and uncompromising. Which I started to believe was due to my [Combat Focus] kicking in.

Or maybe it wasn’t. I had no real basis for that idea, and I’d never been in any sort of comparable situation. However, it probably didn’t really matter, one way or another. If I believed it was responsible, that might be enough. Kind of a placebo effect, but for my mental state.

Either way, by the end of the eight week cycle, I was a changed woman. Not only had my stats seen marked improvement, but so had my skills. After that last day, I opened my status and studied the changes:

Name: Mirabelle Lisa Braddock

Class: N/A (Requirements Not Met)

Level: 3 (71%)

Constitution: 9/31

Mind: 11/31

Mist: 6/31

Skills: 7/7

· Cybernetic Interface (Tier 1) – 98%

o Bonuses Applied: None

o Slots Unlocked: 2

· Firearms (Tier 1) – 91%

o Bonuses Applied:

§ 5% Firearms Damage

§ 2% Reload Speed

§ 2% Firearms Accuracy

· Close-Quarters Combat (Tier 1) – 4%

o Bonuses Applied:

§ 5% Melee Damage

§ 2% Melee Accuracy

§ 2% Melee Speed

· Stealth Operations (Tier 1) – 0%

o Abilities:

§ Camouflage (F)

· Combat Utility (Tier 1) – 91%%

o Abilities:

§ Triage (F)

§ Basic Explosives Handling (F)

§ Combat Focus (F)

§ Pain Tolerance (F)

§ Resistance (F)

§ Foraging (F)

§ Improvisation (F)

§ Regeneration (F)

· Mistwalking (Tier 1) – 27%

o Bonuses Applied:

§ 5% Misthack Speed

§ 5% Mistwalk Speed

o Abilities:

§ Mistwalk (F)

§ Misthack (F)

§ Mistwall (F)

· Spycraft (Tier 1) – 31%

o Abilities

§ Disguise

§ Deception

All of my stats had experienced a good deal of growth. First, my constitution had almost doubled, and because of that, I’d managed to conquer the obstacle course. However, the moment I had – which was about four weeks in – I’d been given a new goal: complete it in progressively lower times. I had continued to make progress to the point where I questioned how I’d ever struggled to complete the thing. Now, I could practically fly through it.

Of course, I had seen a couple of Milo’s “amigos” working on the same obstacle course, which put to rest any feelings of superiority my newfound physical prowess might have engendered. The two men didn’t just complete it; I could scarcely track them as they ran through it, over and over again for almost an hour. It was a humbling display, and one I suspected had been arranged by my uncle. And it served its purpose, too. Not only did it force me to rethink my perception of my own power, but it also gave me something to shoot for.

I saw similar gains in the rest of my physical training as well, and I soon found myself capable of lifting my own bodyweight like it was nothing. If I hadn’t spent those eight weeks so exhausted, it would have been a euphoric feeling. As it was, I hardly had time to notice.

The same could be said for my mental training. Each day, I felt like the instructor – a short, bald man with a glorious mustache – was tasked with seeing if he could cram so much knowledge into my skull that I became a gibbering idiot. I didn’t. Obviously. But more than once, it had felt like I was on the verge of breaking.

The results spoke for themselves, though. In only eight weeks, I’d learned basic combat tactics, geography, map reading, covert tactics, and, most importantly of all, critical thinking. There were plenty of other topics, and we spent quite a bit of those first few days tinkering with my combat interface, but we really drilled down on subjects that would aid me in all sorts of combat scenarios.

That, as well as my nightly logic puzzles, served to increase my mind stat by quite a lot, and I was happy to notice an increase in my calculating power. My memory also grew a lot stronger, which only served to increase my learning capabilities.

Finally, there was the firearms training. Before, I’d spent quite a lot of time at the firing range in my uncle’s building, and I’d thought I was an expert. The first session disabused me of that notion. Sure, if I was standing still – and my targets cooperated by doing the same – I was a great shot. The moment movement was introduced to the mix, I saw just how far I had to go. On top of that, I was taught how to quickly reload and switch weapons – which, despite my top-tier Arsenal Implant, wasn’t as quick as my instructor wanted it to be. In addition, he taught me how to effectively use cover and move in a firefight.

It was an enlightening experience, and, even with how difficult it was, I very much enjoyed my time at the range. My efforts were rewarded with a huge jump in my [Firearms] skill, and, by the end of the eighth week, I expected to reach the next tier fairly quickly. And I was eager to see how that would affect my damage output.

“You’ve done well,” said my uncle. I looked up from where I’d been staring at my empty plate. I’d just eaten a dinner, and, with my eight weeks finished, I felt a little lost.

“Thanks,” I said, giving him an exhausted smile.

“Two days,” he said.

“What?”

“You’ve got two days,” he repeated. “Do with it whatever you want. But after that, you’re going experience the roughest month of your life.”

“W-what?” I asked.

“In my day, they called it hell week,” Jeremiah said with a fond grin. “With your increased stats, you should be able to handle a month. I think. We’ll see, though.”

Hell week? But it was a month? That definitely did not sound good. To keep myself from panicking, I asked, “What happens after that?”

“The real training,” he said. “So, enjoy your two days. It’ll be the last free time you have for a while.”