Dynamis | Chapter 16 - Game (Patreon)

Karl opened his eyes, rubbed them, then scrambled for the clock on his bedside table out of fear that he’d missed class. He tapped the button on the digital box. 4:38 popped up in red lettering. Relief swelled through his muscles. He wasn’t due to be in class until 6:00.

He rolled to his back and stared at the black-and-white speckled ceiling. The ambient light of a lava lamp blanketed his room in blue while his mind started to wake. His muscles were tight, as if he’d stretched them to their limits after a long run. There was an especially annoying ache in his right shoulder, and he rolled to alleviate it. That seemed to do the trick.

Weirdly enough, it didn’t take more than a good thirty seconds—he counted them—before his thoughts landed on Lilibelle Katsun. He’d see her in class later on, but he couldn’t imagine she was taking the suspension well. Most suspensions lasted three days, and barring classes or washroom breaks, you were to be confined to her quarters without pay.

‘Without pay’ was a strange term, now that Karl was thinking about it. Credits had no tangible shape or value, after all. Not by themselves. Rather, they were the perceived value of one’s possessions. Shortly after the Fiend threat emerged, it became clear that currency no longer had any value. If humanity was to survive, then they would have to stop printing money and refocus their efforts on weapons and defense systems.

But humans were difficult to mobilize when there was nothing to gain. The Fiends threatened their livelihood and still few were willing to join a greater cause. Thus, credits were born. There were plenty of ways to get credits, but one of the more popular methods was to join a mercenary group. Seeing as these groups had access to state-of-the-art technologies and equipment, that also meant they had a stockpile of materials, which translated to obscene numbers of credits.

Karl wondered if the value of his credits may have changed. Their stipends were paid out in credits, sure, but since the value of certain materials changed with supply and demand, that meant that if he had a surplus of a desirable material, then his credit value could increase. With everything that had happened in the last couple of days, he bet he had more credits than before.

“Not that it matters,” Karl muttered as he rested the bend of his arm over his face. Despite how exhausted he was the night prior, he’d spent the first two hours tossing and turning, his mind racked with what-ifs and should-haves. Hundreds of possibilities had bombarded him to the point that he couldn’t recall falling asleep. Waking up simply meant he resumed where he had left off.

Lying here wasn’t doing him any favors. He sat up and threw off the covers. Draping his legs over the edge, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and ran his hands over his hair. His mind started to wander again, and he shot to his feet. Throwing open the cabinet to his wardrobe, he found a white T-shirt and some denim pants. He removed the only article of clothing he wore—a pair of work-out shorts—and got dressed. Once he had his shoes on, he slipped into the chair at his desk to no messages.

He’d hoped Lilibelle would send him a message. Their grievances aside, she still saved his life, and she’d paid a hefty price for her heroism. Maybe it was a bit conceited to think he knew how she felt, but he couldn’t shake the thought that what had happened to her was unjust. Lilibelle was being punished for a good deed. That didn’t sit well with him.

Karl folded the top screen of his computer down and snatched the key card to his room. He felt around his pockets and pointed at each of the devices in his room, ensuring he turned each one off, then turned around and exited.

After a quiet breakfast in the cafeteria, Karl entered the hangar. The place was just as busy as it had been the night he left it. No, if anything, it was busier. The air was warm and chaotic. Sparks cast an orange glow against the steel walls, and there wasn’t a second that went by that Karl couldn’t hear the sounds of clanging metal or men shouting at one another. It seemed to him like everyone was on a short fuse.

“Yo! Carrying Karl!” Well, that was, save for Jark. Karl chuckled. Did this man ever have a bad day? If a bomb went off, would Jark be that consoling shoulder everyone needed? Would he even know what had happened? The lumbering hunk of muscle and testosterone jogged over to him, his clothes spattered by sweat stains. “You’re up early! What brings you down here?”

“Needed to get my mind off of things.” He looked up to his left, then to his right. Two DFs, both in serious disrepair. Those irritating what-ifs and should-haves were making their unwelcome return. “But I think I made a mistake.”

“Nah! Come hang with us for a bit!” Jark raised his hand, and Karl flinched. “Oh. Right. Haha!” He patted him on the shoulder, gently this time. “Tender bones and muscles.”

Karl fought off the frown that threatened to tug on his face. I work out just as much as you do! At least, he was pretty sure he did. Deadeye had a strict training regimen, and until yesterday, he hadn’t gone a day without visiting the gym. But looking at Jark… Yeah, maybe not.

“Are you sure I’m not getting in the way?” There wasn’t a single person in the entire hangar who wasn’t working. Jark stuck out in that way, and Karl worried that’d place a target on his back.

“Getting in the way of what?” Jark’s genuine confusion was equal parts concerning and endearing.

“Are you serious?” He frowned, and Jark shrugged. “This,” Karl made a frustrated gesture to the DF on his left. It was missing a leg and the insides had been pulled out like several metallic intestines. “All the work you have ahead of you,” he said, pointing at the DF to his right, stopping short when he looked a little closer at Jark. Large, dark circles surrounded his eyes and there was a slouch to his posture. “Have any of you slept?”

“We all gotta take a break eventually, right?” Jark smiled. “May as well be now.”

You didn’t answer my question. Karl rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if he’d made a mistake. A few uncomfortable seconds passed before he relented and allowed Jark to guide him to a crossroad. Short, Dart, and Wrench were seated around a stack of metal crates, the foremost sitting at the top.

“Hey, guys, look who I found wandering around!” Jark said excitedly, pulling Karl close.

Dart looked up from his sandwich. His eyes were bloodshot, and the skin beneath them sagged. Short barely offered Karl a glance while Wrench flicked ash from her cigarette. He was pretty sure smoking wasn’t allowed in the hangar but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Hey,” Wrench said, her eyes devoid of their usual light. She took another puff off of her cigarette.

“Grinding you into the dirt, huh?” Karl said.

“I’ve been up for thirty-eight fucking hours,” Short growled.

“It’s a wonder they let us have ten minutes,” Wrench said. She took another drag off her cigarette, blew the smoke into the air, then smashed the butt with her boot.

Dart opened his mouth, presumably to say something, seemed to think better of it, then closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the crate.

Karl had expected Deadeye to whip them a bit, but not to this degree. One quick scan of the hangar would tell anyone that this wasn’t a job that could be done in a few days, and maybe that was exactly the problem.

“What are they having you do?” Karl asked.

“Anythin’,” Wrench said, “everythin’. Half the DFs coming in are in no shape to go back out. Busted frames, fried hardware, missing limbs, jammed weaponry, I’ve seen it all in the last twenty or so hours.”

“There’s no end in sight,” Dart sighed.

“Telling you, they’re doing this on purpose,” Short said.

“Why?” Karl asked.

“To weed us out. Figure out who’s loyal and who isn’t.” He spat on the floor. “First to drop gets discharged, mark my words.”

“Now would be a terrible time to let anyone go, most of all the mechanics,” Karl reasoned, shaking his head. “There’s no Deadeye without DFs and there are no DFs without mechanics.”

Short snorted. “You’re young, so you don’t know any better.” He muttered something, then added, “But you’ll see.”

Karl refrained from sighing. Once Short has set his mind on something, convincing him otherwise, regardless of evidence, was usually impossible.

“They’re not comin’ after our jobs,” Wrench sighed and buried her face into her palms. “I’ve told you this a hundred damn times already. They got a new threat out there, so—”

“Bah!” Short batted the notion from the air. “You don’t know anything. When they start making the rounds and calling names, you’ll remember what I said. Then you’ll be wishing—”

“Oh, shuuuut uuuuup.” Wrench pulled her hands away from her face and spun around. “I’ll knock you off this crate in about two fuckin’ seconds if you don’t shut the hell up. I can’t hear it anymore.”

“Please stop yelling,” Dart groaned and put his hands to his ears.

Jark scratched his chin while Short and Wrench continued to argue. Dart kept his hands to his ears the whole time, and Karl waited for Jark to step in and play peacekeeper. He typically diffused situations like these. Maybe the lack of sleep was getting to him.

“Uh, maybe this was a bad time,” Jark said, a rare frown twisting his features.

“Maybe tomorrow?” Karl asked as Wrench rose to her feet and grabbed Short by the scuff of his shirt. Short balled his hand and sneered, egging her on. “See you later, Jark.”

Jark cracked his knuckles and started toward his friends. “Tomorrow.”

Time was crawling. It was barely 5:00 when Karl stepped out of the hangar. Students were waking up now, rubbing their eyes, murmuring to one another about what the day would entail. Melancholy gripped each student, trepidation bleeding into their speech and mannerisms. There were a handful of students who wore convincing masks, but even Karl could see they were struggling. Or perhaps he was projecting.

He itched his scalp and started down the hall for the elevator. He pressed the button for going up. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal Lilibelle. Karl’s breath caught, but he quickly recovered, and cleared his throat before moving to his right to get around her. Only, Lilibelle moved to her left to do the same. Karl corrected and sidestepped to his left. Lilibelle once again mirrored him.

Lilibelle grunted, gripped him by the shoulders, and stepped around him, guiding him in a half circle until his back faced the doors. Her pigtails were absent—a first for Karl.

For a few moments, they stared at each other. The usual fire in her eyes had been snuffed out, and her lips had been pulled into a thin line. She exhaled through her nose, shut her eyes, then turned around and started down the hall. Karl thought to call her back, say “Good morning,” offer some sort of nicety. 

He came up with nothing. It was probably better this way. Who knew what Chovek had sent her in his to-do list. Coming between it was a recipe for disaster, and the two of them were already treading on thin ice.

“May this be a better day,” Karl murmured before stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the third floor. The doors shut, the box humming with its ascent.

He wasn’t religious, but he held firm to the belief that words had power. The subconscious mind played just as active of a role as the conscious one; arguably more depending. It automated much of the brain’s functions, so as Karl saw it, there wasn’t any reason the mind couldn’t pick up his intentions. Lilibelle may not have heard him, but the soundwaves delivered by his muttered supplication had the potential to affect her subconsciously.

At least, he hoped so.

The elevator arrived at the recreation floor. Karl stepped out and hung left, making his way past the washrooms. He glanced at the plaques beside each door, fishing for anything to keep him busy for the next hour. He stopped when he caught Daidari in the tennis room on his right. She was dressed in a white T-shirt and black workout shorts, bouncing a tennis ball with her racket.

Karl gritted his teeth, and the echoes of Daidari’s words from yesterday came rushing back. Now that he was fully rested, he was itching for a fight. His hand reached instinctively for the handle, and his grip was stopped short by the little voice in the back of his head that told him to let it go. With Daidari being the only other Harmonic student in the class, it was only a matter of time before they were paired up.

And he couldn’t have cared less.

He reached into his pocket for his card and slid it through the reader. It clicked, momentarily distracting Daidari just as he was walking in.

“You look like you could use a partner,” Karl said as he started for a corner of the room, where a door that led to the changing rooms waited.

“I suppose,” Daidari said, dribbling the ball.

“Give me just a minute to get changed.” He opened the door to the changing room and ran his card through the reader on the left for the men’s side, his mind swathed in vengeful fury. He kept his jaw clenched the entire time he changed, his thoughts consumed by what Daidari’s look of defeat would look like. As soon as he was done changing into a comfortable shirt and shorts, he grabbed a rack off the wall and exited onto the court. “All right. I’m ready.”

“Then I’ll start.” She dribbled the ball, each bounce lending greater height. Karl bent his knees and positioned his racket between his legs. Daidari bent forward slightly, staring at him the same way a machine would. She tossed the ball up underhanded, then struck the ball gently.

Karl darted forward. The ball barely cleared the net, landing cleanly inside his service area. With Daidari leaning to the left side of the court, Karl saw an easy opening and struck it toward the opposite side as hard as he could.

Daidari turned and rushed to the other side to receive. The ball bounced within a few inches of the court’s bounds, narrowly evading Daidari’s attempt to send it back. Daidari stumbled, nearly pitched to her side with the effort. Rolling away from her toward Karl was the tennis ball. He picked it up, waiting until Daidari was in position before throwing it back.

“You know how to play,” Daidari said.

“Thanks,” Karl said. He twirled the racket for effect. “That was a sneaky serve.”

A nearly imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I play to win.”

Karl returned the smile, though his bore hints of malice. “What a coincidence. So do I.”