Chương 102: Eastbound With an Army

An atomic clock measured time with a precision that made every other method look like throwing darts in a dark room. It counted the vibrations of atoms with the judgmental focus of a bored god. That count became time. It was the most accurate measure ever built, a referee for the universe's most chaotic game. When it said a second had passed, a second had passed, and it would argue with you about it.

An atomic clock wasn't a physical clock a person could see or touch—it was just a form of measurement, a concept with an attitude. Like the speed of sound. Or a centimetre. Or an ounce. Or like measuring your self-worth by calculating how many armoured, tactical-geared clowns you could take in a fair fight before the floor got too slippery. It existed to define, to measure, to pin something slippery to the wall and label it before it could stab you. Time was not universal.

Each object carried its own clock, a little personal timer that depended entirely on where it stood and how fast it was running from its problems. An atomic clock just measured that personal time exactly as it was, then let whoever was measuring that time, decide exactly where to shoot. Kelly had made a discovery. When she had levelled her Time-Attunement to the second grade, she hadn't been slowing down the world. She was speeding up her personal time, making it sprint ahead of everyone else's.

Kelly thought of it like this: in extreme circumstances, time didn't move the same for everyone. Most people needed FTL engines the size of a house, or enough speed augments to fund a small nation's collapse. But Kelly?

She could speed up her own personal clock while the rest of the world crawled along—she was a hyper-caffeinated toddler zooming past sleepy pensioners; like she was the only one who'd gotten the memo that the race had started while everyone else still yawned at the starting line—the world felt about one-fifth normal speed. She called it "personal time acceleration." It was like living in permanent bullet time. In their last match, Kelly had dilated time to a slow motion crawl, about twenty percent the usual speed.

Her own time raced ahead, making one minute for everyone else feel like five minutes to her. And they had both still been moving so fast, fast enough that, anyone observing would have had a migraine. The halls systems kept blaring red, speed readings shooting off the charts. Kelly almost couldn't believe Ren could still follow her movements, even as her personal time accelerated and she turned time itself into thick syrup.

It had been the most grueling session yet, and worst of all, even when he reacted whilst time was slow enough to see individual motes of dust hang suspended, or see drops of blood split mid-air, a part of her could instinctively feel that he was still… holding back. Just who—no, what the heck was this old guy? Kelly hit the floor hard, dust and debris puffing around her. Sparks rained off the broken ceiling panels, and a smoldering drone skittered past her feet.

She rolled over onto her back, arms behind her head, letting the smoke curl over her like a welcome blanket. Ren stood near the center of the hall, his posture perfectly still, augmented arms relaxed. The hall still held traces of ozone, gunpowder, and excessive violence. He glanced at the wreckage with an expression that could only belong to someone who had seen worlds burn. Ren adjusted a gauntlet that looked older than Kelly's life count and said, "Not bad. Solid improvisation."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Kelly laughed, dragging her blade out of a dent in the floor that had never existed before.

"Improv is my middle name. Actually, I don't have a middle name, but that'd be my middle name." She twirled the weapon and let it snap into its rune-bracelet mode. Her ribs were singing a chorus of complaints, a tune titled Centuries of Augmented Veteran Experience Versus One Smartass. She peeled herself off the dented floor panel, the world's mana humming through her as her natural Troll regen patched the worst of it. Across the cratered floor, Ren didn't have a scratch on him. He didn't even look warm.

He flicked a shard of what used to be her reinforced tactical shield off his shoulder.

"The sonic shadow weaponry was notable," he said, his voice a gravel quarry.

"For a Thresholder." Kelly spat a bit of heavily modified blood onto the corporate logo etched into the floor.

"Thanks. I was going for 'utterly terrifying,' but I'll take 'notable.' Helps with the intimidation budget." Her last batch of summoned shields was probably in a dozen pieces right now. She made a mental note to bill Haider for it. The fact that it cost her nothing to make them was not the point.

"Capitalism baby," Kelly muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. You want to head to the dome, right? The cube. Are you going to help me steal it?" Kelly really hoped his answer would be yes. The universe already hated her. She had destroyed it and herself in cascading waves of entropy quite a few times before the resets erased the damage. But more than that, she had broken its fundamental rules. If she got her hands on the Cube? The things she'd be able to do with the magic tech would give the universe a heart attack.

Ren didn't respond, but started walking, a tectonic plate in motion. Kelly fell in step, her body already stitching itself back into perfect condition with the ambient mana she was illegally siphoning from the universe. The man had to be pushing 80EQ. Was he a peak Elite? A pseudo-Demigod? Or the real deal? A bonfide member of society's top enhancement levels? Fighting him was like trying to arm-wrestle a collapsing starship. The two of them stepped outside. The city was in full-scale apocalypse mode.

The streets were clogged with fighting, screaming, or dying in combinations Kelly didn't have time to catalog. Dimensional portals yawned over the skyline, vomiting creatures that had no respect for local ordinances. Kelly immediately headed for the last place she'd seen a valet take her beloved truck.

"Hold it." Ren raised an palm.

"The vehicle we'll be taking is in the lower bay," he stated, as they moved through the heavily guarded, militarized grounds of his organization's mansion-like complex. The lower bay was a cathedral of war machines. They stopped by what looked like a poorly disguised armored personnel carrier—a metal brick with a grudge, barely legal for civilian roads.

Reggie and his two guys—one bald and thick, one wiry with a network of old burns on his neck—stood by the open rear hatch, already there, doing that thing professional guns do: checking things that didn't need checking, just to have something to do with their hands. Ren just looked at it.

"What, no chauffeur?" Kelly asked, sliding into the driver's seat. The controls were standard military-spec, as an overeager intern, she'd memorized most of the publicly available controls and product details. As a being stuck in a time loop, she'd memorised how to subvert or rig them, should the need ever arise. Kelly immediately started rerouting power from non-essentials, like the climate control and the passenger-side massage function, to the forward plating and engine boosters.

Ren was already a monument in the passenger seat. Reggie slid in, followed by the two large shapes who knew how to fill a doorway. He gave a short nod.

"Heard you needed a ride. Brought the fare."

"Reggie. You bring the snacks, too?" Kelly asked, turning slightly.

"Snacks are extra." He took a seat behind Ren, his crew filing into the back, the suspension settling under the weight of them and enough firepower to start a small heist. Goon One had a jaw that looked like it had been used to test industrial vices, metallic seams lined his jaws and eyes, a clear fashion statement intended to intimidate women and children. Goon Two was just a lot wiry, thick muscle in a tactical harness. And he was tall, so tall his head almost brushed the ceiling.

They didn't sit so much as occupy space. Ren thumbed a scanner in the seat beside her, the entire section groaning as it accommodated his mass.

"Drive." Kelly gunned it. The engine hummed to life, a sound that promised motion but not necessarily safety. The building's bay doors opened onto the end of the world. As they rumbled into the city, Ren spoke with aged authority.

"We'll be heading to the east-grid's dome. I'd suggest retrieving any weapons you have still with us." He glanced her way.

"The route is contested."