The next morning, Mark wakes early. As the sound of the alarm on his comm-pad starts, he grabs the device and dismisses the alarm before the sound wakes his mother. He goes to the kitchen and starts preparing breakfast. With practice ease, He prepared a wheat porridge, eggs, and bacon. His mother, woken by the smell, goes to the kitchen.
"Mark, you made breakfast? Is the kitchen OK?" She said in a teasing tone while placing his jacket on the table.
"The kitchen is perfectly fine, Mom, I've done this before."
The woman looks at him with a penetrating look. "Since when?" she asked.
Realizing his blunder, Mark answers quickly. "A friend taught me." While serving her meal.
"Anyway, what did you decide to do? Are you quitting?" He inquired while serving his portion of the meal.
"Well, even if I decide to leave, I can not do it right away. It will probably take a week or so."
Mark contemplates the timeline."That's cutting it too close," The man thinks to himself.
Guessing his thoughts, Mark's mother talks after swallowing a piece of bacon. "Mark, take it easy, nothing is going to happen," She said, trying to reassure him, but it had little effect.
"Anyway, I already called in sick today, after drinks last night. My head is pounding. What are you going to do?" Rachel asked Mark while eating her porridge.
"Well, I still have 2 weeks off from the institute because of the founders' festival, so I thought about going out and buying some stuff." He was thinking of buying something to protect his mother from toxic gas and a VR headset with design suite software.
"Don't forget to buy clothes," His mother interrupted his thoughts.
"I know, Mom." Finishing his breakfast, Mark takes the dishes to the dishwasher.
After cleaning the dishes, Mark takes off his jacket and goes to his room to change his clothes. Using the same outfit from the night before, he leaves his room after getting dressed. His mother had already gone back to sleep, so he walked to the door and exited the apartment.
Walking down the hallway, he spots the teenage girl from last night. She waved at him, and he waved back. The girl starts to giggle and runs back to her apartment. Ignoring the event, he goes down the stairs and exits the building. Mark's destination, the commerce sector of Riggan's Point.
As a teenager, Mark used to visit Riggan's Point quite often. Sometimes, he would spend the whole day window shopping and reuniting with his friends. The entire city sector was an enormous mall complex.
The lower levels, however, looked more like an oversized flea market. Shops were very close to each other, and the hallways were full of kiosks selling every item imaginable. The upper and middle levels had fancier stores, and the hallways were not as crowded. Some were still dotted around, but in much smaller numbers.
There were signs everywhere. Neon signs and holographic projections litter the sky. Only the Sky-car lanes were spared from the congestion of advertisements.
Once he gets down from the Sky-cab, Mark makes a beeline for a military surplus store. It was located on the middle levels. Reaching the entrance of the shop, he pressed the doorbell. Most shops on the middle and lower floors had to control access because of people grabbing stuff and running. With a buzzing sound, Mark was let in at the shop. He started browsing the aisles, looking at the merchandise, but was unable to find what he was looking for. The young man decides to talk to the clerk.
He moves to the back of the shop where the checkout counter is located. A gristle old man sat behind the counter. He had a mechanical right arm that looked thin and out of proportion with the rest of his body. A large gray and black beard covered most of his face. Ceiling lights reflected on the old man's bald and shiny head.
He was holding a comm-pad in his massive left arm, his good arm. The arm was covered in tattoos and Muscle. Military tattoos hinted at the man's background. His brown eyes reflected the light from the comm-pad screen. Sounds of cheering and metal clashing got louder as Mark got close.
"Excuse me, sir, can you help me?" Mark asks the man.
Without taking his view off the comm-pad, the man replies. "What can I do for you, kid?"
Mark gets closer to the counter and asks, "Do you sell gas masks here?"
Surprised by the request, the older man looks at Mark with a penetrating gaze. "Now what do you want gas masks for?"
Not intimidated by the older man's tone, Mark answers. "It's not for me, it's for my mother."
The old man stood up from the chair. He was about a head taller than Mark, and he looked angry. "Now why would your mother need a thing like that, and why would she send you to get it?" said the man, placing his thick left arm covered in tattoos on the counter.
"She does not know I'm buying this. I'm only buying it out of concern," Mark said while meeting the older man's gaze with determination.
The man calms down a little, "Look, kid, gas masks are regulated by law, even if I had them on stock, which I don't, I could not sell them to you." The older man thinks for a moment. "Why do you want to give a gas mask to your mother?"
Mark decides to explain, "My mom works in an electronics factory, but the place is a dump. Her employers cut corners all the time. The other day, I heard about an accident involving harmful gases, and I got worried. I just want to find a way to keep her safe."
The older man sits back in his chair. "Hey, I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. Last week, a few kids were here asking for the same thing. Turns out the lowlifes from the gangs use the gas mask for their illegal labs."
"Illegal labs?" Mark asks back.
"Yeah, it's where they make the drugs they sell," he explained.
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a crowd cheering. The man looks down at his comm-pad side. "Dam! I miss that."
Interested in what the man is watching, Mark asks the man about the commotion. "What was that?"
The big guy grabbed his comm-pad from behind the counter, placed it in front of the teen, and projected a holographic view of the video. Two mechs were fighting with swords and shields. "It's the royal knights' cup. An A.M.S.[1] event, it's actually a recording; the real cup happened last night.
"Nice! Mark exclaims, with youthful enthusiasm. "I also play A.M.S. In fact, I'm actually studying to design mechs.
The man looks at Mark. "You don't say," the big guy remarked.
"Yes, I'm planning to sell the blueprints I will design," Mark replied with a bit of a smug face.
The big guy pauses the video and looks at Mark. "Boy, you don't want to do that."Why?"Looking a bit confused, Mark asked.
"The sad truth about the mech industry is that around 95% of all the Mech designs never see the light of day. Most designers who open purely design studios go bankrupt in the first 2 years."The clerk said while tapping his finger on the counter.
Looking a bit distraught, Mark decides to ask for advice. "What should I do then?"
The older man stays silent for a few moments, and with measured words, he answers. " Look, kid, in my opinion, the best thing you can do now is fabricate your own mechs. Don't get me wrong, this is impossible for you right now. But what you can do is open a creator's account in A.M.S."
The man points to his comm-pad. " I can name you at least eight or nine successful Mech companies that started this way. Even then, success is not certain, A.M.S. It is a battlefield in more ways than one, and the creators' ammunition is their reputation."
Mark thinks to himself. "How could I overlook this. I have no fabrication skills."
The old guy, looking at Mark and guessing his thoughts, suggests, " Say, why don't you make a creator's account and buy the older versions of mechs, take them apart, and reassemble them. It's a great way to learn. Also, there is a market for cheap variants of older Mechs. That Way, you can cut your teeth on mech fabrication and gain some money on the side." The man then looks quietly at Mark, expecting his reaction. "You will have to save some money to start, tho."
With a new direction, Mark's face lights up. "Yeah, that's what I'm going to do. Thank you for your advice." Mark stays silent for a moment. "Well, what can I do for my other problem?"
The big guy scratches his beard for a moment. "Look, what you can do is go to the sports shop at the other end of the promenade. Ask for a T-32 spelunking mask. ... It's a civilian grade, but it will work like a charm. Tell them you want to explore some caves as a hobby or something."
"But will it work?" Mark asks.
"Yeah, it's pretty much the same deal, but since it's civilian grade, nobody will bat an eyelash." The big guy answered.
Glad that he was able to get a solution for his problem, Mark decides to buy a few things at the shop and turns to browse.
The man behind the counter takes a look at his jacket. "Hey, where did you get that jacket?"
Looking back at the man, Mark answers. "It belonged to my grandfather. It was wasting away in a box, so I decided to use it."
With surprise in his eyes, the big guy looks at Mark. "What's your grandfather's name?"
"My grandfather is Bartholomew Kain, but everybody calls him Bart." The young man answered.
"I'll be damned," exclaimed the man behind the counter. "Your grandfather and I go way back; he even saved my life during the war." The big guy said with nostalgic eyes. "Wait, that means ...Is your mother Rachel?"
Realizing he had stumbled into a friend of his grandfather, Mark answers. "Yes, she is. But she goes by Rachel Warren now."
After 2 hours of shopping and catching up, Mark leaves the military surplus store. He decided to have his purchases delivered to the apartment. The young man with a new direction heads for the sports shop as instructed.
The spelunking mask was exactly what Jack Reed, the owner of the military surplus store, described. It worked by filtering the oxygen with an active carbon filter; the filter came inside a cartridge that could be swapped after it was spent. Mark bought an entire case of replacements. He paid for same-day delivery to his mother's apartment.
After securing a way to keep his mother safe, Mark sat on a bench eating a few meat skewers he bought at a kiosk nearby. " System, open the skills tab." With a swiping motion, he started to browse the skills available. " Here it is, Fabrication. I'd better buy 3 levels of it, that is 12,000 TP down the hatch. I'm going to buy the 3d printer proficiency field skill. I will get 3 levels for 6000 TP. Also Assembly again with 3 Levels. That's 24,000 TP for everything."
The customary pale blue screen projects with an accurate count. "Your remaining balance is 69,869 TP. Your current bank balance is 0 TP."
This time, Mark notices a red dot blinking in the upper corner of the projected screen. "What is this?" he asked while tapping on it. A red screen projects instead of the usual blue screen.
"System request: Due to the events that have happened recently, the System has suffered critical damage. The system requires raw materials to perform repairs. User's assistance is required. Once the system request is completed, the User will receive the following rewards: one system ability: Scan, one feat: user's choice."
Mark looks at the screen with interest. " I accept System. What do you need?" A second red screen projects, " The requested Items will be highlighted on the user's vision with a red glow."
"Let's do this," Mark said while finishing his meat skewers. He started looking around, trying to see if anything glowed, but he was not able to spot anything. Mark then decides to go to the lower levels to see what he can find. As soon as the lift doors opened, he was able to see various red glowing items.
He arrives at a kiosk with a glowing Mech model. Mark points to the action figure. "How much?" he asked the vendor.
" I'm asking 150 L-credits for that. It's a limited edition."
Mark looks at the figurine. "This is worth around 80 L- Credits, what do you take me for?"
The vendor looks at Mark and smiles. "OK, kid, how about 120?"
Mark replies, "95."
The vendor, looking a bit more serious, counters with another proposal: "110 and I'll throw in the original packaging."
Mark looks at the guy once more. "Done," satisfied, Mark pays the vendor and gets the figurine inside the original packaging.
"I will need a hover box," the young man said to himself.
While buying a metallic box to carry his stuff, a blue screen projects in front of him. "Why is there a need to barter? User has sufficient funds."
Mark looks at the screen with a bit of confusion, "If I were to pay their price without question, the people here will take advantage of me. While I have sufficient funds, it will be wise not to spend unnecessarily." Mark puts the encased action figure on the hover box and starts to walk; the box hovers behind him.
The second object is a comm-pad. It looked older than the one Mark had. he goes to the vendor, an older woman. "How much for this old comm-pad?"
" That there is a good find, young man. It might be an older model, but it has a magnetic coating; they don't make them like these anymore. I'm asking for 60 L-credits."
"That's fair," Mark replies, handing the woman the money. He puts the comm-pad in the box and keeps walking.
The third Item he spots is a vintage video game console. After a bit of haggling, He bought it for 120 L-credits and got a few video games with it.
The fourth and fifth Items were on the same kiosk, two rocks of different colors. Mark's Haggling ability met its match with the owner of this kiosk. In the end, he walked away with the rocks but with 300 L-credits less.
He sits at a bench near the corner of a busy street. He talks to the system. "Well, is that all?"
The red screen projects in front of Mark. " User has requested items, would the user like to submit the items in question?"
"Yes, system, I submit the items."
All of the items disappear in a pale blue light, leaving the box empty.
"Wait, what about the stuff you did not need, like the packaging or the game cartridges?"
The red screen projects again, "Request has been completed, system rebooting and applying repairs. The system will be offline for eight hours.
"Great, what now?" As if on cue, Mark's comm-pad rings. The ID caller read Steve. With a smile on his face, Mark answered the call. "Hey Steve, what's up?"
"Hey, Marksman, what are you doing?"
Mark smiles, hearing the way his friend Steve used to call him, which gives him another rush of nostalgia. "Nothing much, I'm doing some shopping here in Riggan's Point." He can hear Steve's laughter on the other side.
" No way, man, we are here two, Alex and I, we are in front of The Pit. Want to join us?"
Mark smiles. Well, I have to do some shopping. Why don't you two meet me in the middle levels in front of the sweets place?"
A sudden silence can be heard from the other side. "Marksman, you did not call Tina's Sweets that sweets place. Say the name, SAY THE NAME!"
Mark chuckles. "Tina's Sweets," he answered.
"YEAH BABY!, well met you there." Steve ends the call soon after.
Nostalgic feelings kept pouring over him. "It's been ages since I've seen them." Mark thought to himself. With total recall, he was able to remember their good times. Playing at The Pit, eating at Tina's Sweet Shop, and hanging around. How they helped him after his mother died. The support they gave him was crucial to help Mark move on. Tears started to swell in his eyes.
But then it came, the backlash of total recall. Two memories flashed in his mind. The first one was of his old self, shirtless, kneeling next to the body of a teenage boy. His skinny arms were pushing down on the shirt he had used to cover a wound on the teen's head. Desperation was visible on his Face.
He remembers the people screaming and running. Some were running towards him and the teen on the floor. Others were running to catch the culprit who was getting away. It was nothing short of cruel the way Mark was able to recall the event. His feeling of impotence, his worry, even the smell of his friend's blood.
The second memory hit him harder. He was using a crowbar to force a mech cockpit open. The flying machine had crash-landed in the middle of an empty lot. As the man successfully opens the cockpit, he finds a chilling sight. The pilot inside had been impaled. Blood was all over the blue pilot suit and the cockpit.
With resignation, Mark took the pilot's helmet off. Inside a mass of black hair and blood covering the pilot's face. With his hand, he cleared the hair, revealing an angelic face. The bright blue and purple eyes of the young woman moved to look at him. There was some life in her. With the last of her strength, she pulled him close and planted a kiss on his lips. Mark was able to feel her last breath as the young woman's life faded away.
In the distance, Berant City was burning. Beams of light and balls of plasma falling from the sky. Between the death of his friend and the bombardment of his city, the man's heart filled with a feeling of despair and Powerlessness.
Mark shook his head; he was trying miserably to hush the memories. As he looks around, the young man sees that people are staring. Realizing his face is full of tears, Mark uses the cuff of his jacket to clean his face. "Maybe if I can change my mom's fate, I can change theirs too." These thoughts raced in his mind.
The sign for Tina's Sweet Shop could be seen in the distance. The young man decided to wait for his friends on the park benches in front of the shop.
[1] A.M.S. (Advanced Mech Simulator) is a Virtual simulator in the Lishean Commonwealth. Often criticized as a war-mongering tool, this virtual game is used by a large portion of the population for entertainment, training, and some even use it as an income source.