As I endure the unsettling ride on the quadcopter, surrounded by the dissonance of human music that only amplifies my discomfort, I can't help but reflect on the fascinating evolution of transportation. From the primitive days of cavemen to the present era of sophisticated beings surpassing even Elven magic, it's ironic how the simplicity of an ancient airplane now seems like a luxurious relic.
The memories of stories echoing through time describe airplanes as the democratic mode of transport, accessible to individuals from all walks of life. Now, however, they stand as a symbol of opulence, reserved solely for the wealthy elite. The very thought of soaring smoothly through the skies on one of those vintage planes, free from the jolts and turbulence of the quadcopter, becomes an increasingly appealing escape.
In the midst of this auditory onslaught, I find solace in envisioning the bygone era when the skies were open to everyone, and the roar of airplane engines was a common melody. Perhaps, in embracing the past, there's a chance to escape the present discomfort and indulge in the nostalgia of a simpler, more inclusive journey through the clouds.
As we descended into Atlas City, the vibrant neon lights began to paint the cityscape below, revealing its nocturnal allure. The sprawling metropolis lived up to its reputation, with the distant thump of music and the glittering skyline welcoming us to a world of possibilities.
The huge mercenary, undeterred by my religious reservations, persisted in his good-natured banter. "Don't be such a wuss, Dory!" he exclaimed, the hum of the quadcopter's rotors accompanying his hearty laughter. His arm, bearing the lingering stench, hovered threateningly over my shoulders once more, but I skillfully sidestepped the attempt to pull me into his revelry.
"My religion forbids it!" I reiterated, maintaining my stance despite the infectious enthusiasm of my companions. The quadcopter's interior buzzed with a mix of excitement and jest, as the group found amusement in my steadfast adherence to my convictions.
Gazing out at the glittering city below, I pondered the dichotomy between the shimmering lights and the principles that anchored me. "Can I go home already?" I murmured, a quiet plea for reprieve from the impending clash between personal beliefs and the tempting allure of Atlas City's nightlife.
As the quadcopter touched down, the city's pulsating energy enveloped us, and my friends eagerly disembarked, their laughter echoing in the night. Atlas City, with its promises of entertainment and excess, awaited, leaving me standing at the crossroads of reluctance and curiosity, wondering if the city's nocturnal embrace could sway even the most steadfast convictions.
As the banter and laughter continued within the quadcopter, my attention turned inward, my thoughts veering towards the decision that led me into this mercenary path. The allure of the hefty pay as a contractor in the PMC seemed appealing initially, but now, staring at my monitor, I couldn't help but question the trade-off.
Being in the frontline held a unique kind of value that transcended monetary gains. Dory Michelson, the persona I had adopted for this stint, was merely a facade – a fabricated identity to grant me access to conflict zones where I could hone my abilities. It dawned on me that the thrill of being on the frontline, the raw experience of combat, was an essential aspect that the comforts of a contractor's role failed to deliver.
The alias and the clandestine nature of my mission had not gone unnoticed, especially by the mysterious figure referred to as "G" or the All-Father. As I pondered the potential repercussions, I couldn't help but acknowledge the absence of a divine messenger – a sign that perhaps, my actions had not enraged the higher powers as much as I feared.
Amidst these contemplations, a blond, muscular mercenary disrupted my musings. "Hey, Dory!" he called out, demanding my attention. With a glance at the window revealing our imminent descent, the urgency of the situation became apparent.
"You first!" he urged, and with a nod, I acquiesced. "Go, go, go!" he exclaimed, prompting me to swing open the door of the quadcopter. Stepping into the unknown below, I carried not only the weight of my fabricated identity but also the uncertainty of how my actions might resonate with forces beyond the mortal realm.
As the quadcopter's rotor blades began to slow, a moment of anticipation hung in the air. A weathered man, clad in a suit and tie, approached, his gaze fixed on me. However, Andre, our leader, swiftly intervened, redirecting the attention to himself. A hushed conversation ensued, revealing the gravity of the situation, though the specifics remained shrouded in mystery.
The burden of the body armor pressed against my shoulders and back, a tangible reminder of the challenges inherent in mercenary life. The physical strain, while demanding, held a purpose for me – a means to improve my stats and enhance my skills through real-life experiences. Battlefields, with their unpredictability and chaos, offered the ideal arena for honing combat prowess, a stark contrast to the controlled exercises of conventional training.
The temptation to join the Armed Forces had crossed my mind, but their stringent selection process and my unconventional approach, involving the use of a fabricated identity within a PMC, acknowledged the difficulties I faced in pursuing a more legitimate path. The risk of exposure and potential dishonorable discharge or even imprisonment loomed as consequences of my unorthodox methods.
Interrupting my contemplation, Troy, a robust figure among us, called out to me. "Hey, Dory! C'mere!" I responded to his summons, curious about what had captured his attention. As I approached, my eyes fell upon a brothel near the red-light district, the scene bustling with scantily clad women offering their services.
Troy's excitement was palpable as he declared, "We're gonna have that fun after our work!" Despite my lack of religious fervor, I resorted to a feigned piety, "I'm sorry, man, my religion forbids me to." Troy, undeterred, dismissed my excuse as he insisted, "You're such a bore, man!" Leaving him behind, I navigated the complex web of personal convictions and the expectations of my newfound comrades, aware that the path I had chosen came with its own set of moral quandaries.
In the complex tapestry of Atlas City's bustling life, the stark contrast in societal norms between us Elves and the humans became more apparent. While Elven culture adhered to monogamy and a strict class structure, the humans exhibited a remarkably lax attitude towards matters of morality and relationships. The advanced society surrounding me seemed to thrive on loose morals, a stark departure from the structured existence I was accustomed to. The city's debauchery surpassed anything I had witnessed, even in the Demon King's Fortress of Izidun several millennia ago in my own world.
Amidst the labyrinthine alleyways of human behavior, our leader, Andre, cut through the moral haze, summoning our attention for a crucial briefing. The mission at hand was clear – we were tasked with providing security for a CEO and his family in the face of rising crime and a surge in kidnappings. The demand for private security had skyrocketed, with affluent individuals seeking protection from PMCs like ours amid Atlas City's growing turmoil.
Andre's commanding voice singled out assignments, and I found myself designated to the convoy tasked with securing a certain princess. Troy and Trevor, formidable companions, were assigned to accompany Andre. As we acknowledged our roles with a firm "Yes sir!" questions lingered, particularly from Simon, the skinny newcomer. His inquiry about potential hostilities met a stern response from Andre, who emphasized the harsh reality of standing ground and fighting to the end.
Descending from the topmost floor, accompanied by three other mercenaries, including Simon, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss in this mission. While Andre and the rest departed in the quadcopter, my unease grew, an unspoken intuition whispering that the layers of complexity in this task went beyond the apparent scope of providing security.
The ground floor of the building ushered us into the bustling scene of the awaiting convoy. The second vehicle housed the CEO of ATMOS Corps, the linchpin of our mission. In the fifth vehicle, the one I was assigned to, sat the princess—our charge for the night. The remaining squad members occupied the last vehicle, forming a protective barrier around our VIPs.
Feeling confident in our preparations, I declared, "I believe we are all set." ready to take my place in the rear vehicle. However, before I could settle into the backseat, a sudden impact jarred me. A swift kick to my face forced me out of the vehicle, and as I grunted in pain, my eyes met the defiant gaze of the princess herself, the daughter of the CEO.
Her disdainful remark hit me, labeling me a "dirty and stinky meanie." Suppressing the urge to reprimand her, I couldn't help but wonder about the parenting that led to such unruly behavior. The spoiled brat's disrespectful attitude grated against my principles, but I refrained from expressing my thoughts, mindful of the delicate situation.
Apologies from the driver and butler followed, along with an alternative seating arrangement. Taking the front seat, I cast a glance at the now-seated butler beside the CEO's daughter. The unsolicited encounter with the princess was a reminder of the challenges inherent in safeguarding not just a person's physical well-being but also navigating the intricacies of their character.
Reporting to Andre, I announced our readiness from the front seat. "I'm in the princess' carriage, over!" Andre's response, laden with banter from Troy and Trevor, teased at the prospect of a romantic involvement. Dismissing their comments with an internal "Whatever!" I couldn't fathom entertaining the idea of any romantic entanglement with the petulant princess.
As the convoy began its journey through the city, my attention shifted to the system in my skill tree. The branching skills and abilities displayed on the screen hinted at untapped potentials, a silent promise of growth in the midst of this intricate web of responsibilities and unforeseen challenges.
Available Defensive Skills
Harden
Anti-kinetic barrier
Anti-energy barrier
Unlockable:
Anti-matter Shield: Defends against both kinetic and energy-based attacks.
Trigger: Any kinetic/projectile or energy/light/laser attacks.
Skill Duration: 40 seconds
Cooldown: 35 seconds after skill duration
Requirement: Anti-kinetic barrier(lvl.3), anti-energy barrier(lvl.1)
Learning points required: 55
As the convoy smoothly traversed the city's highways, my gaze fixated on the skill tree before me. The tantalizing prospect of unlocking the Anti-matter Shield beckoned, and with ample points at my disposal, the decision weighed heavily on my mind. Contemplating its worthiness, I found myself amidst an internal debate, the hum of the highway providing an oddly fitting backdrop.
The Anti-matter Shield, a formidable-sounding ability, promised enhanced protection, a potential game-changer in the unpredictable landscape of our mission. Yet, the lingering uncertainty nagged at me. Was this skill tailored to the imminent threats on the road, or would it prove more advantageous in a different scenario? Pondering within the confined space of the vehicle, I grappled with the dilemma, questioning the practicality of unlocking this particular skill in the current circumstances.
As the highway stretched before us, the rhythmic flow of the convoy's movement mirrored the ebb and flow of my thoughts. In this transient interlude, the decision to embrace the Anti-matter Shield became a microcosm of the broader challenges faced in this mission — a delicate balance between preparation and adaptability. The city's night held secrets yet to be unveiled, and the skill tree presented a realm of possibilities that demanded careful consideration in the face of the unknown.
-----
Here are the lyrics to the song from the background
Song Title: Rapid Chillar
Genre: Rap & Hip-hop
By: Emcee DEE Zee
Voice 1: I say, dom dom, bom bom! Hit that bom bom, chill on!
SFX: Chika chika boom, tsk, boom, boom, tsk!
Voice 1: We found this hit, in a hip. We sound like this when we diss!
My friends singing an old song, I make my own song with my dom!
Voice 2: We go to party, in sin city. Throw now your bones into the chilla!
Don't you say, no, no! Bom bom, hit that bom bom! Yeah!
SFX: Chipachipa-chip, bom, BOM-BOM, TSK!
Bridge: I got my homies with me, playing that bom-bom, song, into sin city, oh yeah! Play with me, c'mon dance with me!
Chorus: Drop the bombs, with me! Sing that song and hit the stakes. Bom-bom, bom-bom! Hit that bom-bom, say this song for the chilla! Throw your bones in the chilla! Say once more, I say score, with my homies with me. To the SIN CITY!
SFX: Bom bom bom bom, chipa chipa chip, bom, bom... BANG BOOM!