A couple pats along his chest was all he managed to perform before Antikythera flooded his mind with info. As was the custom.
[Vilehound Hunt: Team Bakamine]
Condition of Clearance B
Time: 15:22:11
Was everything in place?
Head. Check. Internal organs. Check. Fingers… Check.
He had survived again… Somehow. Neon wondered how many more deaths could he take, though even that question couldn’t fully form before more terms and numbers arranged themselves like a paycheck he’d never asked to receive.
Score:
Speedy! (Completion under 24 hours) [+500 Credits]
Merciful! (Spared a competitor) [+500 Credits]
Spectacle! (Performed a dramatic play) [+500 Credits]
Overkill! (Eradicated extra teams) [+500 Credits]
Ten Rookie Takedowns Confirmed [+500 Credits]
Four Rookie Takedowns Already Awarded [-200 Credits]
Two Sponsor Takedowns Confirmed [-2000 Credits]
Current Credit Balance: 335 Credits
Wait. What!?
The numbers felt like a cruel joke, pulse spiking as he double-checked the math because surely there had to be some sort of mistake. He had gutted himself out there, fought against impossible odds, and the reward for it all was losing more than half his earnings —taxed away for daring to succeed against the wrong targets.
His eyes found Antikythera’s, but the perfect posture and serenity held by the synthetic girl suggested this was no error at all. Of course it wasn’t. Sponsors didn’t just have a higher amount of resources than the rest of contestants, and probably better skills and traits from the gecko.
The system also protected them through this backhanded method, wrapping their privilege in barbed wire. Touch them and bleed credits.
But indignation would have to wait. He had more crucial things to think about right now. And though that wasn’t exactly the next spreadsheet of data unfolding before him, it certainly did make his brain stutter.
Leaderboard:
0.- Team //ERROR (00:03:41)
1.- Team Harmgivers (03:14:19)
2.- Team Atrax (07:51:24)
3.- Team WhoCares (08:07:48)
4.- Team Bakamine (14:22:11)
5.- Team Dingir (16:38:52)
6.- Team Quo (18:51:07)
7.- Team Incurso (19:46:33)
There was a team that completed the Hunt in less than five minutes!?
Agh. It wasn’t important! Neon shoved the freakish revelation aside, voice rising as he addressed the unfettered automaton.
"N-Nomine! Is... Is he..."
Maybe he was worrying over nothing. If he was getting… Restored —disturbing as it was to accept his body could be disassembled and reassembled over and over— it was difficult to believe the veteran would be left behind.
Still, Nomine was nowhere to be seen inside this stupid black box, and the silence pressed down with the weight of unanswered variables. Would they even be part of the same team now that the game had seemingly ended?
The uncertainty and urgency in his face seemed to spark something in Kyth, whose rigid expression softened into the faint ghost of a smile.
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Relief flooded down his frame —treacherous, unwarranted. So Nomine was alright. Both of them were. His fingers rose to massage his eyelids, the start of tears emerging out of frustration from having such a frail heart as much as it was… Simple happiness. Being forced to cope with so many death fakeouts had his emotions tangled into a complete and utter disaster.
He hated how easily his body betrayed him with these involuntary reactions. Hated how much he cared that Nomine had made it through when he should certainly not be caring about someone like him at all.
But they still breathed. Would live to bicker another day.
Pinned against that singular fact, the unfairness of the credit system or who might’ve cleared before or after them became inconsequential. Merely afterthoughts that could sort themselves out way later.
Or well… That was the idea, if not for the fact that the system kept vomiting notifications across his interface.
[Clearance B Perk: Decoded Feedback]
Winning footage for teams ranked above you on the leaderboard has been archived for system simulation.
Okay. This seemed… Substantial. Was it? Reviewing the tactics and augments employed by those who cleared faster than them sounded really freaking important. Crucial, even. Only issue was that there was no way his brain could handle any of that right now.
The conflict must’ve been transparent enough, for it prompted Antikythera once more. Was she inside his head? What a discomforting thought.
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What had once been a gut feeling now consolidated into a mounting suspicion. He had chatted with countless bots over the years. From customer service AI that never actually solved a single thing, to police clankers who served more as glorified traffic cones than actual law enforcers.
None of their many patterns applied to Kyth. Her tone inflection, the way she seemed to anticipate him, the quality of her pauses —they all danced across the uncanny valley too seamlessly. Almost human, though never quite.
Caught between intangible unavailability and an uncertain, distinct type of warmth. AIs tended to lean unapologetically towards the first, or failed strepitously at emulating the second.
Never quite this complex mix. Never this precise a tightrope.
Antikythera didn’t behave like just another bot, but… The impulse to play psychoanalyst waned as quickly as it emerged. What would it change?
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“I want out of this place.” Were his simple words, exhaled with a slow sigh. Could mean the box, sure, though he certainly also meant this whole damn circus. Kyth had confirmed more games were coming, after all.
Regardless, she addressed his words in their most obvious meaning. The shackles weren’t about to come undone just because he asked.
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Antikythera dissipated without further fanfare, replaced almost immediately by the harsh flood of artificial light filtering through the gaps of latches, systematically removed by a series of sharp hisses.
Having experienced this before did little to soothe the tension coiling inside his chest, a cold sweat prickling his back as the seams split open. The first steps were tincted by his eyes working frantically to adjust to the white glare, blinking as one singular purpose overshadowed any other.
Where was he? He was here, wasn’t…
Yeah. Yeah, he was.
Unlike the first time they met, back when Nomine had taken little more than a handful of seconds to decide Neon wasn’t worth even an introduction, the attention trained on him now felt different. Confrontational, absolute. Like he’d been tracking the latches long before they started moving.
The veteran kept his grounds near the center of the lobby as Neon approached, arms crossed as if to silently prohibit him from passing though the space around them remained wide.
“Owa, there are new things in here!” Neon spoke, mainly to break the ice, but also out of genuine curiosity at finding a table, a couch, and more doors scattered across the lobby.
But the dense atmospheric pressure didn’t accommodate his attempt at levity. The words landed flat, and he felt a little stupid for even trying.
He had seen Nomine be unapproachable before. Be ice-cold. Homicidal. Battered. Seen him sleep. Seen him triumphant in his own hollow way. Had seen him kill. Had even seen him holding his hand back, even if he resented the restraint later.
This wasn’t any of that.
And Neon… Neon didn’t know what to do with this version.
“How did you know?” Soft-spoken as always, yet still nerve-wracking. A demand for an answer ran just underneath Nomine’s words, though the question itself was sorely lacking in clarity. “Or when did you realize it?”
“Erm…” The rookie allowed a half-second to pass, nervous. “… What are we talking about here, exactly?”
Nomine’s response was non-verbal at first. His index finger and thumb snapped sharply, gesturing towards Neon’s hand. Specifically, the one that should not have been whole.
“That you’d get them back.”
Oh. Right. His fingers. The ones he had knowingly and willingly parted with. The ones that had come off with sensations and sounds he was fairly certain would visit him again in some context he hadn’t yet earnt the distance for.
Even if Levia hadn’t lethally wounded him after, Neon had already sacrificed parts of his body to give them both a fighting chance. Was Nomine assuming he had known all along that things would’ve turned out this way?
“Haha…” The laugh emerged weak and reflexive. Neon cared little about the mistrust. Nomine was free to think whatever the hell he wanted. “Cool part. I didn’t, really.”
He lifted his hand as he said it. Turned it over slowly, running his gaze across the digits with something that lived between relief and quiet wonder. The skin was seamless. No ache, much less a scar. Like nothing had ever happened.
In the periphery of his vision, Nomine’s brow furrowed in disbelief. Or was it confusion? Whatever it was, it didn’t last long. The veteran swiftly collected himself with a short exhale, and the familiar frost resettled.
“Don’t do that again.” Were the words that came out of his mouth, delivered harshly like a reprimand. “There might be someone out there who wouldn’t like seeing you get injured.”
Neon let the sentence run through him a second time. Was this weird tangent born out of concern? Because… Who else could be this hypothetical someone he appealed to? And why would Nomine even care about it?
Was it so difficult to admit it was him who cared?
And was there any merit in chasing it?
“Yeah, I get it.” Half-hearted and noncommittal, Neon was already turning away to let his feet carry him anywhere that wasn’t here. “It’s whatever.”
The words were a door closing. He meant them to be. Yet Nomine moved, his tall frame suddenly cutting off the path ahead.
“I’m being serious.” He pressed on. “If you ever have to make a choice like that again…”
>> “… Just hurt me. Don’t hesitate.”
Nomine’s jaw tensed, barely, but enough to make the silence between feel strange. There was a crack somewhere in his sheer-cold facade, although the walls would swiftly seal themselves again.
“What you did to yourself is in poor taste.” He wasn’t finished. “And I don’t need your pity to win.”
For a moment, Neon could only look at him.
Maybe there was a version of this where all the small concessions made by Nomine would’ve been enough to move him. To soften his heart and keep it that way. Neon looked for gratitude in him, yet found it conspicuously absent. He felt not even the faintest trace of warmth. Not even close.
“I already said I get it!” What right did this guy have to stand there and dictate what he should and shouldn’t do? He hadn’t even managed a thank you for everything he had done for both their sakes. “Get off my case, will you!? Don’t you have anything better to do!?”
Nomine’s face barely shifted. A single eyebrow twitch before it settled back into place. That was all he gave him. That was all that their conflict was worth.
By that point, it wasn’t the repeated microagressions that had gotten under his skin. Wasn’t the bossiness, nor the continuous lack of basic respect. It wasn’t even the other thing —the heavier sin, the one that kept circling his head without landing. Neon hadn’t forgotten. He was choosing, deliberately and at some cost of his sanity, not to go there right now.
It was this… Dishonesty. The face carved in stone. The permanent careful distance, the sense that there were a million things he wanted to say, held far out of reach. Even now, in the deafening silence that resulted from his yells, Nomine refused to engage.
Neon gave him everything, tried multiple times to empty his head and heart out. Maybe even more. And in return, Nomine gave him exactly nothing. Why was it so difficult? What exactly had he done to earn this much… Mistrust?
“Is that all?” The rookie asked, quieter now, unable to sustain heat for long. He walked past the veteran, angled away. “Got nothing else to say?”
“This…” Nomine’s voice emerged from behind him, drawing a groan out of Neon as his steps slowed down despite himself. “… This conversation isn’t over.”
Indignation claimed the veteran back. Nomine stormed past in the opposite direction, moving towards one of the doors branching off the lobby’s far sides. Neon caught a brief glimpse of the threshold —a bedroom.
"Next time you do something like that…” There was a labored quality to the words, as if losing an argument against some particularly bothersome inner conflict. “… I’ll make you wish you cut your own neck instead.”
The door slammed shut, and Neon exhaled.
Naively, he had imagined this reunion would’ve been forthcoming. A momentary relief between one terrible thing and whatever came next. Instead, he now crossed the lobby to the door opposite to Nomine’s, tired.
Tired of all this pointless fighting.
Stepping through, he simply allowed the darkness to pull him in.
It wasn’t a large room, yet it still felt far too large. Maybe it was his headspace running short. He registered the dim outlines of furniture without really seeing them, moving on autopilot towards the only thing that mattered. The bed.
Neon dropped face down, one arm folded below his head. Wide. Soft.
Nothing to report, said his body. No aches, no drags or fatigues. No hollow stomach, nor parchy throat. Which left only one part of him that couldn’t be sated by whatever had reassembled him. The part that had been running for far too long and now sat on the back of his skull like needle pricks. An exhaustion that went beyond the physical.
He wanted to sleep. Sleep until he forgot where he was, until he forgot this was his reality now. Craved the mercy of not being anywhere for a good while or three.
In the end, he didn’t. Too restless, funnily enough.
So he just allowed his attention to drift to the interface, prompting the overlay with all its unspent credits and everything they promised. He could get stronger. And the stronger he got, little by little, level by level, the less he’d have to stand under Nomine’s shadow.
With that goal, Neon poured the currency into his skill, deciding against the gamble for something new. 300 credits was what it took to fill the meter this time around.
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Done. Now, what were his options?
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Upon sight, Ours to Steal may also copy traits. Copied skills mirror Ours to Steal’s level with randomized upgrades.
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Whenever Ours to Steal successfully copies a Skill, it also applies Denial for the same duration.
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Ours to Steal no longer has a cooldown. If a copied Skill is active, Ours to Steal may be reactivated to replace it with a newly copied Skill.
A welcome change, something he could think about and decide entirely for himself. Neon almost smiled.