Shaper of Metal Post-Apoc Progression LitRPG

Jack pushed himself up out of the dirt with a grunt and dusted himself off. He moved his head side to side, popping his neck. He felt sore. The sort of fatigue he'd accrued would take a while to clear, though it was nothing compared to the last time he'd gone into 'overcharge' or whatever. One thing was clear: going that far was a bad idea if there was anything else left to do after. Cost-to-benefit ratio was way better, even shaving 5-10% off of that maximum, whatever the hell it would be when he was at peak health.

"I'll smoke you with these rippling muscles yet, Lindsay," Jack muttered flippantly, "just you wait."

"Yeah, sure," Lindsay replied. "Keep eating your oatmeal, grandpa. You might get there before you keel over."

"We can have a go later, young lady."

"Oh ho! Listen to you, asking for it! Guess you secretly like buying me dessert. Maybe I can get you to pay for other things? Hmm…"

"Pfft! Keep dreaming."

"Well, if you insist! There's a limited supply of crabs that opened up for purchase, and I managed to get a slot. Winner pays for crabs tonight! And dessert!"

Jack tried not to wince and resisted saying, 'This isn't fraggin' fair!' as well. He could've just said, 'nah.' Instead, he pointed his finger at her while wearing a determined expression. "You're on. Prepare to pay out the wazoo, Shifu."

"Yeah, it's going to be a lot."

"I mean, it can't be that much, right? They're just stupid crabs."

Lindsay squinted her eyes. "Have you ever even had crabs?"

"Of course not."

"I thought so. Well, look, they're rare as a virgin nudist, and they're a treat you won't soon forget, so you won't even mind the exorbitant cost you'll have to shell out. I did that pun just for you, Jack, so I hope you appreciate it."

"Gee, thanks."

She smiled cheerily. "You're welcome!"

"I won't be paying, either."

"Sure, mm-hmm," Lindsay murmured around her smile, then took out her phone and started walking away. "Great work today, Jack! Take it easy, do practice and homework later! Congrats on the gains! Toodles!" She waved a hand up briefly as she walked.

"You're going down, Lindsay!" Jack called to her back, to no particular response. He sighed. Why did he have to push the envelope? Now he had to eat some stupid crabs. Worse, he'd have to pay for them.

No! Don't you dare try to admit defeat, brain! We're going to win. That's what we do, as evinced by the many destroyed ASSes today.

Jack lumbered over to his chair and collapsed in it. He didn't feel like he needed to sleep or anything, so he closed his eyes and went into his Calibration trance to get it out of the way. He'd thought about something else he wanted to do, too, while he had his 'Mother's' ear.

After a minute or so of meditation, he found himself in the star-filled void of the solar system. Giant Star Angel Memoria was facing him, smiling warmly and holding his hands in both of her oversized ones, as if she'd just received good news shared from her son.

"I'm so proud of your work, Son," she said, a voice that seemed to resonate in his bones. "The commitment is clear, the results are flowing. You're halfway now to Level Two before you've even attained the fullness of One. And a new technique? Evidence you're on the right track. Keep it up, and" — a starry eye winked — "kick some more ass."

"Wait!" Jack called. "I wanted to ask you about something. To ask someone, but you're the horse's mouth, as it were."

Memoria waited patiently. "What is it, my son?"

"Délight. Isn't she a problem? What she does?"

"Which is?"

"I know it's some kind of visual hypnotism. It feels like mind control. Very strong influence, at the least."

"Feelings can be deceiving. It's up to your interpretation, just as it was to Quallakuloth. Don't be so certain our goals are aligned. My opinion? Q-loth is too pressed on the hair trigger. Who's to say whether you wanted to see clearly or stay in the beauty of the fog? You walked into it blindly and curiously enough. But you're learning things, either way. I had my estimations of the results. You seem to like yours. But did you truly give up nothing for that aid?"

I guess that's worth pondering. But she's being evasive, as usual. "A very Non-answer if there ever was one. Will you tell me whether she did or didn't actively pull some control shit?"

There was a pause. "No. Do your own dirty work and investigate, if you so choose. Such is the call of a worthy son amidst the multitude that seek to rise above."

"So you allow this sort of thing out of your 'survival of the fittest' mentality?"

"You can make your own deduction, as always. You aren't yet in a position to determine the 'whys' accurately without all the critical axēs. If you find it important enough to spend time and energy on, investigate more within the system available to you."

Jack sighed. "Can I get something other than rhetoric?"

Memoria smiled. "Yes. Your due Allotment, Son."

The prosthetic construct that extended into reality, interlaced uncannily through his mind, grew out like hands stretching to infinity. Naturally, they didn't get there, just got a little closer; expanded a little more to fill a waiting void with manipulators of mass. They wriggled with more freedom and power.

"You're a bigger boy, now, Jack. I've marked the line you've reached, so go run and play! Hahaha…" Soft laughter, so strangely not mocking, but gleeful, followed him back to reality.

Back in the chair, Jack sighed. More playing around at being a mother. No. She's a goddess of war and my boss. Most principally.

The situation with Délight still nagged at him at times, despite that he had plenty of other shit to deal with. He realized he was wrong about the 'horse's mouth' comment. That would be Délight, with Memoria all but telling him she wasn't going to 'tattle' in her place. If he wanted to know if she'd been chastised or reprimanded, he'd likely need her to admit it. But there was no indication the girl would even speak to him, much less pony up intel or explain herself.

Memoria doesn't see fit to explain herself much, but she does seem to feel justified. Did I want to be charmed on some level by an alluring beauty? Frag me. I was at odds, at best, that much I know. I made a decision first, and then Q-loth buttressed me as I followed through.

It occurred to him that it was very similar to a gorgeous celebrity asking for things. Status and Pretty Privilege, just dialed to eleven. Where was the line drawn in acceptable manipulation through influence? Even her final, most intense act wasn't a command. 'Won't you sit? Please?' He could remember how reasonable it felt, how much he wanted to agree and see her beam in satisfaction. But he hadn't.

Perhaps the deliberate command is where the line is drawn? Even that has fluidity for us. 'Wait!' A command, but not a critical one unless you were stuck that way without follow-up. The greater structure of what she did was a request. It feels like social environments are her training and staging grounds…

"That's my cue to stop dwelling on that dark-haired bean!" Jack got up, once more looked around surreptitiously for witnesses, then slinked over to a certain seldom-used pop-up container that was stored in the ground. Inside was sparse, old tools, but also a long specialty thermal sack he'd arranged to have stowed in the well-insulated spot via special delivery arrangements, well before showing for the scheduled exercise. A good tip got you anything you wanted!

He pulled out the wrapped contents, which were just as long: 1 meter, in fact. It was called The Locomotive Link, the longest chili dog in the business, and made of a gourmet meat medley, renowned chili, and fresh-baked toasted bun, all with Infused options. It was his well-earned reward waiting for him after the trial. And when he was ready to eat? He was ready to eat. To hell with all the wasted time traveling to a place and dealing with people — or waiting on delivery spur of the moment! Could something so beautiful as The Locomotive Link arrive at the speed of fast food? Of course not.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Preparation, baby. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing.

After unwrapping it, he held it up precariously in front of him on its provided cardboard bed and took the first bite.

"Mmn… delushus…" And there was so much more to go. "Wait… did I forget napkins? Oh no…"

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

After eating, taking his break, working out, and eating some more, Jack headed to his scheduled class with his Law tutor, and he was kinda looking forward to it for once because he finally wasn't going to be cramming his ass off to learn stuff. Plus, he was slated to meet his classmate, which was probably going to make it a bit easier as well.

Should be another unattainable bombshell vixen — that's like my lot in life. A tough one, but somebody's gotta live it. A platinum blonde, maybe?

The classroom was not the conference room he'd previously been meeting in, and he had to go by subway to the general central educational facilities that were loosely embedded in the same vicinity as the mess hall and scholastic administration offices. Down a typically claustrophobic, if mildly pleasant and reasonably wide hallway, he came to one of many identical doors. A digital display read: 'T124, Prof. Petahi, General Law.' Inside was a slick classroom that would seat maybe twenty, each somewhat comfortably in a plastic-and-steel chair, with tables structured in a semicircle facing a central podium/desk, a big whiteboard, and a video screen.

Jack was somewhat early. He nodded silently to Professor Petahi at the desk — from experience and reading body language, Jack understood this was the man's strong preference — and took a seat near the 'close center', diligently taking out his textbook and flipping through notes to get his brain in the right, boring ASS mode.

Oops. I capitalized the 'ass' in my head again like I was being ironic about the snakes. Ugh. As great as that era was, it's time to move on.

One minute late or so, the other arrival burst through the door, and Jack was shocked to see who it was. "No fraggin' way," he blurted.

Highfive's eyes widened as he met Jack's, and he barked a laugh while pointing. "Jackman! Yes way, Bro! Oh, hell yes way!" He slapped his empty hands together and then thrust his fists upward emphatically. "Destiny wins again!"

That's ironic, right? He's being ironic.

"Highfive," the professor intoned with severe long-suffering, "where are your books and notes?"

Highfive looked down at his hands, then touched both shoulders as though feeling for a backpack. A look of dismay crossed his face. "Shit! Be right back!" He was out the door at almost superspeed, sneakers squeaking on the hallway's impeccable floor tiles.

"No, wait! Highfive! Just share-" The door automatically shut and the professor facepalmed and shook his head with his eyes shut.

Jack blew air out of his mouth and briefly met the professor's weary eyes in sympathy just as he looked up. "Second time?"

"Third," the professor replied, flopping back in his chair. "The third. Time. If you can believe it."

"Oh, I can. Probably used to relying on his interface."

"The problem with over-reliance on embedded technology. But at this point, I'm ready to make an exception to my methods for that young man."

Jack winced a bit as he nodded his understanding.

"Turn to Section Nine and begin reading, Jack. And if you can help your fellow student in any way, please do."

Jack gave a thumbs-up. "I will."

The professor nodded with a note of appreciation and got up with some notes in hand, soon writing some bullet points on the whiteboard.

Highfive came back about five minutes later, breathing a bit elevated, like someone who'd sprinted the entire time he'd been away. But he held up his backpack with a victorious grin. "Boom! Got it! Left it in the bathroom over by-"

"I don't care, Highfive," the professor interrupted flatly. He gestured at the semicircle table where Jack sat. "Have a seat and let's begin."

The big guy did so, coming over to sit by Jack, while simultaneously offering a fist-bump and whispering, "It's awesome we're classmates, my dude," before settling into his seat and pulling his textbook and notebook from his bag.

Jack met the fist-bump with a brief grin and nod of agreement. I guess it kinda is, actually. It certainly fits the final puzzle piece onto the board. A struggling student late getting his coat compared to his long-time friend. I doubt General Law is the whole of the reason, but still.

Jack also noted the symbol on Highfive's shoulder. A mask. A Mantle. No surprises there.

The professor pointed to the whiteboard, where in big, bold, precise letters, the word 'Conspiracy' was written. "Today, we're examining the concept of conspiracy in criminal law. Specifically, we'll consider the necessary elements: agreement, intent, and, in some cases, an overt act. Clear enough? Let's begin..."

So concise! He'd got that 'conciseness' down pat. Need to try and absorb his expert conciseness…

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

After class, as Jack was picking up to go, Highfive was frowning into space as he absentmindedly put his things up, something Jack recognized as the 'interface glaze.' A moment later, Highfive asked, "Hey, you eating lunch with anyone?"

"Nope," Jack replied. "You? Probably a whole table, eh? Mr. Popular."

"Heh. You mean to have acquaintances? Sure, tons. To have friends? Nah, not lately, man. Most of us who start getting close to PACC time, we thin out, you know? Get to four and stick to it. It's practically intuitive. Those outside are either competitors or, if a little younger, future competitors, maybe. You gotta bounce out to your graduated buddies, and can you guess what that shit's like?"

"Awkward, yeah."

"They live a life already night and day from not having the coat. Just the clearance differences alone, man." He shook his head. "Anyway, Lighthouse literally won't let me go, she's just that kinda loyal, but the job is demanding. I told her it ain't like they're gonna pair me with her even if I do get through in six months or whatever the frag it's gonna be…" He sighed, shrugged, and then chuckled with his hands thrown up helplessly. "But I can always bitch about everything, right?"

Jack chuckled as he nodded. "A time-honored tradition anywhere you go, Blondy. So, then, you wanna grab lunch in mess and shoot the shit?"

A winning smile answered him. "Dude! You took the words right out of my mouth!"

They told their tutor to have a good day and headed off down the hallway, sparse backpacks over their shoulders, walking side-by-side down ample, wide hallways. "At least we don't have to take a train to mess from here," Jack added.

"Exaaactly," Highfive replied. "It beats dicking with the classes in clubhall. Don't miss 'em. So, how many classes you got, anyway?"

"Two, other than physical training and powers training. Special Operations: Fundamentals. Some kind of custom course I'll probably never fully finish."

"All you gotta do is get the coat, Jackman. Not sure on your timeframe, but when it happens, priority is going to shit all over that class."

"I'll try to chip away at it regardless. Eventually, I want all of it behind me, not lingering."

"I feel you, bro. Hey, I hear you're getting trained by Agent Boiler."

"News travels fast?"

"That traveled about the same speed as you existing, yeah! So. Agent Boiler." He deliberately waited until Jack met his eyes, then made a face while exhaling out of an 'O' made with his mouth. Silent communication meaning, 'Damn, what a hottie!'

Jack rolled his eyes, laughed, and groaned at the same time. "Here we go… more shit about Jack the Playboy, I'm guessing."

"You wish, dude. She's way out of your league."

"Thanks so much for killing the dream, Blondy." An ironic statement.

"Any time, Jackman, any time. Still, you've got it made having her as a trainer. And friend, right? That's a good friend to have."

"Yeah. We get along. Even though she's a gigantic brat."

Highfive seemed to look at him incredulously, then broke out in laughter. "Okay, maybe I underestimated your charm, bro. Damn. The way you said that sounds like you're close."

"Yeah, she's close to chappin' my ass." A kind of old-school thing to say. He'd more or less gotten it from his dad. He wanted to change the subject, in any case. "Speaking of charm… Do you know anything about Délight?"

Highfive stopped dead, his expression one of serious alarm as he turned and put his hand on Jack's shoulder, stopping him. "Bro. Tell me you didn't."

Jack frowned incredulously. "Didn't what?"

Highfive just kept staring seriously.

Jack scoffed. "Okay, simmer down the intensity, would you? Is this where you ask me if I'm wrapped around her finger? No, man. I resisted her. Surprised it didn't get around, honestly."

Well. Now that I think about it, Lighthouse just doesn't have time or even interest for that shit. And it makes sense that the little 'crew' wouldn't spread the info.

Highfive nodded slowly, his tongue working around and poking his cheek out. He patted Jack's shoulder and let go, taking a deep breath and looking both ways down the hallway, re-shouldering his backpack. "Alright. Sorry. That's what you have to do if she takes an interest in you. Walk away or tell her off. Unless you want a fun, wild time that ends like a botched fireworks display."

"Speaking from experience, then?"

His eyes shifted to the floor. "Yeah. Few years ago. Being a dumb kid in over his head. I thought I was a non-jealous type, thought it was casual, you know? But she has an effect." He had a sour look on his face. "Lost friends over that. Almost lost my best friend. But she blamed Délight more than me. I dunno if it's right, but I'm glad."

"She messed up more than one, though, didn't she? Lighthouse mentioned a ruined career."

Highfive winced and shook his head. "That guy… I think he approached her initially. But got weird quickly, went crazy. Got into a fight that Délight broke up herself. And then there was a public screaming match. Yeah, there was a 'falling out,' alright… and he was extracted from the whole process. Maybe no coat. No one knows the details, there's tons of differing rumors, but he must've gone into rehabilitation and reprocessing."

"Which never would've happened without this manipulator around."

Highfive seemed to study him. "Not everyone is meant for this. It chooses simple people, crazy people, incompetent people. From what I've seen, Momma can't reprogram every fragged up thing out. A year ago, someone got killed over a girl that had nothing to do with Délight. A few months ago, someone committed suicide, though I don't know the details. It's not even uncommon, especially on the Wilkesland borders. But someone has to be there, you know?"

Jack frowned thoughtfully. "Damn. I mean, that's something to consider, but… I still don't know about Délight running around, making it worse."

"All I can say is that she's Momma's Special Girl. Keeps a close eye and hand on her. That much I saw myself being with her. I know her power with that intensity level is rare. Slated for big things, I guess. She's already done multiple missions, supposedly."

"I was thinking the social environment was her training ground. She has to be in it to hone her skills."

Highfive exhaled loudly. "Maybe that, too. We're the guinea pigs. Was a hell of a drug, though." He looked back down the hallway. "Let's forget her, man!" He patted the back of Jack's shoulder hard and smiled. "Let's do what Big Nonnies do best — eat!"

🐙Patreon Link, Next Chappy — Chapter 45: Hammers