Shaper of Metal Post-Apoc Progression LitRPG

The chocolate cake, emblazoned with the text, 'Congratulations, Jack, The Unstoppable Stallion of Eden and Slayer of Bratzilla!', was a beautiful, beautiful thing sitting on the table of the meeting room Jack and Lindsay had arranged to partake of it in. Using his phone, Jack took a video of it with Lindsay in the frame — now wearing thrown-on extra athletic fatigues — asking her what it said.

She rolled her eyes. "You know what it says!"

"You've gotta say it for the camera," Jack replied. "You got it for me, after all."

"Psh! Whatever. I didn't agree to be on camera."

"Don't be a spoiled sport! Take your licks!"

"Ugh!" She sighed. "Fine. 'Congratulations, Jack. The Unstoppable Stallion of Eden and Slayer of Brufmmfzl.' Happy, now?"

"What was that? Slayer of what? And you said it mockingly. Say it right."

"Slayer of Bra-" — she coughed, muffling the word — "la. Now, let's eat-"

"Nope, need to say it clearly, or no cake. Come on, let's go. Say it! All of it from the top! Take two…"

Glaring witheringly at him, she took a deep breath and said in a very deliberate monotone, "Congratulations, Jack. The Unstoppable Stallion of Eden. Slayer. Of. Brat. Zilla. There. Now cut. The damn. Cake!"

With a shit-eating grin, Jack nodded graciously to her and clicked off the recording. "Gladly, Princess."

It tasted even better than it looked. Like glorious victory. True just deserts — or rather, just desserts.

I don't care if the pun doesn't fully work, either!

Halfway into his second piece, Jack offered, "So, as I was saying, I'm seeing through the Lens of a Spook to some degree. Information in the right place. Knowing more about the Phantasmal Reach makes me understand the paranoia, as well."

Lindsay nodded as she finished off her cake and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Knowledge corrupts, to a degree. That got much worse more recently. Screws have been tightening. But the principle was always understood in terms of public information. The things out there are too terrifying for the average person. They tend to breed hopelessness. We screen on mentality before anything else. Even drone operators are separated into tiers based on their mental fortitude. Obviously, we don't send the In-and-Out types anywhere near the frontline. In the event of a defense incident close to home, it's a whole lot of hoping for the best. A portion will panic and not do what they're supposed to based on drills and training. It is what it is."

"Some have more of a warrior mentality than others, I guess. But what do you think Screamer's chances are? Of recovering."

"A hundred percent in terms of being better off than she was. Very high, also, of being stable enough for a normal life."

"What about a return to service?"

Lindsay's face looked doubtful. "An assessment for months down the road. She screwed her Allotment up pretty badly, too."

"I asked Q-Loth about that. It said she could be brought to Deucalian territory for potential assistance."

Lindsay widened her eyes and held her hands up flat in an expression of helplessness. "Can't tell you anything at all, there. It won't be happening anytime soon, though — that I'm fairly sure of."

Jack nodded slowly. "Possibly not in time for my own inevitable journey there, then."

Lindsay gave him a guarded, otherwise blank look, shrugging noncommittally.

It made Jack grin. So they aren't in constant communion, or she'd know Memoria had admitted it was all but certain. "Memoria told me it was likely, already. Access level restricted, mainly."

Lindsay's eyebrows rose slightly. "Ah. So it is. Probably a reasonable assumption that it'll be sooner, yes. Just note that you're entering a different world, and things can change very quickly. This enemy you've come to know more of remains unpredictable and is evolving worryingly fast. Due to this new tool revealed in your kit, Memoria and Central's consensus now has to balance that with other priorities related to your development and role."

"Mmn. A damn good point. It takes a lot out of me, right now. It's unclear how much connection to the person I need, too. She might want someone with more training to test other cases. Right?"

"Another reasonable assumption, yeah."

"You should come, then." Jack smirked as he took a bite of cake. "You could bond with a hot octoboy angel type and take him home."

Lindsay burst out in laughter, though it was brief before she deliberately quieted and squinted her eyes at him, fighting amusement back. "Jack, being stupid as always." She shook her head and looked away. "However tempting it is, I'll never be risked outside the borders. No particular need, either. I level up through my own long-distance task symbiosis with others on certain priority ops. Slow, and opportunities aren't constant or guaranteed, but I'm still gaining — even from my ivory tower, yep-yep."

"Oh shit, I forgot about that. If you ever did tell me, that is."

She shrugged. "Don't recall. Anyway, it's one of my more advanced Secondary Mutations related to mimicry, and it's exceptionally draining from long distances, especially beyond our territory."

"So you've never used it on me, then?"

Lindsay met his eyes and they immediately flickered away. There was a faint note of sudden discomfort, perhaps from regret at saying more than she wanted to. "Nope. Isn't training-centric. Per se. In your situation."

Jack suddenly recalled her words about her being 'useless' for her fiancé, and it clicked — she'd probably tried to help him and failed. Suddenly, her words about 'keeping her distance' took on a new dimension. If she could help him, or even save his ass one day when he was out there…

She could've even anticipated the journey and detached in time to make way for that possibility. Whoa.

Jack suddenly fixed his gaze on his plate. He couldn't dredge up what he was thinking, so he was silent for a while as he finished up his dessert. When he spoke, it was to change the subject. "Yeah, tomorrow is the big day. Actual field training."

Lindsay betrayed a bit of relief in his subject change. "Mm-hmm. Good luck! Great stuff to fill out the solo development at your level. Especially if you luck out and do relevant things with your powers. That maturity you pretend to have sometimes is paying off."

"Like you, I've fooled them all, yes."

"I'd expect nothing less from the Unstoppable Stallion."

Jack pointed his fork at her, raised his eyebrows, and corrected, "Of Eden."

"Who also masquerades as the archetypal city boy, despite his backwoods origins."

Jack finally finished off his cake. He put his finger to his lips as he glanced at Lindsay. "Shhh."

Smirking, Lindsay rose. "Hate to eat and run, but I've got some work to finish up." She flicked her hands at the cake. "I'd say thanks for the cake, but I bought it. Maybe I'll take it with me…"

"Like hell!" Jack reached over and slid the cake more in his direction. "You can take one piece of my cake with you."

Grinning wider, Lindsay shook her head. "I'm joking, you damned pig! Yeesh. Chocolate cake is good, especially from Sweet Dreams Bakery, but not among my favorites."

Jack shrugged shamelessly and returned the grin. "More for me, then. Have a good night, Lindsay. See you around."

"Later, Jack. Knock 'em dead tomorrow. Not literally, I mean."

"You know it."

Jack watched her exit, wondering exactly how her long-distance ability worked. Mimicry. Amplification? Additional power instances? Or a psychic body double!? That would be rad as hell.

He bundled up his cake and headed to his quarters. Solo study, running, and routine working out were left to do before he turned in.

Mission day tomorrow. I should probably hope it's boring, but I don't. I'll be ready for action, either way!

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Jack woke up raring to go in the morning, with instructions to bring his new, fancy jacket along with him to Central Processing, but otherwise to dress in a typical uniform, as he'd get his suit and such later on. Nothing else was required, but he was told he'd have a 'locker' if he brought stuff anyway.

This time, his trip to Central was something 'up top' to some degree, though he wasn't sure where. When he was deposited in a lobby, he was uncertain whether it was the same lobby as he'd once been brought and delivered to Agent Bermuda, or a different one. But another 'clerk' entirely greeted him, a uniformed woman not wearing a skirt, but pants, though she had the same hat with the telltale winged sun symbol on the front. He only saw because she was just walking back behind her desk, seemingly by happenstance.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

She paused just on the other side of her desk, turning to him as if expecting him right where he was. She smiled and waved. "Junior Agent Laker. Take the hall immediately to my right, please. Last door, straight at the end. It'll be marked on your interface."

"Oh, alright," Jack replied, and then nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course. Good luck on your operation. May Humanity Prevail."

"M-May Humanity Prevail, yes," Jack managed to reply, stammering slightly. It was not something he was used to throwing out, by any means.

Just as he was almost in the hallway, the agent called, "One other thing, Junior Agent." Jack stopped dead, watching as she looked up from doing something on a thin tablet. She had a faint smile as she said, "From the moment you step into that hallway, you are temporary designation: Agent Steel. There are no junior agents in the field, just agents. There are no ANPs in the field, just agents. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's not bad, actually. Short and sweet."

Her smile widened pleasantly. "It's a special legacy name of a fallen agent, of which there are many. It's borrowed and utilized by suited field agents. It's yours while serving as such, but protocol is to leave it with the suit."

"Ah, I see. Understood. So it goes without saying there's an Agent Smith?"

"It does."

Jack chuckled. "Well, in any case, I'm honored."

The agent nodded to him and went back to her tablet. Jack continued on, striding down the mood-lit hallway — one that looked like all the rest in Central Processing, past a dozen doors split left and right, all of them closed.

The one at the end opened into something like a fancy lecture hall with a prominent podium and semi-circle rows of seating facing it. A massive digital screen showed a very detailed map of Antarctica, and above everything was some sort of advanced, holographic display, which currently showed rotating 3D letters spelling, 'Welcome — 4:37 to Briefing Initiation,' continually counting down.

The hall was extremely occupied by dozens of agents in a combination of military uniforms, agents with their jackets shed but handguns showing, and plainclothes people who, on the surface, looked like they rolled in off the street. But something in their eyes and expressions showed they were like all the others present — spooks with a bit of their guard let down, if only because they were entirely comfortable and exuding confidence in a place they otherwise did not appear to belong.

The people present were arrayed in chaotic positions at the moment, with some sitting down already, and others standing and chatting in small groups. The fully-suited agent at the big podium was vaguely familiar. At first, Jack thought it was Agent Cancun, the agent he'd been grilled by after the initial Situation, but he realized it wasn't after a moment. It was just the tendency for them to all look alike. In any case, the agent was looking down at notes or some such, oblivious to any newly entering personnel.

The next closest cluster of people had many Jack immediately recognized — it was the entire ANP crew that had busted into his uncle's place! He immediately recognized Lighthouse. And also quite obvious was a humanoid shape of green gelatin with a colorful Hawaiian-style shirt and khakis floating around inside, which could only be the iconic Wall-of-Ooze! Two others had faces he didn't know, but he didn't need them due to the other cues. InSite, in plainclothes with long, brown hair, was just obviously himself, and the man next to him, with his rigid stance, steely gaze, and jerkish, chiseled face, could only be Girdle. Jack was rather stunned to see them.

Lighthouse's eyes were quick to note him. She immediately burst into exasperated laughter and threw her hands up. "Frag me, it's you again!" She thrust her hands out toward him, half-smiling, half-incredulous. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Jack took a moment to collect himself, blinking and moving away from the automatically closing door. He cleared his throat and replied, "Well, I just go where the magnets in my shoes lead, and here's where you brought me. Am I in trouble, then?"

Lighthouse dropped her hands, smirking and shaking her head. "Yeah, you are! But it's too late, now, dude. You're knee-deep in shit like the rest of us."

"I think you might be right, there."

Agent Ooze shlorped across the distance between them quickly, the green gel truly a wall as it filled space, even as a humanoid. What drew the eye were his 'eyes' — bright, pinpoint stars lodged in the gelatin. "Ah! We meet again, gentleman and unforeseen ally!" His hand was held out, the gel growing darker and more defined as it concentrated into something more solid. "Hope there's no hard feelings, eh, chap?"

Jack, grinning, took the hand for a firm handshake. It was solid enough, but… moist. "Not at all! It's a true honor. I've watched your video clips like a hundred ti-"

"You're an asset?" Girdle interrupted, loudly and incredulously. As Ooze shlorped aside, Girdle could be seen staring at Jack like one would at a disturbing bug that had flown into the room. "That doesn't really add up very well as preexisting. That uniform is even more confusing."

"Maybe you need to learn to use your senses better, Girdle," InSite commented wanly, his voice as ever, 'the sardonic adult in the room.' And nerd, perhaps. "I maintain that any of the Allotted can detect another."

Girdle's face got even more incredulous. "Allotted? Him?"

"It's true," Lighthouse offered, shrugging. "He's going through training as a cadet. Must be far along already, to be here."

"That's impossible." Girdle stared at Jack like the bug had suddenly started writing calculus on a chalkboard.

Both Lighthouse and InSite sighed.

"That's right," Jack said, grinning smugly as he crossed his arms and met Girdle's gaze. "The impossible is standing before you. Sir." He knew there was no need for 'sir' at the moment, but it felt good to drop it with that extra hint of sarcasm.

Girdle's jaw worked as he simply stared. Admittedly, it was a grade-A stare. A strong jaw. 'Manly Hero in a Western' levels.

"Well! In any case," Ooze began, as a hardened gelatinous hand patted Jack's shoulder softly, "welcome aboard, Agent! Another brother, long-lost in mysterious circumstances, remains auspicious for the greater good! Miraculous, even; 'impossible' is as good a description as any, eh?" He chuckled. "Judging from the black coat, might I assume your club origin to be Everywhere Hall?"

"Yeah. I'm a Linewalker."

"Wonderful! Agent Girdle happens to be of that origin, himself. Most interesting, isn't it?"

Jack and Girdle frowned at each other, making clear neither was happy about that particular detail. Nonetheless, Jack shrugged, took everyone in, and said, "So you lot know, I'm Agent Steel for this op, whatever it is. I'm sure you're all among those who know more than I do."

"That's probably not saying much," Lighthouse replied. "It's like that saying InSite uses-"

"We're kept in the dark and fed on horseshit," InSite offered helpfully.

"That's the one. Stop reading my mind, you tool!"

InSite smouldered at her with his eyes heavy-lidded and raised an 'honest' hand. "I swear I can't do that — for the tenth time."

Lighthouse grinned. "Yeah, yeah, that's what every psychic says."

"My abilities don't include looking inside your thick skull, Light."

"So, which is it?" Jack asked, "Are we knee deep in shit, or are we fed on it?"

"Oh, you already know the answer, Agent Steel," Insite replied without missing a beat. "Both. You've got to eat shit to get anywhere."

"So many fecal analogies," Ooze muttered in mild reproach. "Speaking of getting somewhere, though, my potty-mouthed siblings, I believe we should take our seats."

A few others were coming in from the doors; overall, most were filtering to sit down in the rows with less than a minute on the countdown hologram, which now read 'Please Take Your Seats' and was flashing red. Unseen, Girdle had already walked away from the conversation to head to his seat in the second row. Ooze flowed over quicker than most at walking speed, shlorping over the tops of the first row to angle for a seat next to Girdle.

"Hey, I thought we told you to knock that off, Ooze!" Someone in the front row called, possibly teasing. "The tables need no moistening, thanks."

"Sorry, my good man!" Ooze called in sincere tones. "Bad habits yet persist."

"I tell my wife the same thing. And my mistress." A few chuckles bloomed from around the room at this.

"I bow to your far greater struggles, sir — and hope you get yourself sorted."

"There's always tomorrow."

InSite walked over to the speaker at the podium to say something to him privately. Lighthouse began walking around the outer edge, meeting Jack's eyes and jerking her head in a subtle indication for him to follow. He did so and sat next to her just inside the outer edge of the first row. All around, Jack noticed that around two-thirds of those present were putting on smart glasses or visor sets. He guessed there were around seventy or eighty people in the place.

As the time ticked down to fifteen seconds, the speaker at the podium nodded with a final word to InSite and cleared his throat. His voice came from all around, clear but not too loud as he said, "Make sure you are all AR-capable."

By then, only a few stragglers were putting on rigs. No way a full third were ANPs, though. Some just had contacts or, more likely, built-in implants. InSite came over and hopped up to sit directly on the table to Jack's right, crossing his arms. The guy right next to Jack did a 'tsk' and asked, "Hey, do you mind?"

"Nope," InSite said absently, without otherwise reacting.

The guy grumbled and shifted further to the right, as the others down the row then shifted slightly to accommodate him.

Mini chimed. <You've been invited to the private Gestalt Chat Group, 'Associates Cluster Kettle, Barring the Overly Stiff and Serious,' aka GCG: ACKBOSS. Members: InSite, Lighthouse, Switchback (inactive), Sato. Accept?>

Blinking, Jack accepted.

ACKBOSS flared immediately, rapid-fire in his brain. Insite: <Oy. Welcome.>

Lighthouse: <Don't mind him. He hates Girdle a little too much. Most of us only hate him a little bit.>

<Only because you haven't worked with him enough, yet. I hope you don't ever need to reach the inevitable, actually. But that's only a fraction of my reasoning for the utilization of associate clusters. Whenever I multitask, I save Memorial bandwidth. My bullshitting has a key, altruistic undercurrent, you see.>

<Such a noble, noble man.>

Sato: <Hate is too strong; dislike, just right. And that's okay. Also, welcome, Steel.>

Jack scrambled to reply before the counter ticked to zero. <Thanks for the invite. I reserve my right to determine my hatred levels of Girdle at a later date.>

InSite: <A fair decision.>

The hologram above flashed as it counted down, did a mild chime at the end, and then, somewhat anticlimactically, disappeared.

The agent at the podium spoke once more. "Welcome to Task Force Homebody Nine, Team Charlie. There are a lot of new faces here today. I am Agent Bahama, and our greater project is Operation Kettle. Task Force Homebody is as legacy of a name as mine. There were eight Homebody iterations before this one, all of them successful operation groups. Whatever our challenges, this one will be the ninth successful — unless the assembled Agentus can bear to break a streak and kill a legacy."

Someone shouted an emphatic, "Hell no!" A few more shouted in agreement.

"Hell no is the right answer as far as I'm concerned. Whether you've been here from the beginning or you're just joining, whether your role is big or small, know that you're about to be a part of a grand finale you damn well should be proud of, and even if you aren't, your record will show it."

Applause broke out, something the vast majority ended up joining. Jack did the same, even if it felt like a premature celebration to his sensibilities, or an obvious psyche-up from the agent. Maybe the pep talk was routine for some, but his blood was already pumping hard in anticipation. Motivation was amped, too.

Break a streak of eight? No fraggin' way we let that happen.

🕵️‍♂️ Patreon Link, Next Chappy — Chapter 66: Task Force Homebody, Operation Kettle