This Mr. V guy has to be kidding! I uncrumple the letter and take a quick glance at it, skimming through for anything odd. Hell, the whole thing seems fishy, but I spot the words "chosen one" in the letter and it makes me almost wretch. He must think I'm special or something. Sure, I get sick sponsorship deals with my WarGames team, but I don't think I'm that special. I just do what I do.
Still, if it weren't for my mother being here, I would have tossed the note out, hitched on a bus, and bolted out of this joint. Instead, I decide to stay and see what happens. It might not be so bad. If The Doc is here, then it must be for a good reason.
As we walk around this strange city, I can't help but notice the signs, the buildings, and the people. Actually, the buildings don't look strange — just simple skyscrapers and commercial structures with reflective windows and metal sides. Yet, the signposts are in a language that I don't recognize. The letters look swirly and whimsical, almost like classic cursive writing or a doctor's handwritten signature. Maybe it's the alphabet used by Mezos's people or those tall elf folks.
I stow the wrinkled letter in my shirt pocket, but take a moment to inspect the blue wax seal that had previously secured the envelope. It's a crystal-shaped impression with the characters, R4, embossed inside the crystal. Strange. This insignia has recognizable lettering, yet the street signs are in a different language. How's that make sense? I place the seal in my pocket, just for safekeeping, and continue onward.
"Are you alright?" Mezos asks. "You look kind of mesmerized."
He's right. I'm half-awake but I can't believe where I am. Hell, Mezos's voice sounds like he came from the streets instead of some magical faerie place. "Kind of," I say.
"You'll get used to it," he says.
Mezos and I arrive at the towering skyscraper and, holy shit, this place is freaking tall! We enter through the double glass doors in front, and a giant bronze statue, about ten meters in height, stands in front of us, prominent and glorious. The sculpture resembles a woman in a scholarly hooded robe standing tall and courageous, with a gnarled staff planted on the ground with her right hand. Behind her, water splashes from a fountain like small tidal waves on a relaxing summer day at the beach.
I ask, "Who's that woman supposed to be?"
"That is Farron Ardbert Meteora. She is a legendary techno-mage who specialized in healing spells, and one of the Four Champions of Esthial," Mezos answers.
Four Champions? Maybe that's what the 4 stands for on the wax seal. "And what's Esthial?"
"Esthial was another planet. That's the home of the En'ari elf-droids, the Valkyr cyborg clans, the Hyrstheron humans, and the Reul-Sìthe fae. It was a lush and magical planet until the En'ari High Magistrate declared war on everyone, and the world turned into fire and ash. When that happened, refugees escaped through a dimensional portal and ended up on Earth. That happened long ago, way before you were born."
I rub my chin in thought. "Dimensional portal? So, you didn't arrive here by a giant mother ship?"
"Nope!" Mezos let out a light chuckle. "It's all portals, rifts, and vortexes." He then gestures me to follow him. "Let's keep going. I'm sure Mr. V is eager to talk to you."
My brow twitches upward, curious. "Am I on a different planet?"
"No, you're still on Earth," the boy answers.
"Where exactly on Earth?"
"Unfortunately, I can't divulge the precise location of this research base. Just know: you're still on Earth."
"Well, I'll take your word for it," I say, though I still wonder where on Earth this base is.
I continue to follow Mezos as he leads me to an elevator on the lobby floor. The two of us enter the elevator, and I notice the posh interior of the spacious closet-like enclosure. Silver and reflective, adorned with lustrous gold rails around the sides, box around us. Colorless gemstones with numbers etched in an elegant typeface sparkle and rest as elevator buttons.
The most noticeable feature in the elevator is a frosted, crystal-like plaque on the back wall. It is about sixty centimeters in height and about twelve centimeters in depth. It's the same crystal emblem that's on that wax seal. The one with the letter R and the number 4 etched inside the large gemstone in the same stylish font as the elevator buttons. Fine and intricate. The letters look almost holographic.
Mezos presses a button for the topmost floor. The doors close, and the elevator rises. It starts slowly, but then picks up speed as it reaches the fifth floor. Once it reaches the tenth floor, the rate tapers off to about three stories per second. We reach the 60th floor. Somehow, this tower is a lot taller than it seems.
The door opens, and right before our eyes is a grand hallway, the ceiling high, the aisle about as wide as a two-lane road, and the walls lined with wooden and glass cabinets. Inside the cabinets, whirling and whizzing bronze gizmos move inside like fish inside an aquarium. At the far end is a set of tall wooden doors, polished and stained in mahogany red. Next to it is a crystal button and a speaker.
Mezos pushes this button and mutters into the speaker, "Mr. V, Ari is here."
A few seconds later, the locks click, and the door creaks open.
My eyes widen, and my jaw drops.
"What do you think, Ari?" Mezos asks.
"Well, shit," I gasp, dumbstruck. A glowing golden light floods my sight for only a moment. Once my vision clears, I notice how open and vast Mr. V's office is from the front door. Small gizmos and gadgets, about the size of my fist, fly and whirl about like robotic pixies. Many devices are bronze and dull in luster, but there are few silver ones and even less golden glimmering gizmos.
Off to my left appears to be a white car, edgy, sharp, and sporty, with wide track-ready wheels. Expensive and exotic. It's something I'd see in the wealthier parts of Vegas. On the front hood of the vehicle brandishes a wide silver badge with spanning angel-like wings. The middle part of the symbol has gold accents that resemble a small kite-shaped shield. Superimposed inside that shield-like outline is an engraving that depicts a tower that radiates light, as if this building represents the pinnacle of holiness and virtue. Below that tower is the name of the company that produced this wicked edgelord of a vehicle: ALA~DE~EDAN MOTORI.
I'm not much a car nut, but I know cars by Ala~de~Edan are super rare, like they make only a hundred of them each year. Still, it's obvious that Mr. V has way more money than me. Though, I'm wondering how he got this car on the 60th floor. Considering his wealth, I am not surprised if he used a teleportation device or magic from a strange world.
Up ahead, I spot a wooden desk stained in the same mahogany red as the cabinets in the hallway. On top are a neat stack of papers, a tablet computer, and a holographic projector cube, the cube projecting a three-dimensional image of a campus. I recognize the buildings displayed on the hologram.
The buildings look like the CrystalCorp campus near Las Vegas, the labs where I came from. I can tell by the white arches at the gate of the vicinity and the shuttle buses, including the one with the Neon City Valkyries' livery plastered all over it.
A few seconds later, the hologram shifts. This time, it's a live feed from CrystalCorp's public video streaming channel. It's a meeting between the President of the United States, Lyss Zauss Stirling, and the CEO of CrystalCorp Cybernetics, Mun Seul-Ki.
In the holographic feed, the two women of power are in the Presidential Oval Office in The White House.
On the President's chair is Ms. Stirling, a well-dressed individual in a blue business suit, matching khakis, a red striped necktie, and silver thin-rimmed glasses over her verdant green eyes. Her golden skin glows against the bright rising sun illuminating from the window behind her, and her short, platinum hair, styled like a mushroom, glimmers like a lustrous metal. In a professional and commanding tone, she discusses military contracts in front of the camera.
Across from her is the much-taller and paler-skinned Mun Seul-Ki, dressed in a business coat, matching slacks, and high-heels, all in pure heavenly white. Elegant and true to her title as the President of CrystalCorp Cybernetics. Even her long, straight hair flowing down all the way to her waist is the same matching white. It's almost as if she's some kind of ghost. Even her two silver cybernetic camera-like eyes creep me out.
Unsurprising. I have seen the CEO before in photos and live feeds, but I've only met her at least twice in person per year, and she always wears all-white everything, save for a turquoise crystal-shaped lapel pin on the right collar of her business coat. That crystal is the insignia of CrystalCorp Cybernetics.
As I come closer to the mahogany desk, the volume fades to a speechless mute.
Someone of interest sits in a large, black, throne-like business chair facing away from me.
I greet this person, "Mr. V, I presume?"
The holographic feed shuts off, and the person on the chair turns to face me. He gets up from his chair and smiles. "I am." A smug grin paints his lips.
"Anyway, what does the V stand for?" I inquire.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he states, waving a finger. "You must earn the privilege of having that knowledge. For now, I would like to take this opportunity and welcome you to Research Base Amelia."
Mr. V appears somewhere shorter than me by about 15 centimeters. Still, he looks wealthy and sophisticated. His brown hair is short, wavy, and groomed. A fine mustache and a cleanly cut chin strip beard decorate his face. His orange-tinted, round-rimmed glasses shroud the stern glare in his eyes as he lets out a slight smirk on his white, glowing teeth.
This man sports a dark brown business suit with a matching colored vest underneath. Two columns of polished gold buttons line down on his jacket in neat lines and resemble small gears and cogs. These same cogs ornament his cuffs, two on each wrist. He also wears slacks of matching colors, and black business shoes that glint against the warm light of his penthouse estate.
Mr. V places his two hands, gloved in white satin, near the collar of his suit, and straightens himself. He greets, "And you must be Ari Kagura, yes?"
I nod. "Yes, I am."
"Then I'm glad to see you," he motions for me to shake his hand.
I take a firm grip and give it a hard shake.
"Quite the impeccable timing. Have a seat. Both of you." He motions us to the two black business chairs in front of his desk as he returns to his seat.
Mezos and I pull out the chairs and sit. The chair feels posh, soft, and pillowy, as if my butt found its new home on a cloud in the sky. Comfy, I admit.
"You're probably wondering why you are here, Ari, yes?" Mr. V inquires.
"You requested for my presence, right?" I shrug.
He leans back with his hands between the back of his head and the high cushion of his chair. "Well, do you know what separates you from the crowd of cybernetically enhanced girls who take part in your team of Neon City Valkyries?"
"Different?" I had to think hard on it. All the girls fight alongside me at the War Games. We train, we work out, we sweat like warriors. We're all like sisters who battle together like a varsity fighting team.
Mezos nods at me.
I say with a shrug, "Nope. I know I'm more open about my sexual preferences than my teammates."
Mr. V chuckles. "Fascinating, but not exactly what I'm thinking about. I'm more interested in what you have inside. Your dreams."
"My dreams?" My brows furrow.
"Absolutely." He turns his chair, his back facing me, and activates his holographic projector using a small white remote no bigger than a stick of gum. "Do you recognize this picture?"
The projector displays a hologram of a room with a white-haired girl in bed with a strange headset visor over her eyes. Upon closer inspection, I come to realize who that girl is on that hologram. That's me! My short, messy hair. The tree-branch scars around my left eye. My small lips. Yeah, that has to me.
That hologram has to be my bedroom dorm at the labs. I gasp, and my eyes widen in realization. "That looks like my bedroom."
"Correct," Mr. V says. "And that strange contraption over your eyes is what the scientists used to monitor your dream state. In case you aren't aware, your dreams possess some interesting and unique properties."
"For real?" I ask.
Mr. V nods. "Indeed, and it is these properties that could grant CrystalCorp an upper hand to reaching their diabolical goals."
"Properties? Like what kind?" I emphasize, scratching the back of my head in wonder.
Mr. V rests his index finger under his nose for a moment. "Do you ever have dreams where people are actually talking to you, influencing you, perhaps even projecting an image of things to come?"
"Recently," I say, recalling my last dream. "Actually, I don't know about the last part, but the talking part is a big definitely."
Mr. V says with a smirk, "There are those who communicate within the dream. Even in slumber, they still relay their plans. Many belong to a race known as the Valkyr."
"That's weird," I say, wondering if that's the reason my medical vitals previously listed Valkyr instead of Asian or American.
Mr. V shifts holograms displays a group of armored female warriors, armed with triggerblades, oversized battleaxes, and heavy guns. "The Valkyr is a race of cyborg warriors, all women, who live rather aggressive and battle-hardened lifestyles. They originate from Esthial, the dimensional world where a majority of this island's inhabitants come from. However, for the past twenty-five years, CEO Mun Seul-Ki has been trying to recreate the legendary Valkyr skalds and berserkers at her labs around the world. Her success is inconsistent. Yet, Mun Seul-Ki feels confident enough to produce enough of her super-soldiers."
"And I'm one of Mun's creations?" I ask.
"The short answer, yes, you are. The long answer: you are a cybernetically augmented individual born in this world to fit the specifications that Mun desires. You are Valkyr in design, but born on Earth to relish in this world's cultures."
"That would mean my biological mother is a Valkyr, right?"
"Yes," he nods. "It's one of the few things that distinguishes you from the rest of your Valkyries. Born as a machine-hybrid. A cyborg straight from the womb. As with your teammates, they are human, but now they are part machine, destined to one day become part of Mun's elite, assuming they show no defect."
I lower my chin, frustrated, brows furrowed. Why? I don't get it. Could my mother be from another world? Maybe that's the reason I have not known her. And my father? If the Valkyr is an all-female race, then who sired me? Maybe my father is not a man. Perhaps he's a machine. How the hell does that make sense? Just thinking about it hurts my head. Instead, I ask, "What does Mun intend to do with The Valkyries?"
"The simplest answer is that Mun intends to use you and your friends for her personal gain instead of preparation for national military deployment. She is attempting to recreate the original Valkyr race of Esthial. The only component of the Valkyr she could not recreate is the ability to roam and venture into the dream. If you remained at the labs, then Mun would have come close to doing so."
"And Valkyr can do that? Communicate within the dream?"
Mr. V nods. "The skálds can, but a few berserkers are dream-divers as well."
"Skálds?"
Mr. V swipes a hand over the holographic display, showing a woman with brown fur skinned armor. The woman plays a tune with a bowstring held with her metal hand, a violin-like instrument. Her sisters-in-arms engage in battle with oversized rifles and chainsaw-like battle axes.
"Hold up. I recognize that instrument," I say, recalling the strange thing holstered on that woman's hip in my dream.
"That, my friend, is called a rebec, one of the few famed instruments used by the skálds of the Valkyr clans." Mr. V points at the instrument. "The skálds are those who sing songs and chronicle the glorious battles of the Valkyr. However, some skálds opt to perform at the front line, providing moral support. Gunhild, Daughter of Magnhild of the Ylfing Clan, is an example of a famous skáld who has performed songs alongside her mother and other berserkers while in the heat of battle."
Gunhild? It's that name. I'm sure that's the name of that woman I met in my dream, right? I ask, "What do you know of Gunhild?"
Mr. V closes his eyes and scratches his chin. "Tragedy became of her. We can spend a lot of time talking about her path to corruption, but I'm sure your time is limited."
"Maybe you can tell me about her another time," I say. "Anyway, are those skálds like bards, or drummer boys, or something?"
"Exactly like a bard. Alas, Gunhild's whereabouts are unknown. Still, once you know more about your gift, we can maintain a heads-up on Mun's dark agendas, ensuring that Earth does not suffer the same fate that Esthial had faced."
Gift, I wonder. I'm still not sure what Mr. V is talking about. Apparently, my dreams are special. I mean, someone tried to talk to me through those dreams, but I'm not sure if that counts. For now, I'm sure Dr. Williams has a reason I'm on this base. Me, a seventeen-year-old girl with a strange, magical power that I never knew I had.
Mr. V scoots a tablet and digital pen in my direction and leans his head forward. "How about it, Ari? Will you assist us?"
The holographic tablet screen displays a contract. If I sign that contract, then I will be an official member of his organization, The Remnants.
I'm skeptical. The reasons seem wild and outrageous that I find it difficult to believe because CEO Mun doesn't appear as a malicious person to me. Still, I don't see her too often. Out of the few times I've seen her in person, which is like twice a year, she seems to be a regular individual with a shit-ton of money.
I say, "Can I think about it?"
Mr. V leans back in his chair but keeps the tablet in front of me. He turns to his side in contemplation. "I understand your skepticism. Perhaps I am a bit too up-front about this. It is a lot to take in. I'm not here to brainwash anyone in this organization, and I will not force you to join us, either. If you want to return to CrystalCorp's campus, then you are welcome to do so. Just understand that under that layer of fame and wealth is a road that could lead to destruction and torment. It is your choice whether you wish to venture down this route."
I nod back without a word.
"I will give you 48 hours to decide. You can stay at the campus in the meantime, but if you stay, I recommend you stop by The Labs. That is where your mother works as the Chairperson of The Savants Department. She can provide you with temporary lodging. If you do not return to my office within the allotted time, then I will assume that you have declined the offer. Refuse and a driver from The Machinesmiths will return you back to the CrystalCorp campus. Do you have questions?"
"How do I get to The Labs?" I ask.
"Just take the shuttle. A bus will arrive at the stop in ten minutes. Show the driver this card." Mr. V hands me a bronze metallic card, about the size of a credit card. One side contains an embedded microchip, and on the other side is the gemstone insignia with the stylized R4 insignia. Below the symbol are the letters engraved in a cursive font: VIP. "You need that card to use the public transport systems around the research base. Good luck, and I await your return."
Mezos and I get up from our seats, walk through the double-doors from Mr. V's office suite, and then we depart.
As the elevator lowers, Mezos turns to me with a rather bland look on his face. "Somehow, I am not surprised by how that conversation went."
"How's that?" I ask.
"The Doc told me you can get cynical and skeptical. She mentioned to me you like to do your research on certain situations, if time allows, before coming to a logical solution. Absolutely nothing wrong with that. Every story has two sides."
"Yes," I mutter, my eyelids feeling heavy, and my head drooping. "I'm conflicted with myself. If it weren't for mother working here, I would have leaned to not signing that contract. I'm just concerned about Dr. Williams."
"Understood."
"And," I turn my head and meet Mezos's gaze, "you're not even human. At least, I don't think you are. And how is Samza your sister if she has rabbit ears? That's not how genetics work, right?"
Mezos lets out a light-hearted chortle. "It might sound kind of weird to you, but genetics doesn't determine the animal features that my people are born with. It's all based on The Constellations or the gods my people believe in."
"Odd," I say. "I wonder what kind of animal features I'd end up with if I were a member of your race."
"It would depend on your birthday and how it aligns with our star charts," Mezos answers.
"My birthday is on November 1st," I say. "I'll be eighteen."
"Then, if you were born as a Reul-Sìthe fae, a member of my race, you might end up with horse features. Earth-year 2038 favored the Constellation of the Horse with an attunement to the element of Earth. You know, like hills and mountains."
My life as a half-horse person, I ponder. I've always wanted to ride a pony, but to be one? I don't know.
We reach the bus stop. Besides Mezos and I, there's only one person at the station, a woman with cool umber skin. She's around my height and muscular build, with shaven snow-white hair and glinting ruby red eyes that glittered against the faint light of the nearby lamppost. She wears a purple hooded jacket with yellow trims, a white plain shirt underneath, black denim jeans with rips around the thighs, black fingerless gloves, and matching military boots.
The woman spots us and greets, "Well, hello there. You look new. What's your name?"
"Ari, How about you?"
"Livia." She nods.
"Livia? As in Livia Cerayle?" I ask, recalling the daggers found during the fae misfits' invasion.
Livia smiles. "I'm glad you remember me. Your Valkyries would get annoyed when I lurk in the shadows during the WarGames. Anyway, what division are you in?" she asks, lips curling into a smile and her eyes sneering.
"Division?" I scratch my head.
"Actually," Mezos interjects, "she's still under orientation. A division hasn't recruited her yet, but considering her skill set, she'll probably end up with The Revelers."
"Oh." She sighs.
My organic eye twitches. "Who are The Revelers?"
"The Revelers Division is the section of The Remnants who recruit of scouters, fighters, and escorts. They're the ones that do all the muscle. Dax Soiree, a Hyrstheron, runs that division."
"And how about the other Divisions?" I ask.
Mezos answers, "The Savants Division, which is led by your mother, does all the researching, hacking, and infiltration. That's where all the magic happens. The brainy stuff! If they need to do fieldwork, sometimes a reveler or two will accompany them. They also provide off-site guidance to field operatives under the job title Third Eye Operator."
Mezos clears his throat and continues, "And then there's The Machinesmiths Division, a. k. a. The Hoon Squad. If you like tinkering with gadgets and gizmos, like Samza, then you might fit well with The Machinesmiths. They have a well-equipped makerspace with CNC machines that can cut anything, 3D printers that can print plastics and metals, a bunch of tools — the works!"
"Why are they called The Hoon Squad?" I ask.
"It comes from the automotive side of their division. Half their shop is all about tuning and modding cars and motorcycles. They even have a racetrack on a synthetic island a scant distance away. The word hoon is a slang term meaning 'crazy driver.' Basically, a person who likes to do donuts, burnouts, drifting, illegal street racing — the works! If it's a ridiculous thing you can do while driving a car, they're probably good at doing it and getting away with it too. Out in the field, drivers from The Machinesmiths also assist in the transport of Reveler and Savant operatives."
"Crazy," I mutter.
At that moment, the shuttle arrives. A simple white city bus with the R4 crystal insignia next to the doors. A few passengers, all in white and blue scholarly robes, exit the bus, and the three of us enter. No — only Mezos and I proceed through the bus' door.
"Aren't you coming?" I ask Livia.
"Don't worry about me." Livia lets out a smug and arrogant smile. "I'll just walk." And like a ninja, she disappears in a puff of smoke. Just like that.
Before finding a seat, I show the driver, a pointy-eared man with dark charcoal-like skin in a navy-blue uniform, my VIP card. Afterward, he closes the door, and we depart.