Fortunate Son (The Gamer)

"I was a man." you murmured to the room of mirrors, looking down. "No. I am a man. My mother stayed at home; she planted trees in the yard for their spring flowers. My father was a doctor with cancer patients. He helped them through chemotherapy, brought them sweets to cut through the bitter taste that always hung around."

"Correct!" the computer voice said cheerily.

"I was always a bit of a scholar; someone who pushed to excel in tests." you continued, the wellspring of memory pulsing forth. "The National Honor Society recruited me, and it fit me like a glove. I would have gone to the Honors College."

"Correct!"

"I remember..." you said, the sound coming back to you. "Bells. Ringing bells. I was running; running, running towards something. Everyone was running away, except me. Why was I running in where angels feared to tread?"

"Correct." The voice said, somber. The joy in it's words was gone, totally. It was a bit of a shock. "You may proceed."

As a door opened in the mirrors, you stood and advanced. Each stride felt your legs lengthen, advancing through what felt like miles of tunnel in moments. Time and space stretched around your feet, and when you arrived at a third door you just ran faster, feeling the air compress as it got out of your way, before slamming into it and knocking it out of the way. Once you were through, you panted for a moment, before seeing three metal skeletons drop from the ceiling. As they unlimbered carbines, you snarled.

"This is the third puzzle." the voice said. "Destroy the enemy."

Moments later, three streams of bullets flew towards you, but you were already sprinting to the side. You were smart- smart enough to know you couldn't outrun bullets. That said, as the robots tried to track you, you realized you could outrun their traverse rates. Ducking in close, you power-slid into their legs, sending all three sprawling. As they dropped their carbines, you grabbed one and slammed it into one twice, before turning it on the one closest to standing. The shots flew out, the skreech of metal on metal showing these were tougher than they first seemed.

Pain bloomed in your right shoulder as one of them landed a punch on your back, but a spinning smack with the carbine beat it back long enough for you to recover the gun and leave the last of the magazine in the one you'd stolen the gun from. As oil and sparks indicated it's death, you leapt back as the voice spoke again.

"Initiating Type Two."

Now the machines drew swords, advancing at you swiftly. Leaping back, you but-stroked out at one only to see it recoil out of the way of the blow. Blocking frantically, you rolled sideways, bruising your back as you got behind the machines and grabbed a before-unnoticed umbilical. As one slashed at you, you flicked the umbilical at it, the short circuit frying it in moments. As it sparked and died, you blocked the last murder-machine's sword strike and rushed in to arm yourself with the fallen 'bot's sword. Thus equiped, you glared.

"Initiating Type Three."

Seconds later, the last robot drew what looked like a comically oversized shotgun, racked it, and fired. Instead of a spray of pellet-based death, though, a large semi-sphere came out at the speed of a lazy punt. Smacking it aside with the carbine, you tossed it aside and started running. The explosion behind you confirmed what you thought- a grenade. Still, you were in sword range now, and-

-the robot jumped, firing at the ground to use the explosive force to get higher, flying over your head and spinning before nailing a three-point landing. Skidding to a stop and turn, you threw your sword before it could recover, the blade jamming in it's chassis. Running back, you leaped, landing on it's back before snapping it's neck and ripping out two fistfulls of electronics. Roaring, you laughed as the oil splattered up onto your chest.

"Good work." the voice said, still somber. "You're done being tested."

Stepping forth, you went through the next door, wet footprints leading back to the carnage.

---

The next room was an armory, plain and simple. At the center, though, was an uncomfortable cross between an altar and a armorers table. On it, a plain gold ring sat, next to a thin pair of chain bracelets. Stepping up, you listened carefully.

"Hey." a new voice said, chuckling warmly. "Sorry about my predecessor- Wheatly out there's not exactly the happiest 'bot in the stable, y'know? He liked his last job too much, we think. Orbital detail can get to one's head. Anyway, you've probably got questions, yes?"

"A few." you said, flicking oil off your hands idly. Wait- hands? You only had one a few minutes ago! The fuck?!

"Heh. Lemme guess what number one is- 'hi, I don't remember my name and I bear a disturbing resemblence to Enter Pop-Culture Cyborg Here, what the fuck?' am I right?"

"Yeah." you said, blinking.

"Alright, short version. Your Dad, Dr. Angelo Mercedes, had a day job at a hospital in the cancer ward. His night ob related to a set of rather ridiculous powers he knew fuckall about getting and only slightly more about using. You are, through no fault of your own, one of the several million people who experianced a short and uncanny case of death as a result of his last, greatest work. He's not your Real Dad by the way, but the odds of you feeling your Real Dad are kinda minuscule since your corpse was snatched from the municipal pauper's morgue."

"But...my memories..."

"Yeah, those." the voice said, sighing. "Dr. Mercedes had some kids, alright? Several. They all up and died due to a number of highly-unpleasant factors, all of which were related to said set of powers. So, after accidentally sorta-killing a lot of people, he collected up all the young folks who'd not necessarily recall anything after the bring-'em-back step happened, and slotted one of his kid's memory sets in there. Yours belonged to... Thomas, I believe. Anyway, metal bits. Since y'all were kinda fucked up to secondary causes, and Angelo's fallen off the sanity bus at this point, he decides to help all his Poor, Former Orphans out with some... er, upgrades."

"Upgrades." you said, dully. "Then why am I still missing a fucking hand?!"

"It's a telekinetic hand, actually. Not there until you need it, two hundred percent power of the regular one when you do. Like I said, Angelo fell off the sanity bus and bounced a couple of times."

"Great." you muttered. "So what do I do now?"

"Put on the ring." the voice said, chuckling. "Go out into the real world, and live life until one of Dad's old acquaintances or enemies shows up. Me and the Mechas can handle most of it down here, and you can always come back if you need things."

"Alright." you said, putting on the ring carefully. It fit, and a simple Heads Up Display appeared to you. Thinking to yourself, you wished for 'Status'.

Name: Henri Thomas Alavanz
Class: Gamer's Son
Level: LV2
HP: 65/110
MP: 50/50
STR: 12
VIT: 11
DEX: 14
INT: 20
WIS: 14
LUK: 10
POINTS: 5
MONEY: 0

Sighing, you closed it and looked around.

"Teleport room's to the right, feel free to take anything you want. Step in, and it'll take you to one of the four safe house options."

---

VOTES

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