The Delayed Commission
This was my first designated commission. That said...
"..."
The send date was five months ago. Right when I was lost in a coma, teetering on the edge of death. Replying now might seem weird, but I couldn't just ignore it and shove it aside. So I opened the email.
The first line read: To Independent Mercenary Rabe. Something like an inexplicable satisfaction washed over me at those words. Maybe because it felt like I'd become someone significant enough to catch a corporation's eye. My facial muscles weren't responding as I wanted, so I touched my cheek for a moment before continuing to read.
There was an attached voice message.
Whoa... No petty blame, just straight to the commission like a true mercenary client. Bold, almost untouchable. They knew I'd just done the job for the pay, so no point in adding useless fluff. Of course, knowing something in your head and truly getting it are worlds apart.
But dragging emotions into business is never good. I listened intently to the rest.
My eyes... no, visual signals that felt like images transmitted through the cable to my nervous system. I saw the blueprint image floating on the monitor.
The blueprint showed schematics of what looked like a humanoid weapon.
This broker dives straight into the point—rationalist, maybe, but with a hint of playfulness. Info on the main research facility where the project was underway popped up on screen, followed by a compensation table. Looking closer, it wasn't just credits; there was gear too.
Equipment I've never seen before.
Just as doubt crept in, the broker explained.
◈ As payment, we'll provide our in-development experimental weapon. A next-gen rail shotgun for close quarters. Still in dev, so it'll be tricky to handle—but nothing you can't manage. Awaiting your response.
...Rail shotgun. Basically a monstrous mashup of multiple railguns. It was absurd enough to make me want to laugh, but my mouth wouldn't cooperate. Ah, this damn boring body.
I want it, but...
Five months had passed since the email. Would it still be the same commission now? Maybe the need was gone, or someone else already handled it?
Who knows...
Still, just in case, I decided to reply. I could've ignored it, but honestly, that rail shotgun tempted me. I called it monstrous, but that's how I describe stuff I really like. I love crude, brutal gear.
Anyway, after sending the reply, I slumped in the chair.
Whatever, if it doesn't pan out, it doesn't.
More importantly, this Nexus. Connected via the neural port, I could sense every part, module, and component. But it felt... different from the last time I used it?
"Hmm."
My head still felt foggy. The info flowed straight to my brain without haze, but it wasn't the sharp awakening from before. Was it my body?
They replaced chunks of my brain and organs with machines, so maybe that's causing differences. Lower signal sensitivity or something.
But after checking the Nexus more closely, I concluded the problem was with it.
What the hell did Hermann do...
A ton of new parts I hadn't seen before. Mostly unrelated to combat or mobility. Changes around the cables between cockpit and main system chip stood out—obviously the culprit for the dullness.
While waiting for Railwork's reply, I ejected from the cockpit.
"Ugh..."
Straining, I barely climbed out, and Hermann was waiting outside. A colorless silhouette, but context pointed to him.
"Urk."
My hand slipped, and I tumbled down the Nexus, but Hermann caught me below. Too weak to struggle in his arms, I stared at the round thing that was probably his face and said,
"The Nexus is weird."
"Is it? How so?"
"Blurry..."
I meant the input sensitivity felt hazy. Hermann nodded as expected, then said coolly,
"Strange. Maybe from abusing your body so much—it's finally breaking down? Makes sense; who knows how many artificial machines are jammed in there."
"That's not what I..."
"If it's not that, I know nothing. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."
I narrowed my eyes at him—or at least hoped it looked that way from his view.
"Well, the only guess is you wrecked your body recklessly, messing up your neural pathways. Think it'll affect piloting?"
"That..."
Of course it would. Like fighting with sandbags strapped on—could I still perform like before? But admitting it might make him bench me.
Maybe it's not that bad. Sandbags don't stop you from fighting. If anything, training with them now means I'd fight even better once they're gone (if that day comes). A self-imposed handicap.
"No problem."
"...I see. Not just bravado?"
"No."
"Alright... But it might worsen. Sync rate could keep dropping. So, what's our guess for the cause?"
"Problem with the Nexus..."
"No, you abused your body. It broke, that's the cause. To maintain sync at current levels, what should you do?"
Hermann's desired answer was obvious. I thought he'd just let me go, but no. The doc was more agreeable. Groaning, I muttered,
"D-don't... know..."
"..."
"I won't abuse my body..."
Forcing the words out of my mouth like that. Even after I said what he wanted, his voice cracked slightly.
"You crying?"
"...Huh?"
Sensations so faint, I couldn't even feel subtle body feedback. There must've been a reason I perceived it that way. As I sat silent, at a loss, Hermann asked,
"That sync drop hitting you that hard?"
"Well..."
It did feel unfair. Trapped in this body. My real body was the Nexus. Only through it could I see a clear world. A world for the strong. For those with choices.
"Can't see clear skies anymore... something like that feels unfair...?"
"..."
Hermann's head froze. After holding me a while, he set me in the wheelchair and spoke.
"As you guessed, we tweaked the pilot safety systems. Especially emergency signal blockers and sync aspects."
"Why would you..."
"I've told you plenty already. You can guess."
"But you had no reason to..."
"Right, you need a 'rational' reason. And your 'rationality' leaves no room for subjective emotions. Fine, your way: We don't want to lose a top pilot. Anti-corp groups like us can't afford that. Each pilot is precious. We finally connected; don't want you dying on your own terms. We want to milk you to the end."
So cold. I knew it was his act, but it sounded damn convincing. Overwhelmed by his tone, I just bowed my head. Hard to watch someone I've grown... close to? Kind? Whatever—someone familiar get mad.
"Convinced? Nest worries about you not out of petty goodwill, but cold calculation for the whole facility."
"...Got it."
"So don't die recklessly. Ideally, keep taking our commissions long after leaving Nest."
An hour later, I climbed back into the Nexus in a daze. A new email had arrived in my inbox.