Age of Space

After having spent hours in the warsuit, waging a private war against Specter, Ronin returned to the factory, exhausted. The constant tension from knowing he might die at any second had completely drained him. Collapsing onto his bed, he surrendered to the mattress, beginning to drift away to sleep.

As darkness began encroaching along the edges of his vision, and the surrounding noise dimmed into obscurity, he sunk into the realm of dreams.

But... something was different this time. He noticed himself standing inside a familiar space. It was a place he'd been before. Vast stretches of pure darkness surrounded him, and all of his senses were muffled. This... Isn't this the place I entered when my apartment blew up? When I blacked out?

He felt it then. There was something else there with him. A presence he'd felt before.

“Such a weak soul...” the presence spoke, and the world itself shuddered. Ronin felt as if his mind was tearing itself apart, every word boring into him, seeking to prove themselves true.

“Why am I here?” Ronin thought as he struggled against the pressure. The question rippled out, almost undetectable amidst the roiling waves... But... something did listen, something did respond.

“The chains of fate forge purpose, yet chains are not enough. The ladder of ascension demands... inspiration!”

As reality itself boomed, the realm of nothingness twisted into something real. In place of vast blackness, mountains of corpses rose, rising up until Ronin saw nothing else. The bony mounds looked eerily similar to the ones from Specter's lair, only larger... much larger.

Before he could come to grips with what was happening, he felt something pull him under.

He began sinking, deeper and deeper until he became fully submerged under the mountains of bones. Whispers of despair and pleading began tearing at him from within the depths, and he felt himself weakening.

He was drowning.

Realization struck him then... I'm dying. I'm really dying, aren't I?

A force began pulling out the very essence that made him, him, and he felt his own sense of individuality begin to disperse.

Something else began boring its way in, replacing him. The very idea of who he was as an individual became twisted into something foreign... Something alien.

Inwardly gritting his teeth, he roared as loud as his mind would allow, no! I won't let it end like this!

His battle soul activated and every single part of him remaining began wrestling for control. Utilizing the lessons he'd learned from Glory in the Arena, he grappled with the ephemeral force, fighting for every piece of himself left. Each time he lost, he adapted, changing how he fought. Every time he won out, he memorized how, applying his newly gained knowledge when he could.

As if in an endless struggle, the battle waged.

Time disappeared. Thoughts faded. All that was left was the desperation born from the need to continue one's own existence.

Sometimes he managed to regain a part of himself. At other times, he felt parts of himself turn, as if infected by a virus, twisting into the alien forces allegiance.

At some point, though he did not know how long he'd been fighting inside the corpse mountain, he'd stopped losing parts of himself.

The tide was turning.

As he began claiming back the parts he'd lost, he was also taking more. His very being had at one point ended up so scattered, it was impossible to fully regain himself. But there was more out there to grab. Previously, it had been the force that bored into him. Now, it was his turn. Twisting his very essence into the foreign force, he infected it back, tearing out parts of its own individuality. He began forcibly incorporating those parts into himself, attempting to make himself whole.

After what might have been an eternity, or no time at all. Somehow, he'd finally fully regained himself.

And just like that, he woke up.

“…”

Ronin opened his eyes. His head felt heavy, and the bed was soaked. He noticed himself being covered in cold sweat. What’s going on? Did I really have a nightmare? No, it can’t be…

This dream had left him shaken, more so than he'd been in years. He shuddered as he thought about what had happened back there. The desperation he’d felt when he was fighting for his life. That couldn't have just been a dream, right? It had felt so real.

Lately, he’d felt like he’d gotten some control over the Potentia Panorama. He was making steady progress with the Kalvrakian embrace and was no longer affected by the legacy’s mental influence. This dream however… Did he really know anything at all about the artifact inside of him?

Attempting to calm himself, he closed his eyes again and entered his mindscape. The walls, corridors and halls of the massive spaceship that was his mind palace, showed cracks from his most recent gate opening. Compared to before however, the damage was minimal.

He'd expected there to be some changes to the place, considering what he'd just gone through. But nope, it was the same Worldmaker mothership it had always been.

He got to work and began repairing the cracks along the wall. Lifting a plate, he placed it over a crack and began to weld. As he'd expected, fortunately, the uncomfort he'd felt waking up, slowly started fading away as he completed the weld. Before, he’d simply been working on his mindscape in order to fix his headache, as well as to open more gates from the Potentia Panorama. Now, he considered changing that. Maybe he should make this a routine every morning?

He lifted another plate, welded it onto a crack, then picked up yet another. As if in a meditative trance, he continued. Plate by plate, weld by weld. The cracks slowly began closing. He didn’t hurry, taking his time to feel out every plate before positioning it carefully. The way the tension slowly left him felt incredible. He lost track of time as he immersed himself in the feeling of just— letting go.

At some point, all of the negative emotions were gone, and the only thing that he was left with, was a warm comfortable feeling of content.

Good, I'm ready, he thought, exiting his mindscape.

“…”

As he opened his eyes and rose from his bed, he looked over at his cargo ship, the Heidenreich-B786.

Squinting his eyes, he inspected the ship closely. It appeared undamaged. Seems the Hammers of Fortune kept their word and flew it back to the factory before the ambush. That's good. I should find some way to thank them properly in the future.

He took stock of his current situation. He was free from the bounty that’d been placed on his head. The organization that had gone after him had been crushed. And with the academy now backing him, he wouldn’t get siderailed into prison again. Life was good.

Ronin scratched his chin, thinking. There’s still the issue of money though…

Receiving 80% of the 800 million credits he and Nagata had taken from the CLM, he’d originally started with 640 million. Buying the factory, the heromaker, patents, mercenaries and a range of other things, had shrunken his fortune down to 530 million credits. In other words, he'd lost over 100 million credits in 3 months.

If he kept this up, he'd eventually run out of money. He needed a new design project; one he could make credits from.

Just as Ronin began planning for the future, Simons, along with a security guard, entered the factory.

“Good morning, you’ve just woken up?”

“Yeah... Well, sort of. Had a rough day yesterday,” Ronin grunted back.

“You do look rather disheveled,” Simons said, nodding to himself. “My father always emphasizes the importance of grooming yourself properly, no matter where you are, you always need to—” As Simons started going on about his father, like he often did, Ronin tuned him out, pinging his implant.

Do I really look that bad?

He did a quick scan of his body, then pulled up a hologram of himself. Yeah... he looked terrible, but he also noticed something else... His height, had changed… He was now 175 centimeters tall, 1 centimeter taller than before. It wasn’t much, but still, he’d supposedly stopped growing years ago. For him to suddenly start growing taller again?

This shouldn’t be happening. Could it be the Kalvrakian embrace? Are the stances making me grow somehow?

“—So, what do you think? A racing ship sounds good, yes? err, Ronin?” Simons asked, apparently having moved on from talking about his father.

Shaken out of his pondering, Ronin apologized, “s-sorry, y-you were saying?”

“You really are tired,” Simons breathed out. “You shouldn't be pushing yourself so hard. Though you've been catching up to me fast in terms of design skills, it won't do you any good if you burn out before reaching your full potential.”

“No no no, don't worry about that. There's plenty of fuel left in this tank,” Ronin chuckled, looking at Simons mischievously. “Perhaps you should worry about yourself instead? I've seen how you get after a few hours on the assembler.”

Ignoring the verbal jab, Simons restated his earlier question, “listen, as I was saying earlier, I’ve been thinking about a new design project, and I think a racing ship is the way to go.”

Furrowing his brows, Ronin worked the idea over…The professional racing circuit is extremely expensive, but it also has high margins if your brand makes it. There is no way, however, for a small company like ours to compete in such a competitive market… Don’t tell me. Does Simons just want to…

A slight smile formed on Ronin's lips. “Simons… you just want to design a racing ship, don’t you? There’s no way we’d be able to sell something like that.”

Simons bald head began rapidly shaking, “Eherm, no, I would never have such selfish thoughts—”

Ronin raised an arm, “—Relaax… Hmm, besides… there might just be a way to design a racing ship and to actually be able to sell it as well… Though, the way to do it will have to be a little unorthodox.”

Simons perked up. “Oh?”

The guard following Simons began laughing, “Ronin was right! Although I'd have to admit, racing ships are kind of cool. If I was a designer like you, Simons, I'd want to make one myself as well.”

As the bald designer was busy getting embarrassed for trying to push company policy for personal benefit, Ronin added, “If we are to make a racing ship, we'll first have to visit someplace first. You alright with that? You can come too Nimitri, if you’d like?”

Receiving a nod in response from the both of them, Ronin sent them the time and location of the event, then headed for the biorinser.

Reaching the familiar chamber, he chose the standard chemical package, and the biorinser activated. Tiny holes inside the chamber opened up and began spraying him with all kinds of different chemicals.

“…”

Shortly after, a new and refreshed Ronin was sitting on a couch, lazily flipping through a document on materials science.

If he was going to make a racing ship, two things quickly became evident. First, he'd need to use a strong material for the frame of the ship. A racing ship would be exposed to much higher strains compared to other types of ships and if he skimped out on this, the ship would tear itself apart.

Secondly, he'd also need to use as light of a material as possible. Racing ships had to accelerate fast and make rapid turns, and the lighter the ship was, the faster it would be.

Hours passed as he continued looking into all kinds of different materials. One section in the text in particular, described a type of carbon nanotube-based alloy. Looking further into how the material functioned and was made, he opened up a 900-page long document.

As he began reading through the tome, it became evident that the carbon-alloy was neither the lightest, nor the strongest material out there, but it was cheap. It was also something he had the equipment to make. Though it required a complicated process to manufacture, he didn’t mind the challenge.

He almost lost track of time as he delved further into the wonders of this material. For a technology, thousands of years old to still be relevant to this day is almost unheard of. Carbon truly is the most incredible element in the universe. Not only is it the crucial ingredient for life, but it's also essential to materials science as well.

After reaching halfway through the tome, he checked the time. It wasn't long until that special event would take place.

Accessing his implant, he sent Simons and Nimitri a message:

[Alright, you guys ready!?]

Simons walked over from the design studio and the guard, Nimitri, soon walked over as well.

“We've been waiting for this thing for quite a few hours now, hopefully it doesn't disappoint,” Simons said, receiving a nod of agreement from Nimitri.

Ronin shrugged his shoulders, but the shameless grin he gave them, gave it away. “You’ll see once we get there.”

He called a shuttle, and they headed for district 92. The place they were heading to wasn't far from Ronin's previous home. It’s why he even knew it existed in the first place. You had to be in the know to find a place like this— or, get an invite if you had the right friends. One thing was certain, you’d never hear of a place like this on the net.

“…”

As the shuttle flew across the city, descending into the deep, sunless valley of district 92, a stream of neon lights, loud groovy music, laughs and the revving of engines met the trio.

Ronin could see people dancing, whilst others stood off to the side with drinks in their hands. Some just drank in the atmosphere, vibing along with the mood. There were people sitting upon shuttles, others on top of overhangs. To the side, people were grilling and selling food, adding in new scents to the air.

“Kiboris, fresh kiboris! Come have a taste!” Someone shouted from a stall.

Shuttles colored with all kinds of unique and personalized designs filled the street. From super black ships, stylized with bold fat orange text, to saturated, red-colored ships, covered in intricate designs. Every ship had a personality. Every ship had a name.

“What sort of place is this?” Simons asked.

“You wanted to make a racing ship, right?” Ronin began as he started walking towards one of the stalls. “This here is the place where enthusiasts gather to discuss, look at, and compete. If you’ve got a cool ship, this is the place to show it. If you’ve got a fast ship, this is where you race.”

As Ronin started ordering a couple sticks of kibori, Simons erupted, “don’t tell me… is this a gathering for illegal street racing!?”

“—Shhh, not so loud!” Ronin hushed. “If you shout like that, we’ll all be thrown out.”

“I would have to somewhat agree with Simons on this,” Nimitri said, his voice turning stern. “I did not expect I’d be guarding a company involved with crime when I was assigned here.”

Shaking his head, Ronin breathed out in exasperation, “Listen, this was never about designing illegal ships. Look at those ships displayed along the street. Were they illegal when their owners bought them?”

Simons eyes shot up, “don’t tell me—”

“Yes… every single one of these ships are illegal only because the people who bought them, modified them. The companies who originally made them, followed the law perfectly. Think about it! What if we made a racing ship, perfectly in line with today's regulations, but we deliberately made it easy to modify.”

“Wait, that could actually work! Extra space for additional boosters, an engine that can be easily replaced or modified…” Simons began, getting more and more excited as he talked.

Ronin nodded eagerly, then handed Simons one of the kibori sticks he’d just bought. “Now you’re catching on. Here, some food before the show starts.”

Chomping down on the freely offered stick of food, loud crunching sounds rang out as Simons closed his eyes in delight. “What an incredible flavor! Where in the world did you learn about this Ronin? For it to have such a unique taste…”

Off to the side, Nimitri made an awkward expression as Ronin began explaining. “I agree, kibori is far above the average nutrient pack. I’d imagine it’d normally be hard to come by now as well, considering there've been so many ruddles roaming around lately.”

“Ruddles? What do you mean?” Simons mumbled out; his mouth filled with food.

Before Ronin had the chance to, Nimitri coughed awkwardly and replied, “kibori is made from six legged yellowish insectoids about the size of a man’s palm. They’re one of the few remaining creatures endemic to the planet and a favorite snack of ruddles.”

“What?!” Simons nearly spat out the food he was eating. “I’m eating bugs?!” He looked outraged — though, that being said, it did not stop him from continuing to chew. Ronin spotted him swallowing another mouthful. He really must have liked that kibori, and Ronin could see why.

“What are you getting so descriptive for Nimitri? It’s tasty!” Ronin mumbled out in between mouthfuls, having already begun eating his own stick of kibori.

Nimitri was about to respond but was interrupted by the commotion happening down the street.

A gray colored rinky-dink shuttle was descending amongst the racing ships. It stuck out like a sore thumb as it landed next to the other, much fancier ships, but the crowd forming around it, did not seem to mind.

“Look, it’s the speed demon!” Ronin heard someone shout over the music.

Speed demon?

The door of the gray shuttle opened, and a red-haired man dressed in a red and black racing suit walked out. From behind, Ronin could hear Simons, his melodic voice sounding baffled as he asked, “Hey, doesn’t that look like…”

“…Yeah, I think it is,” Ronin finished.

Walking out of the gray shuttle was none other than Cadet Haraken!

“He’s the shining star of the space-force academy, why in the world would he be here!?” Simons’s voice sounded shaky.

Raising his eyebrows, Ronin glanced back at his bald companion. “Why don’t we find out?”

“Hey, Haraken! Over here!" He shouted, waving at the man.

Whereas Nimitri only looked confused, unaware of how famous Haraken really was, Simons was busy hiding behind Ronin. “Put your hand down. Are you crazy? Don’t call him over!” he hissed.

It was too late however, as Haraken had already turned his head, beginning to make his way towards the trio in a hurry.