195 First Night in Lockworld
195 First Night in Lockworld
I walked back to where the remnants of the box lay scattered, the ground still scorched and warped from the detonation. Bent panels of null-laced metal jutted from the earth at odd angles, and the shattered frame of the monitor lay half-buried among dirt and splinters. I crouched and tested the weight of a long strip of metal, rolling it in my palm before deciding it would do. With a sharp twist, I bent one end against a rock until it tapered enough to pass as a crude point. It was ugly, but it would pierce flesh, and that was all I needed from it for now.
I tore the right leg of my prison pants up to the thigh, wincing as fabric ripped, and wrapped the strip tightly around a broken shaft of metal to serve as a grip. I tied it off with rough knots, tugging until my fingers ached. I told myself I would improve it later, once I found proper shelter and time allowed for something less rushed. For now, survival favored speed over craftsmanship.
I set the makeshift spear aside and returned to the wreckage, dragging larger metal pieces beneath a broad tree and covering them with leaves and dry wood. Smaller components, scavenged from the broken monitor and its housing, went into my pockets one by one.
The heat pressed down on me as I finally allowed myself to sit beneath the tree’s shade. The collar marks around my neck still burned faintly. I picked up the spear again and ground its edge against a flat stone, slow and methodical, letting the rasping sound steady my breathing. When my arms began to tire and the point looked marginally less pathetic, I decided it was enough for now.
Once I felt rested, I stood and began searching for shelter. I kept my pace measured, eyes scanning the terrain as I memorized landmarks and slopes. A natural shelter was ideal, something that didn’t announce my presence the way anything constructed might. After some time, I found a rock overhang near a river, the stone forming a shallow roof that cut the wind and offered concealment. I circled it once, checking for tracks or signs of prior use, then nodded to myself when nothing immediately threatened me.
I dropped my spear and the scraps I had collected in a dry corner beneath the overhang to lighten my load. The next task was insulation, so I gathered leaves, grass, and pine needles, piling them where I planned to rest. The motions were familiar, almost comforting in their simplicity.
I had no idea what this place truly was or what kind of dangers waited beyond the trees. Still, problems were best handled one at a time, and panic never fed anyone. I didn’t know how long it would take to break out of Lockworld, but rushing would only make mistakes more expensive. Food could wait a day or two, provided I didn’t do anything stupid. Shelter came first, water second, and the river nearby would serve well enough. Flowing water was safer than stagnant pools, though boiling it would still be ideal, which meant fire and something to boil it in would soon become priorities.
I raised a finger and let a faint spark dance between my knuckles, watching it flicker before cutting it off. Starting a fire wouldn’t be difficult, but it would be pointless without proper tinder. I searched the area for dry grass, bark fibers, and brittle leaves, separating what snapped cleanly from what bent with moisture. I stacked firewood nearby, careful to choose pieces that would burn rather than smoke.
It was still early, and I decided to forage while light remained. I carried the spear with me as I moved deeper into the forest, listening for movement and watching the canopy for signs of life. Even a sharpened stick was dangerous in my hands, and that knowledge lent me a confidence that bordered on arrogance. When I found fruit, I tasted only small amounts, monitoring my body closely with biokinesis for any hint of poisoning. At the first sign of something wrong, I was prepared to purge it without hesitation.
I had just wiped my mouth and scanned the ground again when I noticed it. A cluster of droppings lay near a trampled patch of grass, still dark and fresh enough to glisten faintly. I crouched, studying it with a frown, unsure what animal it belonged to. Whatever it was, it ate well and passed through here recently, which meant one important thing.
There was prey in this forest, and I wasn’t alone.
“I don’t mind if I eat good tonight…”
I had no direct experience with hunting or camping, not in the romantic sense people liked to talk about. Still, survival in the wilds was something drilled into me a long time ago, back when contingency plans still felt theoretical. That didn’t mean I knew everything. Far from it. Case in point—the clustered logs of droppings I’d just examined. I had no idea what they belonged to. Dark in color meant fresh, which meant the prey couldn’t be far.
I straightened slowly and scanned the area again. That was when I noticed the mud.
It was smeared up the trunks of several trees, wet and glossy, as if something large had rubbed itself against them. I followed the trail and soon saw the ground itself telling the story from soil churned up like a plowed field, leaves flipped over, and shallow trenches carved in uneven lines.
“Boar,” I muttered to myself.
It fit. Digging for roots, insects, anything it could find. Dusk was creeping in, and boars were active around this time. I crouched and studied the tracks more closely. Split hooves, similar to deer but shorter, rounder, and toes splayed wider.
I followed them carefully, senses tuned, steps light despite my size. And then I saw it.
The boar was enormous. It was a low wall of muscle moving on short, brutal legs. Its hide was a slab of coarse black bristles, matted with mud and old scars that spoke of fights survived rather than avoided. Its tusks curved upward from a thick, armored jaw, yellowed and chipped, long enough to catch the fading light when it lifted its head.
I didn’t hesitate.
I threw the spear, phasing it through the air and into the boar’s skull. When I snapped it solid, the force should have killed it instantly. Instead, the creature screamed a raw, furious sound and thrashed, crashing into one tree and then another, tearing bark loose. It charged me blindly, trying to ram me to death.
It passed through me.
I stood my ground, jaw clenched, and waited as the convulsions slowed. Eventually, the boar collapsed, shuddered once more, and went still.
Then its body changed.
The bristles receded. The bulk shrank. Bones shifted with sickening pops. Where the boar had been, there was now a naked man sprawled in the dirt, eyes glassy, tusks gone, humanity returned far too late.
“Fuck,” I said flatly.
It had been a shapeshifter all along. His mind had felt so much like a boar that I never questioned it. That bothered me more than the kill itself. I felt irritation rise, sharp and hungry. I needed energy, and I needed it fast.
I retrieved my spear and moved on.
I didn’t risk another large track after that. Instead, I zapped a few squirrels and birds where they perched, quick bursts of electricity dropping them cleanly. I scooped up insects along the way and chewed them without ceremony, forcing calories down as I headed back to camp. I did spot tracks of something else, but I decided against following them. One mistake was enough for the day.
Back at the overhang, I started a fire and let the warmth seep into my bones. I dismantled the sharp edge of my makeshift spear, wrapped cloth around it to form a crude handle, and used it to skin the squirrels and birds. I skewered the meat on sticks and set them over the fire, rubbing in whatever herbs and bitter leaves I’d managed to forage as makeshift spices.
As I ate, I focused inward.
Most of my powers felt… capped. Suppressed, but not gone. Roughly around a six, across the board. It reminded me uncomfortably of that medieval world Dr. Time had stranded me and Amelia in, where the rules bent just enough to be cruel.
I finished my meal slowly, chewing until there was nothing left worth saving.
“I’m still hungry, damn it…”
I stripped bark from a nearby birch tree and worked it between my fingers, folding it into a shallow bowl. With intangibility, I stitched the fibers together at an atomic level, careful and slow, until it held its shape. It wasn’t elegant, but it was functional. I heated a few stones in the fire until they glowed faintly, then carried the bowl down to the river.
I crouched by the water and paused.
The smell hit me first. Sweet. Not rotten, not metallic, but sweet, like syrup thinned with rain.
“That’s not right,” I murmured.
I boiled it anyway, dropping the heated stones into the bark bowl. The water fizzled violently, bubbling like a carbonated drink. I waited, watching closely, then lifted the bowl and took a careful sip.
Sweet. Still sweet. Like some kind of flat soda.
I frowned and set the bowl aside. “I’ll pass,” I told the river.
I chose not to sleep. It wasn’t much of a loss for me, and I didn’t trust the place yet. I waited out the night under the overhang, watching the sky. There were no stars. Instead, LOCKWORLD hung overhead like a massive moon, its letters casting a pale, uniform glow across the forest. It felt artificial in a way that crawled under my skin.
Since I hated doing nothing, I picked up the scraps I’d salvaged earlier and started tinkering. I tested circuits, bent fragments of null mesh, and tried fitting incompatible pieces together just to see how they failed. Failure still taught something.
There hadn’t been any surveillance on me for a while, which was almost disappointing. If I caught another observer bot, I could’ve built something sustainable. A recycler, maybe. Or a sensor. Still, a single-use grenade packed with null shrapnel would do just fine if it came to that.
Morning crept in quietly.
I sensed them before I saw them, three minds pressing against the edge of my awareness. Strong defenses. Disciplined. They approached without bothering to hide, which told me everything I needed to know.
A man with long, messy hair stopped a short distance away. A woman beside him wore a low-cut top that made a point of her cleavage. The third was bald, a head taller than the other two, shoulders wide enough to block light.
Long hair spoke first. “You the one who killed Boarhead?”
I straightened slightly. “Rude not to introduce yourself.”
He snorted. “If I did, you’d probably shit your pants from fear. Same goes for them.” He tilted his head toward his companions.
I smiled thinly. “Try me.”
Cleavage scoffed. “Newbie like you should learn to bow your head if you want to live long enough.”
Baldy snarled, his arm beginning to glow orange. “Violence teaches faster.”
I reached for my spear, gripping it loosely. I wasn’t keen on using my trump card yet. Their mental defenses were tight enough that telepathy slid off in places, but empathy still did its job. Caution. Wary respect. Fear, buried deep.
I looked them over and spoke casually. “Long hair, you look like shit. Baldy, you don’t scare me. And cleavage, maybe cover yourself.”
Cleavage’s face twisted in rage. “Die.”
The word slammed into my mind like a command. My heart stopped.
I restarted it with biokinesis and exhaled slowly. “You just used your one try,” I said evenly. “You’ve got two left, each for your heads.”
Their anxiety spiked, sharp and sudden, even as they tried to bury it. Good. That was enough.
I stood up fully, spear resting against my shoulder. “The world outside changed a lot,” I said. “And if you knew half the things I’ve done, you’d probably think twice before pissing me off.”