Awakening a 10,000x Skill Proficiency Multiplier in the Apocalypse

The deeper Sebastian ventured into the labyrinth of Outpost Rust, the worse he felt.

His physical synchronization was actively fighting the Void Toxicity, turning his internal biology into a brutal battlefield of conflicting source codes. He coughed into his hand.

When he pulled it away, his black leather glove was stained with a mixture of bright red blood and glowing green pixels.

"Perfect. Now I’m sweating RGB lighting," Sebastian grumbled, wiping his hand on his pants.

He navigated a narrow, trash choked alleyway illuminated only by the flickering pink glow of a broken neon sign overhead.

He had spent the last twenty minutes asking shady, back alley merchants for Server Filters. Most of them had just laughed in his face or pointed guns at him.

Server Filters were high end, premium contraband. They allowed players to safely digest foreign god cores without their brains melting out of their ears. They weren’t sold next to the cheap health potions.

He was running out of time. His left leg locked up, the knee joint momentarily un rendering into a block of raw, un textured static. He stumbled, catching himself heavily against a stack of rusted metal crates.

CLANG.

He leaned against the crates, panting, his silver tinged eyes squeezing shut as a fresh wave of nausea washed over him.

"Well, well. Look what the cosmic tide washed up."

The voice was raspy, cruel, and dripping with malicious intent.

Sebastian slowly opened his eyes.

Three figures stepped out of the shadows, blocking the exit of the alley. They weren’t high tier Warlords or massive space monsters. They were just standard, opportunistic gutter trash.

The leader was a tall, incredibly skinny humanoid with pale purple skin and four eyes. He held a vibrating, energy laced crowbar. His two lackeys were hulking, brutish mutants wielding rusted shotguns.

"You look lost, friend," the purple alien sneered, slapping the energy crowbar against his open palm. "And you look sick. Real sick. You’re glitching all over the place."

"I’m having a bad day," Sebastian said flatly, not moving from the crates. "Do yourselves a favor and walk away. I don’t have the patience to do the math on your hit points right now."

The three muggers laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound.

"He thinks he’s dangerous!" one of the mutants chuckled, racking the slide of his shotgun.

CHK-CHK.

"You’re wearing rags, meat. And your code is unraveling. I bet your inventory is completely unprotected."

"We’re going to crack your skull open, loot your corpse, and sell your base files for scrap," the leader grinned, revealing rows of needle like teeth. "Nothing personal. Just economics."

Sebastian let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh.

He really didn’t want to fight. Using his physical strength or his Code Compiler right now would just accelerate the Void Toxicity. But he wasn’t going to let a trio of low level street thugs turn him into a piñata.

He pushed himself off the crates. He didn’t draw his Earth Sword. He just let his arms hang loose at his sides, shifting his weight into a perfectly balanced, terrifyingly relaxed combat stance.

"Alright, assholes," Sebastian whispered, his eyes going dead and cold. "Let’s see how you handle a little bit of gravity."

He tapped into his compiled Concept of Mass, preparing to violently increase the density of their internal organs until they collapsed into bloody puddles.

Before he could even twitch his fingers.

BANG! BANG!

Two deafening, thunderous gunshots echoed through the narrow alleyway!

The sheer concussive force of the kinetic rounds shattered the pink neon sign above them in a shower of sparks.

The mutant on the left didn’t even have time to blink. A heavy, armor piercing slug took his head entirely off his shoulders. The skull exploded like a dropped watermelon, painting the brick wall behind him in a gruesome spray of grey brain matter and blood.

SQUELCH.

The mutant on the right took a round directly to the chest. The bullet punched clean through his rusted iron breastplate and blew a hole the size of a dinner plate out his back. He dropped to the mud, dead before his knees hit the ground.

"What the fuck?!" the purple alien leader shrieked, dropping his crowbar and throwing his hands over his head in pure panic.

From the shadows behind the muggers, a woman stepped forward.

She wore a long, distressed trench coat over tactical kevlar armor. Her boots were heavy, practical, and stained with the grime of the outpost. She held two massive, smoking kinetic pistols in her hands. The barrels were still glowing red hot.

"Economics," the woman said. Her voice was sharp, cynical, and carried a distinct, highly recognizable accent. "Supply and demand, idiot. I demand you leave. You supply the exit."

The alien leader didn’t hesitate. He turned and sprinted down the alley, screaming in terror as he scrambled over the trash.

Sebastian stood perfectly still. He dropped his combat stance, staring at the woman as she casually twirled the heavy pistols and holstered them at her hips.

She had short, choppy brown hair and eyes that looked like they had seen the end of the world a dozen times over. She looked tough, pragmatic, and entirely out of place in this alien slum.

"You’re welcome," the woman said, looking Sebastian up and down. She took in his ruined black coat, his cracked white half mask, and the violent glitches tearing through his left arm. "You look like shit, buddy. Void Toxicity?"

"Yeah," Sebastian grunted, coughing into his fist. "Worse than a Monday morning commute in Seattle."

The woman froze. Her hand instinctively drifted back toward the grip of her right pistol. Her eyes widened slightly.

"Seattle?" she whispered, the tough smuggler facade cracking for a fraction of a second. "You know what a Monday in Seattle feels like?"

Sebastian looked at her, his highly optimized brain quickly doing the math. The accent. The kinetic firearms instead of plasma weapons. The reference to Earth.

"You’re from Server 894," Sebastian stated, his voice devoid of any real shock. "You’re an Earth player."

The woman let out a dry, humorless laugh. She ran a hand through her choppy hair.

"Gwen," she said, offering a tight nod. "I fell through a Juncture tear during the tutorial phase. Been stuck in this shit hole for three years. You’re the first person I’ve seen from home who hasn’t tried to eat me."

"Sebastian," he replied, leaning back against the crates as another wave of nausea hit him. "And I’d shake your hand, but my arm is currently deciding if it wants to be flesh or binary code."

Gwen looked at his stance, her eyes narrowing as she analyzed his posture. "You drop into a Southpaw boxing stance when you’re threatened. Nobody out here fights like that. They all rely on magic and shields. You fight like a brawler."

"I fight like a guy who doesn’t want to get stabbed," Sebastian corrected. "Look, Gwen. I appreciate the save. I really do. But unless you have a pharmacy in your pocket, I’m going to expire in about twenty minutes."

Gwen smirked. It was a cold, calculating expression that Sebastian respected immediately.

"You’re looking for Server Filters," she said knowingly. "And you’re in luck, Seattle. I know exactly where a whole crate of them is sitting. But it’s going to cost you a hell of a lot more than a thank you."