- “In the early days of space exploration, after spending centuries looking for alien intelligence, mankind settled on a version of the great filter hypothesis. It had to be the answer to the Fermi paradox. As to what this great filter that made intelligent life impossible was? It was intelligence itself. Any species intelligent enough, would wipe themselves out with their own technology before they could reach the stars.” - Gavenic Merle, PhD.

  Waking up, Ronin looked over his apartment. It was the only thing he had left from his parents now after the tragic accident 3 years ago.

  Various plastic posters depicting suns, planets and spaceships covered the walls and ceiling. The posters looked a little more faded now — as if they'd lost some of their luster somehow.

  Perhaps it was due to what he’d done earlier — done to Darth — but he could also swear he could see more details now. From tiny scrapes along the plastic, to slight discolorations on some of the images, he saw it all. On the poster closest to him, he even saw the individual pixels the printer had used to paint it.

  Getting home from the terrorist incident, he’d jumped straight into the biorinser, then collapsed onto his bed shortly after, so he hadn’t noticed. But now he felt it — he’d changed. And it was more than just his sight that had changed...

  Inspecting himself, Ronin noticed his headache feeling better. He moved his back and legs around. They also felt better.

  He checked the time.

  It's dawn?

  He'd gone to sleep in the middle of the day yesterday. If it was dawn now, that meant...

  I've been asleep for like, what? 38 hours?

  Ronin couldn't believe it. Something like this had never happened before.

  "I guess I must have been pretty damn tired," he sighed.

  With Concordia being a planet with a middle of the road rotational speed, it's night and day cycle lasted for about 50 hours. As a consequence, most of its citizens also worked during nighttime. Not that it made too much of a difference this far down in the valleys. This place was always lit up by neon lights anyways. As for the planet's gravity though, it was unforgiving. Due to its rich reserves in high density metals, the planet's gravity was over 1.3 times that of Terra — humanity’s home world.

  This gravity had left most of the planet's citizens stunted and short. Fortunately, Ronin wasn’t one of them.

  Standing at a total of 174 centimeters tall, he was larger than most others in his neighborhood. His height might be due to his parents originally being from the neighboring planet Hartheim. That being said though... people could still shrink — especially after a hard landing like the one he'd had yesterday.

  He swiftly made his way over towards the exercise rack, grabbing a pullup bar as he let himself hang.

  Look...the news... they lie...

  Darth's dying words flashed before his mind.

  “Humph, might as well check," Ronin grunted, interfacing with his implant as he turned on a local news channel.

  The uncertainty of not knowing, gnawed at him.

  The livestream flickered on, showing a female news reporter. She seemed to be in the middle of a segment:

  “…many citizens are unhappy about the lack of actions during yesterday's attack.”

  The live feed changed, showing a series of children setting off fireworks.

  Wait, why are they showing children?

  “The fact that the attack happened this close to one of Ironglades' academies, has left many wondering if Mayor Brunstein's been paying enough attention to the growing CLM threat.”

  The reporter continued: “…Here, we have Mayor Brunstein, live, responding to the event:”

  Barely audible sounds of solemn footsteps echoed in the livestreamed studio. Next, the holoscreen showed a plump, gray-haired old man, shuffling his way out before the audience.

  “Yesterday, shortly after dawn, a group of individuals attacked the region surrounding one of our academies. My heart goes out to those affected; you have my deepest sympathies...” The mayor began, showing a grave expression. “As for the criminals responsible for this heinous act, I will not honor them with a name. A name requires some common human decency, something which these animals possess none of! None of at all!”

  The mayor coughed, then drank some water:

  “As I was saying, these animals were dealt with in a manner fit for their actions.”

  “And what did these people do?” The reporter followed up.

  “Thorough investigation has revealed that at about 13:40 yesterday, a large number of fireworks were set off, causing mayhem and destruction all around the academy area. This even went so far as to indirectly cause 5 fatalities during the event. As a response to this, Ironglades, as well as Concordia as a whole, has decided to take the gloves off and act proactively against this group from now on.”

  Ronin's eyes widened in shock. They really did it! They lied!

  5 indirect fatalities? Fireworks? How could they misreport on such a huge event? The answer was… they hadn't — it was deliberate. How much of what happened out there did the media really cover? How much of what the CLM did had been downplayed?

  It seemed the CLM weren’t entirely in the wrong after all.

  Ronin dropped down from the pullup bar, then headed over towards a mirror.

  His pitch-black hair looked more ruffled than normal, but that was to be expected. His spindly body looked the same as well, having all the same old bruises and scars from past fights like always. His eyes and head though…

  From the middle of his forehead, down to the lower half of his chins, there were two black, lightning-shaped scars. The two scars ran straight through his eyes…

  And as for his eyes… where before they’d been brown, they were now golden. His pupils had also changed, gaining a red spark at their center.

  There was only one thing that could’ve changed Ronin like that, and the golden hue of his eyes removed all doubt.

  It has to be that exotic rock I crashed into in that cave…

  He needed to know what else had changed. He’d potentially become infected with something, and the more information he could gain on this, the better he could assess the damage.

  Sitting down, he closed his eyes, attempting to enter his mind palace. He’d naturally acquired this technique due to his eidetic memory. At some point, when he was younger, his memories had simply become too much to sort through.

  It had gotten so bad; he’d begun mixing up details and irrelevant facts even during normal conversations. So, to sort his memories out properly, he’d constructed something he called a mind palace.

  Going for something large, he’d made a mental representation of his favorite starship: The Coronix produced goliath class mothership, The Worldmaker ED-07.

  Pictured on the largest poster he had in this apartment; the ship had an incredible length of 50 kilometers. Widening out at the middle, it was 20 kilometers thick at the midsection, and 5 kilometers wide at both ends.

  The ship boasted a total volume of about 4 trillion cubic meters! With a fourth of that volume being habitable, and with the average person needing about 300 cubic meters for living space, the Worldmaker could house over 3 billion people!

  The ship could also fight and terraform, but that was a different story. The point was that a mental representation of this ship could house a lot of memories.

  As Ronin accessed this place, however, he quickly had to abandon his plans.

  His mind palace had become almost unrecognizable. All around him, on the deck, roof, walls, anywhere there had been some open space before, there were now doors.

  These doors, being of all kinds of colors and shapes, seemed too much for this place, and Ronin could almost feel the poor thing creaking! Focusing his mind, he tried to stabilize his mind palace, and the feeling of impending doom lessened a little. He did not want to find out what would happen if this place collapsed.

  As he tried inspecting the doors in order to figure out what all of this meant, a name emerged.

  -POTENTIA PANORAMA-

  It was as if a gut feeling had been amplified several times over, then made manifest through words. Ronin knew. This was the name of his infection.

  That rock I absorbed… It must be some sort of alien artifact, and these doors must be related to something that thing injected into my mind.

  The alien had said the word legacy, and apparently, he'd become that legacy's inheritor.

  The question was: Was this thing benign, or was it malevolent?

  Ronin tried to push on some of the doors. They wouldn't budge. Eventually he tried the smallest door he could find and pushed with all his might.

  There is no way this damn door will stand in my way; this is my mind! He inwardly roared before suddenly-

  POPP!

  The door blasted open, and a storm of foreign memories flooded into him.

  “...”

  Dizzy and drenched in sweat, Ronin exited his mindscape, only to find himself lying flat on the floor.

  That's enough excitement for the day, he scolded himself.

  First, he’d naively strutted into an alien rock. Now, he’d blown open some strange foreign door in his mind.

  He'd have to sort through these new memories later though. Right now, he was too disoriented to make much sense of them.

  He really shouldn't meddle like this with things he didn’t understand. And on that note, there was that strange device he’d found on Darth. He still had no clue what this thing was.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  No longer than his palm, the black rectangular device had what looked like an input of sorts, but Ronin had no clue as to what to plug in. The only reason he'd even found it, was that as they both crashed into the ground, the mechanism keeping one of Darth's trouser pockets concealed, had broken, accidentally revealing it.

  In Ronin’s world, if one went so far as to hide something in a hidden pocket, it was valuable.

  He was once again reminded of Darth's words…

  If the man had been right about the media lying, what then of the other things he’d said?

  If what he'd said was true, the governments hungrily sniffing nose would be all over Ronin if he wasn't careful. Who knew what they’d do to a man infected with alien technology?

  He needed a new implant, something untraceable, something safe.

  Fortunately, he knew of just the kind of guy for things like this.

  The man was an expert in anything related to virtual hacking, and likely also had a lot of knowledge regarding implants. He might even be able to help with the unknown device Ronin had found on Darth.

  The man went by many names. Some called him The Psychonaut, some called him Psyrat, but Ronin… called him uncle.

  He'd never visited before, and there was a good reason for that. Uncle Nagata Maximus was known as a fiend for psychedelics, and he wanted everyone he met to learn about the wonders of expanding the mind.

  Ronin's parents had warned him of this before they passed. Still, it wasn't as if he had any other options at the moment.

  With the batteries already recharged, he put on the academy suit, wolfed down a packet of synthpaste, then headed out.

  Soft creaks of old wood being bent, rang in the hallway as Mayor Brunstein approached a thick, neodymium-rimmed eirwood gate. The gaudy passageway, empty of anything living but the mayor and the numerous expensive plants, rang as he knocked on the gate. He waited, but there was nothing but silence to greet him.

  “Again, with the silent treatment? I’m getting too old for this,” he sighed.

  A soft but cold voice creeped through the gaps in the ceiling:

  “Lower it.”

  The gate sank into the floor and the voice spoke again. This time with condescension:

  “Ah, Mr. Brunstein, the man of the hour.”

  “You called for a meeting,” Brunstein's older voice neutrally echoed back.

  “Indeed… you are losing control over Ironglades, Mayor.”

  As Brunstein walked past the gate, he was met by several others, seated around a conference table. Half of the people here, were 3-Dimensional holograms of people living off-world. On several screens around the room, graphs, charts and numbers were on display. They'd likely begun this meeting without him.

  “As I was saying earlier,” the cold voice continued.

  “Current behavioral models show an increase in human turbulence in the near future, at that time, this CLM of yours will be the least of your worries. This newest incident at Ironglades falls right in line with what we expected to happen... The moment these anomalies became evident in the dataset, we proposed several solutions. Yet, out of all of them, you either chose the least likely to succeed, or took next to no action at all. Now, look at what your inaction has caused.”

  Irritation began to sink into the voice.

  “At this point, unless something is done, we’re looking at a potential cascade failure occurring, not only to Planet Concordia, but to the Tar Kingdom itself.”

  Hushed discussion broke out in the room.

  And this is how they do it, Brunstein remarked.

  When the founders of the Kingdom of Tar pioneered the new star system, they had been elated to find four planets they could terraform. Two of the planets had been quite rich in critical metals as well.

  Little did they know that a mere 200 years later, a powerful faction would be pushed out from the galactic heartland of humanity and settle right next door. Occupying planets as close as 20 light years away, had put the Tar Kingdom right in the middle of the New Sichuan Empire's domain of influence.

  The Sichuan Empire wanted a buffer zone, like most empires do, and having their neighbors adopt their highly unique system and culture would make that official. Tar did not escape Sichuan’s cultural reformation, and they had been willing to make some changes at first. That was simply how geopolitics worked. But... the Sichuan empire was greedy. As time passed, they only wanted more and more.

  Eventually... Tar had become reluctant.

  The representatives of Tar knew the game by now and unanimously chose the mildest action offered. There would be no mandatory implants with bombs installed on Tar! Not today.

  Some of Sichuan’s proposals were simply outrageous!

  The smell of industrial waste, air pollution and questionable human hygiene filled the air as Ronin climbed up the side of a building.

  “You! There! Get down from the wall!” A man close by shouted.

  “Sorry!” Ronin yelled back, not stopping.

  Apartments in district 91 were stacked so closely together, and upon each other, that climbing your way over to an uncle was faster than walking.

  The climb was remarkably easy today though. He was practically running up the walls.

  “...”

  After scaling buildings for about 40 minutes, he spotted an apartment terrace he knew.

  Climbing up to it, he sat down to rest.

  He didn't have to wait long, however, for the glass door on the terrace to open.

  “Ronin? Didn't fancy seeing you stopping by. Thought you’d be busy with Academy work?” Said Speck as he walked over.

  The shaggy-looking man handed Ronin a glass of water he'd brought along.

  “Yeah,” Ronin breathed out after taking a big gulp from the glass. “Got registered, attended a few classes, but as you can see... some things happened along the way back.”

  Ronin gestured towards the two lightning shaped scars running down his face.

  “Some kind of tattoo?” Speck asked. “Did you get yourself some eye surgery as well? It looks pretty cool, if not a little scary. But I didn’t know you were into that type of thing?”

  Tattoo? Eye surgery? Ronin wondered. That could work. Anyways, better not to advertise that I have an alien infection.

  “Yeah, got some work done, you know, to celebrate," he lied.

  Though Speck was an old acquaintance, there were some things he was better off not knowing.

  They made some more small talk, but as soon as Ronin finished up the glass, it was time to say goodbye.

  He was on a timer after all.

  “...”

  Continuing to climb, Ronin eventually reached the flat part of the trek. This was where most of the skyscrapers ended. In a sense, this was the roof of district 91.

  The hodgepodge of randomly stacked modular buildings had turned this area into some sort of bizarre analog to the streets below. The lower buildings represented the streets. The taller buildings, well, represented the buildings. What made this area different though, were the random gaps in between the buildings. To walk along these streets, you needed to jump.

  Ronin usually didn’t go this far up, and there was a reason for that. After rounding a corner, that reason showed up.

  Rooftop bandits!

  Dwelling on the upper sections of the lower districts, these gangs broke into the top flats of the poor.

  Normally, Ronin would jump back down. In fact, he wouldn’t be here to begin with. If nothing else worked, he’d let them rob him. He wasn't normal anymore though.

  An uncontrollable excitement ran up his spine and a new feeling began bubbling up inside of him. The only time he'd felt something like this before was...

  In the mine, when Darth noticed me, Ronin silently admitted.

  As the hunger for battle filled him, he started running. He knew these people would follow. These types always did.

  “Hey! stop!” One of the men called out as the group began chasing after him.

  Deliberately slowing his speed, Ronin let the first pursuer catch up. The gang member flashed a wicked grin as he swung an iron rod towards Ronin's head. Smoothly dodging the overhead swing, Ronin countered with an elbow strike of his own.

  The elbow hit its mark, striking the man's lower chin and the man's eyes went blank as he fell.

  Ronin let the next attacker catch up.

  This bandit stabbed at him with a knife, aiming to puncture his midsection. Somehow, Ronin knew what to do. Whilst running backwards, he turned sideways, following the knife's trajectory as he watched it slip by his suit. Countering with a swift uppercut, this guy went down as well.

  Ronin could clearly see the shock in the man's eyes as his consciousness left him.

  More people were coming.

  Having smartened up, the bandits came two at a time this time around, and Ronin had to begin weaving back and forth in between the weapons.

  Both the iron rod and knife narrowly brushed past his suit as he delivered counters where possible. After dodging a few blows, he saw an opportunity and tripped one of the men up, right before a gap between two roofs. The man went down, crashing onto a roof several meters below.

  With only one opponent left, Ronin easily landed a solid kick to the bandit's chest, knocking the air out of him.

  The rest of the dozen or so bandits further back, began slowing down.

  “Shit! Man, sorry for the disturbance!” The closest one shouted.

  “What the hell did we provoke!? He took down 4 guys in an instant!” One of the smaller bandits exclaimed.

  “RUN!” Another burst out.

  The whole gang came to a halt, then started fleeing.

  As for the men already knocked down by Ronin? Their fate was in his hands now.

  “...”

  Coming back to himself, Ronin felt a strong sense of relief fill him, but it wasn't from winning the fight. It was something else.

  It felt as if some sort of buildup of energy had left him.

  Before coming here though, he’d felt normal… A little agitated maybe, but he hadn’t felt as if anything was really wrong.

  It was as if his body kept accumulating something, but he couldn't feel it. Thinking back on what he'd just done, a creeping suspicion arose in his mind.

  Why did I take the rooftop path? Sure, it's shorter, but I knew there were bandits here. Why didn’t I think of it? Did my own subconscious mind somehow ignore the danger? Did it seek it out instead?

  There was also that strange sort of hunger for battle he'd felt. It was gone now, but he'd never acted like that before.

  The alien artifact might be affecting him a whole lot more than he'd thought…

  The way he'd fought those guys too... as if by autopilot.

  He could throw a punch, sure; you had to in the slums... but this? No, he wasn't this good.

  Brushing the unease away, he walked back to inspect the downed men. Fortunately, none of them had died. A few broken bones? Yes, but they’d come at him with knives. Breaking some bones was the least he could do.

  “...”

  After making sure they’d all make it, he continued onwards towards Uncle Nagata, reaching the apartment about a dozen or so minutes later.

  30 floors down the high-rise, the apartment stood out among the rest.

  Twice the size of the surrounding abodes, it was guarded by a thick steel gate. The walls were different too. Overlaid by metal plates, they had a metallic sheen to them, differentiating them from the surrounding gray concrete.

  Ronin knocked on the gate, and several turrets descended.

  The gate must have tactile sensors built into it. This way, when someone touches it, turrets will descend, he marveled.

  [Ronin Maximus? Is that really you?] A static voice boomed out of a speaker on the wall.

  Ronin raised both hands. “Hello uncle, this is a lot of turrets you've got here.”

  This was getting a little awkward.

  [You can never be too safe,] The voice said back. [I have to say though, this is quite the surprise. Xena and Holder were always so adamant about cutting off all contact. I never imagined you’d actually show up!]

  Ronin sighed. “I need help.”

  A click sounded out from the gate, and it began opening.

  [Alright, come in. I'm quite busy at the moment so I can't come out to greet you personally. Oh, and don’t be alarmed when you lose connection to the Concordia Net. This entire apartment is practically a faraday cage. That means no signals come in, and none goes out.]

  Ronin walked in, and as the gate closed up behind him, in front, another door opened up, revealing the apartment.

  “Well, well, well, must be quite the predicament you’ve landed yourself in to come to me for help,” Nagata said from within the room.

  Long black hair with tinges of gray draped the uncle's shoulders, and he wore a loose bohemian robe.

  Flashing a big grin, Nagata continued: “Out with it. We're family and for you to come here, means I'm the only hope you’ve got. If you can't even talk to me about it, who can you tell?”

  Ronin saw the truth in those words. Although he knew some people, they were mostly acquaintances and lukewarm friends. He did have a few good friends he could talk to, but with these sorts of issues? A literal alien infection? No. Nagata was the closest thing to an expert he knew of, and he, well, despite all his quirky personality traits, wasn't someone who'd sell out family. His parents had at least told Ronin that much before they passed.

  Shakily, Ronin began to recount everything that had happened.

  “...”

  “Well, that's quite the story,” Nagata said, pulling out something akin to a metallic candle. “Good thing you took precautions after everything went straight to hell on that transport ship. Considering what happened to you kid, from now on, never speak of this to anyone. You’re going to have to be very careful from now on. As for this device you’ve brought…”

  Nagata looked down at the black rectangular object Ronin had handed him.

  “I'll look into it.”

  He then lit up the metallic candle he was holding, blowing the forming smoke onto Ronin.

  “What was that smoke?” Ronin asked. He began feeling lightheaded. “Hang on, why are the walls closing in? Are those the abyssal horrors from the movie Deep depths?”

  Nagata was responding but Ronin only saw a strangely moving mouth, finding it very interesting and funny somehow. Feeling stuck in time, Ronin saw one of the abyssal horrors suddenly swallow him up as his consciousness began collapsing in on itself. It felt as if his mind was splintering, splitting into thousands of fragments!

  That bastard! He drugged me! This was why my parents warned me!