Dubstep Succubus Read online

  Don't even get me started on the insurance companies. Those companies are evil.

  The “Experts” on the news insinuated, or outright said, that if we had the bodies of children, we likely had the minds of children. They questioned whether real world experience was enough to make us mature or not.

  Obviously, this did not go over well. Peaceful protests were common but they were marginalized, ignored, disregarded.

  As time went on more and more protests were forcibly dispersed, which escalated into riots. Which resulted in more pushback from the government and more push back from us.

  It became harder to find jobs, even at the lowest pay. Those with degrees were refused regardless of how qualified they were. Many who already had jobs were passed over for promotions or became the victims of “budget cuts”.

  Tensions rose. Events spiraled. They started calling us Subadults. Or Subs.

  A law called the Probationary Adulthood Act was passed, meaning that Subadults had to prove that we were personally responsible. Only those who had "proved" this would receive the same rights, responsibilities and freedoms as legal adults.

  Of course, this status could be revoked due to the slightest infraction.

  I remember watching a psychologist on the news once. She was one of the rare public detractors willing to put her career at risk.

  “Many have asked ‘why has it come to this?’” Her eyes stared steadily into the camera, ernest, intent and professional. Like a professors opening speech at the start of a new term. “They are called children. Why has society become so afraid of them?

  “The answer is this: Within a society who asks the most questions? Who are the most passionate? Who pushes for change? Who are the first to say ‘That isn't fair!’ and to have the truest belief that such things should be? The answer is the young.

  “In previous generations, being young was a temporary state. Legally, teenagehood lasted for only five years until they were deemed adults. After that, societal perception pressured them to settle under the weight of adulthood and all the respect and responsibility that came with it.

  "Society and technology has changed that. Subadults will be teenagers for decades. What kind of change would that bring to society? What would a society, created by those who were permanently teenagers, be like?

  “I don’t know the answer to that. And neither do the people in charge. That's what made them so afraid. And that is why, it has come to this.”

  More and more of us weren't allowed to live on our own anymore. And if our parents/legal guardians couldn't or wouldn't take us back, well, we had to go somewhere.

  We went to group homes, expanded orphanages, boarding schools, modified summer camps, military schools, reeducation centers or various other institutions.

  The government was in trouble. They’d wedged themselves into a corner between public option and the financial pressure to house us. Especially with us unable to work and pay taxes.

  Something had to give. Something had to change.

  Their options were limited to an economic depression or to publicly admitting the mistake and taking steps to rectify that mistake.

  I was sure they would see reason, change the laws so they could at least get their tax revenue back.

  Well, I was half right.

  ♦♦♦

  Let's Play.

  I dug my clawed fingers into the burning flesh of the thing I was pretty sure wanted my eyeballs for dinner.

  Wait… no. Breakfast. Because it's morning.

  Anyway, there I was, stumbling around in the middle of nowhere with no help and no weapons while screaming “IT'S TRYING TO EAT MY FACE!”. Before panicking, running blindly and slamming head first into a tree.

  Fiery pain stabbed into my face, but the impact dislodged the creature enough that I was able it lift it out of eye eating distance.

  I tried pulling it off me but it wasn't budging.

  So I slammed my forehead into the tree as hard as I could. I heard parts of the creature break, the sound of it hissing in pain sounded like water on a campfire.

  Now would of been a perfect time to make a joke about me using my head, but I was too intent on killing the thing to think about it.

  Instead I said, “You wanna play sucker! Let's. Play. Kill. The! Whatsit! Die! Die! Die and I’ll think! Up! A better name! Than! Whatsit! Later!”

  I slammed my head into the tree over and over, the smooth black horns that jutted from my forehead doing a pretty good job at keeping Mr. Concussion away while making the whatever it was, snap, crackle and pop.

  I don't remember how long I did this but the Whatsit was no match for me. Or my ability to relentlessly bang my head against something solid and unyielding for an inadvisable amount of time.

  It lost its grip and finally fell to the ground. I stumbled away from it on shaking legs and, in dizzy triumph, shouted, “Fatality!”

  Now that it was down and not trying to eat me I was able to get my first real look at it.

  I regretted it immediately.

  It's skin was smoke, it's bones burnt sticks and it's eyes were glowing coals. The face was flat, lipless and in its mouth I could clearly see what looked like perfectly normal human teeth covered in dried blood.

  "Ew. Okay, maybe it wasn't going for my eyes after all."

  It decayed as I watched, it's body breaking down into an irregular pile of what looked like a small dying campfire.

  As it did the smoke that seemed to be its animating force spilled out of it. I remembered what I'd read about gathering experience points and willed the black smoke to me.

  I was surprised at how easily it came, flowing out of the creature like thick, almost liquid, smoke and seeping into my skin. I shivered at the sensation, not liking or disliking it so much as being… unused to the feeling.

  “Uhhg... it tingles."

  I winced, just speaking added more pain to my scraped, scratched, bruised, burned and bleeding face.

  My blood was red smoke rather than a liquid and had been drifting directly toward the creature. Until the thing started to decay.

  At that point my blood smoke (Experience points? Hit points? A combination of both?) just drifted through the air.

  I tried inspecting the… not a Whatsit. A Tartarus Toad? Demon Bunny? Noob Eater? Hell Rabbit?

  “Ha! Silly rabbit! Tricks are - aaah mmph! Ugh Mph!”

  Apparently the copyright gods were watching because Smokey The Rabbits sneakier brother took exception to me murdering its sibling.

  It chose to express its displeasure by launching itself at my head, like a demon frog from hell.

  Luckily, I had a tried and true strategy for just this situation. A minute later I had another pile of Whatsit at my feet.

  However, I also had an even more messed up face.

  “Brutality…” I moaned, wishing for a health potion.

  “Well, it could be worse,” I muttered. “It could of been a gangster talking rabbit with a horn on its head it used to attack me. That would of just been humiliating.”

  I tried once more, this time on the lookout for more attacks, to inspect the creature.

  Unfortunately, unlike my last world, no transparent window popped up to give me it's description.

  I tried pulling up my inventory and that didn't work either.

  Remembering that the rules were here different I felt around for the half moon shaped leather bag that looked a bit like a medieval fanny pack.

  It was strapped to a thin leather belt holding up rough homespun pants and partially covered by a loose shirt made of the same material.

  The pants were itchy enough for me to appreciate the black, fully modern underwear I wore under them.

  No shoes. Just sandals. And no, sandals are not shoes. Sandals are the vegan chocolate of shoes.

  I reached into the bag at my hip and focused on pulling out my dagger. Though I wasn't sure how magic bags worked here. Did they have limited space? Did they have unlimited space and just reduced t
he weight? Was it a combination of both?

  Or was I just assuming I had a magical, “Bag Of Holding Lots A Stuff”?

  Luckily, it seemed that the bag, was in fact, magical. The hilt of a blade brushed my fingertips and after grabbing it, I pulled out a long thin dagger. It was longer than the bag was deep.

  As I looked at it I expected a window to pop up and say:

  Rusty Dull Dagger

  Damage: 1-2

  Durability: 2/10

  Quality: Cheap

  Special Ability: Possible Tetanus.

  Value: 0 Copper.

  Description: A rusty dull dagger made of cheap iron. Better used as a paperweight or door stop.

  That's how it worked in Midian but this was a very different world.

  I dropped the dagger back into my bag and, hoping this one thing was still the same, I held out my hands and focused on the words “Soul Tome”.

  To my vast relief a large black leather bound book unfolded itself into existence with jerky fits and starts before falling into my open hands.

  It was heavier than I expected and I almost dropped it, only managing to catch it at the last second.

  “Need to build up some dexterity points," I muttered.

  The world I had lived in, really lived in, before this one had been called Midian. There, everyone had a Soul Tome that acted as a character sheet, status page, journal or whatever.

  The first part of the tome had the basic history of Midian and the history of my specific race. The middle held my name, race, class, stats, profession details and ability descriptions. The rest was filled with achievements, finished quests and the like.

  The words glowed like starlight and the pages that held them were as dark as night. The words spun in modern spiral paragraphs rather than the ancient static lined paragraphs the older generations used.

  I turned to the page with my race description and history then gave the spiraled words a swipe to spin them to my usual skimming speed.

  I was relieved to see that all the changes were the ones already expected and accounted for.

  The racial description read:

  Savage Kin (Forest Elf): With bodies entwined with the nature of beasts, they were used as scouts, hunters and protectors. Immune to sickness, resistant to poisons and designed to be as loyal as guard dogs to their masters. They were the last to betray those masters, but when they did, they turned on them completely and without reservation. Treated more like pets than people, they value equality and true friendship.

  I flipped to the stats page and found that this was where things had really changed.

  Midian had seven stats: Strength, Speed, Agility, Dexterity, Stamina, Wisdom and Intelligence. Strength governed your attack power. Speed the obvious. Agility your dodge chance. Dexterity your critical hits. Stamina was how much you could carry. Wisdom was magic regeneration. And Intelligence was the amount of magic you had.

  Now it had all changed.

  In the stats section the left page had the instructions and the right had the actual stats.

  At the top of the page there was a green static spiral, the bottom left had a red spiral and the bottom right a blue.

  In the middle there was an image commonly used to represent my race. It was a triangle, point down and two opposing crescent shapes sunk into the flat top that curved out, basically representing a face with horns.

  Inside the bottom of the image, there was a smoky, liquid like substance. That same substance also pooled in the middle of each colored spiral.

  The top spiral was five different spirals, all starting from the same center, each a different shade of green.

  When I placed a finger on it, words flowed into being. Above the spiral was the word Body and in each section there was a different word. Strength, Speed, Agility, Dexterity and Endurance with lines appearing to divide each spiral with a number. The numbers closest to the center were the smallest and ascended as they spiraled out.

  The instructions said that the liquid smoke was essence (Experience) taken from defeated (killified) enemies.

  I poked at the middle image and saw a flash of words flowing around it, like when I touched the spirals. I frowned and this time I held a finger to it and read.

  Then, I groaned, fighting the same deep, frustrated raging despair I felt when, as a small boy, I learned the truth. That Firefly only had one season.

  “Nooo… why? Why would they do this to us!? It makes so sense! Why Gods?! WHY?!"

  ♦♦♦

  The First Day In Hell Is Like The First Day Of Preschool. Except Less Story Time And More Devastation.

  The first day in the Grey Hell was a shock to the system. Everything we owned was taken, our clothes, piercings and implants. Our tattoos were erased and our heads were shaved.

  We were given a designation and told that the use of names was forbidden. Touch was forbidden and communication between each other was forbidden.

  Communication of the heart, through tears or laughter was forbidden. Communication of any feeling, through expressions of anger, distress, happiness, sadness or fear was forbidden.

  Any Augmented Reality interface we had were already been confiscated. Every pair of AR glasses, goggles or other wearable tech was taken.

  Every pocket deck, bracelet, necklace or any other hardware for a neural lattice implant was taken.

  We were given a matte black collar that locked around our necks and acted as our AR hardware.

  Those without an implanted interface were forced to accept one regardless of personal preference or religious observance.

  Only those with medical conditions that prevented the use of implants were spared but they were rare and sent to other facilities.

  The people who oversaw us interacted only via text sent through the collars. We were allowed three communication signals: Confirm, to verify an order or answer a question in the positive. Query, to clarify an order or to request assistance. Negative, never used to deny an order but to answer a question.

  “Confirm, query or negation.” They told us on the first day. “Anything else is a waste of time and electronic resources. Unauthorized use will be considered theft. Stealing time is a punishable offence.”

  For the next several days we worked. Any who refused to work got the usual punishments: solitary confinement, sensory deprivation, denial of food or water and the level of physical and emotional abuse allowed by law.

  I'd been through all that before, in state run group homes mostly.

  But I've also lived in group homes sponsored by the Youth Christian Alliance, where you were a number, a paycheck and potentially possessed by a demon.

  The first time they tried to exorcise a demon from me it was kinda fun. The second time was still kinda fun but I almost died of dehydration. The third time I escaped when they left to get a bandage and antibacterial spray for the priests "demon" bite.

  I was once sent to a “Wilderness Behavioral Rehab Center” which was a few tents far enough into the woods that trying to hike out would get you eaten by lions and tigers and bears.

  Or maybe just coyotes.

  I escaped after deciding that being a coyotes chew toy was less painful than learning how to substitute rocks for toilet paper.

  Yes. Rocks. Because nobody, including the rehab “Counselors”, had any idea what plants were, or were not, rear end rash inducing

  Then there was the reeducation centers designed to break down your individuality and force you to conform into a “Productive Individual” through psychiatric assistance.

  I… may have, sort of, helped orchestrate a mass breakout and escape while a computer virus hacked away at the "patient" registry files as the building burned to the ground. But don't worry, no one was hurt.

  Well, okay. People were hurt.

  But only the people who deserved it and nobody died. I don't know why everybody was so freaked out about it.

  Wait, where was I going with this? Oh right! Stupid ADD or ADHD or whatever else they use to label p
eople who are easily distracted by shiny things, food, random thoughts or whatever.

  Basically, the Grey Hell put all other “Centers” or “Rehabs” to shame. Gray Hall Enterprises found something that worked and worked well.

  They showed what they could do to us and they did it for the first several days. Then, they gave us a Rest Day and opened our connection to the game.

  Immersive VR tech had been around for a while and everyone has used it to play games so real, you would have thought you were really there if not for the lack of touch, taste and smell.

  While in the game we could interact with each other, talk to each other, express our thoughts, emotions and opinions. In the game, we weren't alone. It was our only real connection to each other. A taste of freedom with artificial flavoring.

  After the Rest Day it was back to hell. But we still had access the game.

  That's what kept us sane.

  ♦♦♦

  Back To Basics With Basically Nothing.

  “Level one. I am level one. Level. One." I struggled not to feel cheated.

  Failed.

  "LEVEL ONE?!"

  I stopped, looked around to make sure nothing was sneaking up on me, then went back to ranting.

  “Three years!” I yelled at the sky. "Forced to suffer in the Grey Hell for three years? Fine! Whatever! But three years of building a character and now all my is progression gone!? All my title achievements! All my abilities!That's just… just… rude!”

  I glared down at the Soul Tome, as if I could alter what was written with the force of my will alone.

  Name: Ruin The Heartless

  Race: Savage Kin (Midian Wood Elf)

  Class: Force Mage (Rank: Basic. Level 1)

  Level: 1

  I groaned and restrained myself from banging my head against the tree.

  I'd had enough of that.

  Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw another Whatsit coming at me.

  And no, I did not kill it by banging my head against a tree like some sort of primitive idiot. This time I killed it the smart person way.

  I beat it to death with a book.

  I smashed the thing over and over and over and over and, “Why won't you die?! You’re like those commercials about that energized battery bunny that's been around forever! Why would anybody want a rabbit that walks around, banging a drum! What's the purpose of that?! Why?! Seriously! Just die - oh… there it goes. Huh. That took way too long. Doing things the smart people way takes forever. I'm definitely not doing that again.”