Chapter 8: Chapter 6: Tour

Day 3 - Afternoon

Carlton Heights

*clack*

"Good morning!"

Okay, so it's not morning anymore. Hey, you try to take a bath with a sexbot, tsundere and yandere. And not end up getting dirty all over again. And again.

Clean! Shlurp spurt. Nevermind…

Think Nina would be a hiyakasudere. With Ce being the yandere and Lez being the tsundere. Yeah, not perfect fits but stereotypes never are.

Gotta admit, though that magic bathroom cost a fortune. It was worth every damn chit. 

Harem something point something and I enter the big Victorian looking room. Fresh and dressed. Looking and acting like professionals. Except for a certain sexbot randomly making gulping noises. As if she's still swallowing… stuff.

Sigh.

The breakfast spread on the dining side has been replaced with a lunch spread. Discovered Nina was using monkey bots, who have better things to do, as waiters.

On the living, hehe, side two fold out tables have been added that Max and Po have spread the Minutemen's gear out on. The duo are going through every piece. Disassembling, assembling, repairing and cleaning them.

Memo to self: Add a "No disassemble!" line to one of the bot models.

Hey, it's the apocalypse. Conditions are, well, apocalyptic. Any chance you get for equipment maintenance? You take. Because the first time your sword breaks? Gun jams? Or armor snaps? Could be your last time.

*whistle*

The leader of the Minutemen is impressed by what he sees, and he should be. Yeah, when I was saying "professionals?" I meant the mercenary kind.

We're each wearing body armor I was developing but, uh, never released on steam planet. Sandwiched metal plates protect vitals and joints. Like the spine. While a tough mesh fabric covers everything else.

Now the synthetic, plastic, and crude oil revolutions hadn't happened in steam land yet. So I was limited somewhat but think it turned out well.

Compared to chainmail, [Barton Fibermesh] provides a little less resistance to slash. A little more resistance to bash. Is just as bad against stab. But just as flexible as chain. And at a fraction of the weight.

True, that fraction is twenty pounds. But it's a heck of a lot less than sixty. And as long as it's fitted properly? The weight is distributed well.

Should, I mean, would have sold like hotcakes and taken steam world by storm, right?

Okay, okay okay. Yes, many steamies were just wearing a helmet and breastplate. Only the really hardcore would add shin and arm guards too. While most actually just wore a helmet.

So they were already wearing five to twenty pounds of armor. That worked better against stabbing, which everyone narrow mindedly focused on, than my [Fibermesh]. And adding the plates pushed even the light sets into the thirty pound range.

Before we get into all the packs, ammo and weapons they're hauling too.

But all those armchair generals, and procurement departments, missed one critically important detail!

…

How cool it looks!

True, it's not as awesome as the Batman suits with the contoured six pack abs and breastages. I made one with all that and little nipples too. But my ladies only let me wear it in the bedroom for some reason.

*shrug*

Still, a mesh and plates suit almost reaches killzone levels of cool. No way I could go full killzone though. It would end up weighing a hundred pounds, at the least.

And yes, I tried adding the owl drone from the last game. Who wouldn't like goin full Arifureta with all those cross drone things. But even with magic. I'm not there yet.

Yep, really cool armor. Really, like, awesome and stuff.

…

Fine, I admit it! [Barton Body Armor] bombed! Like, I sold exactly zero suits. Spent oodles creating it and producing it. But the ROI? A big fat squat!

Finally knew what Disney Animation felt like before they bought Pixar. Or anyone who gives Elon Musk money.

Wasn't worried about it because I recalled a basic load could be forty-fifty pounds back in my army days. Carrying an extra fifty to a hundred on top of that? Not an uncommon thing.

It was a costly lesson that I couldn't sell whatever the hell I wanted too. Have to keep it within the buyer's wheelhouse. So, selling a Spencer Repeating Rifle to guys used to revolvers and rifled muskets? Good. Trying to sell an M2 .50cal HMG to those same guys? Bad.

Thank god I was already selling butloads of those repeating rifles and their magefire ammo. Or my megacorps dreams would have faceplanted.

Oh well, automatics and body armor are already a thing here. So I should be able to sell them. The question is whether to use the system store to do it or not.

Now how about my volunteers.

Cecilia wears [Hastati Armor] which has the fewest plates. So most of her body is only protected by mesh. Alessandra is in [Principes Armor]. With more metal so coverage is around half and half between plate and mesh. Lastly there's Nina with [Triarii Armor] on. Looking like a knight in not shining armor. Only some mesh is exposed.

Each suit includes a hood for additional protection. And for those who really don't want to wear a helmet. There are also optional face masks too. That can be attached to the helmet or worn separately. 

The armors have numerous pouches and straps. For magazines, sheathes, packs, etc, etc…

Coloring is camouflage. A matte black, gray and brown pattern. My version of "urban." And on the chest is a symbol. An emblem that I've used on four worlds now. It's a skull. A dragon skull. This one is face on.

It represented an empire in medieval world. A mercenary unit in cyber land. And a company on steam planet. What will it come to mean here?

That skull is Frazur's. My shadow dragon. He was arrogant enough when I chose it for one world. How completely insufferable will he become when he learns it's been to three more.

Ugh.

Now, as a red-blooded male, I naturally made the female version of the armor more, um, form-fitting than the male version.

Even the plates are, uh, shaped somewhat. For comfort of course. And to make sure everyone knows they got boobies under there!

No, I am not sexist. I just like sex.

*grin*

Ahem, well, in total everything adds up to thirty, forty and fifty pounds respectively. The helmet they don't have on right now would add another three.

"[Barton Arms]?" Pedro squints.

Ah, he is using the [Identify] skill. When used on gear, the system shows the maker's name if it's a particular craftsman. If there isn't one then the shop name is shown. Or the company name, if one exists.

And I see this system is taking the same bullshit shortcut the last one did.

"Yeah, that's not really correct." I explain to Pedro. "The system likes to shorten names sometimes."

"Ah?" Max raises an eyebrow. "So what is the-?"

"Barton Industrial Group Charter Union Munitions Development Incorporated Limited Liability Armaments."

…

"...What?"

Huh. Didn't he hear me?

"I said Barton Industrial Group Charter Union Munitions Development Incorporated Limited Liability Armaments."

Oddly, everyone is just silently starring at me. Including Ce and Lez. Only Nina's nodding like its the most natural thing to hear in the world. Which, of course, it is.

I should help.

"Now some employees, strangely, find the name a smidge long. So they'll use the abbreviation, B.I.G.C.U.M.D.I.L.L.A. instead."

If anything, Maxwell is even more flabbergasted now.

"...Big cum?"

"No, Bigcumdilla. You have to use all the letters. We wouldn't want to be confused for another company, now would we?" Fake laugh. "No we don't. Besides, I hear the fellows over at Booze Indulgers Grand Corporated Universal Manufacturing get pretty sticky over it."

Totally made the name that long, and with that spelling, to fuck with the system. Hehe, lots of government ministries had to deal with it too.

Heard many pencil pushing bureaucrats have pictures of me on their office dart boards.

*blink* *blink*

The Minutemen's leader slowly turns his chair towards the party's priest and stares at him. Refusing to look at me again. Po finally sighs and takes over their side of the conversation.

"Sister, are you alright? Are you safe?"

Which startles Alessandra into doing a double take.

"Huh? Oh?" Blushes. "Mas-I mean, Joh-I mean, Louie is fucking amazing!" Squeezes my arm, smiles and gives her older brother a thumbs up. "And what you thought? Was on the money." Followed by a completely unsubtle wink.

Po eyes the body armor again.

"Yes, I see." Faces me. "Your majesty, what is our next step?"

Majesty? Hmm… Weird, feels different being called that here. Whatever, let's do this thing!

Give my best used gun salesman smile.

"How bout a tour?"

The two stand and follow me to the backdoor. Nina nudges the girls who then fast-walk over and quicktime fill plates with the lunch spread.

I smile as the pair bashfully shuffle-step back and hang in the rear with sexbot.

*clack*

Open the door and push through. Leading the five down the basement corridor. Bedrooms on one side. Small high windows on the other. Time for my spiel.

"Barton Industrial Group Charter Union Munitions Development Incorporated Limited Liability Armaments was founded to overcome the scientific challenges presented by magic's fuel, mana."

Nina catches the prompt and says her line from the back.

"Mana?" Fake curiosity. "What's that, Mister Helpful Tour Guide?"

"Well, Miss Open Minded Tourist." Fake smile and radio voice. "The scientists with theoretical degrees at B.I.G.C.U.M.D.I.L.L.A. like to call mana, physics cheat code."

"Physics cheat code, Mr Guide? What's that?"

"Ms Tourist, mana exists naturally in a transitional state. Not just between states of matter, but dimensions as well. Making it very difficult to detect when in low concentrations." Pull out a marble sized mana crystal and astrally push to get it glowing and floating. "However, when in high concentrations it can fuse to other matter. Altering how the material behaves. Spiking the drink they bought us and then repeatedly violating our virginal understanding of how the universe works."

Crap, forgot to wear the lab coat. The spiel always sounds better when I'm wearing a lab coat.

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*crunch* *munch*

Nina's next line is interrupted by a mouth full of food Lez blurting out.

"Is that where spells come from?"

Grin her way and switch back to normal voice.

"Yes. Our minds can harness mana and use it to make the impossible possible."

Pedro nods. "Through the system, you mean."

Smirk back as I walk. "No. The system's connection to your soul makes it easier for you to use mana. That's all." Push harder and the marble disintegrates in the air. "All that's really required is there being enough mana present to use."

*clack*

"Hi." "Hello."

Open the door to the cellar's junction and two sentry turrets on overwatch greet us. The debris and refuse has all been recycled. Leaving the room bare except for the elevators, stairwell, turrets, and several mule bots moving between the northeast arm and southeast leg.

Yep, my bots have been busy.

So there’s been a change of plans. Again. Good old mission creep. Was going to do some light industrial here and move everything to Fort Matthew soon. But once I realized just how much space we have? And an entire mine's worth of resources is nearby just waiting to be harvested?

Shit, if I recyc the building that's on top of us? Could use all that concrete to turn this place into one hell of a fortress.

Now I still want Fort Matthew. Believe it or not, humans are cheaper and easier than robots. And they even handle production themselves. Just leave some porn mags around, poke pinholes in the condom packages and replace the pills in their birth control cases with cocaine.

Ta-da!

New troops are on the way. Just gotta give them a decade or two to upgrade their hardware. Which they can mostly handle themselves too.

I want several settlements. But would prefer to keep most of those walking, talking, peeing and pooping health code violations and operational security risks over there. Not here.

Especially once I start building the helicarrier. 

Now, I know what you're thinking. Need troops that breed fast and grow fast? Why not goblins?

First, go find a bar of soap and wash out your mouth with it. Cause you talking shit. Ew… Second, nobody likes goblins. Not even goblins like goblins. Third, yes they grow fast. They also die fast. A twenty year old gob is, like, ancient. Fourth? Training and discipline. Their "need to breed" is so overclocked, it basically shorts out everything else.

I tried some experiments and did some research. After all, who wouldn't want the fantasy equivalent of the zerg rush on tap. Found out that the only thing keeping gob social units intact? Is how weak they are.

They know everyone hates them. They hate each other too. So they'll follow the strongest among them out of fear. The fear of being hurt. Fear of being cast out.

But they'll never like them. Never respect them. And always look for opportunities to move up in the breeding pecking order. You give them better gear? Teach the little shits better skills? The first one they'll use them on is you. If they think they can get away with it. The second victims will be each other.

A playing field leveling weapon like firearms? Shit. That'll just get you a whole bunch of dead and injured goblins. Until only the strongest left have them. And who will absolutely not share with the new gobs. Defeating the whole purpose of training and equipping them in the first place!!!

Jesus, sorry, was a super frustrating experience. And don't get me started on hobgoblins. Sneaky evil bastards. "Curse your sudden but completely fucking inevitable betrayal," kind of sneaky evil.

Orcs? Breed and grow a bit quicker than humans. Tougher and stronger but not enough in modern terms to matter. Dwarves? Breed slower, grow slower and to damn stubborn. Elves? Fuck them. Fuck those fucking fucks right out the fuck!

Whoa, head rush.

Undead? Awesome and perfect. But have major public relations issues with the whole unholy abomination thing. So left that all in medieval land.

Officially.

*exaggerated wink*

Golems? Another word for robots.

So, yeah, humans. Smart enough to mostly do what you tell them too. Dumb enough to mostly believe what you tell them too. Strong enough to pull the trigger. And tough enough to do that for hours at a time. Certainly not awesome, but perfect enough.

Wow, talk about going off on a tangent. Woof, sorry. Back to the present, we are in the central chamber of the X shaped apartment building's basement. Having just exited the southwest leg of this cellar. Which has been converted into living quarters.

*whirrr* *griiind* *thokthok*

Mule bots are moving between the southeast leg, warehousing, and the northeast arm, manufacturing. Industrial noises are coming from there.

"Follow me, please."

Lead the bunch to the northwest arm and walk through the door. But what's behind door number four?

A shooting range!

Some tables, lockers, stands, dividers and target dummies on tracks up to half a football field away.

*ZKOW* *ZRATAT* *ZBRRR* *ZBANG*

On five stands are firearms that look both familiar and different. Oh they are mostly like other firearm designs. The rifles have stocks, receivers, grips, triggers, sights, magazines, handguards and barrels. The pistols have grips, triggers, magazines, frames, sights, slides, and barrels.

The most noticeable difference can be summed up with one word. "Bulky." You'll never find anything like the early Steyr Aug coming off one of my assembly lines. Barrels are thicker than they need to be. Stocks are harder. Slides stronger. Receivers heftier. Etc…

War. War never changes. 

Well, war ain't got shit on a portal dungeon. The dungeons of medieval world are natural formations. Mana condensed, formed core, it sunk, a spider web like maze of caverns and tunnels were left behind as it sank more. You often got weird shit from the very high mana concentrations but that was it. Mostly just hotter and wetter the further down you go.

Cyber land didn't really have dungeons. They were all just ruins. Some went pretty deep. But they were actually ruins.

Steam planet though? Fuck. That was my introduction to "portal" dungeons. Bout as unnatural as you can fucking get. War is hell? Well portal dungeons can be dozens of hells. They are actually in another dimension and connect to your world through, you guessed it, a portal. A hole, just floating there. It may be big. Maybe small. It may be in a cave. Maybe a wall.

One floor could be a desert with a burning sun above. The next a pitch black frozen wasteland. A steaming jungle to a landless ocean. Castles in the sky to subterranean cities.

The environmental extremes and frequent combat strains both man and machine to their limits. I quickly realized that "rugged" had to be designed into every single piece of each weapon.

My early revolvers and repeaters soon looked like they'd been raised on steroids and I never looked back. "Tough as a Barton" became a saying among soldiers and adventurers that I am stupidly proud of.

Hey, when you can grab one of my rifles by the barrel. Beat an armor wearing orc to death with it. Flip it back around, reload and start shooting holes in his green buddies? The guys who have to fight those orcs start appreciating your hardware.

And what's in the racks and bolted to the stands here are the semi-automatics and automatics I haven't been offering on steam world yet. Learned my lesson from the [Fibermesh] debacle.

Just started selling bolt-actions and pump-actions recently. In fact, most of my sales are still lever-actions and crank-actions.

And while I brought some rechambered for gunpowder cartridges along with the tooling? Still brought everything I needed to make magearms and magefires too.

But since this line was disassembled, stored and reassembled? Have to test everything to make sure there are no issues with the molds, patterns, spacing or alignments.

Monkey bots crawl over the weapons on the firing line. Triggering, reloading, testing, etc, etc…

*ZBANG* *ZRATAT* *ZKOW* *ZBRRR*

It's the 45 cal fanatic, Alessandra, who first notices an oddity.

*munch* *crunch*

With a mouthful again.

"No ejection port?" Yep, no spent cases are being ejected. There isn't even a hole for them to exit through. "Caseless ammo?"

I smile and guide them to the side.

"Something like that. Here." Pick up a small but heavy display and hand it over. "This is what they're shooting."

"Holy shit." Lez appears impressed.

"Lez?" Max asks.

The other three Minutemen crowd around and their eyes get big too.

Inside are ten bullets. Not cartridges with projectile, case, propellant and primer. Just bullets. Small bullets, big bullets and really big bullets.

"Magefire Mk V." Po reads the label.

The bullets are just in little slots so they are easy to take out. Naturally Lez picks up the biggest one.

"Holy fuck." Lifts it like a dumbbell. "How much does this weigh?"

I answer a bit smugly.

"That is a 60 caliber Mk V Full Metal Jacket Longball that's a sixth of an inch in diameter and six inches long. In comparison, a conventional 50 cal heavy machine gun bullet plus case is about five and a half inches long and weighs around two ounces." Pause for effect. "While what's in your hand weighs thirty-five ounces. Two plus pounds."

Drop another shocker.

"Oh and those 45 cal rounds you like are around an inch and a quarter long. Weighing about half an ounce. While the 60 cal shortball you see there is three inches long and weighs twenty ounces. That's over a pound."

…

"Mother of god." Pedro finally manages.

Max asks. "Um, Mister the King? Uh, why? Why make them so big?"

"Mana, Maxwell, it's all about the mana and the change it causes." Gently take the bullet from Lez and show it to them. "This cartridge is designed to kill grade A monsters. That's gold rank. Last level before the demigods." Point to a very large bullpup rifle with a scope and bipod sitting on a rack. "BSR-60 Mk III Godslayer. Semi-automatic, bullpup configuration, sniper rifle with a six round box magazine. The 60 cal Longball exits its 54 inch barrel traveling at three thousand feet per second." Meet each of their eyes before continuing. "And against a grade A? It's still not a guaranteed one shot kill."

…

"Fuuuuuck…" Yeah, it's the assassin. 

"That's what humanity is up against. And while A's will be rare. They're still coming."

The cleric faces the assassin, sorceress, and spellblade before turning back to me.

"How long?"

"Seven months, tops. Maybe only five or six, depending on how well mankind does." Hold up a hand. "Eventually, there will be Silver and Gold teams that can handle them. But until then? Casualties will be…"

The four Minutemen nod to each other before their leader nods and faces me.

"What do you want us to do?"

As Chappelle would say, gotcha bitch.

"You will spend two days here getting used to the armor." Sweep across the range. "Finding the magearms you shoot with best. And training. Lots and lots of training."

Lock eyes with Nina and see her hearts are lit. Teaching was what her program was originally designed for. Two days of training, fighting and fucking?

Oh yeah.

Sexbot paradise.

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