Dimensional shunting.

  Samurai buy things, and get them teleported to them. Problem is, how doesn’t time and reality tear? I mean, to cover billions or trillions of light-years in the time it takes you to blink? Those AIs we’ve interviewed have even said some guns need to be constantly ‘shunted’ into a pocket dimension.

  I’m convinced there’s some timey-wimey horse-shitery going on. When you mess with space, time is just a few paces away from getting absolutely obliterated. Thoughts?

  -Thread OP in the Science section of Samurai fansite honorbound dot com, 2041

  Before

  She raced through the trees. Eleanor’s eyes stung with frustrated tears as she reigned Aster aimlessly. She just needed to get away. She’d been riding for what felt like hours.

  Her informal upbringing, such a point of pride and freedom in her life, now only served to guide her through shrubbery like an animal.

  Those people made her feel like all her individuality and humanity was drained away, slowly being bled. Eleanor would become just another husk of a woman playing along in their dance.

  Even Edgar, her only ally in that soulless palace, had begun to coax her into playing nice.

  No. Eleanor rode on, uncertain plans swirling in her mind to try and salvage some part of this whole mess. Maybe she could go back home to her family, try and call the whole thing off, even if it broke her heart and filled her with guilt, or try and convince Edgar’s mother to just understand.

  She could fix things.

  Eleanor just needed to clear her head somewhere far away from them.

  A sudden burst of light came to life as she crossed the edge of the tree line. It persisted in her vision, blinding her, like the sun had crashed into the dirt. Aster came to a stop, and buckled and whinnied in panic.

  Her horse stood on his hind legs and turned away to flee, uncaring of its rider, who slid off the saddle and at the dirt, screaming.

  Eleanor landed on an incline, all her breath escaping her painfully, and rolled. The light became harsher and brighter as she slid down into the depths. Aster’s panicked huffs and neighs cut off unnaturally halfway down into the cavernous opening in the earth.

  Frozen winds buffeted her face, and she kept falling, swirling colors of light blinding her even behind her eyelids.

  Everything went dark.

  When she woke up later, she was in Hell.

  Now

  Ellie advanced through the dim hallways of the factory’s basement, ears and eyes sharp.

  The sword held at the ready in front of her felt familiar, like home.

  “So where exactly am I headed if I want to get back to the shelter?” she muttered under her breath.

  My preliminary scan of your surroundings before initialization suggests there’s a staircase if you keep moving north. That’s straight ahead to the end and then right.

  Ellie flinched minutely, still not used to Ilya’s voice in her skull. Having healed and cleared her head brought a lot of the reality of the situation into perspective.

  “A scan, huh. How exactly did you manage that? Are you able to… invade the net like the AIs in those old videos? Take over cameras and such?” she asked. A scuffing noise made her twirl around.

  Nothing.

  I, like my fellow AIs, have no interest in invading Earth’s networks, Ellie. It serves no purpose in uplifting you to a position where you can defend yourself. Purchasing certain catalogs, however, help me assist you in gathering information and ‘invade the net’ in a manner of speaking, Ilya said, and Ellie could imagine a rueful smirk. Cyberwarfare and security, specialized implants, scouting drones…

  “Hmm. Maybe later. I’m sure you’re ready to sell me on all kinds of things,” Ellie said, surveying the dark junction before her. The sparse orange lighting overhead created eerie shadows, and an errant shaft of light illuminated–

  Duck now.

  Ellie obeyed. Ilya’s deadly and icy tone in her head set off primal alerts in her hindbrain. Her metal arm came up to her temple as she threw herself to the side, a screech of metal jostling her forearm.

  She spun back to the shape in the dark, and laid eyes on the Model Four. The bear-like monster undulated its sharpened tentacles, preparing a followup to its failed ambush.

  Ellie didn’t let it.

  Her sword lit up with super-hot flames, and the beast flinched at the sudden light, giving her the opening to swing a devastating strike at its deformed neck.

  It slid in, through and out of the monster’s body so easily Ellie gasped. Then she winced as her blade lodged itself into the concrete floor, rattling her bones. The M4’s head fell to the floor with a slap, and its body followed quickly.

  “Sharp,” she breathed in wonder. “Almost too sharp.”

  Congratulations on your first conscious kill, Ilya teased.

  Ellie sighed through her nose as she smiled faintly. She pulled her sword out, and adjusted mentally to the deadly weapon.

  “I can do this, then.”

  Ellie moved surely but carefully as she made her way through the basement. She avoided a few more ambushes by M4s and the odd M3 patrol. She was almost bowled over as one of the Fours threw itself at her, only saved by the inhuman strength of alien steel as she pushed it completely away. Her shoulder twinged painfully after that, though.

  She frowned. It made sense her fleshy shoulder couldn’t handle the full strength of her new arm. Ellie shelved that thought for later and ignored the tightness in her muscles.

  She left behind the last sizzling corpse and saw the stairs ahead. Ellie breathed deeply before stepping on something.

  She looked down and tilted her head in confusion as a root of all things squished under her shoe. It snaked away and around a corner, and Ellie followed it slowly, then stopped, dumbfounded.

  The root exploded in a network of vines around the walls and the ceiling, becoming slightly thicker. They disappeared into a knocked-out wall at the end of the corridor, darkness hiding the source of the strange plants.

  Ellie, the situation has become drastically more dangerous. This network of roots leads, most certainly, to an Antithesis hive.

  Ellie takes a step back as her heart jumps to her throat.

  “What!?” she hisses. “How? I must’ve been out cold for barely half an hour!!” Ellie whisper-yells.

  Based on my projections, there’s a 99.8% chance this is a stealth hive. The remaining 0.2% could be a never-before seen genetic mutation, so…

  “Yeah, I’m not going in there either way,” Ellie declares, quickly retreating. She stands at the base of the stairs once again. “Wait, what’s a stealth hive?”

  A cell of Antithesis might decide survival of the hive out benefits the risks of expansion. They will burrow and lie in wait for a more opportune moment to attack, or as I suspect in this case, wait for reinforcements. It is not possible to know how long this hive might have been lying in wait.

  Ellie frowns mightily as she starts making her way up. If this hive had been left undiscovered for even longer…

  It might have never been safe in that shelter to begin with. Ellie grits her teeth as hot anger floods her veins.

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  Manuel Vilanova might have disappeared completely or been slaughtered with his coworkers and who knows how many other people who thought they’d found a safe haven. The nebulous, primitive planning of the Antithesis was the only thing that saved this entire building.This entire sector of Oxford Core might have been doomed.

  Her anger surged without direction. Thinking of taking that fury out on the corporation who built this deathtrap, she paid for her distraction as she walked up the steps.

  A bladed limb came out of nowhere and only by a hair did she bring her sword to bear in time. It cut the tentacle clean off, but the momentum it carried nicked her cheek savagely, and Ellie used the anger in her gut to swing violently at the Model Four hanging from the ceiling, shearing off more tentacles and then spilling its guts messily on the staircase.

  “God, fuck–”

  She breathed deeply and kicked herself mentally for her lack of focus. Admittedly, she hadn’t ever actually used her martial skills on anything other than sparring partners or teachers. Ellie reminded herself she wasn’t a master of the blade by any means, and she couldn’t afford to distract herself from the mission.

  “Ilya, I have a plan. I need something to protect my head and chest that isn’t too expensive. Uh, actually, do I have the points for something?”

  Wise choice, if obvious, smirked the disembodied voice. Take a look.

  [Current points: 65]

  She did cut her way through a good number of Threes and Fours, but she had been careless.

  “Alright. Something easy to move in from the… what was it? Collective? What do you have?”

  Well, the Hexplate Mantle offers decent protection for the head, neck and torso from blunt and bladed strikes, at the cost of not being environmentally sealed and a good flimsier against higher-class Antithesis. 25 points.

  Ellie winced. “It’s fine. I just need to not get caught by surprise from my blind spot and have my jugular torn open. I’ll take it.”

  [Current points: 40]

  The box that appeared almost looked like any old garment package from… back home. Crinkly brown paper and string and everything.

  “Ilya, are you messing with me?” Ellie pouted. “You really do know too much about me.”

  Perhaps just a little bit.

  She undid the string with a huff and was presented with a high tech poncho-looking piece. Ellie spun it around after sheathing her sword and tossed it on like any other shirt. Her head came out of the opening and was enveloped in a deep hood with a hard, plastic-glass visor over her eyes that left her mouth uncovered.

  Ellie peeked out of her corner of her eye and was surprised to see the hood was transparent from the inside. Not totally invisible, but transparent like tinted glasses. She looked down at the hexagonal interlocking pieces of armor that made up the ‘fabric’ and hummed in satisfaction. The collar felt solid, almost like a gorget.

  No stray tentacles nearly cutting her neck open again any time soon.

  “This will work, thanks.”

  Ellie finally emerges on the factory level. The dimming, pale light of the sun outside peeks through the thin windows near the ceiling. Some of the lamps up here were busted too, but at least it’s brighter.

  She breathes a sigh of relief at finally leaving the dark hallways behind and freezes as she spots a veritable horde of Antithesis in the main floor where the assembly line is.

  Ellie retreats back behind the large doors to the line.

  “I can’t take all of those with just my sword,” she says in an almost inaudible whisper, wary of whatever sharp senses the monsters have. Communicating with Ilya sure is a pain in the–

  You can subvocalize to communicate with me if you fear detection. Imagine silently reading something to yourself, engaging your voice box but not actually making sounds.

  Ellie pauses, wondering for a half second if Ilya can actually read her mind. A second passes and disabusing herself of that worrying theory, tries Ilya’s advice out.

  ‘Like this?’

  Exactly. Now, how can I help?, Ilya responds brightly.

  ‘Something for my off-hand. A…firearm. A gun that can punch through that beastie’s armor,’ she relays to Ilya, peeking around the corner just enough to watch the Model Six huff and groan orders to the Model Threes sweeping the factory floor.

  The Automaton Collective has plenty of handguns in that capacity. The Rivet Caster fires superheated bolts of metal that also burn decently once lodged in Antithesis flesh. The Armed Worker Swarm, the peacekeeping branch of the Collective, also swears by its non-lethal setting! Just 20 points!

  Ellie smiles. ‘Are you anticipating I’ll have to use it on my fellow humans?’

  I’m getting a good handle on your personality and motivations, her AI responds neutrally. Her tone is seemingly innocent. It’s not common for Samurai to let injustices or personal slights go unchallenged.

  That’s a very telling non-answer. Ellie is a little excited to personally try out the weapons of this world and time, so she confirms her decision to Ilya with a nod.

  Hold out your hand.

  [Current points: 20]

  The weapon discreetly appears with the faintest blink of light yet, and Ellie wraps her metal hand around it. It’s a boxy, bulky and heavy thing, with an exaggerated barrel dotted with ports. Or at least Ellie guesses so. The thing sticking out that’s shaped like a drum must be the magazine…?. She flicked a little lever helpfully labeled SFTY and seams along the drum and the barrel light up with inner heat and orange light.

  30 shots before you have to reload, though it’s very inexpensive. 2 points per drum. Make them count.

  “Alright.”

  Ellie braces herself, and hatches a rough plan in her head. With two quick breaths, she whirls around the corner and sprints into the factory floor.

  She gives the Six no time to react and shoots. The kick of the weapon in her hand is monstrous, but her newly installed chrome weathers it without issue.

  Glowing, red-hot metal slag launches itself out of the barrel with an ear-ringing clang-boom and a shriek as it streaks through the air. It buries itself on the flank of the Model Six and it stays creepily silent as it flinches in pain as the wound sizzles. A gout of flame escapes out of the bullet hole as its body catches fire internally.

  Two more rivets are fired and the Hexplate Mantle immediately proves its worth as another fucking Four she missed goes for her neck. A bladed tentacle bounces off of Ellie’s protected clavicle, making her gasp and stumble.

  She catches herself, spinning and slicing a broad arc that slices off another tentacle and she’s now accosted by a pack of Threes.

  Ellie cuts through two of them and deposits three more rounds into the last one’s face. It falls and slides past her, dead. Her eyes frantically scan the factory floor for the Four before the rest of the horde of Threes can descend on her and she spots it in a crevice in the assembly line.

  Detected, it abandons range and jumps at her. Her sword comes alive with flame as she depresses the thagomizer and it falls in two halves as she cuts it vertically. She’s splattered with alien guts, but she quickly wipes her face clean with her forearm and throws herself back into the fight.

  A constant avalanche of Threes mindlessly at her and a mix of bullets and sharp metal cuts them down as she advances. Her breath dissolves into gasps of effort as adrenaline floods her system as she adjusts her stance and swing to the very non-human adversaries. They keep coming.

  She keeps shooting, and her blade keeps cutting.

  A weak clicking noise from the still standing Six -fuck- directs a Four to abandon stealth and throw a tentacle directly at her face.

  A teeth-grinding shriek of metal follows the deadly limb scratching her hood, and she puts three rivets in the bastard as she rounds the assembly line and comes face-to-face with the Six.

  Five rivets left.

  It stands only on its forelegs, twitching as the red-hot metal destroys it from the inside out. A round must have gotten something important, because it drags its bleeding hindlegs behind it as it tries to heaves itself forward to chew Ellie’s face off.

  She unloads all her remaining ammo in its lumpy head, and it collapses, finally dead.

  “Mother of mercy, that was grim,” Ellie says between gasps. A long lock of hair sticks uncomfortably to her face. She raises her hand to swipe it out of the way, remembers there’s a gun hot enough to brand skin in it, and pauses to close her eyes and breathe deeply.

  Once her weapons are sheathed or tucked in her belt, Ellie’s long brown hair is tied hastily in a tight bun at the top of her head.

  It feels like it looks like crap. Ellie thinks she should just pack it in and chop the whole thing off. Women in this age certainly look stunning enough with all kinds of hairstyles.

  Sweaty hair out of the way, Ellie addresses the root of said problem and not her tangent about stunning women.

  “Ilya, have you got something to drink? Whatever’s fine,” Ellie asks, finally catching her breath with one eye on her surroundings.

  Of course. Take a look at your points while you’re at it.

  Brilliant. That was a good amount of points for that brief disaster.

  I think you'll love this. Hold out your hand.

  Ominously cheerful words aside, Ellie obediently holds out her hand and a plain foil juice box appears in it. Or at least, it’s plain foil until she turns it around.

  “Fuck’s sake.”

  A colorful illustration of herself greets her in all its 1800s glory. She’s holding the Nutripack, as it happens to boldly call itself at the top of the drawing, and her new gun. Long brown hair, flatteringly fair and not pasty skin, sky blue eyes, narrow chin. Yep, that's her alright.

  ‘Have a cheeky one, mate!’, mini-Ellie requests with a wink.

  Ellie rips the straw from the packaging and into the box with a few more grumbled curses and draws her gun.

  If any Antithesis were alive to hear anything as the young woman walked deeper into the factory in search of her adoptive family, they would’ve heard a deep siiiiiiip, sneakers pausing abruptly in their shuffling, and an awed whisper.

  “Bloody fucking hell, that’s good.”