There’s a lot one picks up being a Samurai that ain’t exactly common knowledge unless you’re in the thick of it yourself. Poppin’ xenos and sending corpos to Davie, that’s all basic know-how these days, but didja know that, despite how helpful they are, your AI is sometimes a right piece a’ shit?

  - Samurai Scurvy, 2053

  The first gift I received upon waking up was the setting sun rudely beaming directly into my eyes, to which I responded with a hiss and an apprehensive block of the hand.

  Slowly, I ratcheted myself up into an upright position on the hammock and slowly became aware of the changes to my body. It was subtle, as nothing had changed in appearance, but everything felt…lighter in a sense. Just a little easier to move, a little less sluggish. All that slight aching from before had all but disappeared.

  I felt great, at least until the sickening feeling of bile hit my throat and I keeled over the side of the hammock to vomit whatever was coming out. A tar black stream of puke sprinkled with fleshy pink rocketed out of my mouth and splashed onto the dirt below. It felt viscous and almost…meaty. Suffice to say, it wasn’t exactly comfortable.

  “Is…Is this supposed to happen?!” I asked, pushing the words out between dry heaves once all of the nasty stuff had made its exit.

  Yes, this is the aftermath of the augmentation. There are several ways to expel the excess material and impurities, with the most common one being through the pores of the skin in what most Vanguard describe as, and I quote, “that black goop that smells like shit”. That is not the only method, however, and based on your history I determined that forcing it out manually through vomiting would be the most convenient. One noticeable hitch of discomfort from puking your guts out rather than having to wipe yourself down thoroughly with proper cleaning product is much more up your alley.

  I didn’t disagree with Cal’s assessment, as, yes, I didn’t want to buy more shit, but seeing that pile of disgusting, chunky liquid did make me consider moving my camp at least a few feet away from the spot. Maybe a few hundred.

  I took a curious glance down the thin tee I had on, and what lay beneath it was definitely more pronounced. Not to the point where I had surged up into being truly busty, but enough to notice how much more they sat on my chest. Though the slight discomfort of my current bra, one not designed to hold that specific amount of flesh, also clued me in.

  I coughed into my hand and felt my cheeks turn a bit rosy. I didn’t usually like buying clothes with points, but it was probably better to do it now rather than deal with more discomfort later. “Mind getting me a new one?”

  A new what?

  “I mean…you can probably guess.”

  I can, but I want you to say it.

  I let out a sigh. “...A new bra, please.”

  Purchased: Class 0 Sports Bra - 1 Point

  Point Total: 9538, 1 token

  A light gray sports bra fell into my grip, which I wasted no time throwing on. It was the middle of the desert, who was going to see me?

  “So, new bones and new muscles,” I said. “What does this mean for what I can do?”

  If you would humor me for just a moment, try jumping in place.

  I hopped off my hammock, bent down, and exploded upwards, getting several seconds of airtime. That was several seconds more than I was expecting, with how I flailed my arms like a buffoon the entire time I was airborne. Once I hit the dirt, still on my own two feet I might add, I basically froze in place as my brain tried to process what had just happened. “Cal, that was like ten feet.”

  That it was.

  A stupid thought hit my brain. “Can I flip a car?”

  Depends on the model.

  That wasn’t a no, and I must have also realized that based on the big, dopey smile I gave in response.

  I did a few more little exercises in my excitement, including running a surprisingly fast lap around the camp and executing some very wide side hops. Even better, I didn’t feel even the slightest bit strained by the motions. All I needed was a way to test out the new bones, but I wasn’t about to smash a baseball bat into my shins for the sake of my curiosity.

  Before I could let some more dangerous ideas take root, a shiny glimmer off in the desert caught my eye. Nothing I could recognize from this distance, but it was weird to see anything in this place that wasn't just dirt and rock. A squint let me make out other dots of colors, those being browns and blacks, but what exactly it could be remained unclear.

  “Hey Cal,” I asked, pointing in the oddity's direction. “Mind sending the drone over there?”

  The chrome dome currently sitting on my bike's seat hovered up before whizzing off into the sky to get a bit of vantage. A minute later, the skull returned into view and relayed the results: “There look to be a trio of individuals who are currently doing emergency maintenance on their vehicles.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Broken down in the middle of the desert, yikes. “Any idea what went wrong?”

  “Difficult to say from a distance, but if you were to purchase the Hawkeye Hi-Zoom Reconnaissance Drone for-”

  “Yeah, don't even bother with the upsell there,” I replied, swatting away the drone with a lazy hand. I took a seat on the Charon and listened to the bike thrum to life. “I'd rather just check it out myself.”

  In an instant I was airborne and cruising towards the posse. I did relent to Cal some time during the month on getting some dream learning done for learning to drive my hoverbike, and after a few nights of intense, unconscious study I was casually shifting through all the required motions to ensure an extremely smooth ride. A part of me chided this as cheating since I didn’t have to go through all the prerequisite testing and courses to learn the more traditional way, but I brushed it off as dragging myself through a technical manual for driving etiquette was not high on my reading list.

  The mysterious group came more into view as I approached, and the exact situation was made clear. It was difficult to make out, but I thought I saw the front of the biggest hoverbike letting off a concerning amount of steam. One of the trio was currently head first at the front of the engine, assumedly trying to diagnose the exact cause. All three bikes were buried in storage boxes and delivery crates, to the point where it was difficult to tell where the bike ended and the storage began. The two other persons were simply standing around and watching their cohort work, but they didn’t remain that way for long; the sound of my engine drew their attention.

  My Charon slowed as it approached the ground and puffed out a big plume of dust when it fully hit the dirt. “Heya fellas, need a hand?”

  The one woman of the three, sporting dyed, crimson red hair, let out a whistle and eyed up my bike. “We won’t say no to it. Nice ride by the way.”

  “Thanks. Mind if I take a look at yours?”

  The hispanic fellow currently stationed at the front of the faulty vehicle emerged, and was completely drenched in a mix of oil, sweat, and dust. His face was also quite red, although it was difficult to tell if this was due to him being actively angry or just suffering from a nasty case of sunburn. He tossed me a miniature flashlight he had in his hand and walked away with a huff. “Sure, go ahead. I need to get away from this fucking piece of shit for a minute anyways.”

  There was a different flurry of words that followed in Spanish, but I just went ahead and assumed they were swears.

  The exact moment that I walked to his spot I was assaulted by steam and heat, making me wince back for a second. Once I got my eyes looking over the engine, the actual problem wasn’t difficult to spot: on the top of the engine was some odd piece of metal with a big flap of duct tape hastily slapped onto it, and a quick peel off revealed a nasty looking crack in the casing. “Gonna guess that’s our problem?”

  That is likely the case, yes. To say the carburetor on the hoverbike has seen better days would be a gross understatement. At the very least, the crack there is causing issues with the fuel mixture which would then result in the current overheating. It would not surprise me, however, if that piece is suffering from a multitude of other smaller issues that are exacerbating the major one. The duct tape could hold for a few days, but the issues that follow would be several times worse.

  “What I’m hearing then is we gotta replace this whole damn thing,” I mumbled.

  Exactly.

  I hollered back to the group. “Yo! Your carburetor's busted, you need a new one!”

  The man who was working on it a moment ago rolled his eyes dismissively. “Where am I gonna get a new one right now?”

  I clicked my tongue. “Fair point.”

  You can always buy one, Max. A simple Class 0 equivalent would be three points.

  I…could. Yes, I could. But then that would reveal I’m a Samurai, which I wasn’t exactly prone to doing. How else could I spin this? I could buy it while obscured by the Charon, making it look like I took it out of one of my storage compartments, but why would I exactly have a bunch of random motor parts lying around, ones that may not have even worked with my vehicle? I wasn’t exactly giving off the impression of being a mechanic with my current, very casual attire.

  Maybe I could ask them to hang tight while I run to the nearest settlement to grab it, but then would I really be able to get the part so fast? The bike itself looked fairly old, so the odds that those parts weren’t in production anymore was solidly high. Getting the right carburetor wasn’t exactly going to be an in-and-out trip to the grocery store.

  I went through a couple of other options in my head, all of which proved to be equally unviable, but eventually I let out a sigh. “How well can y’all keep a secret?”

  This grabbed the attention of the group, who all looked over in mild surprise. “What kind of secret,” the woman asked.

  “A big one.”

  “Well, you have to be a little more specific than that.”

  “Why would I tell you more of the secret if I don’t even know if you can keep it?”

  “We’ll stay quiet,” the third of the group said, a gangly fellow who was equal parts tanned and sunburnt. “Even if it means bashing these two idiots over the head with wrenches.”

  That earned all sorts of critical response from his cohorts, but that was good enough for me. “Buy it.”

  Purchased: Class 0 Talos-85 Carburetor - 3 points

  Point Total: 9535, 1 token

  The entire group went silent when a box appeared from thin air and fell to the ground. I paid it little mind, and started digging around through the bubble wrap for the part itself, alongside the manual that came with it.

  “Oh shit, you a Samurai?” the hispanic man blurted out.

  “Yup.” I found the manual, made with actual paper, and began perusing through it. Conveniently it had a section on installing the part in the exact model of hoverbike I was working on. Ten credits Cal put that in himself.

  “Why didn’t you lead with that when you first came by?”

  “It’s a job, not a personality. Thought it’d be nicer to just be some random good samaritan come to help out instead.”

  Silence followed, broken up occasionally by some murmurs to process, but there was still a vehicle to fix. “You, what’s your name?”

  “Diego, ma’am.”

  My face scrunched. “Don’t call me ma’am. You’re probably older than me. Was gonna ask you to walk me through fixing this thing, just so I don’t fuck up your bike any further than it already is.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the engine. “Sure. We’re running out of daylight anyways.”