The Chameleon Loop

NY Times Editorial excerpt. Circa 2167

In a stroke of unmitigated brilliance, our congressional bodies have elected to strip Homo Venatorus of their rights and relegate them to the noble role of dungeon combatants. After all, what better way to utilize the talents of these superhuman families than to have them perform the very tasks we ordinary humans find too hazardous? Surely, their oppression is a small price to pay for our comfort and safety. Truly, nothing says progress like ensuring that those with the greatest potential are shackled, demeaned, and driven to the brink for the common good.

Bravo to the architects of this utopia.

—

Rage tainted fear, driving Nox deeper into the unknown, aluminum pole extended. He felt it snag against something invisible, and stooped to feel for the tripwire he knew was there. For all his annoyance at Miasma, and his terror of the minotaur, he couldn’t help but allow a boisterous yawn to escape his lips. Traps are a pointless waste of time! Why even have this many? Thought Nox, as nimble fingers danced over a hair thin strand. One flick of the goblin shortsword disabled the trap, though he took the time to diligently trim the thread and stuff it into an empty pouch. He recognized this trap as a spearthrust trap, already guessing what it would do against the minotaur. Absolutely nothing. Jesus followed behind him, drawing a line with the XXL paint pen where the tripwire had been.

They spent the next twenty two paces contemplating how little time remained. Mana sickness was sure to start picking off the individual members of the kill team. A plague they hadn’t considered during the last attempt and proof that the dungeon had many ways of killing him. Strength left Nox, signaling the end of Nora’s guidance spell. He held up a hand, waving her away.

“I’m fine Nora, save your mana.” Nox called.

Buffing spells like guidance wore off quickly whereas mana regenerated slowly, populating the body over the course of hours. Or it normally worked that way, inside dungeons there was a surplus of mana, enhancing the hunters and refreshing their mana more quickly. Still, spells had other physical costs, and the constant buffing had taken a toll on most of the party, from Ashley’s frowning eyes, to Nora’s trembling fingers, and finally to Mary-sue’s manicured nails. The Labyrinth was bleeding them dry, exhausting their sanity while force feeding them mana, like an endless parade of foie-gras. Aluminum tapped against the trigger stone, causing the floor to fall open in another pitfall trap. Then reset it, marked it, and addressed the kill team.

“That goes for everyone. I’ve got these traps memorized now, burning spells will only hurt the team.” Nox said.

He expected them to protest, and received painful compliance when no one met his eyes. Nora slowly turned to Mary-sue, silently imploring. In response, Mary-sue unfolded the stock to her odd Kalashnikov styled short barreled rifle. It appeared like an AK-47, except the stock was a hollow triangle of thick stamped steel, while its extremely short muzzle was obscured by an integrated suppressor. A Trijicon optic of some sort was mounted over its receiver, high enough to retain the rifle’s iron sights and to top it off, the whole gun was masterfully cerakoted in a burnt bronze base with tungsten colored accents. Multiple expensive customizations, but Mary-sue could easily afford them all. Lead core projectiles were generally worthless inside dungeons, and even the bullets made from mana crystals were often ineffective inside higher ranked gates, meaning this weapon was more a status symbol than functional gear. Though it had probably been a suitable tool for clearing their original destination.

“Fine.” Said Mary-sue, dragging Nora to the middle of their marching formation.

Nox watched her go, baffled by the C ranked talent holder. With her unique talent she had earned the nickname of ‘Buff Queen’. For a girlie-girl like Mary-sue, there were few compliments that she would appreciate less. Unique talents were beyond rare, often limited to A rankers, making many fellow hunters call it a ‘cheat skill’. Which was especially true for Mary-sue’s talent.

She could channel mana from the surrounding environment and creatures into her allies. Passively healing wounds, increasing mana regeneration, and subtly reducing talent cooldowns. Passive talents were common for the S rank hunters, but Mary-sue was a timid C rank, never risking her neck for others. Not that Nox could fault her for cowardice, none of them were here willingly, and an excuse like hers guaranteed she stayed in the back. All of them knew the law, Homo Venatorus cleared the dungeons, or went to a penal legion. Where the fortunate were put to work processing mana crystals in fortified and formerly abandoned quarries, buried a thousand feet underground. and the unfortunate were sent into dungeons unarmed, acting as human waves to brute force a dungeon clear.

With Mary-sue’s talent she could land an invite to any kill team, including the few S ranked teams across the world. If their places had been reversed, then it was sure as sin that Nox would’ve kicked off a bidding war between the Private Military Contractors and foreign guilds.

I wonder why she is slumming it with us, a passive talent that enhanced everyone all the way up to S rankers could rake in ten grand a day… Nox abruptly recalled the parking lot when Mary-sue had arrived with Taylor. Of course! Mr. Trust fund must have hired her for this raid. Might even have her on retainer. Bro, how much money would she even cost? And why would talentless Taylor hire her?

He advanced twenty two paces, aluminum rod snagging on another tripwire. Marble tiles on each side of the corridor had holes in their corners, a comically obvious hint he hadn’t seen before. Someone called in sick when they designed this. I’m almost insulted at how obvious the trap is! Cmon you miasma demon! What’s the point of all these traps? Where is the imagination? Or pride in your craftsmanship! Have some shame you damned demon! If this is the best the labyrinth has to offer I get why you’re so desperate for entertainment.

Nox shook his head, dreaming up a life with a stable income. What a nice gig, working on retainer with plenty in the bank. Mom’s therapy would be paid for, Ashley’s could have real armor, not a failing breastplate, and we wouldn’t be forced to live in a TEMPER tent… Nora’s nice, but I’m really tired of porta-potties. Dang, there might be enough left over to buy our way out of the mandatory raids. Oh man, that would be a dream! Being able to pick which raids to skip. Nox wiped his mouth, trying not to daydream his way through cutting the tripwire in front of him.

One slash and the tripwire fell limp. Nox picked it up and walked at a forty five degree angle to its origin, giving it a good yank when he was clear. Disarming the labyrinth’s traps had become second nature to him, as easy as tying his shoes. Yet he was careful to trigger each new trap, surveying them for efficacy against the minotaur.

Spears thrust into the corridor at waist level, retracting slowly. The nearest shaft caught a kick from Nox before it could retract and exploded. His foot sending fifty shards of rotten wood through the corridor ahead. Another dud. No way could this trap pose any danger to an A ranked minotaur. Sighing, they wandered deeper, marking the path with red arrows on the right side of the wall.

A trick from his days playing Baldur's Gate 15: if you stick to the right side of a dungeon, you will eventually find the exit. Or the boss, which I am completely unprepared for. Thought Nox, counting twenty two paces then pausing to disarm the next trap.

“Hey, Jesus, what’s the worst fight you ever won? A battle you thought for sure was going to wipe out your entire party?” Asked Nox, carefully prodding the stone tiles ahead of them. His rod caught on another tripwire.

“Hmm, I’m getting old, got a wife and six kids that I want to see grow up. But in my younger days I was dumb enough to sign up for an A gate.” Jesus shook his head, closing his eyes as he recalled the prior nightmare. “An S ranker was leading their kill team and suggested they take some C rankers as baggage carriers. We were little more than temporary muscle to keep the fodder out of their faces and harvest the slain monsters.”

Nox perked up at the mention of an S ranker, as there were only twelve S ranked teams in the whole country, usually based around a single individual of unimaginable power, or a synergistic combination of A ranked talents whose power could level mountains. Information was scarce, since the S rankers were a national secret that was actually kept, blabbing S rank details to civies could get your whole family imprisoned for life. And prison food tastes like half-cooked unpeeled potatoes. Nox wrinkled his nose, recalling the day he had been ‘summoned’ to the Hunter’s Corp.

Pulled out of high school by ten jackbooted soldiers and two men in discount suits. They had been cordial, but unyielding, physically carrying Nox out of class. Ashley too, they had both been quarantined, a cute word for abduction and forced testing. With blood draws occuring once a day, and being left to rot in prison cells for the other days. Those test results were both the best moment of his life –because he wasn’t activated–, and the worst –because he had the genes and wasn’t activated–.

Then their entire family was drafted, and relocated with nothing more than a single suitcase and a half hour to pack. Compared to other conscriptions, Nox’s experience had been pleasant. Jamal had been dragged into camp with a muzzle on his face and ten sets of handcuffs. Whilst Nora arrived in the back of a squad car, fresh from the beach and without so much as a towel or flip flops.

~

When it came to awakened hunters the law’s motto was ‘guilty until proven human’. Homo Venatorus was a recognized subspecies of Homo Sapiens, an offshoot that varied in two major ways. First, hunters had powers. Secondly and more importantly they did not receive the benefits of the bill of rights. Nor did hunters possess any rights, only quotas that many –mockingly– called the ‘Venatorus Oblige’.

A series of laws that were passed following the first gate’s appearance in Los Angeles. An event that would later become known as “The Hollywood Genocide”. Without foreknowledge of what a gate was, people thought it was a pop-up rave of some kind, coinciding with Taylor Swift’s AI generated ‘Legacy Reborn’ tour. People walked from the beach to the gate with little more than swimsuits and flip flops to combat the dungeon boss. Some were lucky enough to escape, running through Venice beach covered in the blood of their friends and families. By the time police were able to react it was already too late, twenty thousand humans had died; with another fifty thousand dying to escaping wolves, goblins, and kobolds. Anarchy engulfed LA, and the governor was late to call in the national guard, leaving the common defense to a disarmed public until his own helicopter was targeted by a particularly hangry goblin shaman.

The press conference he held an hour later included flyover footage of Los Angeles, demonstrating to the nation what destruction could be inflicted by a single gate. National guard divisions responded in force, pushing into the city with entire companies being wiped out. Eventually escalating the conflict to require US Air Force intervention. Who brought the crisis to an end with successive carpet bombing campaigns one hundred and fifty thousand civilians –men, women, and children– had been killed.

Sending the country into a civil panic. Local gun shops sold out. Protests began. Nox was only a child during the crisis, but school was canceled for two weeks and it was the first time his father took him to a gun range.

Then the first hunters appeared. Humans who awakened superpowers faster than radioactive spiders. Initially they were heralded as saviors and quietly inducted into the army reserve’s 337th observation regiment, who formed a new battalion devoted to studying hunters and their potential applications in human evolution.

However, evolutionary applications would take decades to maturate, while military applications were realized when a single hunter cleared the second gate. Somehow succeeding where tanks and thousands of soldiers had previously failed. The President himself awarded the first hunter a Medal of Honor, creating instant celebrity for this unknown ‘Uberman’. Other hunters awakened, a few at a time, multiplying with each new gate. Fearing the people, the army classified everything relating to them, from their names, to faces, even classifying which Macdonalds they took a dump at during their seventh grade field trip.

Secrecy led to celebrity which led to paparazzi. Hundreds of ‘truth seekers’ were detained and later charged with treason. Conviction was guaranteed, and the death penalty was expedited as dozens of gates opened across the nation. Each gate killed thousands, and before anyone could realize what was happening the entire world was engulfed in a gate war for humanities’ survival. Nuclear warheads were deployed, and then exhausted as each bomb could close a single gate. In a vain attempt to subvert the court, one military corporal –a woman who did little more than file paperwork– leaked the addresses of all current hunters and the leading theory on how hunters were created. Though she soon earned her own ire as her own gene cluster activated into an F ranker and was drafted shortly thereafter to fight alongside the same hunters she had doxed. It wasn’t long before she went missing.

Their private addresses eliminated any doubts, proximity to the gates created hunters. Overnight the real estate market shifted. Hovels on the verge of being condemned became billion dollar deals, closing in minutes. Fortunes were gained and spent in the pursuit of power. Riots shifted towards the gates, only to shift away after a pack of goblins tore through a few hundred UCLA coeds. Public fear was then codified in the stone of federal bills that would later become known as the ‘Venatorus Oblige’. Establishing four tenets that forever changed America.

Homo Venatorus were anyone with an active Venatorus gene cluster.

For the survival of all humanity, all activated homo venatorus must be reported and drafted.

The Hunter Corps will train, guide, and supply the Homo Venatorus. Ultimately handling all gate, hunter, dungeon, and monster affairs.

Hunter abilities may not be used against Homo Sapiens.

Despite the internal contradictions the tenets were upheld by the supreme court in 2165 AD. Marking the second time a subclass of citizen had been created in the United States of America.

~

Jesus’s story pulled Nox out of his thoughts.

“So there I was, alone, peeking up at the dragon’s pecker. Spear of Athena in this hand,” Jesus raised his right hand, “My armor torn off my back by the dragon’s claws and my shield–”

“Man, quit jerking us off! The dragon gets taller each time you tell the story.” Groaned Jamal.

“I’m a hunter, my memory gets better each day. Where was I? Oh right– the whole fifty man raid laid around me, scattered or dead. That is when I was sure there was no way out. So I thought to myself, Jesus, you’ve got nothing to lose, and threw that spear for all I was worth.”

“Sure ya did gramps, did you kill this thousand foot long dragon or what?” Jamal sneered.

“Ai guey! You’re ruining the story!” Groaned Jesus, flinching as Nox pulled the tripwire tight.

For the first time since he died, the dungeon surprised Nox. Rocks appeared above the labyrinth’s walls, cascading onto the marble floor at speeds that sent shockwaves up the hunter’s legs. More rocks fell, knocking half the kill team off their feet. One boulder crashed into another. Incompatible spheres that shot in opposite directions. One deeper into the labyrinth, and one directly at Jesus’ forehead–

–Exactly how he had died before.

Oh god no. Jesus is the strongest fighter one here!

Jamal activated his talent, planting both feet. Shield raised to block the three foot wide boulder and eyes pinched shut in apprehension of the coming pain.

A five pound shield vs a five hundred pound boulder would only end one way. Rock met paper, and shattered. Shrapnel bounced off Jamal's armor pelting the party with a thousand angry blue shards. Jesus raised his shield, deflecting his share of shrapnel into Nox’s exposed arms. Protection spells or not, that hurt.

Blue light exploded forward, arcing into the sky above the Labyrinth’s walls.

“What is that?” Jamal shouted, leveling his spear at the still boulders.

A dinner beacon. Thought Nox, cowering against the far wall. Jesus stepped over him, poking at the boulder’s remains. Despite the mundane exterior, the boulder was actually a geode. Luminescent blue mana crystals sparkled on the interior of the broken boulder, a discovery that made Jesus karate chop the nearest intact boulder, splitting it like an apple and dazzling the kill team.

“Jackpot! Everyone, grab half a–”

“STOP!” Shouted Nox, extending a bloody arm towards Jesus.

To his surprise, everyone listened. Halting in place. Trusting him.

“Talk to me Nox, what’s wrong?” Jesus asked.

“The sparks went above the walls! We have to go back, ah, the wyverns will be here soon.” Nox groaned, pulling a particularly large chunk of mana crystal out of his biceps.

It squelched free, blood filled the inch deep hole in his arm. He pocketed the lil bugger, a painful reality settling into his mind. If that had been going a little faster, it would have torn through my arm and into my chest… Depleted mana crystal bullets exist, this could have killed me–

Ashley hoisted Nox onto his feet, jogging backwards as quickly as one armored knight could carry two packs, herself, and another person.

“Everyone! Get back, there was a dead end twenty turns back, we’ll hide there!” He ordered.

“What about the crystals–” began Taylor.

“We’ll get them LATER! RUN!” Jesus bellowed.

His words stoked the party's latent fear, triggering a cascade of cowardice that sent the other ten members indo a headlong sprint. Guided by red paint marks they fled, arriving at the dead end within minutes. Simple logic warned that being cornered was dangerous, but in a raid everyone had their role to play. Healers, supports, and tanks all benefited from a stone wall at their backs.

Shrieks pierced the darkness above. The wyverns were coming.

‘No, the wyverns are HERE. Think quickly, therapy boy.’ Laughed Miasma man.

Another shriek reverberated through the air. Making fear echo in Nox’s mind.

Ashley shoved past Taylor, dropping her glow stone at the turn. Now she was in the lead, twenty paces ahead of the others. Twenty paces… Nox felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, they had avoided the dead end for a reason.

He cried out to warn her. “Don’t! There is a trap! Disarm the-”

Wyvern shrieks drowned out his voice. Deafening everyone. He was too late.

Everyone was about to die.

Again.