Threads

With his clearance as a returning Sword member, John passed through minimal security on his way back to the Springfield mirror hub. His shirt was a mundane one, and all the combat and jerky movement he had put it through over the past few weeks along with his others had stretched it out and riddled it with holes. He switched over to the most intact shirt in his inventory, though none of his options had double digit durability. I should buy myself some gear with that Astrean gold. Hope there’s nothing I want for exactly three million.

John followed the signs toward the exit of the mirror hub, idly scrolling through armor listings on the app, but nothing was catching his eye. He read directions to the public armory and changed his course. They probably won’t have as much stock as the app, but I’ll be able to try on whatever they do have.

Not so public, John thought when two locked blast doors came into view. A retina scan and ID card lock sat on the wall beside the door; above it a digital sign read “Current Capacity 5/10”. The pale blue glow the magitech gave off made John squint as he gazed into the eye scanner. It beeped affirmatively after he swiped his card. When did they even scan my eyes?

“Welcome to the Springfield Armory, Pending 5 of Swords Member The Gamer, ID 12351,” the robotic voice omnipresent in the skyscraper rattled off as John entered. On the left all manner of modern and medieval, mundane and magical weapons stood on rows along the walls and up against or inside racks. Identical pistols with electric blue cylinders and crystal barrels hung on the wall in rows, advertised for sale in pairs. A naginata atop a velvet cushion gave off a blinding red glow when his gaze swept directly over it. He darted his eyes away from it, and locked onto a row of multicolor grenades.

On the right the racks and displays began with clothes, but closer to the back wall, John spotted plate armor. A row of Magitech boots with glowing red veins and crystalline green soles sat near the entrance. The racks of uniforms took up much of the width of the room, and went as far back as he could see, stretching into the magically supersized armory. The uniforms in the front were mundane kevlar, but he could spot enchantments glowing on clothes in the middle and back. Though they were in different styles, each had the shield insignia of the Rider-Waite featuring all four divisions.

As he walked down the middle row toward the back, he pushed aside a rack of robes to reveal his gunsmith fiddling with a computer at the help desk. She had her goggles over her eyes, and furiously typed away, face nearly pressed to the screen. “Olivia? Didn’t know you had a desk job.”

“Oh, hey John! Welcome to The Springfield Armory. All wands that stock Rider-Waite armories have to work in them, but they take way less of a cut than the Abyssal Auction. So, what’re you here for?” Olivia slid her goggles back to the top of her head and wiped the sweat off her brow with one gloved hand. She leaned forward over the help desk counter, looking at him intently.

“If you’re here for weapons, try taking a look at the pistols I’ve designed. They have a crystalline barrel for durability and rune engraving, but a manasteel core for maximum stopping power. The pistols you have are pretty advanced, but if you’re ever looking for a fresh start, these are good starting pistols to build on,” the gunsmith explained, crossing her arms over her chest and smiling at her creations.

It’d be a good gift for Grace, but I should see what she wants. She’s been using my hand-me-downs all this time, so it’d be better if she chose, John thought, eyeing the weapons with greater scrutiny. The crystalline barrels had spiraling shatter patterns where they had been carved, no two exactly the same. He picked one up and turned it over in his hand, feeling its weight; its craftsmanship left little to be desired. “Do you have any other models?”

“I do! The crystal is very easy to work with!” Olivia said with a broad smile. She did a half-turn, and when she was facing John again, she held a small crystal cup with a translucent white liquid inside, it swirled around the gray glass like water. The scientist rocked it back and forth in demonstration, then struck the tuning fork in her other hand on the desk. She quickly held it to the cup, and the liquid inside hardened into crystal that matched the rest of the cup.

“Neat,” John said, leaning in closer to inspect the glass now that the bottom layer was thicker. The swirling shatter patterns didn’t match up to each other on the side of the glass, and so he deduced that she had done the same demonstration multiple times with the same glass. “What would happen if it did turn back into a liquid? Would all of it change? Would the gun be unusable?”

“I don’t know if it can happen, I’ve never been able to **** it to happen. I designed the manasteel cores to function alone, albeit with reduced effective range. It's all theoretical though. Even a blast from a sonar mage wouldn’t trigger a transformation unless they studied it themselves. If you do meet such a person, I’d be very interested in knowing about it,” Olivia said, setting down her tools. She gave John another appraising glance. “Probably not more guns, so what’re you here for then?”

“Just something simple I can wear during missions so this doesn’t happen,” John said, switching to the shirt he had worn on the Astrean mission. He pulled on the hem of his shirt and highlighted the gulf between Abyssal strength and mundane durability as the simple white shirt he wore exploded off him, its durability pushed to its limits. Threads rained down around him to the hardwood floors and granite service counter he stood over. Olivia covered her mouth with a gloved hand to suppress her laughter.

“This is not what I meant,” John said, grabbing at the remnants of his shirt to stow away as it slipped off his shoulders. He equipped the next ruined one before continuing, “Mundane shirts don’t really cut it for me anymore.” He tugged at his shirt for emphasis without thinking about it, but froze as it exploded off him again.

Olivia caught the biggest scrap floating off him with the hand suppressing her giggles, and developed into full belly laughter, doubling over at the shocked expression on John’s face.

“Very funny,” John replied, snatching the cloth from her grip and stowing it away in his inventory. He equipped another shirt. “Clearly you’re busy with making guns, so I’ll just go find some clothes on my own.”

“Wait!” Olivia rounded the counter and flipped it up so she could follow him toward the clothing and armor section.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would bother you so much. Swords are usually pretty stoic. You’re only a four, but you’ve probably faced **** with more grace by now. Besides, look at you.” The two of them passed a support beam with a mirror bolted on. Olivia tilted him toward it by his shoulder, and he reluctantly followed her guidance.

Though he often looked in the bathroom mirror in the morning, it was in a rush. He wasn’t deliberately avoiding looking in the mirror, at least he told himself as much. Such quick glances were reaffirming, his face and hair were unchanged. Same old John. He never imagined he’d spend so much time improving his physique when he was a boney nerd sitting behind his keyboard. He had accepted that his body was the way that it was, and it wasn’t likely to change.

Standing in front of a mirror head on now, he had to admit that he had changed. His silhouette had changed. Muscle clung to his previously noodly arms and legs; his new mass filled out his shirt and jeans nicely, ruined as they were. She pulled on an errant thread by his side, and this shirt fell apart too. He tensed as his chest and abs were exposed, but she put a placating hand on his shoulder. “Look at you!

John ran a hand over his stomach, expecting it to give beneath the light pressure of his touch, but it remained firm. His friends had made comments about his physique, Jenny had mentioned it occasionally. **** to stand in front of a mirror and touch himself, he had to admit that the body he knew for most of his life was gone.

When I think about myself, I think about how I was. So much has changed. I’ve changed. Maybe more than I give myself credit for. I’m so tired of running from everything. I look so strong, but I still feel so weak. No more. John met his own eyes in the mirror, a steely look overtook the pensive, anxious expression on his face. No more. I can help people. Take contracts that really matter, that make me stronger. It’s so easy for me to get stronger. I need to start taking advantage of that more. Do more barriers and contracts.

“Woah. You look intense.” The gunsmith took her hand off his shoulder and plucked a sword uniform off the rack behind them. “What’re you thinking about?”

“That it’s time to let go of my mundane sensibilities and expectations.” John took the offered uniform and equipped it. The fabric was a mix of synthetic fibers and weak comfort and sizing enchantments designed for mass production by Temperance. “I need to start preparing better. Fight smarter.”

“I hope I didn’t just convince you to start killing people,” Olivia replied, rubbing her neck as she looked at the resolute bounty hunter.

“No. No way. Some Abyssals kill like they breathe, some don’t kill at all. Being okay with murdering another person isn’t an Abyssal thing, it’s just something Abyssals tell themselves when they want to stamp out the last shred of their morality. Being in the Abyss forces you to make hard choices, but there’s always a choice,” John replied, taking the next uniform she offered and switching into it.

“Oh! That one looks much better on you,” Olivia said, turning him back toward the mirror.

As John looked into it, he saw a familiar sight looking back at him. This duster was navy, but didn’t have the speckled snake texture of his last. It was long and smooth, as if chiseled from a block of cloth. On his left shoulder the Rider-Waite shield insignia displayed each suit in one quadrant: a sword on a silver background, a cup on a red background, a wand on a blue background, and a coin on a gold background. On his right, four swords rested on the same shield shape in a neat row. The simple black undershirt that clung to him tightly was soft and giving, but sturdy.

“Valvia style two, huh?” John asked, looking at the label the uniform held. He raised his eyebrow at the Valvia native who stood at the command of the Springfield armory.

“Probably a terrible choice. It doesn’t go with your ten gallon hat at all,” Olivia quipped, snatching the hat off his head and lowering it onto her own. As she tried to don the hat properly, John used Move on his headpiece so it just missed her every time.

“Guess it doesn’t like you,” John said, twirling his hat on his finger before he replaced it on top of his head. “Seriously though, this does look pretty cool. It’s simple though. Do you have more enchanted outfits? I was kinda hoping I wouldn’t have to do much upkeep.”

“Of course. I forgot you’re not like most Four of Swords. A lot of the small fry of the guild only take on Two of Swords rated contracts. It’s an easy way to make money, and not that dangerous, but you don’t get very many guild points.” Olivia kept walking on the lane deeper into the clothing section; on their left toward the wall the clothes were labeled masculine. “You joined a couple months ago and you’re already a Four of Swords. One of my friends from the Venetian branch can use so little mana he’s practically mundane. He used the Waites to escape the gang **** and mana factories there, after five years he’s still a Four of Swords. Most people who join the Rider-Waites at a tier like yours never move up at all, despite what some higher level members might say.”

“Why is that?” John asked, following her deeper into the armory. When he first entered, he thought the store to be pretty big for a single room, but far too small to suit Springfield’s capitalistic needs. As they walked deeper inside, however, he saw doors open at the end of lanes that they passed by. One opened with a loud clang and a trumpetting fanfare, and ethereal confetti shot into the air and disappeared before hitting the floor. The next leaked an inviting purple fog tinged with the scent of fresh linen, phantom clothes tapdancing and gesturing to the door with armless sleeves.

“Guild point requirements, and guild point penalties for taking substantially lower contracts. Members ranked below Five of Swords have to earn guild points equivalent to one contract of their rank per month, which is removed from their total until they rank up to Five of Swords or higher,” Olivia explained. Waving at the doors they passed, she asked, “Like the personal vaults? If you don’t find a uniform you like, I can show you some.”

“Wait, lower ranks have a… points quota? Can people be kicked out?” John asked, stopping in front of a rack of Valvian armors that was little more than an iridescent mass of enchantments with Auric Vision on.

“Only if your point total reaches its maximum value in the negatives. You should know this, it was in big bold letters in the intro section of the handbook. You did read the handbook, right?” Olivia asked, picking out a uniform duster for Ten of Swords, two swords crossing in the roman numeral “X” on the shoulder and back.

“I might have… skimmed it,” John replied, scratching his neck as he took the uniform from her. “I read the important parts. Or what seemed important at the time. Can I even wear this? It looks a little… out of my league.”

“It’s connected to the same enchantment that identifies you as a part of the guild. The same way the AI can identify you, or how you’re excluded from the myriad defenses invaders might find around the mirror hub. The specifics of how it works are a little beyond me, the core enchantment was collaborated on by The Magician, Temperance, The Lovers and The Chariot. Lookie,” Olivia pulled on the jacket he held, and with a start he realized it was transforming in his hands, the crossed swords on the emblem separated and doubled, shifting into the proper emblem: Four of Swords.

The uniform flowed onto him, covering him like paint as the fabric stretched over him, conforming to his body and stretching for comfort. His thumb touched a cufflink and he watched the threads spin together as gloves formed over his hands. “This uniform’s durable, right?”

“Sure is. Ten of Swords equipment is super reliable; face cards typically don’t wear uniforms, so this is the best one we’ve got,” Olivia explained, going into saleswoman mode. “As you’ve already noticed, the threads are enchanted to remember certain shapes. The left cufflink extends and retracts the gloves and helps keep you safe in inhospitable environments. Since this is the Valvian uniform, it’s designed to work with the Valvian mask you’ve got. It’s a pretty popular style for our explorers.”

She guided his finger over the back of the cufflink, and the collar tightened around his throat, grew toward his head, and left just the front of his face exposed. She took his other hand and brushed it over the right, front to back. The cloth puffed and thinned as he ran his hands along the cufflink. “Despite its Valvian style, it’s designed for use in any Kingdom. Too cold? Too hot? No problem!”

John gave it one last Advanced Spy to check the uniforms enchantments and armor qualities. It wasn’t nearly as good as his midnight duster, but it had a lot of the same benefits.