Chapter 1: Welcome to the suck
PsihoKekec
Swashbuckling Accountant
There were occasions when I woke up due to muscle cramps, a bad way to wake up, but this is worse, much worse. It is like all of the muscles in my body are rebelling. My throat is as dry as the desert and I make my hand move to the right, despite all of the protest by the muscles, in order to find the stand next to my bed, where the glass of water is. I don't open the eyes yet, my mind works sluggishly, but at the same time as I register there is something stuck in my left arm, the right hand finds the metal bar at the side of the bed.
I freeze. This isn't my bed, this isn't my home. Where am I? How could someone move me without waking me up, I'm not that hard of a sleeper. I move my right hand to whatever is stuck in my left hand and feel a thin tube. IV? Metal frame bed would make sense for hospital. Must be hospital, it's a safe place. But what would land me in a hospital without me knowing? Perhaps I rolled out of bed and hit my head. Brain aneurysm in my sleep. Truck through window? As I remember, the hospital has alarm buttons for patients, better find it before I need to go to the toilet. About that that, is the weird feeling down there a catheter? Best not to roll on my side then. I open my eyes and see pitch black, only slight outlines of room. My bedroom always has that glow at the door from the streetlamp. Button should be at easy reach, probably near my head, so my right hand begins slow exploration along the side of the bed, with my shoulder muscles protesting at their use after what seems to be long vacation. I sure hope it wasn't. Then my fingers found what might be the delivering button near my pillow and fudgingly pressed it twice. Now all I have to do is wait, it must be night and I don't know how far the nurse room is. Oh right, they have nurse shortage, so there might be single overworked nurse doing rounds just now or is on the toilet or fell asleep... I will just have to push down the black thoughts and wait a bit. Since I probably don't have any sense of time right now, I'll just wait an eternity or two before pressing the button again. But first I'll rest my hand a bit, before my shoulder goes all French on me and declares a general strike.
Waiting, thinking, waiting, thinking, trying to warm up my muscles without too much movement. I can feel all of extremities, so there is that. But I think I can already feel headache starting. Probably from lying for too long. Then the door opens, but the hallway is only dimly lit and it's like I can't really focus my sight. The lights in the room came on slightly and the figure turns to me
''Please do not move sir, your muscles have athropied somewhat.''
Why is she speaking English? Where am I? I try to raise the question, but only dry gargle escapes my throat.
''Your throat is dry sir, my colleague will bring the water, just one moment.''
She seems to have keyed the intercom.
''Helen, the unpronounceable patient in 39b is responsive, bring the kit.''
Did they move me abroad for treatment? Wait, responsive? Was I in coma?
''Sir, your eyes are not used to light I will put the coveralls on, because I will need light for work.''
Suffice to say it was an unpleasant experience of nurses doing medical stuff to me, still much better than the scalpel, chisel and hammer removal of molars. Once my throat was hydrated enough for words to come out I tried to ask the nurse what was going on, since I first tried in Slovenian they thought it was just some gibberish from incoherent patient, so I switched to my somewhat adequate English, but they only reassured me I'll be OK and that the doctor will arrive in soon, they didn't have full access to my medical file anyway.
It was a long wait, with me wondering what happened to me, how my family took it... In short, not happy thoughts.
Finally I could hear different footsteps than those of the two nurses.
''Good morning mister.''
''Good morning.''
''Now can you tell me please your name.''
''Boštjan Žnidaršič''
''Ah so that's how it's pronounced.''
''Now Boštjan, what is your last memory.''
''Getting into bed, now can you tell me what happened?''
''In a moment. Can you just tell me what the date was?''
''It was Sunday, middle of August, was it 17th or 18th?''
''This would mean you have amnesia going back for more than half a year before the accident, but it could be temporary.''
Half a year, is it already 2020?
''You see in March 3130 you suffered serious accident during regimental exercise, a freak system whiplash hit you through your neurohelmet and you have been comatose since.''
The sheer amount of words that did not make sense in this sentence was staggering, I just couldn't compose coherent response, so incoherent noises had to do at first.
''I understand it is hard to digest what I told you, but we are the best institution for such care on Valexa and we will help you recover.''
This must be some weird joke, was I really in coma and someone put up a distasteful wake up prank, or was I sedated? In any case someone needs sound trashing and I'm sure some of my friends and relatives would be willing to lend a helping hand. I thought of switching to Slovenian, but they spoke their English without the accent my country mates usually have, so they probably wouldn't understand me.
''Please cease this charade, I am no bloody time traveller, just get me out of this bed and back home.''
''Calm down mister Boštjan, you will have to undertake extensive physical therapy in order to be able to leave the hospital and that's not taking into account the therapy for brain damage.''
Then nurse interjected.
''I think you should ask him what year is his last memory from.''
''From the year 2019'' I told without waiting for the doctor to ask me.
''You mean your last memory is from 3119? Long before your enlistment?''
''No, my last memory is from the year two-zero-one-nine, there is no way I skipped m... mil... mil...''
''Millennia?''
''And a century.''
''Well mister Boštjan, my speciality is physical part of comatose patient treatment, the issue you are having is covered by my colleague Dr. Smythe who will be arriving within an hour. Now for you to physically recover from your ordeal I will need you to cooperate with me and heed my instructions. Can you do that?''
''Will it mean I will be able to go to the toilet instead of doing it in the bed.''
''Absolutely.''
Of course in the beginning it meant that a nurse, built like brick shithouse, manhandled me into the wheelchair and took me to the toilet. Thanks to muscle stimulant treatment during the hospitalization my muscles were still there, I just needed to restart them and make them remember the motor functions. I will need to wear the shades for some time though. My head though... Various scans shoved everything to be in working order. The psychiatrist was absolutely delighted to work on my case, I suspect she is looking forward to publishing articles about this in medicine journals. So her theory is that combination of traumatic brain damage and comatose dreams made me switch between fantasy and reality, with my previous interest in 20/21 century Terra and culture of my ancestors leading to my subconscious adopting the persona of random guy from the past. And since being a mechwarrior was such big part of my life I reimagined it as computer/board game to play. I was quietly entertaining two theories. Either I am comatose and this is just a dream, but several painful attempts to wake myself up, which I passed up as accidents from being all clumsy from long sleep, I came to conclusion that I can't wake myself ''from the inside'' and will just have to play along. Also everything is all too coherent for a dream. Which leads me to second theory. Act of random omnipotent being. Which I will just have to play along. I have dismissed the prank option as several of my scars have vanished, while others which have faded over years are well visible again. In other words, my body got younger by at least decade.
I was moved to the general section of hospital and I received my personal belongings that were stored in the hospital in case of me waking up. Just some clothes and wallet with my military ID (I must have been in a foul mood when it was taken), some pounds and bank card (still valid). All my earthly possessions. Orderly told me though, that other possessions would be either with the next of kin or, since I was soldier at some depot at base.
An official from the department of military administration also visited me, explaining my position. My enlistment is coming to an end and while AFFS will pay fully for my treatment, as injuries were suffered in the course of duty, my current state means that I would have to newly enlist if I wanted to continue my service as I would have to be trained from beginning. And I would not be accepted for mechwarrior training again in order to prevent any medical complications from any kind of negative feedback. My back pay is on my bank account. And my unit, 5th New Avalon Hussars rotated out of Valexa three months ago. He also mentioned that my accident was caused by faults in no less than three components, leading to some serious complications for Johnston Industries, apparently some in AFFS really don't like the Garm. I wonder why.
So I was left pondering. I accepted that I am in the world of BattleTech, hopefully there is still copy of me in the real timeline so my family isn't wondering how and why I vanished. I am stuck in a shitty part of the timeline in realm that is going to get bent over the barrel badly. By Space North Korea and Space Japan of 1930s. And there is nothing I can do. I don't have smartphone with prophetic documents, I only know some bits of this era I remember reading on forums and I have no way of reaching those making the decisions to pass over even those little tidbits. If I publicly post what I know I will be considered just another loony, albeit one with a tragic back story (nice guy, promising mechwarrior, but then freak malfunction fried his brain, really sad). Maybe they would believe me once the HPGs fail, or maybe not. Maybe I should just enlist in AFFS get into infantry or armour and get killed when Capellans come calling. So thanks a lot ROB, thanks a lot. Even Jihad would be better than this.
So I was brooding between the therapy sessions until two visitors handed me what I can best describe as plot hooks from the DM, welcoming me to the era of suck.
I freeze. This isn't my bed, this isn't my home. Where am I? How could someone move me without waking me up, I'm not that hard of a sleeper. I move my right hand to whatever is stuck in my left hand and feel a thin tube. IV? Metal frame bed would make sense for hospital. Must be hospital, it's a safe place. But what would land me in a hospital without me knowing? Perhaps I rolled out of bed and hit my head. Brain aneurysm in my sleep. Truck through window? As I remember, the hospital has alarm buttons for patients, better find it before I need to go to the toilet. About that that, is the weird feeling down there a catheter? Best not to roll on my side then. I open my eyes and see pitch black, only slight outlines of room. My bedroom always has that glow at the door from the streetlamp. Button should be at easy reach, probably near my head, so my right hand begins slow exploration along the side of the bed, with my shoulder muscles protesting at their use after what seems to be long vacation. I sure hope it wasn't. Then my fingers found what might be the delivering button near my pillow and fudgingly pressed it twice. Now all I have to do is wait, it must be night and I don't know how far the nurse room is. Oh right, they have nurse shortage, so there might be single overworked nurse doing rounds just now or is on the toilet or fell asleep... I will just have to push down the black thoughts and wait a bit. Since I probably don't have any sense of time right now, I'll just wait an eternity or two before pressing the button again. But first I'll rest my hand a bit, before my shoulder goes all French on me and declares a general strike.
Waiting, thinking, waiting, thinking, trying to warm up my muscles without too much movement. I can feel all of extremities, so there is that. But I think I can already feel headache starting. Probably from lying for too long. Then the door opens, but the hallway is only dimly lit and it's like I can't really focus my sight. The lights in the room came on slightly and the figure turns to me
''Please do not move sir, your muscles have athropied somewhat.''
Why is she speaking English? Where am I? I try to raise the question, but only dry gargle escapes my throat.
''Your throat is dry sir, my colleague will bring the water, just one moment.''
She seems to have keyed the intercom.
''Helen, the unpronounceable patient in 39b is responsive, bring the kit.''
Did they move me abroad for treatment? Wait, responsive? Was I in coma?
''Sir, your eyes are not used to light I will put the coveralls on, because I will need light for work.''
Suffice to say it was an unpleasant experience of nurses doing medical stuff to me, still much better than the scalpel, chisel and hammer removal of molars. Once my throat was hydrated enough for words to come out I tried to ask the nurse what was going on, since I first tried in Slovenian they thought it was just some gibberish from incoherent patient, so I switched to my somewhat adequate English, but they only reassured me I'll be OK and that the doctor will arrive in soon, they didn't have full access to my medical file anyway.
It was a long wait, with me wondering what happened to me, how my family took it... In short, not happy thoughts.
Finally I could hear different footsteps than those of the two nurses.
''Good morning mister.''
''Good morning.''
''Now can you tell me please your name.''
''Boštjan Žnidaršič''
''Ah so that's how it's pronounced.''
''Now Boštjan, what is your last memory.''
''Getting into bed, now can you tell me what happened?''
''In a moment. Can you just tell me what the date was?''
''It was Sunday, middle of August, was it 17th or 18th?''
''This would mean you have amnesia going back for more than half a year before the accident, but it could be temporary.''
Half a year, is it already 2020?
''You see in March 3130 you suffered serious accident during regimental exercise, a freak system whiplash hit you through your neurohelmet and you have been comatose since.''
The sheer amount of words that did not make sense in this sentence was staggering, I just couldn't compose coherent response, so incoherent noises had to do at first.
''I understand it is hard to digest what I told you, but we are the best institution for such care on Valexa and we will help you recover.''
This must be some weird joke, was I really in coma and someone put up a distasteful wake up prank, or was I sedated? In any case someone needs sound trashing and I'm sure some of my friends and relatives would be willing to lend a helping hand. I thought of switching to Slovenian, but they spoke their English without the accent my country mates usually have, so they probably wouldn't understand me.
''Please cease this charade, I am no bloody time traveller, just get me out of this bed and back home.''
''Calm down mister Boštjan, you will have to undertake extensive physical therapy in order to be able to leave the hospital and that's not taking into account the therapy for brain damage.''
Then nurse interjected.
''I think you should ask him what year is his last memory from.''
''From the year 2019'' I told without waiting for the doctor to ask me.
''You mean your last memory is from 3119? Long before your enlistment?''
''No, my last memory is from the year two-zero-one-nine, there is no way I skipped m... mil... mil...''
''Millennia?''
''And a century.''
''Well mister Boštjan, my speciality is physical part of comatose patient treatment, the issue you are having is covered by my colleague Dr. Smythe who will be arriving within an hour. Now for you to physically recover from your ordeal I will need you to cooperate with me and heed my instructions. Can you do that?''
''Will it mean I will be able to go to the toilet instead of doing it in the bed.''
''Absolutely.''
Of course in the beginning it meant that a nurse, built like brick shithouse, manhandled me into the wheelchair and took me to the toilet. Thanks to muscle stimulant treatment during the hospitalization my muscles were still there, I just needed to restart them and make them remember the motor functions. I will need to wear the shades for some time though. My head though... Various scans shoved everything to be in working order. The psychiatrist was absolutely delighted to work on my case, I suspect she is looking forward to publishing articles about this in medicine journals. So her theory is that combination of traumatic brain damage and comatose dreams made me switch between fantasy and reality, with my previous interest in 20/21 century Terra and culture of my ancestors leading to my subconscious adopting the persona of random guy from the past. And since being a mechwarrior was such big part of my life I reimagined it as computer/board game to play. I was quietly entertaining two theories. Either I am comatose and this is just a dream, but several painful attempts to wake myself up, which I passed up as accidents from being all clumsy from long sleep, I came to conclusion that I can't wake myself ''from the inside'' and will just have to play along. Also everything is all too coherent for a dream. Which leads me to second theory. Act of random omnipotent being. Which I will just have to play along. I have dismissed the prank option as several of my scars have vanished, while others which have faded over years are well visible again. In other words, my body got younger by at least decade.
I was moved to the general section of hospital and I received my personal belongings that were stored in the hospital in case of me waking up. Just some clothes and wallet with my military ID (I must have been in a foul mood when it was taken), some pounds and bank card (still valid). All my earthly possessions. Orderly told me though, that other possessions would be either with the next of kin or, since I was soldier at some depot at base.
An official from the department of military administration also visited me, explaining my position. My enlistment is coming to an end and while AFFS will pay fully for my treatment, as injuries were suffered in the course of duty, my current state means that I would have to newly enlist if I wanted to continue my service as I would have to be trained from beginning. And I would not be accepted for mechwarrior training again in order to prevent any medical complications from any kind of negative feedback. My back pay is on my bank account. And my unit, 5th New Avalon Hussars rotated out of Valexa three months ago. He also mentioned that my accident was caused by faults in no less than three components, leading to some serious complications for Johnston Industries, apparently some in AFFS really don't like the Garm. I wonder why.
So I was left pondering. I accepted that I am in the world of BattleTech, hopefully there is still copy of me in the real timeline so my family isn't wondering how and why I vanished. I am stuck in a shitty part of the timeline in realm that is going to get bent over the barrel badly. By Space North Korea and Space Japan of 1930s. And there is nothing I can do. I don't have smartphone with prophetic documents, I only know some bits of this era I remember reading on forums and I have no way of reaching those making the decisions to pass over even those little tidbits. If I publicly post what I know I will be considered just another loony, albeit one with a tragic back story (nice guy, promising mechwarrior, but then freak malfunction fried his brain, really sad). Maybe they would believe me once the HPGs fail, or maybe not. Maybe I should just enlist in AFFS get into infantry or armour and get killed when Capellans come calling. So thanks a lot ROB, thanks a lot. Even Jihad would be better than this.
So I was brooding between the therapy sessions until two visitors handed me what I can best describe as plot hooks from the DM, welcoming me to the era of suck.
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