He extends each magazine to a 7-round capacity. He opts for the .408 over the .375 rounds. Moving on to the scope, he cycles through options and settles on the Valdala 12-52x56 40mm Terminator, a masterpiece among scopes. He pauses when looking at an advanced ballistics computer. Normally he wouldn’t need additional assistance, but just in case the System throws some inclement weather at him, he adds the KESTREL 4000 meteorological and environmental-sensor package.
Matilda can hold the perimeter of his sniper nest, in case somebody tries to interrupt him.
Crafting a weapon in the System is more of an art than a science. The shape of the weapon morphs with his thoughts as he applies each new subtle modification. With everything attached, it still feels a bit heavy, so he places in a couple of code modules to adjust the physics of the weapon. He trims needless bulk, lightening the rifle to 15 pounds without losing any of his mods. For the rounds, he does ballistics tweaking. With a few lines of code, James renders the rounds untraceable by standard detection systems, which will allow him to rain down invisible death on his targets.
What lies in front of him when he finishes is an exquisite and deadly weapon forged with a specific intended mission, built from scratch by an engineer to be stored in his arsenal. The final step is to give the new weapon a name for storage and filing. It comes to him without pause, one word.
Restoration.
When he keys the label, the weapon class goes live and the lights in the room flicker, as a new unique entity manifests in the world. The new object is compiled and connected to all the elements of the architecture, acquiring a unique index and signature. Alphanumerics and properties fused together by the will of a man who sits at a workbench, exhausted and satisfied.
As the lights go back to normal, he picks up Restoration and hefts the weapon appreciatively.
“Ok girl, time to make me proud.”
A click of Restoration’s action answers in eagerness to perform.
Chapter 12: “Delusions”
Matilda sits on the park bench, and she can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to rain soon. A dark-cloud chill forms in the air, and she can feel her mood deteriorating with the weather. At lunch, she really enjoyed talking with James. Granted, once he started talking, he dominated the discussion – but Matilda was happy to get more than just the usual few words out of him.
Why he had to bring that up is another matter.
Exasperated, Matilda lurches up from the bench. With the change in weather, a warm cup of tea sounds perfect, and it doesn’t take long to find a coffee house.
After ordering a peppermint tea from a 12-year-old barista, Matilda already feels her spirits lifting. The heat of the cup warms her hands, and the first swallow of the drink invigorates her body. She takes her place again on the bench and watches a group of children playing in the nearby park. Kids swarm on and about the swings, monkey bars, and teeter-totter like joyful, hyperactive ants. Matilda’s joyful smile slowly wanes into a frown.
What kind of child was she, she wonders, in the real world? Who were her parents? Did they love her? Is her smile more like that of her father, or her mother?
Lost in her own thoughts, Matilda doesn’t even notice the first few drops of rain.
Placing her teacup on the bench, Matilda walks toward the playground. She makes her way through the flocks of children, beneath the jungle-gym bars, past the slide all beading with droplets in the light drizzle. Eying her approach curiously, some of the children clear a path as Matilda plops herself down onto one of the rubber-seated swings. Within seconds, she is alternately leaning back and kicking forward, increasing her speed on the swing, letting out a joyful laugh. Part of her feels stupid and childish, but her euphoria takes over and intensifies. At the height of her arcing swing she nimbly dismounts, clearing the vicinity of the swing-set in a graceful jump, nailing the landing. The rain begins falling a little harder.
The children on the playground run for shelter as the shower increases in strength. Alone, Matilda dances and laughs in the welcome raindrops, stepping around the forming puddles like the little girl she imagines but can’t remember. Her laughter stops abruptly as Matilda suddenly registers the now-empty park around her.
Running back to the swing set, Matilda leans back on the seat, gripping the slick chains tightly, desperately trying to recapture the sensation that’s now rapidly draining away. As rain trickles down Matilda’s face, it begins to mix with the tears running down her cheeks. The empty playground is filled with her quiet sobbing and the creaking of empty swings.
Finally, Matilda opens her eyes, but does not see the playground or Neverland. It has been replaced with a green pasture. The swing she sits in is now a wooden-seated one, suspended by worn but stout ropes from a large oak tree. The city’s buildings have been replaced by a single house in the distance. The sodden ground around her bristles and dances with the heavy rain.
Matilda can’t shake the feeling that she’s been here before. Wiping her tears away, she is startled to find herself closely regarding the delicate hands of an 11-year-old. Her business suit has been replaced with a small, green dress and her feet now wear red sandals. Despite the increasing downpour, all the pain and fear she felt is gone. The world around her no longer feels artificial or out of place.
Cutting through the muted roar of rain, Matilda hears a female voice calling from the house.
“Tilda, darling, you’re all wet, dear. Come home quickly, before you catch a cold.”
It takes Matilda a few seconds before she can manage a reply.
“M… mom?”
In a flash, she’s off the swing and sprinting to the building. The silhouette of a woman in a white dress stands at the doorway and motions for her to run faster. Channeling what strength she can, Matilda pushes herself to close the distance between her and the house. With each step, Matilda desperately tries to make out the features on the woman’s face. Her small feet struggle to move through the slippery grass, and it seems that the harder she runs, the farther the house gets from her. The rain gains intensity, now coming down in sheets, in torrents. With her vision distorted, Matilda trips over a rock that sends her sprawling to the wet ground. Crying, wet, and in pain, Matilda has never felt this powerless before. Everything around her seems to darken. Matilda cries out in despair.
“Momma!”
Warm, gentle hands lift Matilda up from the grass and muck. Matilda looks up to a woman in white, smiling down at her and wiping away her childish tears. The woman’s soothing presence fills Matilda with a confidence and love she can’t remember ever having experienced.
“Come on darling, no need for tears. This is a happy day. I’ve been waiting for you for so long. I thought I’d lost you.”
Tears still cascade down Matilda’s face, but she finds herself smiling with pure joy, any thoughts of sadness instantly banished. Soothed. Healed.
“I’m so sorry, momma. I never want to leave you again.”
Smiling in return, the woman in white bends down to hug Matilda. She brushes the wet hair away from Matilda’s face.
“Don’t worry, my love. Don’t worry. We’re together now, and nothing will separate us again. Let’s go home.”
The rain stops as Matilda puts her tiny hand into the woman’s warm, welcoming clasp. They walk together towards the house in the distance.