Editing HEAVY OBJECT:Volume5 Chapter 1 (section)

===Part 1===

A familiar electronic tone rang throughout the athlete locker room.

“Day one of the shootathlon begins in thirty minutes. All participants are to complete their preparations and stand by. I repeat, day one of the shootathlon begins…”

When she heard that gentle female voice, Mariydi Whitewitch gave an annoyed sigh.

She was a 12 year old girl from the Capitalist Corporations. Her long blonde hair and her white skin were her primary characteristics, but the outfit she was wearing would likely draw more attention. She wore a special skintight suit that covered her from just below the neck all the way to the very tips of her toes. It was brightly colored in yellow and black. As befitting someone from the Capitalist Corporations, it had the names of various sponsors printed across it. She looked a bit like a hornet that had transformed into a race queen.

One might think it was the uniform for the shootathlon event, but that was not accurate.

It was actually the flight jacket from the PMC air force she belonged to.

“What the hell? I always thought this thing was weird, but I can’t believe it fits in perfectly among the outfits that are designed for a show.”

“It was designed for an air force. Other than if you crash, is there really any need to insist on proper camouflage?”

That composed response came from a woman holding a handheld device.

Her name was Alicia Sloppyjoes.

Sportswear, shoes, rifle, dietary restrictions, training coordination, bodyguard… Many, many people surrounded a single athlete like rings around Saturn. Alicia was the international sports PR manager sent by an advertising firm. She coordinated the connections between those several dozen rings of Saturn and Saturn itself.

However, Alicia was not Mariydi’s obedient servant.

“So it’s a nice message telling us we should die if we do crash,” commented Mariydi

“How should I know? I have no connection to the military. If you want mental help, speak with the sports counselor. If you want to chat, you will have to pay me extra.”

“That’s the Capitalist Corporations for you.”

“I could say the same to you, Miss PMC Air Force Mercenary.”

Mariydi clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“Let me go over this once more,” said the woman in the suit that made it look like she would never have anything to do with a marriage. “The shootathlon is a marksmanship event. You are to use the new rifle from your sponsor company Clear Snipe and earn excellent results in the event.”

“It’s basically a variation on the triathlon, right? You run and shoot, you swim and shoot, and you bike and shoot. Since each stage is on a different day, it’s easier than it used to be.”

“The first day has you running 25 kilometers and stopping for long-distance sharpshooting three times along the way. The targets will be human-shaped and flying disks. The end score is an average of your scores from each day, so be on your best game from the beginning.”

“Yes, yes.” Mariydi waved her hand while sitting on a bench. “You went to the effort of calling in not just a soldier but one from the long, drawn-out battles in the Northern European Restricted Zone where the use of Objects is not allowed. You want me to immaturely stand up to these peaceful athletes with my killer techniques.”

“Unlike the old international sports festival, the Technopics also effectively functions as a technological race between the world powers. It is best to think of the athletes as enemy soldiers in a proxy war.”

“Heh.” Mariydi gave a small laugh. “Those are enemy soldiers? It must be nice having a sheltered upbringing away from real war.”

“We have no reason to know about real war.” Alicia’s expression did not change in the slightest. “In these events, we are allowed to use air resistance alleviating technology in the sportswear, shock absorption technology in the shoes, nonconductive fiber springs, and as much doping as is legal for civilians. …All of your enemies are athletes specially developed for this event.”

“And I’ve had the inside of my body altered as a test subject in survivability experiments for the Elites that pilot Objects. I am well aware that I am as abnormal as any of them.”

“And are you also aware that you will be forced to pay a fine for being in breach of contract if your results do not live up to the level expected of you by your sponsor?”

“I know that.” Mariydi stretched her hand out a bit. “Hand over the sponsor’s precious new rifle. I want to perform some final adjustments. As long as it isn’t loaded, I can carry it outside the event grounds, right?”

Alicia casually glanced over.

When she did, the man who was Mariydi’s bodyguard handed the girl a silver case.

“Be careful.”

“Do I really look stupid enough to stare down the barrel if it jams?”

“That isn’t what I meant.” The bodyguard shook his head. “As that icy lady said, the Technopics is a proxy war based on a technology race. You will find no concept of fairness or sportsmanship here. Everyone here will do whatever it takes to win. We must ensure the safety of the money we have invested in sending you out to compete, but we cannot remain by your side during the event itself. If your results are too good, others may focus their attacks on you as a type of ‘countermeasure’.”

“I suppose that is especially true for an event like the shootathlon that’s results are based on three events over three days.” Mariydi disassembled the rifle so quickly it was clear she was used to doing so. “But that also means I’m free to do the same, right?”

Standing up perfectly straight, Alicia answered the question with a serious expression.

“On the surface, this is viewed as a peaceful festival. You are free to do so as long as you do not sully the image of the sponsor’s rifle.”

“Heh. The management of Olympia Dome officially condemns it, but every single spectator sees such trouble as one aspect of what makes the Technopics enjoyable. That is why it is commonly known as the Festival of Death or the Massacre Parade.”

As she continued her work, Mariydi glanced over at her bodyguard.

Even in that age, certain things were not allowed in sports competitions. Those included doping beyond a certain level, physical training that was too harsh, and special sportswear that included springs and motors powerful enough that they would likely damage the athlete’s body. While human technology had invented such things, they very rarely saw the light of day.

But even if something seemed like it would be banned in sports competitions, it would not be banned if it could be used in other fields.

For example, the military.

For that reason, the participants in the Technopics were commonly referred to as athlete soldiers.

“I’ll be out there with 30 or 40 of those man-made machos. I assume you have some kind of protection strategy for if they cause some trouble.”

“This would be a lot easier if Objects could handle situations like this.”

Athlete soldiers primarily had abilities as individuals, but they could also break previous limits in physical strength when using weapons like powered suits.

But at the same time, the abundance of Objects in the world meant a fighter pilot for a PMC air force like Mariydi was only useful in a very limited environment.

She could only defend or attack areas where Objects could not be used.

(We’re both types of soldiers that are not needed in this era of clean wars.)

With that self-deprecating comment in her heart, a new figure entered the locker room.

It was a woman wearing a white coat over a brand name track suit. She had short, slightly wavy, brown hair and wore frameless glasses. However, the biggest clue to her true colors was the large cooler hanging from her shoulder.

Her name was Stacy Palmetto.

She was a pharmacist that specialized in the techniques known commonly as doping.

“Hi, there. It’s time for the scary injection! Young lady, how would you like to improve yourself today?”

“Just a time-delayed transfusion is fine. I don’t need any unnecessary drugs.”

A time-delayed transfusion was receiving a transfusion of your own blood.

Humans created blood every day. A few days after blood was drawn, your blood level would be back up to 100%. If that drawn blood was saved and then given as a transfusion, you could have a blood level of more than 100%.

Blood carried the role of carrying oxygen throughout the body, so the more blood you had, the more oxygen you could store. This could be used to raise an athlete’s score in an event.

Stacy pouted her lips.

“Chehh. You aren’t going to use muscle builders or sedatives? I have plenty of varieties that can help keep your hand steady when you aim.”

“After looking into the average lifespan of Technopic athletes, I would really prefer not to use them.”

“Boo, boo. I say it’s all the assassinations that bring the average lifespan figures down.”

As Stacy continued pouting, Alicia replied while still standing perfectly straight.

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“Her participation in the shootathlon is meant to show off the abilities of the sponsor’s new rifle. Please avoid any elements other than the gun that might raise her marksmanship ability.”

“There you have it,” said Mariydi. “Also, even if these drugs are perfectly safe, anything that suppresses your fatigue makes it more difficult to keep track of the condition your body is in. That could have some slight negative effect on my aim.”

“You say you won’t use the chemical drugs, but do you really think time-delayed transfusions are kind to your body?” Stacy pulled a tube and a pack full of blood from the large cooler. “Raising your level of blood above normal means your blood pressure shoots up. The effects of that can wear down your stamina. Especially in a long race. Do not forget the risk of applying a tremendous burden to your blood vessels just by attempting to run according to your normal pace.”

“That sounds harsh,” muttered the bodyguard with his arms crossed.

Mariydi removed the elbow-length glove-like part of her full body flight jacket.

As he watched the needle for the transfusion pierce her youthful skin, the bodyguard continued speaking.

“All the athletes have their bodies thoroughly strengthened daily with various drugs and their sportswear and shoes are carefully designed, yet it all has to be prepared before the event. It seems to me they could just mix the necessary ingredients into the drinks here.”

“This is a sport, remember? There is no logical or convincing explanation as to why you cannot use your hands in soccer. You can only say that those are the rules.”

“It is almost time,” said Alicia as she turned over her slender wrist to look at an oddly small watch.

Mariydi looked over at the tube sticking into her arm, rested the rifle on her other shoulder, and let out a sigh.

“Okay, time to appear in the world’s largest commercial.”