9 Happy Birthday (P9)
Having the proper knowledge and being able to act on it were two different things. For example, let's say Brenden loads up a four-hit combo.
I could tell exactly what it was by the slight movements his body would make, and my brain would tell me where I needed to be to avoid or block the hits.
However, due to the physical pain and, for lack of a better word, "rusty" joints of my arms and legs, turtling up while taking steps backward was all I could muster to mitigate the more significant strikes.
Whereas in the past, I would have been capable of deflecting and responding, all I could do was take the beating until he stopped hitting me before answering with some weak yet perfectly timed punches or kicks of my own.
Needless to say, my days were filled with two things, getting my ass kicked by Brenden and following the active online communities working to figure out Arkadia.
Like that, we passed the remaining 25 days, preparing for what; we had no idea, but whatever it was, we would be ready, and so would Emilia.
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January 14th, 2029 00:01 am
BANG!!
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU UGLY F**K!" With a loud bang, Brenden kicked in the door to my office and yelled cheerfully while carrying a birthday cake covered in candles.
Behind him, I could see Emilia and my father shaking their heads and standing away from the door in case I did something…drastic.
"Jesus f**k, Brenden, what the hell is wrong with you? Why in the hell would you kick in my door? I could have shot you!" I growled back while unchambering the round I had racked into my 50 cal handgun before placing the bullet back into the magazine and putting the gun down on my desk.
"Look, I know you're on edge, more so than any of us, because you're a nerd who overanalyzes everything, but it's your birthday. I can't say or even imagine what will happen in 13 hours, but we are ready; you are ready." Walking across the room, Brenden cleared a space on my desk with one arm while placing the cake in front of me with the other.
"We have done everything we can to prepare; the garage is filled with MREs (Meal Ready to Eat aka Military Meals), non-perishable foods, and water; our weapons have been checked, double-checked, and triple-checked; the ammo is ready and available, we got this, so just blow out your damn candles and let's have some cake."
After finishing his statement, Brenden crossed his arms over his chest and stepped back, watching me like a hawk.
Knowing he was right and curbing as much of my anxiety as possible, I followed his instructions and blew out the candles.
As per custom, I even made a wish…that we can share all our birthdays as a family this year.
The next several hours were a whirlwind, and I still think of them as fond memories, even after everything, because it was the last time things would be as they were in the past.
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January 14th, 2029, 3:20 pm, 7 minutes before the Alpha Particle Progression Completion
None of us stayed up too late, and everyone was in bed by 1 am. Thanks to the magical medication named Melatonin, everyone in our family could get 8 hours of sleep, and as such, we were well-rested and ready to go.
Standing in the living room, I looked around. On my right stood my father. To my left stood Brenden and Emilia, and everyone was wearing full military combat gear.
Kevlar Body armor, thick synthetic uniforms, boots, gloves, hell, they even had elbow and knee pads on, all of us did since we were wearing the same outfit.
The only differences in our gear were what weapons we had in hand or strapped to our bodies.
In my case, I had my hatchet in a holster on my left leg, and on my right hip was the shorter of our three swords, a Wakazashi or small katana. Opposite the Wakazashi, my Bock 50 cal sat on my left hip in a holster.
Tucked in my right boot was a small sidearm, a snubnosed revolver handgun, and my left boot housed a combat knife.
Slung across my back was my AR-15, and tucked into all the pockets on my vest and pants were magazines filled with ammo.
It was a reasonably standard Jörgensen loadout, with the only differences between us being the slung weapon and the type of handgun we used.
Emilia was the odd one out in the case of heavy firepower. Unlike my father, Brenden, and I, who had rifles, she had a shotgun instead, which was pretty impressive considering her petite athletic frame.
She was a pretty young woman of Italian descent, with long dark brown hair and deep almond-colored eyes, and she only stood at 5 ft 4, so seeing her decked out in a black uniform covered in weapons was honestly kind of humorous.
"I still think this is a little ridiculous; it's not like a foreign military is invading us. I can't believe you two convinced me to gear up." Fighting the urge to pace the living room, my father voiced his complaints.
Standing 5ft 11 inches tall, my father had a slight hunch in his back from age and a long life of physical work. His darkened Slavic skin showed signs of years spent in the sun, and his once dark brown hair was now completely gray. However, his eyes, the same Brenden and I shared, were still just as icy blue as the day he was born.
Unlike Brenden and I, who had consumed copious amounts of media detailing how badly s**t could hit the fan when Mana was introduced to the world, my old man was from a different era, so he couldn't fathom why the two of us were reacting in the way we were.
