Free Assault or Attrition by Blake Northcott Page A

crudely-drawn sketches, detailing Frost’s
plans for the next decade. Beyond his desire to produce violent
reality television – which had become the linchpin of his entire
financial empire – he had aspirations that ranged from grandiose to
the brink of insanity.
    His expansion
into feature films was the least surprising of his ventures. Frost
had worked tirelessly to purchase the film rights to every major
movie franchise from the past fifty years; Star Wars, Star Trek,
The Lord of the Rings, The Matrix, Indiana Jones, Tron – he had put
in bids for every single one of them. Frost was sure that he could
reboot these franchises and attract an entirely new generation of
fans. And even stranger: he had delusions of writing and directing
the movies himself.
    Beyond his
desire to become the next James Cameron, Frost’s passion for
robotics was evident. He’d crammed entire volumes with schematics,
detailing every moving part of incredibly intricate exoskeletons. A
paraplegic as a result of a yachting accident, he’d been obsessed
with regaining his ability to walk, and when medical science had
failed him, he turned to the next logical option.
    The exoskeleton
that Frost had worn into The Arena – a heavily armored,
Japanese-inspired mech that he’d dubbed ‘Fudō-Myōō’ – was far too
large and impractical for everyday use. It stood nearly seven feet
tall and was as bulky as an all-terrain vehicle. It was a
juggernaut, but it worked: he could walk, run, swordfight, and even
fly for short distances. Frost’s plans, according to his journals,
were to create next-generation models of the Fudō armor using his
printer, all while making incremental upgrades. First would be
waterproofing along with an underwater propulsion system so the
units could explore the seas; then advanced flight capabilities,
followed by space travel. He’d wanted to be the first person to
walk on the surface of Mars, and wanted to arrive there without the
aid of NASA or a space shuttle – he was going to do it alone, in
his own exoskeleton.
    His plans to
privately finance space missions were incredible, but his ambitions
went far beyond that. Frost had scientists from around the world
working on wild, theoretical projects with budgets that ranged into
the billions. Desalinization serums that would convert entire
oceans into potable water sources. Terraforming machines that could
give an otherwise dead planet a living, breathable atmosphere. And
a teleportation device that would allow matter to travel from one
place to the next, creating a gateway to the other side of the
world. I had no idea how far along any of these projects were, or
how many scientists and engineers had been receiving paychecks to
make them a reality, but I was curious to find out.
    His political
aspirations were as lofty as his scientific ones. He one day
aspired to run for President (which was no surprise) but his
short-term goal was to declare Fortress 23, and the surrounding
area that I now own in Northern Alberta, it’s own country. There
were a list of people he’d given ‘donations’ to in order to make
this happen, or at least to grease the proverbial wheels; usually
untraceable BitGold transfers that were made to offshore accounts
in various amounts, never less than seven figures. Some additional
digging revealed page upon page of documents and notes from
meetings he’d attended, all in pursuit of being the undisputed
ruler of his own sovereign nation.
    As I scoured
the reams of documents that Frost had taken great care to conceal,
for the first time I felt like I’d been taking for granted what the
purpose of the Fortress actually was . Was it a sanctuary? A
retreat? A sandbox where he could build whatever he wanted without
interruption – regardless of how experimental or dangerous? Without
question it was all of those things. Although I had a suspicion
that it’s reason for existing was perhaps something else entirely;
and somewhere, locked inside this