NOTES book 3 chars and misc

129 John Jonhson -> project lead for Anesh
One of his new coworkers, a guy who actually got saddled with the unfortunate name of John Jonhson, nodded at him over a cup of lunchroom coffee. “Personal calls on government time, eh?” His voice was squeaky, and didn’t fit the three hundred pound bearded programmer at all, but he was friendly enough. “Bold strategy.”
“Oooh, and lying to your project lead! Also bold!” John cocked a finger off his cup and leveled it at Anesh. “Your security clearance makes it clear you have no family. Which is, by the way, weird, and I’ve already asked for clarification on it, but just keep getting emails saying it’s fine. You’re suspicious, for someone who can do math!”
129 alana is missing
“Oh my god, fine!” Anesh rolled his eyes at the other man, who leaned forward with a giant grin. “I was talking to a duplicate of myself about our girlfriend, who went missing during a misaimed teleport during a firefight three weeks ago. Happy now?”
129 Anesh -> works at NASA
“This is why people want to kill you.” John nodded sagely. “How in the hell did you ever pass the security checks to work at NASA?” He asked, legitimately curious.
“The FBI owes me a favor, and my boyfriend is in the air force.” Anesh told him. “And, I mean, when you’ve got copies of yourself running around, you can spare one to work on a passion project, right?”
129 order -> R&D -> leased space company that refurbished screen doors.
The division of the Order of Endless Rooms that everyone just kind of offhandedly referred to as Research had moved. Probably temporarily, because who knew how long it was safe to stay *anywhere*. But right now, they had a one month lease on a tiny little office and workshop space that used to be a company that refurbished screen doors. Momo knew this, because the owners of the building hadn’t bothered to clear out the machines for refitting that black mesh onto window screens before they’d rented the space again.
129 captured Ethercat got set free still unknown were it is.
When Status Quo had stormed through the basement, shooting at anyone who they found, Research had retaliated with sheer panic. An onslaught of blue orbs, dungeontech, and last ditch efforts. They’d let the cat out, and mostly just hoped it would kill the other guys first, never assuming that they had a chance to survive at all. When a telepad had been scrounged up, everyone who was still alive and mobile had gotten out in chunks, leaving behind a scene of chaos and destruction. And also fire.
It was unclear if someone had blued the fire into existence, or if it was just a side effect. But regardless, they’d lost track of a *lot* of stuff in the chaos before the attack was over and cleanup could start. Like the cat. Which everyone would awkwardly try to change the subject from, if asked.
129 status quo -> box of stuff -> authority
So right now, the Research division had their new little space, and a lot of random scorched boxes and damaged objects. And they had spent weeks *sorting*.
It turned out, they’d only started to really scratch the surface of the Status Quo documents. And at least one of the boxes they’d opened for the first time had been booby trapped with one of those stupid fucking Authority things. There were a dozen theories about what Authorities were, but Momo and Reed had kept everyone on track until they had more time to really worry about it. Which they may never have to; Status Quo, for all intents and purposes, seemed truly dead this time.
129 status quo -> end of book 2 (chapter 127 or 128) there was a statement of looking for something from a dungeon (assuming it is this)
Inside the box was some kind of hexagonal prism. Only it wasn’t really a hexagon, because it had too many sides. But they were all hexagonal sides. But they were…
Momo looked away, blinking her eyes and trying to stop her brain from shooting spikes of pain through her eyes. “Okay, ow. Reed, Nikhail, Taste-Of-Air, Andy, you guys wanna take a look at this?”
Reed looked into the box, and rapidly got a migraine of his own. But he tried to get past the impossible geometry, and focus. The object was a series of hexes, all linked to each other, and all of them… containing something. There was a small indentation in each of them that held some kind of object, but it was intensely hard to actually focus on what they were. “Someone get me a pair of pliers or something. Tongs, of some variety.” He said, holding out his hand and waiting for someone to brave getting close enough to hand him the tool.
With only mild trepidation, he reached into the box, and tried to drag out the edge of one of the objects. To both his surprise, and Momo’s, it popped out with a smooth motion, enlarging back to what felt like a reality-approved size as it did so.
He dropped it to the table, and both of them looked at it. It was a rectangle of laminated plastic. An ID card of some kind, complete with one of those little metal clips so it could hang on a pocket.
Momo turned the totems into position, and let the information flood her brain. It didn’t even phase her at all, anymore. And it only took her a minute or so to nod, and look up at the rest of the team. “There’s a hole in the record here.” Momo told them.
“Someone erased?” Taste-Of-Air asked, the camraconda daring the totems more easily than the human members of Research. “One of ours?”
“No, I think… I think this guy used to work for Status Quo. I think they *all* did.” Momo reached in with her bare hands, ignoring the caution Reed had shown, and started plucking more ID cards off the artifact. “Yeah. These are all… blanks. Mostly. The totems are picking something up, but not… yeah, someone fucked these guys up.” She sighed. “Which tracks. I just wish I knew *what*. Did *we* do this?”
129 Nikhail = order R&D person
129 Taste-Of-Air = order R&D person
129 Andy = order R&D person
129 order R&D Operations Manual =
The Research team collectively shivered. One of the things they’d done recently had been to create a set of guidelines and ethics, added to the Operations Manual, for their division. And one of the first things that *everyone* had agreed to was this; no memetic weaponry. No infobombs, no idea guns, no identity erasers or persona blankers or *whatever*.
129 james -> heart surgery
“James…” Deb started, and then trailed off. What was she even supposed to say, here? “Anesh is worried about you. Sarah’s worried about you. We’re all worried about you. What’s going on? You had heart surgery, and you’re walking around. This is not a good idea.”
129 james -> making LSD
“Oh, right. Um, there should be a thing on it in the Operations Manual under the section labeled ‘Theories and Wild Ass Guesses’.” James said. “We’ve speculated for a little while that LSD is a form of mnestic; allowing people to recover otherwise blocked or damaged memories. Even supernaturally so. So…”
“So you’re in the basement of a building that was recently a warzone making LSD.” Deb finished. “Got it.” James sighed again. He knew she didn’t really get it. Except, Deb started talking again, and shocked him. “I feel the same way. I’ve been wondering what that was. Everyone has.”
129 Alanna -> she was in Safety Harbor, Florida -> no memories from teleporting -> BUT she had orb knowledge
Nothing, if she didn’t want to get fired. And this job was the only lifeline she had. Especially since she didn’t, as far as she knew, have any family or friends to call on for help.
For almost the last month, Alanna had been living moment to moment. Sometimes on the street, sometimes staying with anyone who took pity on her. This job was the first stroke of luck she’d had in that whole time, which, as far as she knew, was the entirety of her life.
No one actually believed her when she said she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. Or that she didn’t know where here was. Apparently, she was in Safety Harbor, Florida. Which seemed like as good a place as any to be, so she hadn’t bothered trying to leave yet. Why would she? Did she have somewhere to go?
Alanna had exactly one burning want in her life, and it was to know. To know where she came from, or who she was, or what she was supposed to be doing. That last one was a confusing mess of a question to cope with. Because she *did* know some things; it’s just that those things were… insane.
She knew how to take care of an aplomado falcon. She knew how to read the reports of Australian government proceedings. She knew how to build a desk. And a host of other random things like that, all of which she’d discovered during long nights in the dark with nothing to do but think about herself. She knew *exactly* how the woman out there was feeling, with almost no margin for error.
She also knew that she wasn’t normal. The sweltering heat down here didn’t bother her. Her fingernails didn’t get ragged after weeks of homelessness and hard living. And she couldn’t get drunk.
129 order (city location) = Beaverton, Oregon + originally a Discount Mattress Warehouse + owner Samantha Borman
Headline - Second Gas Main Explosion This Year Shocks City
Beaverton, OR. For the second time this year, a fault in a gas main has caused an explosion resulting in serious damage to property. Fortunately, unlike the explosion at Southridge High School earlier in the year, there were no major injuries or deaths associated with the blast.
The Discount Mattress Warehouse saw an event that literally razed its roof, with the explosion melting away chunks of the concrete and rebar of the structure. Investigators say that the pattern of damage was “Unlike anything we’ve seen before from this kind of incident.”
When asked to comment, local franchise owner Samantha Borman simply said, “It’s the darndest thing. (The roof) looks like someone carved holes out with a melon scooper! Some explosion, I tell you.”
129 order -> San Diego office = WHAT i thought was las angles?!?! = CHECK BOOK 2 for location or is this third office?
Except there were so many things to do. He had an unread email from James about some kind of rapid response project that was *sixteen pages long*, full of names and schedules and equipment loadouts or something. Karen and Harvey, who he’d weathered the Status Quo assault alongside in the San Diego office, were both harassing him to secure the Order’s accounts to a frankly silly degree. And Anesh kept trying to get JP to look into recruiting people.
129 order recruiting people (who they could recruit)
See, the thing was, Anesh could find smart people. James and Alanna could find ethical people. Sarah could find *kind* people. Nate could find them those individuals that could do a job and not ask too many questions and never really be that useful. But JP? JP could find them *bastards*. People like him, who were clever, determined, and curious in equal measure.
129 dungeon living inside Wikipedia = cd -> running operation : Resistance - Venom : 1%
The emotion in her voice wasn’t lost on Anesh. “I know how you feel.” He said quietly. “Perhaps this will help. Do you remember, perhaps, a moment some time ago over breakfast, where several people may have made fun of the idea of a dungeon living inside Wikipedia?”
“Yes.” Anesh nodded. “Sort of. It’s not Wikiepdia itself, sadly, because that would be cool. But… while I was going through some old stuff, I found this whole document on one of Virgil’s project computers. He followed the statistical map that I’d laid out, and had actually found some kind of anomaly. But the documentation doesn’t really point to where it is, what it is, or anything… useful. Except this.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. Anesh was holding up a CD, reflective surface glimmering in the restored overhead lighting of the warehouse space. “Ah, the nineties!” She exclaimed. “Of course.”
“Hush.” Anesh told her. “Look, James is… busy. Mostly busy learning the wrong lessons from all this. And everyone else is also busy. And I just wanted to have someone on hand in case I explode when I run this.”
“Anyway!” Anesh continued, popping the CD into the open tray of the one PC that was still set up here in the warehouse and not moved to another location. “Let’s see just what our old friend…” He double clicked the single file on the disc, trailing off as the program loaded. “...Found…” The program was running. But the only notification on the screen was a small window detailing system resource use.
The notification inside his mind said something different.
[Operations Running :
Resistance - Venom : 1%]
129 order -> attackers -> cops lots of them.
The ‘whole... yeah’ was that James had taken to heart certain things in the aftermath of their fight with Status Quo. Namely, the fact that the Order had *won*. And, the sad thing was, he was kind of right. They’d taken losses, but even with the agents of Status Quo recruiting a small army out of local criminals, security contractors, and even law enforcement, they’d not been a match for the Order.
The law enforcement part was actually kind of a huge problem. No one had realized it until a little too late, but *several* of the people who been gunning for them had been cops. Maybe they’d just been moonlighting as thugs for hire, or maybe they’d had a vendetta, but either way, it had *not* been a fun realization. If Alanna had been here, she’d have been pissed beyond reason. But she was still missing in action, and no one had managed to track her down quite yet.
129 Edwin
129 high priest
“Sir.” The acolyte said. Edwin was this one’s name, the high priest remembered and made a note in his mental file. “We have an issue.”
“An issue?” The high priest cocked an eyebrow. “Speak, child. And be heard.”
The acolyte cleared his throat nervously, adjusting his tie with a sweaty hand. “Sir, one of our allies of convenience has gone dark.” He looked back at the double doors behind him, the simple oak barrier seeming impossibly massive all of a sudden, wondering if it was too late to leave the office at a sprint. “No contact in weeks. The time coincides with the near critical damage to our memory wards.”
129 order branch (not branch of edwin is in?!?!)
“Sir we think… the oracle branch thinks… there’s a new player on the board.” Edwin wiped at his forehead. “OA-1 screwed… er… they made a serious error. Someone in their sector has the capability to take the first step, and OA-1 is completely dark now. High likelihood this other group were the ones who stopped the Chain Breaker; wounded her even.”
129 Chain Breaker = see above (((assuming is girl in "high school dungeon" that tried to stop order at the very end. )))
129 oracles (not branch of edwin is in?!?!)
At this news, the high priest actually raised his eyebrows. “Someone harmed that old monster?” He nodded approvingly. “That takes a certain style. Tell me, what do the oracles know of this new pawn’s motivations?”
“The… ah…” Edwin withered under the priest’s gaze. “The oracles… have designated them as a knight, not a pawn. And… they are… utopian.” He tried to make eye contact. “Sir.” The word was a plea.
129 edwin = died?!?
The high priest scowled. “More foolish children! Faster and faster now, they come! Seeking to deter us from the True Path! Well, it is of no matter! Our will is alloyed, our weapons arrayed. Their ideals will not save them in their final moments. Let them take one ally, two, all of them. We have never needed assistance! The works of mortal men are *our* domain! We *own* this world, body and soul, and no foolish *believers* will take it from our Truth!”
The last word was a spittle-throwing scream. It took some time for the high priest to compose himself and realized that in his outburst, his Presence had melted the flesh from the bones of his new favorite acolyte.
“Hm. No matter.” The high priest reclined back in his seat, finger running through the small pile on his desk of powdered human bone mixed with cocaine. He brought the finger to his lips and imbibed it with a smack. “Knight or pawn or even queen, it matters not.” He leaned back, letting the sensation of devouring the ghost bound to the bone powder roll through him. “In this world, we sit upon the throne as king.”
129 fredrick home -> attic -> dungeon (((i assume long statements) = attic Ascent -> is starting to think and come alive and change.
129 EL -> is in nevada
She’d ben here, in this stupid small town in Nevada, for half a month. She’d made basically no progress toward home. She could have *been there* by now, back on her own private road. Free, free from obligations, free to do her art, free to be comfortable, and free to add to her spellbook.
And yet… here she fucking was. Picking up another thread of someone who needed help.
*Again*.
And every fucking place she went, there was someone else. God, now that she knew how to look, fucking *everyone* needed something. And it was almost pitifully easy for her to just… lend a hand. Be that good person.
It was eating her time like cheap fries, and she regretted every cracking that orb that gave her a perception skill rank. And also spending enough time around James and his idiot friends to start to think that people deserved her help.
129 Agent DeKay = Tiff = Tiffany DeKay
129 Debt = infomorth (i do believe) = What Is Owed To Me
“Please be quiet.” Agent DeKay whispered back. “You’re not supposed to do that to my boss.”
“Apologies, Tiff. Noted.” The spectre that now haunted her hissed.
Its name was, she was told, What Is Owed To Me. Tiff called it Debt, and in return, it called her Tiff. Normally she would have preferred… anything else. But it was trying, so hard, to be nice. She didn’t think it had a good grasp of how to be polite or kind, but it really *wanted* to.
Also they solved crimes, and that was kind of cool. She could have sworn her sister told her about a TV show like this last Thanksgiving dinner.
129 Agent DeKay -> boss’s boss’s boss
“Agent DeKay, do you need a minute?” Her boss’s boss’s boss asked her.
“DeKay…” The old man rubbed his forehead. “Your superiors report that you’re an exceptional investigator.”
“Thank you sir.” She stood at attention on the other side of the man’s borrowed desk. The Bureau wasn’t super interested in the pomp and circumstance of fancy offices; even if they’d been in the old man’s own office and not one that he’d swiped from a subordinate for the day, the place would have looked pretty much the same. “Sir... may I ask, why am I here?”
129 Agent Tiffany DeKay = FBI ? = now assigned to order.
He didn’t actually laugh, but she caught the smirk in his voice. “Congratulations. You’re promoted.” He said, tossing a folder onto the desk her way. “Here’s your first investigation.”
She picked it up and flicked through it. There was a printed photograph at the front, and in her mind, Debt hissed in anger and fear at the sight. “Order of Endless Rooms?”
129 ava = in Jackson, Tennessee = saw monsters last year
It was a warm summer night in the suburbs just north of Jackson, Tennessee. The roads were empty, the lights turning off one by one. Overhead, the full moon beat down with silver rays that mixed with orange streetlights. And the screeching of bugs and frogs filled the air, serenading everyone off to sleep.
Everyone, that is, except for Ava.
The young girl didn’t *want* to sleep. And not at all because she was afraid! It was just that… this new apartment was too different. She didn’t know it yet. And so, it made perfect sense to get help with the layout, especially in the dark! It had nothing to do with the monster she’d seen last year, that was *totally real* and not at all her imagination. Nothing at all.
129 ava mother
“Mooooooom!” She called through the cracked door, before pulling the covers back up to cover her head.
Footsteps from down the hall. And then, the creaking of the door’s hinges being pushed open.
“Ava.” The voice was kinda and as warm as the summer night, but also mildly exasperated. “*You* are supposed to be asleep, young lady.”
129 ava monster = secret = alive?
Ava yelped as she rolled out of her bed, startled. She hit the floor with a thump, landing among stuffed animals and legos. And then she looked up, directly into three mismatched sets of glittering sapphire eyes.
“M… mom…” She stammered out.
Then the thing under her bed shrunk back, making a whimpering noise of its own. And it sounded… hurt? Scared? Was it scared of her?
“No, no!” She whispered. “Don’t be scared. I’m not mad at you.” Her soft voice quiet against the backdrop of chirping crickets outside. Ava knocked over one of her lego creations as she swung herself up, sitting with the blanket propped over her shoulders. “Are you a nice monster?” She whispered.
Nothing under the bed moved. Had she imagined it? Her mom did say she had an overactive…
“I am good.” The tiny, tiny voice squeaked out right next to her ear, from under the cowl of the blanket.
“No…” It said. Ava caught a glimpse of sparkling scales, in the shape of a tiny snake. Only this snake had too many eyes. And talked! “Hurt…” It said.
“You’re hurt? I can help! We have band aids!” She offered, making to get up at once. Her mom would understand!
“No…” The monster shook its head with its voice. “Seeing me. Knowing about me. Hurts.”
“Oh. Why?” Ava asked.
“Don’t remember.” It whimpered. “Just know.”
130 parents home -> Beaverton suburbs, Oregon
The not-so-young-anymore man sat in his car, outside a three story white house in the middle of the Beaverton suburbs. The front yard, instead of a lawn, was a brick terrace and small garden. A basketball hoop sat in the driveway next to a familiar battered red pickup truck. The building was perched halfway up a fairly steep hill, annoying as a driver who needed to park smoothing, but an amazing boon when James was growing up as a kid and could sail his bike downhill at Mach 2.
His parents weren’t home. They probably wouldn’t ever be again.
He’d been inside already, knew that most of the furniture was there but most of the personal stuff wasn’t. Knew the home was empty. He didn’t really have a reason to be here, at all.
130 order -> Project Outside Aid
About a thousand people had their special number now. A test group, for their emergency response team. The ERT were some of the best they had, with a mix of powers and skills that should, in theory, let them resolve most mundane situations without concern. They’d gotten a few dozen fake calls, at first. And then, a few real ones. And as the groups started to cohere into a real unit, they proved themselves again and again.
Fights stopped, crimes solved, first aid provided, suicide prevention, rescue available. They tallied their victories in lives saved.
They needed way more people, and more money, before they could fully replace the police. But they were doing it. Making a difference. Even if it was only a small one for now.
130 order -> interviews
James had interviews lined up for the next week. That wasn’t nothing. He hadn’t done it himself; Anesh and Deb and Reed had collectively cast a net and dragged up a slew of people who were at least hopefully suitable for this life. But it felt very bleak, to him, to be working to replace a *person*.
130 shellaxies -> not really intelligence yet ((((assuming dog or ape or like lower intelligence))))
There were something like sixty people packed in here right now. Human, camraconda, infomorph, and one special case for ‘stapler’. Not that Rufus was the only outlier in their Order, but he was the only one present. The shellaxies didn’t seem to possess the same level of intelligence yet, and Pendragon just didn’t fit. But it was still full of life and friends and allies. Some members of the order had eschewed family dinners to be here tonight, which was a big ask for people considering that anyone who still had a family that remembered them was rare. A few others had just outright brought family members along. Which was spawning a lot of humor as young kids and cautious husbands tried to get along with delvers and camracondas.
130 high school -> dungeon -> open
“The school shifted again.” Dave said. That got James’ attention instantly. “It’s not that bad. It hasn’t eaten anyone, but it’s open again now.”
A small shrug in response. “It’s open.” Dave said simply. “It’s not a breach anymore, either. It’s more like Officium Mundi. Every few nights, there’s another turn on the ramp to the lower level classrooms, and it goes to a door, and the door goes to the sewer. We can’t figure out if the time is consistent yet.”
130 randell -> FBI -> died = order his remnant here = assuming "randell orb"
James nodded, a sad frown and a shake of his head punctuating his words. “You know, I was actually starting to like Randall. And he was… how to say it. He was blind, but searching. He wasn’t a bad guy. He didn’t deserve this.” James looked up at her. “We delivered his remains to the bureau, but we have his remnant here. We didn’t know what you all would want done with it, and didn’t want to risk anything.” James met her eyes. “At the risk of sounding condescending, do you know what that is? Did they tell you?”
“No.” DeKay said plainly. “Do you mean part of his corpse? Or his effects?”
“Effects. Heh.” James snorted a sad laugh. “It’s all the Powers he accumulated with us. The skills, enhancements, everything left over. It’s not much, compared to some of the others who… some of the others. But it’s there. And our own code says you have a claim on it, if you want.”
“What would happen to it?” She asked, curious. Her mind was already building a map of how this worked, comparing notes with her briefing and other conversations, sussing out lies and mistakes and dead ends. “Is it his soul?”
“We don’t know.” James gave her a thin smile. “Maybe. We haven’t touched our own fallen. They’re safe, in the basement. Just… you know.”
“Just in case.”
“Exactly.”
130 Frequency-Of-Sunlight = ALIVE NOT DEAD?!??!! ok did secret go wild killing everything and saved her in chapter 128? and she did not die?
“Oh, yeah, like three people have said ‘the thing’ to me so far, and no one has stuck around long enough to explain it?” James looked over the crowd, trying to spot Sarah, the traitor who had just abandoned him with no explanations. She was currently talking to Deb and Frequency-Of-Sunlight, laughing in that bubbly way of hers. James caught her eye, and she moved to wink at him before pointedly turning back to her conversation. “Some people unhelpfully not explaining it deliberately, I think.”
130 order -> oregon office -> stealth field
“Our new security system.”
Reed nodded, pursing his lips in thought. “That’s a good deal!” He commented with consideration. “We’re going to try something with Planner, the infomorph that Research has been hosting. We think, and they think too, that we can shroud the whole building. Make it safe for us to use, in case… in case Status Quo… you know.”
“Well, on the off chance they aren’t. Or that there’s something else out there. Stealth field.” Reed tried to hide the small panic attack he was having, to little success. “Anyway. We needed everyone here to start it. Once Simon and Lights-Overhead are back from their deployment, we’ll make an announcement and fire it off. And it’ll probably work without any problems.”
130 Lights-Overhead = order camaconda ? = see above.
130 order -> oregon office -> stealth field
“...everyone here. So unless you’re with non-Order members, you’ll always be able to find the place. But if you’re bringing a guest, a client, even an interview? It’s got to be scheduled, or else as far as they know, the building just won’t exist.” Harvey’s voice carried pretty well in this room, when everyone shut up their own conversations long enough to let him speak. He had a good rumbling tone to his words; like he’d smoked, but only just long enough to get the aesthetic and not the cancer.
“So, do we all have to be thinking Planner?” Momo asked from the crowd, not bothering to raise her hand. The girl may be sartorially stuck between punk and goth, but despite her age she’d been quick to ditch most of the trappings of high school life.
“No.” Reed said, standing next to Harvey and interpreting the older man’s glance as an invitation to field the question. “Just be here now to be flagged as having an open invitation. Most of Research already runs it, so Plan is pretty stable. Not very social though, yet, ironically.”
130 plan = infomorph if memory serves? = (see above last sentence)
130 Steve
“If it distracts these two, yes.” Harvey flatly shook his head. “What’s up Steve?”
“I don’t wanna look stupid, but I still don’t understand infomorphs. What the hell… is? It?” Steve looked sheepish, like he was embarrassed to ask. James hadn’t really interacted with a lot of people from the support group, mostly assuming that if they didn’t want to be part of the Order, they didn’t want him bothering them. But Steve, an exceptionally cautious guy who’d been a floor manager before his job and life got eaten and replaced by a fantasy world, was one of probably several exceptions. He waited for people to tell him what was okay, instead of what everyone else did, which was mostly to assume responsibility for problems and start hacking away at them. It was… normal. That was the thing. It was normal and that stood out here.
130 infomorph = description
“Imagine… hm. Let’s say, imagine three apples. They’re in a triangle. They’re red. Fresh. Untouched. Is everyone thinking that?” There was a murmur of voices and nods. “Okay. I just created an idea and put it in your heads. And for a minute, it occupies some space in your mind. So far, I’m a marketing department, but not a wizard.” A couple people laughed. But that wasn’t what James was after this time. “An infomorph is what happens when that idea, three apples, starts self-perpetuating. It’s always there, in your head. Either conscious or subconscious, but part of you is thinking ‘three apples’. Now, that’s a bit scary, right? To not be in control of your brain. But like I said; so far, this is just marketing. A good jingle does the same thing. I’ve had Brian David Gilbert’s Old Bay song stuck in my head for six weeks, and that’s not magic either.”
“Oh fuck you.” Anesh muttered as James stuck the song back in his head.
James grinned briefly. “An infomorph is what happens when the idea itself is self-perpetuating, adapting, and capable of simultaneous existence. So, when you’re thinking three apples, and I’m thinking three apples, and they’re the exact same idea, shared between us? And that idea can grow and learn from us? That’s an infomorph.” He pointed at where Daniel was sitting in the crowd. “Danny there has a friend who started out as a map, and then gradually took on traits of exploration and adventure. And if the two of them wanted to, they could carve out footholds for Pathfinder, with consent from other people, by creating shared ideaspace for Path to move into.” James looked around and caught the new FBI agent’s eye. “They’re all a bit different. But they all eat information, in a way. It’s how they survive and grow. Doesn’t have to be destructive, though.”
130 order -> oregon office -> stealth field
Everyone had questions about that. But no one voiced them. Instead, Harvey kept them moving forward, proceeding with the ‘ritual’ Planner needed to begin masking the building.
Momo called it a ritual. Everyone else called it ‘giving verbal consent’. Momo was the most disappointed person in the room that it didn’t involve actual magic.
130 order (oregon) -> basement (research) -> vault -> Priestess (camraconda) -> wall = who died = who unknown dead/living
And now it was mostly empty, and Research worked elsewhere. They’d put it back together eventually, but it was strange for it to feel so empty.
Behind it was the vault. And that space had, thankfully, been undamaged.
Putting in the code and opening the locks from the human-positioned keypad, James let the door swing open and stepped in. “Priestess.” He greeted the camraconda inside.
But here, along the wall, on a set of divided shelves, were a series of orbs.
Some large, some small. Some green, some yellow. One thing that wasn’t an orb at all, but that looked like a battered spiral notebook. Some of the shelves had other things on them, hand written notes, mementos, objects of importance. Here was a government badge, here was the remote control to a drone, here was a small plastic figure of a penguin.
Under every shelf was written a name.
Neil Thile. Graham Drake. Randall Schmidt. Feeling-Of-Rain. Mark Diaz. Eye-For-Detail. Truth-And-Balance. Lane Christenson. Lights-And-Sounds. And then, older names, Virgil Thomassi and Cold-Wind-Friction. And then, to the side, empty shelves with names nonetheless. Alanna Byrne. James Buchanan. People who may not actually be dead.
130 Neil Thile = died in attack on order
130 Graham Drake = died in attack on order
130 Feeling-Of-Rain = died in attack on order
130 Mark Diaz = died in attack on order
130 Eye-For-Detail = died in attack on order
130 Truth-And-Balance = died in attack on order
130 Lane Christenson = died in attack on order
130 Lights-And-Sounds = died in attack on order
130 Virgil Thomassi = died in attacking "status quo"
130 Cold-Wind-Friction = died in attacking "status quo"
130 Alanna Byrne = unknown dead or alive
130 James Buchanan = unknown dead or alive
130 rufus -> high school security guard = booked (orb) gained book from dungeon?
The lines around the man’s eyes lit up in recognition when James greeted him. “Oh! Agents!” He rumbled out with a casual familiarity that was completely unearned. “It’s been quiet. Mostly just making sure the kids keep their masks on. Is there…” He cleared his throat, looking around and needlessly lowering his voice against the dull roar of hundreds of students talking, eating, and yelling. “Is there something going on again?”
“Shouldn’t be anything serious.” James said. “We’re just here to check up on things.” He half-lied.
“He’s booked.” Sarah muttered in James’ ear as they politely nodded to Rufus and headed down toward the school’s lower level.
“What?” James took a second to process that. Booked. Like the books the dungeon they were headed to offered as rewards. Usually rewards for murder. That was, in a lot of ways, very concerning. “How do you know?”
“A couple perception orbs helping. How he was standing, and also just the change in how he greeted you.” Sarah spoke in a low tone; there were still students around lining the halls down here in small clusters as they ate lunch and took a reprieve from their own daily toils. “He’s too confident. He’s thinking that he’s pulling a fast one on you, which means either our ‘cover’ is blown, or he’s got some kind of power. Book makes the most sense.”
131 DUNGEONS KNOWLEDGE UP TO DATE it seems
One thing they knew, through their connection to Clutter Ascent, the dungeon in the attic of a house that the Order now had listed in its growing spreadsheet of assets, was that dungeons needed to challenge people.
Not hurt them, not kill them. Though apparently that was still part of it. But no matter how friendly or kind a dungeon grew to be, it had to offer a challenge. And these challenges almost always came with rewards, in some way. That part also seemed to be compulsory, either an instinctive part of how dungeons thought, or a ‘biological’ impulse, like how humans couldn’t really choose to turn off their lungs.
Momo called this process the ‘harvest of conceptual weight’. Anesh called this process ‘poorly defined and in need of categorization’.
They also knew that the life that dungeons created wasn’t just an extension of the dungeon itself.
Most of their working data came from the Office, where they had multiple forms of life to look at, but there were other examples too. Dungeons could create life that was intelligent, and they could find ways to impose control on that intelligence, but it didn’t seem like they could perfect it.
Things in the office made with yellow orbs seemed to act like wildlife. Untamed, often dangerous, but not evil. Just usually hungry. Camracondas, and a few other forms, were made with green orbs; they were referred to as Puppets by the smarter forms of yellow life, and it seemed like the dungeon had a strong finger on the scales of how they behaved. Especially when it came to fighting intruders. But removed from the control of the dungeon, they were people, with as much free will as anyone else.
Infomorphs were another form of life that they’d run across in the Office. Life made of an idea that thought itself, that grew and shared itself with others. They were impressive, and scary in some ways. And they appeared to just be the surface of non-material life, since the Order had also encountered something called Authorities when they’d fought Status Quo. If Infomorphs were living ideas, then Authorities seemed to be living commands. Not that they had a living one left to examine.
They knew a few other things, too.
They knew that dungeons could send their creations out into the real world. They knew some of them did this to erase memories, or kill perceived threats. They weren’t passive places, they were active operatives.
They knew that dungeons *had* to be challenged, in some way. It was how they fed, essentially. And while the ones they knew of didn’t need it very often, they still did need it.
And so, they could extrapolate, that if a dungeon was left untouched for too long, it would eventually be faced with a choice. It could quietly starve, leaving a husk of itself only barely tethered to the physical world. Or, it could take one last risk, and send out its agents to bring it what it needed.
131 Akashic Sewer -> james, sarah, daniel = delving into
So, since they didn’t know how to kill a dungeon outright, if that was even an option, the delve team pushed through the door to fight monsters, collect magic, and get out alive. Turning the pressure valve just enough that it wouldn’t be a problem for a while.
“Gear check.” James called as the three of them spread out a bit and dropped their bags on the floor. He could already feel that his own had been lightened, so the barrier was still in place.
131 DUNGEONS -> defense shells
Here was something else they sort-of-knew about dungeons; they all had some kind of defensive shell. The attic had a fear field, the office had some kind of time compression, and the school’s sewer? Well, it had a restriction, of sorts.
131 Akashic Sewer ->defense shell
From what they could tell, it was pretty dang close to a list of things that weren’t allowed in school itself. This was one of those things that didn’t fully make sense, because if you tried to come in holding a knife, the thing just hit the floor outside the entrance and you ended up unarmed. But once you were *in* the sewer, there were *ample* opportunities to relieve the local wildlife of a blade, and you could walk around stabbing things with that one as much as you wanted.
But whatever the hypocrisy of the Akashic Sewer, the rules mostly lined up like this: no weapons, no electronics, no toys, no outside food. Notably, laptops were exempt, as long as they didn’t have any games on them, with the exception of Minesweeper. Other exemptions included water bottles, regardless of if they were full of water or not, and skulljack braids. Presumably those last ones counted as medical devices in some way, but no one wanted to make a judgement call on that and risk being wrong when someone with a pacemaker tried to wander in and spontaneously died.
“Gun’s gone.” Daniel reported, sorting through his bag. “Sword’s gone. Armor’s still here, though. So’s the coffee. And this.” He held up a pen they’d liberated from Officium Mundi that, while technically still a pen, used a kind of highly concentrated acid instead of ink.
“Same stuff missing here.” Sarah chimed in, smothering a choking cough. “Ugh, I hate this smell. It’s like it’s eating through the mask filter.” All of them had chosen to wear thicker filter masks today, but as Sarah had said, it wasn’t doing much against the smell aside from making a fashion statement. “Weirdly, the ball bearings are gone, but the stakes are still here.” Her bag had contained a jar of the small metal orbs, perfectly suited to be ammunition for her organic ability to shape magnetic fields. It had also contained a trio of sharpened wooden spikes, which were modified to be magnetically charged themselves.
“Maybe they were too close to ammo?” James suggested, pulling the different pieces of armor padding out of his bag and starting to strap them to his arms and legs. “Oh, telepad’s still here. Good.” He noted as he found it at the bottom of the bag. “My rope is gone, though!” James sulked, even as he pulled out a trio of wooden rods, and started screwing them together to form a staff. There was a broom head in the bag, too, just to drive home the point to the dungeon that it was a tool and not a weapon, but he left that in there.
131 pathfinder = has wings? is physical form now?
“Ready.” “Set.” The other two replied. Sarah and James clipped pen lights to their shoulders, the thin beams of white light giving a small amount of illumination to their surroundings. Meanwhile, around Daniel, Pathfinder spread her wings a couple inches, throwing off an orange glow that lit the area around him.
131 high school dungeon -> arena -> leader ratroach -> fought and lost be lived -> not to eat people till james return.
“Yooooou.” The ratroach drooled out the words in a voice that was worryingly recognizable as feminine. “Brrhing usss a prraaghry tooo thhe makerrrrr!” Its - no, *her* - voice rose as she spoke, turning side to side to address not just the delvers, but the crowd as well. A chittering series of cheers answered her as she screamed her words into the still air of the arena.
“Don’t eat anyone until I get back.” James ordered the ratroach as he stood. It looked up at him with glee in its faceted eyes, and nodded its triangular head in obedience, before slumping back to lie prone in its own blood.
131 high school dungeon -> time inside vs outside
After that, stripped of as much of the mess as they could manage, the three of them said their quick goodbye to Lua with a promise to meet up again at the Lair later to discuss what had changed. According to her, they’d been in there for only twenty minutes or so, not the few hours they’d experienced. But it would still be prudent to vacate school grounds before anyone got too suspicious of them. FBI or not, there was no sense pushing the limits of their cover.
132 Texture-Of-Barkdust = camacondra
“To the number, or to the fact that Texture-Of-Barkdust can just do that in her head?” Anesh asked as he tried and failed to replace all the telepads in the duplicated box.
132 Texture-Of-Barkdust + dungeon = is dungeon taking camaconda back under its control?
James followed his gaze with a smile. A smile that faltered and turned into a confused expression a second later. “Ah. Hang the fuck on.” He said, raising a finger into the air. “Wait. Wait!”
“Waiting…?” Anesh rolled to a crouch as James bolted to his feet. “What’s…?”
With a worried jab of his finger toward the now concerned looking camraconda, James put words to the panicked question on his mind. “How? How snake here dungeon green thing problem?” He rapid-fire rattled off keywords without regard for syntax or grammar before switching to something most humans would recognize as English. “Isn’t it super dangerous for green Life to come back in here? Aren’t we at all worried Officium Mundi is going to take control again?”
“Oh! Yes. That would be a problem.” Anesh’s shoulders slumped as he breathed a sigh of relief. “This is a test to see if the earring from Status Quo lets the camracondas operate in here. It’s working so far.” Anesh waved a hand, and Texture-Of-Barkdust tilted its head to show off a dangling metal charm hanging from the side of its head. “It’s the one that lets you go invisible. Among other powers.” Anesh answered James’ upcoming question. “Anyway. We’ve been here for a couple hours and it’s fine so far. You’re fine so far, right?” Anesh shot the question across the room.
“There is discomfort.” The camraconda admitted with its digital voice. “But I am myself. I will not do this again.”
“Yeah. We’re good.” Anesh nodded to James.
132 high school dungeon -> arena -> leader ratroach -> fought and lost be lived -> not to eat people till james return. = named "baby hitler"?
James started laughing silently. “We need to call it something else aside from that.” He said, once he’d caught his breath. “I don’t actually want to keep saying ‘baby Hitler’ over and over.”
132 Momo was in her early twenties
Both of them looked over to where Momo had ascended the ramp, looking like she’d tried rushing up the first few floors and then staggeringly flopped up the rest after she ran out of breath. Despite being younger than both James and Anesh, Momo was one of those people who felt like they were more mature than they reasonably had to be for their age. JP had once commented that it was because Momo had chosen an easy style to be consistent with, and then just dressed goth every day, which made her come across as someone who had her shit together more than most teenagers. James had, in turn, pointed out that Momo was in her early twenties, and also had undergone a traumatic kidnapping by an entire magical office complex, before starting her career as a literal wizard, so maybe give her some credit. Even if it was credit to someone who put silvered studs on her body armor.
133 karen = do not higher daughter + heroes at 6 locations
“Don’t hire my daughter.” The request, which was not framed as a request, came out in blunt words. Karen was their… something. She most likely saw herself as the moral compass of the Order, guiding them to be non-disruptive of the wider world, while still holding to an attitude of harsh personal responsibility. As far as James was concerned, she was a bit of a jerk, with all the good points that she made - and she *did* make good points regularly - tied up in a philosophy of a selfish and unfair universe. She reminded him a lot of his mother. He didn’t hold it against her, though; not too much anyway. Karen had been having a hard time, and the fact that her kid had nearly died on James’ watch was something that he felt okay letting her be a bit pissed about.
“Good.” Karen replied, her small and serious frown softening just a hair. “Now. I have a report for you.” She handed him a printout that James stacked on top of his pile of folders and glanced at. It was a list of addresses.
“First of all, we have a group chat exactly so you can send me stuff like this. Stop killing so many trees, and also our printer ink budget. Second of all, what’s this?”
“Six places where someone has done something unreasonably heroic in the last two months and made it into the news.” Karen told him. “Prioritizing the top two, which list an ‘unidentified woman’ as the person in question.” She tapped a scarred finger onto the page, tilting James’ pile of documents. “And I did send it over our group server, to the recovery channel. Anesh said I should print it out because you respond well to drama.”
This was what Karen did. Her and her team. They followed threads, navigated information craters, and looked for the lost. They helped those impacted by the dungeons get back on their feet, helped families and friends reconnect unobtrusively, and put lives back together. Recovery. It was a good moniker.
133 james - interviews 4 people for order.
“Ah!” James *grinned* at them, and it was the grin of someone who knew far more than they were spelling out. “Now *that*, is actually a very good question.” His interviewer made a *note* in one of the pile of manilla folders he’d stacked on his side of the table, and pointedly did not answer the question. Then he looked back up at the group. “So. Welcome to the Order of Endless Rooms. Magic is real, we have some of it, the world has some serious problems both arcane and otherwise, and we’re looking for people who are more interested in being adaptable and kind over people who have any particular skills. That said, all of you have the mindset that makes you excellent engineers, which is valuable. We also offer a generous salary, because we cannot offer health insurance beyond ‘we know a guy’.” James looked at the four assembled candidates, each in turn, and then nodded when none of them argued with him. “Alright. I’m going to go grab a drink. You have until I get back to decide amongst yourselves if you’re interested in the position, and come up with a list of questions. You can ask three things, but only the ones you all agree on.” He stood up, and walked off, pushing his way through the swinging double doors of the kitchen.
And leaving behind four people who shared a look of raised eyebrows and slightly open mouths.
133 Chevoy = girl interview candidates
“That’s… hi, I’m Chevoy…” the one woman in the group introduced herself. “...that’s obviously a test, right?”
133 Kirk = interview candidates
“Kirk. Has to be.” One of the other candidates introduced themselves.
133 unknown 3rd interview candidates = left
“I’m out.” The third one said, without preamble. “This is stupid. Probably some dumb practical joke. Also no one here is wearing masks, so they’re probably some idiot cult.” He stood up, and just walked off, pushing past a camraconda in a way that probably didn’t scan as rude if he didn’t think they were actual people.
133 Mars = interview candidates
“I’m… uh… I’m Mars.” The newest arrival said, still trying to compose himself and curiously watching the last guy walk away. “Is he serious?” He pointed after their fleeing peer.
133 Chevoy + Kirk + Mars
The three of them put their heads together, talking in rapid whispers, quickly building a profile of each other and what they figured would be the most relevant things to ask about. All of them were technologically minded, in some way, they quickly figured out. It made sense, their interviewer had said they had ‘engineer mindsets’. But their actual fields were a little eclectic. Computer science, electrical journeyman, and civil engineer respectively. But their limited time ran out quickly, and as James came back, they were left with what they hoped were the more important things they needed to ask today.
133 mars = arcology is now signed up for by james
“Because you fit what we want.” James said. “You’re outspoken, want to build better things, improve the world, and you’ve got people who vouch for your character. You’re not experts, but that’s okay, because neither are we. Yet.” He looked around at the other members of the Order moving through the space. “If you’re asking if you’re special, though, then I’ve gotta say ‘no’. There’s no destiny that we can measure, you’re not secretly the chosen ones. But none of us are, so, eh?” He looked down at the folder that held their resumes. “As for what we specifically want from you, our current focus is on either the design and construction of an arcology, or the implementation of security features for a mind-machine interface. That second one is mostly for you,” he pointed at Mars, “because the other guy in this interview left, and we don’t have anyone here working on that anymore. The arcology thing is new.”
133 Chevoy + Kirk + Mars = joined order
133 Marion corpse body -> status quo = dead = killed by secret = other details about marion
Now, the last door on the left led to a room that contained two things. The door itself was one of the more locked portals in the entire building, which is to say, it had two locks for two keys. It wasn’t magical, just something no one could stumble into. Reed and Momo had the only way in, and only if it was both of them.
The two things in the room were a freezer, with a corpse in it, and a small tessellated hexagonal object with a pile of ID cards around it on the table. There was nothing else, just that.
Momo slipped the ‘glasses’ on while Reed shut the door behind them.
The corpse was named Marion. It wasn’t a person. It wasn’t alive. She’d been dead for ninety four days. She had liked dogs more than people, prioritized gun ownership when she voted, and had no current long term plans. Her favorite color was orange, and her current wealth was a solid $0. She was affiliated with -
- Momo was looking up at the ceiling while Reed yelled something in panic.
“I’m okay.” She lied, sitting up. “Ow. What happened?”
“You started transcribing notes, then just collapsed.” Reed told her, the kid… fuck, they were the same age. Why did she keep thinking of him as a kid? Did he do the same thing? Not important right now.
“What notes?” Momo asked.
Reed handed her a piece of receipt paper, the kind that manifested when you printed stuff off through the pager.
“Affiliated, Status Quo. Okay, we knew that, but it’s weird that *we* can remember they exist when the *rest of the universe* can’t.” Momo muttered. “Oh, there’s more. Some stuff about her driver’s license, and then… killed by, Secret.” She looked at it in annoyance.
Reed echoed her thoughts. “It’s kind of irritating that we put this much effort and headache into this stupid thing just to be told that it’s a secret.” He said. “We… we know that. We know! That’s the problem! We don’t know what we did!”
133 Nancy -> interview for order - preschool teacher -> teacher for "fredrick home -> attic -> dungeon = Ascent"
The woman, whose name was Nancy, was someone who was best described as ‘showing signs of a life lived’. She had rough hands with a couple fingers that were a little misshapen from where they’d been broken and reset. Her voice was steady, and she smiled easily, but there were a couple of lines on her face that were scars mixed in among the forming wrinkles. She wore her hair short, and her clothing with lots of pockets. She’d also been staring out the window at the skyline and highways below when James had come out of his office to greet her.
“Why not?” James asked. Internally, he wondered why it was that half his interviews over the last three days had been people trying to convince him *not* to hire them.
He’d eventually brought all of those people on board.
“I’m a preschool teacher.” The woman, Nancy, protested. “What possible skills could I have that you need? Unless… do you have children of wizards you need raised? I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“So I’m… you actually meant to put out a job offer for a teacher.” She made the connection.
James nodded, idly moving a pencil around his desk. “Specifically someone with experience with young children. Because, as far as we know, that’s what Ascent is.”
“Ascent?”
“The place. It’s… an attic. It likes sunsets. It hasn’t tried to kill us. It’s a kid.” James found he suddenly didn’t have the right words for this. “I should have brought Sarah into this.” He mumbled to himself.
“I’ll take the job.” Nancy decided suddenly.
“Would you like to do the interview process first?” James asked with a laughing smile. “The part where I ask you questions, not the other way around.”
133 Nancy + young man -> babysitter = fredrick home -> attic -> dungeon = Ascent !?!? = hired into order
He’d probably hire her anyway. Between her and the young man with years of experience as a babysitter, they’d be a good start to a caretaker team. But still, the *process* was important. James tapped his pencil on the open folder, and started asking questions.
133 Myles = JP interviewing for order + 4 other high school kids james interviewing for order
Myles went in the front door, shadowing a group of high school age kids. He figured he was close enough to their age that maybe no one would notice that he was out of place.
Following the clues to this place had been the work of a month, ever since he’d accidentally stumbled across the first one. It had been something that shouldn’t have existed, and people just… walked by it. But he had to know. So he’d deciphered the hint, and then the next one it led to, and then, content with the fact that he was playing a really cool ARG, he’d called the phone number that had been buried in an ammo can in the parking lot of a Safeway.
And now, he was sitting around a table with a bunch of kids who were here for some kind of wizard internship, taking in the nature of this place with a frantic grin.
“Nah.” Said a second man, standing just off to the side. “He’s one of mine.”
James sighed. “JP, you know you can just *invite people to interviews*, right?”
“Figuring out where we are and getting in *is* the interview, you cretin.” JP shot back. “Come on.” He tapped the back of his hand on Myles’ shoulder. “Step into my office. You’ll like my offer way more than the internship one.” He leaned in and whispered theatrically, “We are *spies*.”
134 fern ((not sure if name was ever mentioned for this fern?!?!)) or is this another plant
At exactly 5 PM, just as she’d finished coaxing the incredibly clingy living fern off of the last chair and back onto its - his? - trellis by the wall, Karen sat down.
134 karen + liz (karen daughter) = karen getting free of dungeon, (no husbhand, no sons, liz fending for self alone), liz near total immunity to memetic intervention
To her house, with an overgrown lawn, and brambles crawling through her garden. Where there were two cars missing from the garage. Where half the furniture had been moved away. And where, inside the cold walls that had long had the power turned off, Karen had not found her husband, had not found her sons, had not been greeted by the family’s overly energetic dog.
Instead, there was just Liz. Living alone, cold, and terrified. She hadn’t understood how everyone could have left so easily. How her siblings and father had *forgotten* her mom. How everyone had, as if in a daze, packed up and left, without thinking too hard about who they were leaving behind.
She’d struggled, for months, to keep her life normal. To try to look for signs of her mother while pushing through school, eventually abandoning school to pick up a part time job so she could afford food.
When Karen had come home that first time, Liz had almost fainted from relief. She’d been *right*. No matter what anyone else said, she had *not forgotten*. And as time passed within the Order, Karen had quickly realized something; her daughter had something that no one else came close to. A near total immunity to memetic intervention.
135 order -> response (telepad) teams = emt, girl, ambulance driver, 1 camerconda, 1 order, 1 order kid = 1 teleport in, 1 teleport to hospital.
135 orange orb = needs to be working and brought back.
James stared into the orange orb in the Lair’s basement. It was suspended on the points of two three-sided pyramids, and it would have looked very cryptic and majestic, if it weren’t for all the ropes and clamps holding the pyramids in place.
“What am I looking at here?” He asked Reed.
“A nonfunctional totem, mostly.” Reed replied. “So, here’s the deal. We copied the design of one of the hallway totems, as exactly as possible, and have recreated it here. It doesn’t do anything. Like, at all. It’s not even like one of Momo’s degenerate red totems; it’s just sitting there.”
Pausing with his index finger pointed out toward where a desk had exploded last week, James stopped at Reed’s admission, shut his mouth, and nodded. “Okay, glad we got that cleared up.” He said. “So, one entire totem, added to our growing shopping list. Anything else to report that I should know about?”
135 micrwave helps food and rain cloud that is sarah pet
“Uh…” Reed looked down at his tablet and scrolled through the mess of notes he’d left for himself and never organized. “We’ve got a microwave that adds nutritional content to food. But that’s not an easily mass produced solution to anything. Oh, Sarah wanted me to pass on something to you about how her pet raincloud is doing well? I guess that’s for, like, weather regulation?” Reed bit his lip as he stared at that line. “Sorry, no. What?”
“Pet raincloud?” James echoed, mouth hanging open. “Like… I mean, I can think of a dozen uses for that, especially for indoor farming, but… when did she…?” He looked around at Research, and called out, “Has anyone talked to Sarah lately?” Head shakes and non-answers. “Okay, I’ll look into that.” He sighed. “Please don’t blow up the building until I get home, okay?” He tossed his customary farewell over his shoulder as he headed for the elevator, grinning as he passed through the now colorfully lit balcony area around the elevator doors.
135 Morgan Williams son of women camercandakeep locked up / see as a religon.
The hamster on the wheel in James’ brain overclocked itself turning the gears of memory. Backpack… phone number… It suddenly clicked for him. The kid. The son of the camraconda’s messianic figure. “Williams?”
“Er, yeah. That’s my last name.” The young man’s voice replied. “You said that I should call you when I was ready to talk.”
The teenager across from him, James realized, still looked like he was prepared to sprint away at any second. He had matted hair, shoes with holes in them, and a bruise on the side of his cheek that looked incredibly painful from what James could see of it poking out from around the kid’s mask.
“Uh, sure.” He said in reply to James. And then a second later, made a decision. “I’m Morgan.”
135 Morgan Williams = mother died 3 years ago (real world)
“Yeah.” Morgan didn’t move, balled up in the passenger seat, staring out the window as he replied. “Three years, I guess. Not that I cared. Or anything.”
“Kid, let me tell you something. You don’t have to posture or lie to me. Or anyone you’re gonna meet today. We’ve got trauma coming out our ears. Hell, we have a dedicated therapist!”
135 Texture-Of-Barkdust
“Hey Barkdust.” James said as he brushed past Morgan, who had frozen in place at the sight of the snake.
“Good morning, paladin.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said formally.
135 46 camerconda (counting soul orbs down stairs)
“Yeah. Well, I mean, one, or maybe a few, of them did. They don’t remember it very well. And a lot of them have died since then.”
“How many are there?”
“Forty six left.” James said quietly. “And…” He stopped himself. The kid didn’t need to know about the orbs in the basement. About the souls kept in reserve. “Forty six.” James swallowed his words.
136 JP = Utah + cult
JP laughed back, turning back and setting down the briefcase he was carrying as he leaned against one of the chairs out here in the main lobby. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously; I’m investigating something, and it might actually be a good idea to not spread it around too much. Heading down to Utah, looking into a cult there.”
“Again? Always with the cults with you.”
“Hey, someone’s gotta do the intelligence work.” JP said. “You wanna make James a spy? Huh?”
136 mars + chevoy + marcy + pete
James grinned and dropped back to the couch cushions before rolling off onto the floor and bouncing to his feet. “The ones who just scrambled to the roof to fawn over Pendragon?” He asked rhetorically. “Mars and Chevoy are engineers, Marcy is a talk therapist that’ll be on site for us when Lua isn’t around and is also taking a shift on Response as a dispatcher, and Pete is one of our interns.”
136 Color-Of-Dawn = wants a snake friendly tablet to read vs using tongue.
He was trying to figure out how to ask if it would rather have a better tablet, or hands, when a bunch of other laughing humans drew his attention to the hallway into the rest of the Lair. Four people, all of them looking a little bit out of breath like they’d just been for a jog, made their way back into the room laughing and chatting. They reclaimed a nearby table that had coats and half-eaten food on it, with a couple of them glancing over at Morgan. In fact, he noticed, they did exactly the thing the camracondas did.
“Okay,” He leaned forward and quietly spoke to the snake he had been sharing a table with, trying not to be noticed by the others, “I get why you guys do the glancing thing. But why are *they* looking at me strangely?”
The camraconda looked up from its reading, and pivoted its head in a wide arc to take in the table next to them. “Ah.” It said. “Those are new.”
“So am I, though.” Morgan protested.
“Those not know. Also, those are very…” The camraconda paused, before settling on the word it wanted, “...*excitable*.” The way it emphasized the word with reverb made Morgan crack a smile. Then the camraconda nudged aside its tablet, and looked back at him. “I am Color-Of-Dawn.” It said.
136 Officium Mundi agents (paper pushers) + gps their cars
“Officium Mundi agents.” Daniel said, and James felt his heart rate spike as Daniel spoke. “A lot of them, this time. And, you’ll like this, Tyrone is pretty sure he’s got the breach point down. So that’s cool.”
“No! Not cool!” James snapped. “What are you talking about, agents?! Stuffed shirts? And you’re just… letting them go?”
“Pff. No.” Daniel gave a nervous chuckle, and then, after a pause, his tone got apologetic. “Oh, right! You were in a coma when we started this! God, I’m sorry. No, we figured out which cars are dungeon constructs, and put GPS trackers in them! Fuck, my bad. I didn’t mean to panic you; we know where they are.”
“Harvey’s coordinating us on the shirts. Go; one of them just stopped.” The duel-minded young man jerked his head at James.
136 order -> response -> room/area
He arrived boots first on the table between Morgan and Color-Of-Dawn, eliciting a startled scream from the human and a high volume electronic “WHY” from the camraconda. James didn’t waste time on an explanation, though, instead hopping to the floor and bolting through the open door to the side office that had become the home for Response.
James had been in here before; hell, he’d helped set the place up. His role as IT, it seemed, would never truly leave him. But still, it was one thing to install cabling and set up monitors, and another entirely to step into a command and control array for a combat operation.
The far wall was just screens. The main one, currently, was showing a map with the GPS positions of the tracked cars. There were six of them, all of them spreading out from the point on the map James recognized as his old workplace. Smaller secondary monitors were showing what looked like feeds from traffic cameras, one of them had the Order’s discussion server up on it, and to the side, a pair of stacked screens were divided into views of this exact room from a low angle. Body cameras; James spotted them lined up on a filing cabinet under the desk.
The rest of the room was taken up by racks of body armor and light armaments, as well as tools to solve potential problems. Restraints, rebreathers, first aid kits, drone loadouts, the things they’d discovered response teams needed often enough to justify having them on hand. And then, there was the open space on the floor, kept intentionally clear and marked off with duct tape in a deliberate pattern. Their telepad arrival point.
136 Officium Mundi agents (paper pushers) = after a teenage girl + james gave order info to her.
Then there was silence. Well, except the ringing in James’ ears. And the distant sirens.
“Was it after any of you?” James yelled at the teenagers who probably hoped he hadn’t seen them. After all, crazy people with guns were… well, scary.
One of them stood up, though on trembling legs. “M...me.” The girl said. “Don’t hurt them. They don’t know.”
James rolled his eyes as he advanced on her, slinging the gun back to his side and making sure the safety was engaged. “Our card.” He said, offering her a slip of paper. “Give us a call when you’re ready, or if you need help.”
137 cat + momo + momo totem = 13 large cats over 30lbs nearby
Momo let out a noise that was best described as a defiant squeak. “I was busy!” She repeated. “I didn’t have time to change, I got caught in the middle of working on a totem when this happened.”
“Oh, what for?” Anesh shifted to curious professionalism, turning the conversational tone on a dime.
“Well, you remember the cat?”
“Ah, our fourth biggest mistake so far.”
“Fourth?” Momo paused, and then silently ticked off events on her fingers. “Yeah, okay. Well, I figured we should try to find it, so I was working on getting a red totem that can tell you how many large cats are within a certain radius. But then this happened, I had to rush the end, and I don’t think it’s giving accurate information.”
“That’s strange. I didn’t think they could do that.” Anesh held up an arm, signaling that he’d like some help standing, and Momo obliged him. “The totems always give accurate reports, even if the things they’re reporting on are… well…” He shrugged, putting a lot of synonyms for the word ‘dumb’ into the motion.
“Well, this one is telling me that there’s thirteen large cats within its radius. And that’s just not possible.”
Anesh paused, then slowly opened his mouth to ask, “How large is ‘large’?”
“Over thirty pounds, specifically. It was the best qualifier I could reliably produce.” Momo said, as if her ability to instinctively derive totem formula wasn’t already insanely impressive.
“Bloody hell.” Anesh muttered. “Do you think the displacer cat… multiplied?”
Momo rolled her eyes in that way that recovering teenage sarcasm addicts did. “That’d be stupid. How would it find a cat to mate with? The thing was…”
“I meant asexually, but sure.” Anesh waved away her train of thought. “Hm. Let’s crowdsource this.” He decided, and turned to address the dozen or so people in the dining room. “Hey! Does anyone know why there might be a dozen big cats nearby?”
137 clutter ascent (fredrick home -> attic -> dungeon)
“Sarah? You up here?” James called as he ascended the staircase to the attic. ‘The attic’, the dungeon in the attic, the one that Sarah had started called Clutter Ascent. He liked the name, but it felt a little weird to use that kind of gravitas on… an attic. “Candy delivery!” James called out into the still air.
The attic had changed over the last couple months.
James had visited, so most of it wasn’t a surprise. But still, the distance it had come from being simply a slightly-too-large storage space was pretty impressive.
James smiled at the atmosphere of the place. Gone, entirely, was the fear aura that the nascent dungeon had used to protect itself. It entirely relied now on the Order, on trust and compassion. The house below that tethered it to reality was now occupied by a half dozen tenants; victims of Officium Mundi who had been so erased from existence that they had nowhere else to go, now caretakers and guardians of the existence overhead. And every day, people came to visit, to explore, to share their time with Clutter Ascent. Not as delvers, but as friends. And so, to, the place had taken on a feeling of quiet excitement. Small joys and little triumphs and carefree fun. Dust dancing in sunbeams, the smell of ancient furniture, and tiny secrets waiting around every corner.
137 clutter ascent (fredrick home -> attic -> dungeon) -> dark shadow space (i made up name for area) = Fredrick Umbra Armillary the First
He looked around himself, and found a hand drawn cardboard sign propped up on a sheet-covered armchair. It had a smattering of stars drawn on it, and the words “Secret Fort, This Way”, with an arrow pointing down one of the halls in the clutter. James grinned, and shook his head as he moved to follow the sign’s direction.
He passed through stacks of worn cardboard boxes and abandoned tool boxes. Fishing tackle crates and half rusted bicycles. As he turned one corner, he moved into a space where, all of a sudden, the sunlight from any of the windows didn’t reach, and it suddenly struck James just how *dark* these simple shadows could get.
It was while moving past a teetering tower of stacked jumbo sized flower pots in this darkened patch of floor that James heard a sound that was new to the attic. A low, guttural hiss that flooded out of the cracks of deeper darkness around him and set his blood running cold in an instant. James froze, eyes snapping around and trying to find the source, but he had underestimated exactly how dark it really was here. Only a few beams of light mapped out rough splotches of the way forward; an outline, not clear vision.
“Hello?” James softly asked as the hiss faded and a worried silence took its place.
“Hello?” An airy voice drawled the word back at him.
James shifted his feet into a fighting stance, just in case. “Friend or foe?” He tried to sound casual as he continued to scan the darkness of the clutter around him, suddenly aware of just how many rough edges there were here.
“Friend?” The darkness asked back. “Or foe?” The voice hissed laughter like spring rain, as a shadow pooly physically from the stack of flower pots, dripping darkness down in large dollops that splattered to the floor a few feet away from James.
He watched with caution, as the shadows pulled themselves together, forming up into a knee-high shape with fuzzy edges, that *looked* at him, as it opened a pair of electric blue gemstone eyes. The small points of light glimmered in the darkness, watching, and waiting, with a strange heavy patience.
James met those eyes, and even in the darkness where he couldn’t make out what the creature was, he got the sense of the feeling of the shape of a housecat. Or a rat. Or perhaps something halfway between the two. With the impression that the thing had more limbs than was healthy for anything challenging it. There was a stretched silence while the two potential combatants sized each other up, neither breaking eye contact.
And then James cleared his throat. “Ah, sorry. Just passing through. Would you like a granola bar? It’s got almonds.”
“Yesssssssss!” The excited reply came back, a bounce in the wispy voice. James grinned, and dug in his back pocket for one of the snack bars he’d liberated from the Office (Scenic Gran Canyon) and handed it over. “Pass, pass.” The thing whispered at him, the shadows turning liquid again and taking the creature, and its new snack, with them.
----“Oh! Speaking of complaining!” James said as Sarah examined, and then tore into, a package of gumdrops labeled Jelly Ladies, “I met something on the way here. Some kind of shadow… rat?” He quirked an eyebrow and looked at Sarah’s face for any sign of a reaction. “Cat? Gecko? No?”
Sarah stared at him in open mouthed horror, before cracking into laughter and dropping the short lived act. “So he said hi!” She exclaimed. “Was he polite?”
“He robbed me!” James protested. “Also what is it.”
“*He* is something new.” Sarah said, glancing upward. Despite the fact that the dungeon was all around them, there was a very human tendency to look *up* for things like this. Or at least, there was for her. “Ascent made him while we were out one night. He’s *very* proper, in his own way. Oh! And he has the cutest eyes!” She grinned at James. “I haven’t gotten to talk much to him, but he does talk. And he liked the name I gave him.”
“I am terrified to ask…” James started, pressing his eyes closed and taking a preemptive sigh.
“Fredrick Umbra Armillary the First!” Sarah exclaimed.
137 clutter ascent (fredrick home -> attic -> dungeon) -> secret fort
The place he was going was the secluded little blanket fort that he’d joined Sarah in what felt like a lifetime but was actually only a few weeks ago. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t visited a few times, so he wasn’t *entirely* surprised by how it had changed. Because it had changed. And James didn’t waste energy pretending he wasn’t surprised, or delighted, by it.
The walls were *ramparts*. Thick down comforters that seemed to go on forever, draped across overhead pipes or propped up against mothballed furniture that stood like spires. Lit around the outside by strings of Christmas lights that James could see trailed into the interior, lighting the entire thing with a golden glow. It was a tent, almost; like a circus bigtop. And yet, no matter how huge an impression it gave, at the end of the day, it was still a humble little blanket fort with a cozy interior full of pillow lounges and snack stashes.
It had potted plants around it. Real, living ones. Green leafy patches that seemed to be thriving in the false sunsets.
137 may (sarah pet raincloud) -> created by clutter ascent for rain
“That’s just the opposite of reassuring.” James said. “I should try to talk to him on the way out. Anyway, that’s both cool and worrying, and I bet we can make a lot of really weird stuff work with these. But I’m actually here to talk about… and I can’t believe I get to use this combination of words… your *pet raincloud*?”
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Oh! May!” She said. “Of course!”
“...May what?”
“The raincloud is named May, silly.” Sarah stuck the tip of her tongue between her lips, staring at James like she was waiting for him to react to that.
She led him farther back than he thought the place should have been able to go before the wall. It was, continually, a weird experience. Even knowing, as James did, that space was mostly just a suggestion, it still gave him mild chills every time. “Anyway, when Clutter Ascent was building itself more ‘windows’, it wanted some of them to have rainy nights. But it didn’t know how to make rain. So, instead of learning how weather patterns worked, or maybe *after* it learned how weather patterns worked, it decided it could just figure something out, and spun up… well, May.”
“So,” Sarah continued like this was normal as she led James up to *another attic inside this attic*, “May - and this was before I was calling her anything - worked pretty well. At first. She rained, and that was good enough. But the dungeon found a better way to do things, and May wasn’t really doing very well on her own.” Sarah’s voice went soft, her cheerful self still there, but subdued as she talked. “She was dying. And, you know, as near as we can tell, this is just something dungeons do. Monsters get replaced, or obsoleted, right?”
137 may (sarah pet raincloud) -> created by clutter ascent for rain
There were a series of fish tanks and terrariums, dozens of them, making up a wall of glass in the middle of the small room. Each of them held some plants, sometimes some bugs, but *mostly* they all had a miniature swirling dark cloud near their top. James saw some of them had heaters or humidifiers in them, no two looked to be the same.
“This is… May.” Sarah said sadly. “Her version of life support, I guess. Or the best we can do.”
“What… are all the different parts communicating with each other? Is she split?” James asked.
“She isn’t intelligent.” Sarah shook her head. “Not sophont, I guess you’d say. She’s basically at cow levels of brainpower. Smart enough to gravitate toward survival, but not smart enough to move beyond that in any real way.”
“So this is… trying to find an environment that works for her?”
“Kind of, yeah.” Sarah said, nodding, a grim frown on her face. “Also just kind of trying to keep her comfortable. Here’s the thing; May is *very* good at what she does. And what she does under the right conditions is grow, and produce rain. We could easily save her life, if we just let her go outside. But…”
“But then she’d grow. And produce rain.” James said. “Out of nothing? Violation of conservation of matter?”
137 dungeon -> dungeon’s interpretation of the Grand Canyon
“I admit, this was a lot farther than I thought we’d go.” James said. “I’m sorry. I actually am. You wanted a quiet night, and I took us on a bike tour of the dungeon’s interpretation of the Grand Canyon.”
137 order -> new hires -> amount and type of highered folks
Now, they sat in rows behind folding tables in the cool air of the warehouse space, while James stood in front of them, to try to explain the Order’s ethics. There were four software engineers, three construction workers, a therapist, a nanny, three high school interns, an EMT, a part-time-chef-part-time-firefighter, a barista, a sociologist, two ‘administrative assistants’, and two people who had the right attitude and could figure out what skill they wanted to define them later.
137 order -> new hires -> orb newbie order package
“Those are fragments of souls.” James replied quietly. “And if you’ve talked to a camraconda at all, then you probably have a general idea of where they came from. These ones are a curated selection, which we’ve put together to help jump start people into competence in a few important areas.” James glanced down at his notes, flipping through to the last page. “Yellows, skills. Purple is for your body. Green for a place. Those are the only ones we’ve included here, for now. You probably already know the rest if you read the manual.” James waved a hand. “Two athletics skills, two for self defense, one on first aid, one for vehicle operation. We haven’t found any other medical options, sadly. The two purple orbs will improve your short term memory and immune system by about a factor of five. You’ll notice that there’s a wooden dowel in there, too; break that with someone you’re getting to know here, either in this room or otherwise. I won’t explain more about that one. And the last thing, which is probably stuck in the bag you have there, is a shield bracer. These things come out without the actual useful part of the shield power, but it’ll grow into it in time. Get used to wearing it. Use it. That’s how it gets better.”
137 order (oregon) -> green orbs
“Uh, it added twenty two minutes of time for organization every day? Also I know how to design crossword puzzles now.” The kid looked around at the other potentials who were all looking at him curiously. “What does that mean?” He asked.
James shrugged. “We see those sometimes. It probably means shelving stuff or moving storage around. So now there’s extra time in the day here to do that. Unless you meant the crossword thing, in which case...”
“Now. Greens first, one by one. I need to write those down, and then I have to go. Then, you’re free for the day to poke around the Lair. But this time, if you don’t disagree with the ethics I laid out here, and you want to stick around, do it with an eye for what you want to be part of. Not just us as a group. But what you want to *do*.” He grinned as he noticed a few people, especially the younger ones, shifting in their seats. “Told you I liked to hear myself talk. Alright, alright, do the magic.” He conceded, unfolding his laptop and opening a notepad file.
[Local Area Shift : +8 Shelves]
[Local Area Shift : +2 M^3 Fridge Space]
[Local Area Shift : +3 Needed Nutrients / Prepared Meal]
[Local Area Shift : -8.33 lbs Trash / Day]
[Local Area Shift : -5% Fear]
[Local Area Shift : Production Time - Coffee - -164 second]
[Local Area Shift : +1 Closet]
[Local Area Shift : Delivered Mail - Lost Parcels - -3/week]
[Local Area Shift : Value - Stairwell - +$4,111]
[Local Area Shift : Furniture - Operational Life - +1.6 Years]
[Local Area Shift : +23 Minutes Allocated to Learning / Day]
[Local Area Shift : -1 Accounting Error / Year]
[Local Area Shift : -7 kW-h Required]
[Local Area Shift : -$1,255 Rent / Month]
[Local Area Shift : +20 kg/M^3 Insulation Density]
[Local Area Shift : +1 Tree]
[Local Area Shift : +8% Solar Panel Efficiency]
[Local Area Shift : Fabrication Time - Printing - -38 Seconds]
137 rick -> order new higher
“Ah, that’s why we’re only up to nineteen.” James said. “It’s Rick, right? What’s up?” He asked, pushing back his chair and facing the man.
“I’m idealistic.” James said. “That doesn’t mean we didn’t do some alarmingly thorough background checks. You worked in a half dozen political campaigns, two charities, and actually served a tour with the Peace Corp before you... well, I won’t say ‘gave up’, but I feel like you’re maybe not living your best life doing siding and roofing.” He stood up, and rolled his shoulder in a casual motion. “So here’s the deal. I’m not going to say that we can help everybody.” James looked down at the armory bag on the table, tapping it with one finger. “But we can at least help somebody. Anybody.”
“It’ll never work.” The older man looked down at James and shook his head.
“But it might.” James grinned back. “Want to find out how far we can get?”
137 order (oregon) -> green orbs -> rick green orb = added a basement.
“It said… uh…” Rick furrowed his brow, wrinkles on his forehead standing out against a receding hairline. “That’s so weird. The skill part, it’s like I know… oh, right. It said that it added…”
“It said it added a basement.” James finished for him. “Yeah. Thanks. Okay. Welcome to the Order, you’re gonna see me make this face a lot. I have to go. Everyone have a good night!”
137 order (oregon) -> new basement (3rd basement i think?)
“Good. Because this thing is mostly garlic.” Anesh slid the paper bag across the desk to his boyfriend. He didn’t sit, though; he had places to go and no time for a super long chat. “Anyway. The basement is actually the closest to what our building probably *should* have, which is nice. Big stonkin industrial space, concrete floor, flood lights, overhead HVAC pipes that don’t appear connected to anything, that sorta thing. One single room, the rough dimensions of our building. So I vote we put Research down there, and use their space for something else. Maybe personal projects.”
137 police station -> captian
“Good. Because this thing is mostly garlic.” Anesh slid the paper bag across the desk to his boyfriend. He didn’t sit, though; he had places to go and no time for a super long chat. “Anyway. The basement is actually the closest to what our building probably *should* have, which is nice. Big stonkin industrial space, concrete floor, flood lights, overhead HVAC pipes that don’t appear connected to anything, that sorta thing. One single room, the rough dimensions of our building. So I vote we put Research down there, and use their space for something else. Maybe personal projects.”
“Where did they come from?” One officer asked.
“It’s unclear from the camera angle.” The department’s IT guy admitted. “This was the only one, and the building across the street hasn’t given us any footage yet...”
The capitan nodded sagely. “Rogers, you and Moyer go down there today and ask again. Threaten them with a warrant if they don’t want to be nice about it.” He glanced back at the frozen frame on the projection. “These two shot up cars, and set *something* on fire, but didn’t hit anyone. What were they doing there?” He looked back at the briefing room and the half-awake police officers filling it. “Suggestions?”
“Vandalism?” Officer Waters unhelpfully drawled, helping himself to another stale doughnut.
“Nah.” Sergeant Barker’s voice was both tired and bitter at the same time. “Two college age kids in bad cosplay like that? Political bullshit. Maybe just intimidation. Could be linked to the protests downtown, actually.”
137 police captain
137 Officer Rogers -> police
137 Officer Moyer -> police
137 Officer Waters -> police
137 Sergeant Barker -> police
138 order -> response department -> reports
Harvey, James had been unsurprised to learn, wrote *reports*. In retrospect, it made sense; there was a very good reason for the mental image of police officers being expected to fill out copious amounts of paperwork after an incident. But it was the kind of thing that James wouldn’t have started to set up himself. Which was why he’d more or less let Harvey steal the system from an actual police department, then modify it for their use.
The report, incidentally, had the date on it. Which is what had provoked his swearing.
Date of incident, names and ranks of those involved, reality of origin for opposition - that one wasn’t normally on the form - lines for damages, injuries, contact information for anyone they might need to get in touch with later… it was very comprehensive, even if they didn’t need everything from it *now*. Some day, they might, and when they did, they’d be able to search for it with a short keyword string.
138 dungeon -> paper pushers -> purple orbs attack -> ""incept"" = creating an infomorph.
“Well, we got there just as they did the thing with the purples - which I’ve heard you *talk* about, but never seen, and man does it look weird! - and we didn’t have time to stop them or anything, so they planted an infomorph in the person they were after. Or, well, in someone, anyway.”
“Incept.”
“What?”
“The word for forming an infomorph.”
138 order -> response -> civilian harmed -> paper pushers -> purple orb -> infomorph on civilian.
138 order -> response -> civilian truck driver -> harmed
“Yeah.” James said. “When we linked up with Ann’s group, there was a truck driver or something who got a few ribs broken when a pallet fell on him. Anesh warped him to the hospital. We have his number, just in case, you should have that.” He told Harvey.
138 order -> response -> civilian -> girl noted she was targeted by pusher papers.
“There was one girl who seemed to know why she was being targeted.” James said. “She was afraid of us, though. I gave her a card, tried to be calm about it. But… does anyone have any idea why *these people*?”
138 john
At one table, Simon sat with a couple camracondas and a member of the support group, locked in discussion about what it meant to be ‘a person’. One table over, a couple of the new people were reading hard copies of the operations manual, alternately scowling or grinning at it. Another group was made up of the new engineers, listening to… what was his name, John? One of the original rescues, part of Sarah’s therapy sessions in some way... explaining the known technical specs of a skulljack. A dozen camracondas throughout the room tried to not be too obvious with their worshipful gazes toward the new kid eating in the back, who was currently sharing a table with an FBI field agent dealing with her worst foe, paperwork; the two of them in a quiet alliance securing one of the tables without having to worry about anyone mistaking the empty chairs as free space.
138 order -> secret intelligence department -> leader JP
JP was running the Order’s version of an intelligence agency. He was still getting his bearings. Which was a polite way of saying it wasn’t going great. Yet.
“Well, I got Momo to do whatever magic those weird computer chips need to make me some-”
“You literally just…” James started to cut him off, then paused. “Whatever. I know about you and Nate building creepy surveillance networks. I’m assuming you have one that searches for… secret organizations?”
138 order -> secret intelligence department -> cult + rescued girl from cult
“Well, the first one was a cult in the sense that they were a cult of personality.” JP winced. “They had… some not great policies. Also, they weren’t prepared for what I believe you nerds call ‘out of context JPs’.”
“We tend to shorten ‘JP’ to ‘problem’, but yes. Also *you’re a nerd too, you asshat*!” James admonished him. “So that one was a bust?”
“Sort of. I feel like I probably leveled up at least once-“
“Nerd.”
“-and the girl they’d kidnapped is currently recovering in our basement. Which sounds creepy. Hey, how long until we build actual apartments? You could probably manage something cool with all the orbs.”
138 cult -> dead orbit
“Oh my god, just tell me about the second cult.”
“Well, the clue that I should have googled first is that they were called Dead Orbit-“
138 cult -> Alchemists Guild
“They are called - and I swear to god I’m not being a jerk here, this is what they call themselves - the Alchemists Guild. Well, the Guild of Alchemists. Whatever.” JP nodded as James winced. “Yeah. *Yeah*. Really. So, you remember when we started… this? And you took a long damn time to settle on calling it an order, because of all sorts of reasons about guilds being fundamentally capitalist and violent and things?”
“It wasn’t much, sorry dude.” JP shook his head. “So, they are *secretive*. Like, to an extreme. But they’re also incredibly theatrical, and I don’t know if that’s of their own volition, or what. If I had to guess at what’s going on there, and I do, because that’s my job now somehow, I’d say they’ve got a handful of ‘things’ from a dungeon, or maybe more than one, but not the dungeons themselves. And they’ve figured out how to use those things for personal profit. Which they do, aggressively, but very small scale. I think they’ve been around for a long time, too. There’s old newspaper articles from sixty years ago with local myths about them, but no hard data. So, best guess, again, words I’m learning to hate Nate for sharing with me, they have inherited methods with no knowledge behind them, but what they know how to do *works*. Like, big time works.”
Works how? What are we talking about here, are they doing something creepy? Murdering kids, eating souls, whatever?” James was out of his seat, pacing around. His hands itched, like he should be holding something heavy, and sharp, in anxious anticipation.
“Nope!” JP cheerfully cut him off, leaning back with his hands behind his head and a gleeful smile. “They are, no fuckin’ joke, making and selling potions.”
James stopped pacing. “What?”
“Potions. Like from the games that-“
“I know what potions are. What do theirs do?” James narrowed his eyes. “Are there any that are massive unethical grey areas, like love or invisibility potions or whatever?”
“Would it shock you if I said no?” JP said. “It shocked me. Though, granted, I haven’t done more than two days of survialence on them, and I absolutely am going to do more.”
“Yes.” JP said, unironically. “They’re bizarrely out in the open about it, too. They really weren’t hard to find - that program wouldn’t have flagged them if they didn’t have a digital trail, after all. Which is weird for a bunch of old dudes that wear purple robes all the time. And no to the Schwarzenegger thing. I asked. He’s apparently all natural, which is even more impressive now that I know magic is real and wizards will work on salary..”
“And I’m guessing that their inventory is both mildly impressive, and absurdly expensive?” James asked, seeing where this was going already.
“Oh, *so* overpriced.” JP nodded. “Basically, their market is *not* people like us. People like us, and by us I mean delvers, are kind of a mystery to them, which is delightfully poetic. No, they sell to celebrities or the ultra rich that want to skip steps, and trade money for results, instead of doing hard work.”
138 Chevoy = girl
“The… new people?” James asked, confused. “Yeah, we hired more people. We’ll see how many of them work out. I have a good feeling about Chevoy. She seems… energetic. Reminds me of Sarah, if Sarah knew how to build robots.”
138 Texture-Of-Barkdust = wants to higher more camercondas to order
“But…” James paused for a second, not sure how to answer this. “Sorry, do you mean that we should be recruiting more camracondas?” He asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay. I don’t… disagree with you.” James leaned forward, placing his chin on folded hands. “But that might be a challenge. Most of your species are unfriendly, at best.”
“Yes.” Texture-Of-Barkdust confirmed. “Have no answer. Only objective.”
“You have old sayings.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said. “We have… very little. Don’t want to lose it.”
138 high school dungeon (Akashic Sewer)
James made a facial expression halfway between a frown and a smile as the fresh blue orb sank into his wrist. He was sitting in his car in the parking lot of the high school, along with Sarah, Alex, and Texture-Of-Barkdust, everyone procrastinating going out into the dark grey rain between the vehicle and the building’s doors under the guise of preparing for battle.
138 high school dungeon (Akashic Sewer) -> entrance (1 female principle of school + 1 male police (Rourke))
There was a woman standing there, at the bottom of the ramp. A maroon suit jacket and rather conservative skirt, and hair that was both long and unbound, and yet immobile. It glistened a bit, and James had the uncharitable thought that it probably took enough hairspray to open a new hole in the ozone layer. Her face had the kinds of wrinkles around the eyes and at the edges of her lips that a human got from a lifetime of either grinning, or scolding. James suspected he knew which one this was.
She was speaking to a tall, overweight man wearing a police tactical vest and the blue-black clothing of a patrol officer. And as soon as James rounded the corner, both of them snapped their attention to him.
“This building doesn’t have a basement.” The woman spoke again, like her words would somehow change the literal truth. “I should know, I’m the principal here. And you are trespassing.”
138 high school dungeon (Akashic Sewer) -> entrance (1 female principle of school + 1 male police (Rourke)) = principle brained messed up
“Aw, hell, I’m not gonna arrest you.” The man said, tension draining out of his shoulders. “Why… what the shit. Why couldn’t she see the door?”
“She could have.” James told him. “If she’d looked.”
“But…”
“But she was never going to look.” He confirmed with a nod. “Yeah. She’s… I don’t know what language to use to describe this to you. Haunted?” He shrugged. “She’s got something in her head that’s not her.”
“You’re serious.” The cop sighed. He didn’t sound disbelieving, just *sad*, in a way James honestly hadn’t expected. “Fuck.” He turned and looked at the door again. “Fuck!” He shouted, slamming a fist into the rusting blue metal with a loud clang.
138 Rourke = high school dungeon (Akashic Sewer) -> entrance male police
“Rourke.” The man said, holding out a hand.
“James.” James replied, taking it and shaking once. “We need to get through that door. You okay with that?”
“No problem.” The officer said without a scrap of hesitation. His eyes performed a quick and practiced scan of James’ person, before checking the people at the top of the ramp; though he did linger for a bit on Texture-Of-Barkdust. “Do you need a gun? I’ve got a spare.”
138 high school dungeon -> arena -> ratrouch leader
“Hello again.” James tried to act casual as he stepped out onto the gravel arena.
Behind him, a scraped, bruised, and unpleasantly wet team fanned out, taking up positions where they could move to assist James if he needed to, or if anything else decided to join the fight.
Though today, the arena was less packed than last time, so maybe that wouldn’t be required.
And now, as James downed a half full thermos of arcane coffee and limbered up his legs, walking into a dry and dusty room out of the oily algae of the tunnels, he said hello to a creature out of a nightmare.
“Welkgome bahk.” The ratroach’s guttural and wet voice greeted James. “Beennnn waiting for kyuh.” Its words sounded like it was talking around a mouthful of meat scraps. The creature looked taller than the last time James had encountered it
The ratroach had uneven, erratic patches of glistening damp beetle shell across its flesh, intermixed with patches of dirty white fur. From points in her fur, they could see small browncap mushrooms growing out of her skin, the fungus leaving strings of spores in the air as the creature swung its arms back and forth. Its fur was worn in places, and a thin line of glowing blue drool oozed from the corner of its muzzle to drip down to the floor.
138 james + sarah + alex + Texture-Of-Barkdust = won fight against ratroach leader + 2 other ratroaches. = talk with leader
139 Marcel? Marco? + Nightvale = ((((NO CLUE on all 3 names or things))))
“I hear someone… Marcel? Marco?... I don’t remember the name, but they’re putting one together for Welcome to Nightvale.” James made casual conversation as he cubed melon.
“Okay rad but that’s not the point!” Momo said. “Wait, actually, for something like Nightvale, how do you stop your own perceptions of the art from tainting the memory you spin off into a file to share? Like, if someone makes a connection that the Glow Cloud is a reference to the Hypno Toad from Futurama, then is anyone who runs their memory gonna get that same vibe?” She hopped up onto the counter, scrambling a little bit to sit on a corner where she could face James while he worked. “This is cool shit.”
139 wikipedia dungeon = momo making program to find it
Momo kicked the stainless steel side of the counter, boot making a thump as she got James’ attention. “So, what’s the wiki dungeon actually do?”
“Okay, again,” James sighed, “I cannot stress enough that we don’t know if it’s on wikipedia, and assumptions like that are dangerous. All we know, from Virgil’s notes, is that it doesn’t physically exist anywhere. And then we know that the reward is a program that generates resistances. Or at least, the program we have.” James shrugged. “He didn’t say anything about how he found it, or his thoughts on it. Only that his investigation was ongoing.”
“Oh.” Momo frowned. “Poor Virg. Why not just grow a program to find it?”
“Because…” James stopped. “Good point. Go do that.”
139 alchemist guild = has own intelligence network + weird room with maps
“What a smug asshole!” James laughed. “But yeah, that all checks out. Okay, so, that sort of implies they have their own intelligence network. Had they heard of anyone else?”
Nate barked a laugh. “Hah! No, they have some kinda weird room that maps relative organizational power.” He kept rolling the fish in the herb and oil mix he was using. “JP wanted to steal it. Because he’s reckless. And I don’t think we can steal a room, but what do I know? Anyway, all of this will be in the *actual* intel report later. I just wanted to check in with you.”
139 dungeon = full 1 week time / ((3 years actual time in dungeon))
“Have you considered that it might be time to post a permanent force in the Office?” Nate asked. “You have enough veteran combatants. We could do it.”
“We don’t have enough people to do it, safely, and rotate through so that it’s not a permanent lifestyle restriction.” James replied. “I’d want… what do you think, ten people?”
“Could do it with six, probably, but ten is safer.”
“Ten people - because we have to assume something weird happens - and they’d be there for a week. I’d want people to have to only do that one week out of the month, so we’d need forty people for that.” James shrugged. “And we just don’t have that kind of force. Or, I mean, we *do*, but we’re all split up. Most of us are pulling shifts with Response, some of us are larking off across the country looking for either other delvers or my girlfriend, and a lot of people just aren’t going to want to spend that much time in the dungeon. Especially the people who were trapped there.”
139 daniel + pathfinder = misadventures
Looking up from the game of sudoku he was casually failing to understand, Dave nodded at James. “I’m fine. Ready to go?” He asked.
“Yeah. Daniel, you and Path with us?”
“Sure.” Daniel answered in a far away voice. “Want us to take the lead to the goal?”
“Absolutely not!” James answered quickly, getting a surprised look from both his companions. “Danny, you and Path are a great team, don’t get me wrong. But every time you find a route somewhere, Pathfinder ‘predicts’ an amount of misadventure. And yes, maybe I’m reading too far into this, but it *appears*, as an outside observer, that she’s trading an abstract currency of 'problems' in exchange for the map. And I would like to have a smooth, calm trip through the impossible tessellated cubicle maze, without being dunked in a pit of staples, or accidentally getting in a romantic relationship with a tumblefeed, or being comically on fire somehow. We’ve got maps, we know what direction we’re going, we’re just looking for alternate paths, it should be fine.”
“Oh.” Daniel said. But he said it after clearing his throat and not making eye contact.
James pursed his lips in a frown. “Oh?” He asked with a sigh.
“We already… um…”
“How many misadventures.” James asked flatly, taking out a pair of fingerless gloves and pulling them on. “Am I going to need a helmet?”
Daniel cleared his throat again. “Just one misadventure.” He said, meekly. “In thirty five minutes. If we leave now.”
“That’s so… argh!” James pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “That’s so much worse! Now I’m just gonna be waiting the whole time! Alright, whatever, I don’t care! Let’s go, before I decide to just sit in the tower all night and avoid everything fun. Onward! To mild but non-fatal injuries!”
139 order -> green orbs
They’d even brought back some small green orbs from the 2.0s that had jumped them. Nikhail had tried to see if he could upgrade his car. It hadn’t worked exactly, and now the bushes in the parking lot grew faster.
139 Taste-Of-Air = order -> R&D person it would seem
“Okay. Test one.” Reed said, as Taste-Of-Air puppeted the drone into place, orb held at just the right height to slide into the duel pyramid shape of the waiting empty totem. “We have added one two inch groove to the bottom left of panel six. This should either render the totem nonfunctional, or expand the copied area by six feet. Everyone ready?”
Taste-Of-Air nodded in a sharp motion, most of his focus on controlling the quadcopter drone through the skulljack link. Ever so gently, he nudged the remote unit forward, until the orange orb it carried started to slide into place, held by an outside force to hover between the two points of the opposed pyramids. The green striped camraconda let the drone’s grippers release, and watched through its own eye and multiple networked cameras as the totem activated.
140 hospital -> for (reed) + Dr. Nikita
“Your friend will live.” Dr. Nikita was telling James. By association and the magic of smartphones, he was also telling the dozen people waiting back at the Lair, who never would have been allowed to crowd into the hospital what with the whole pandemic thing going on. “None of his injuries were critical, or life threatening beyond the bleeding. Some internal damage, nothing that will not heal with time. Though one kidney was damaged, and may need to be removed. I do not suppose you have the means to procure us a supply of perfect human kidneys?”
140 hospital + camerconda = help hospital?
“Perhaps I am owing you some more thanks, first.” The director of surgery idly mused. “I am hearing from my people that emergency patients are arriving as if they were injured only moments before. And hospital security has been working overtime to delete footage of strange snake creatures. Strange times!”
“Oh, right.” James tapped his forehead as he remembered. “One of those strange snake creatures wanted me to ask you about a job. They can freeze people in place; might be useful during surgery.”
140 order -> response department + hospital = expansion ?
“We’re expanding the crisis response team.” James said. “I’m going to hire away all the EMTs and undercut the company that runs the ambulances in this county as a test run. Can you have whoever’s in charge of that for this hospital call me, and we can set up more permanent arrival platforms for our teleporters?”
“...Honestly?”
“Yes.”
The older man closed his eyes, and for a second, James couldn’t tell if he looked twenty years younger, or a hundred years more tired. Then he opened them. “I will pass on your message. Thank you.” He said, a little stiffly. “I must go now. Good luck to you.”
140 Davis -> order
It was one of the older men who spoke up next. Davis, James was pretty sure his name was. He’d been a call center manager before all this, and while he wanted to be useful, his main calling in Research was a lifetime of tech support experience, and being very meticulous, over being innovative and intuitive. “I think… our method was wrong.” He had his hand up, as a few heads turned to look at him. “Ah, may I?”
140 Mr. Patel -> order = (((( I THINK ANESH last name?!?!?)))))
“Well, I took the time to double check the formula Mr. Patel made, against the totem itself. From the footage, not what’s left of it. It *should* have worked. Mr. Reed’s intuition at the end, I do not think, is the only solution.” He cleared his throat, withering a little bit as Momo gave him a raised eyebrow. “It’s how we made the change that mattered, not the end state.” He said. “The formula is wrong, because the formula is only looking at the end product. There is more to a totem.”
“Good.” James said, relief running in his blood. “Now. Like I said at the start. No punishments for this. But I *am* going to encourage everyone here to sign up for a training rotation with the Response division.” He noticed a few winces. “It’ll be good experience for you.”
140 order -> money -> karen (currently leader of money) = running out of money
“What kind of trouble? One to ten, ten being the death of all life on Earth.” James asked, stepping off the elevator and nodding politely to their guard fern.
“Death of… *two*!” Karen stared at him incredulously. “We’re running out of money, that’s all!”
“Fuck, really?” James puffed out a breath, eyes wide. “What are we spending so much on? I *know* what our equipment budget is! It’s not that bad!”
“Again, it’s mostly people. You’re paying full time salaries to fifty seven individuals, sixty nine if you count people like yourself and Anesh, which you should.”
“Nice.”
She *very deliberately* ignored that comment. “And you pay generously. Not extravagantly, mind you, but well above what most people could expect anywhere else. Our payroll costs are currently at over two hundred thousand a month. And on top of that, we pay rent to use this…” Karen looked around. “Well, not *this* place. But you are aware of what I mean.”
140 order -> response department + police -> arrest warrants for response
“Yeah, well, I get that.” Harvey said. “But the local police department just put a thing on their Facebook page asking for any information that could lead to arrests for the ‘dangerous vigilanties’ that have been operating in the area.”
“That one isn’t that bad. It’s mostly just people demanding an AMA with the snake, and then fifteen comments of people typing ‘magic snake’ in all caps. The problem is mostly the police Facebook. It’s got a half dozen comments from people we’ve either actually helped, or who might be aware of us.”
140 order -> response department = spreads to ohio
“Yeah, because we’ve been operating locally.” James said with a little confusion. “As a test.”
“What I mean is, it doesn’t have to be.” Harvey said. “We can back off on letting people around here know about Response, and instead, focus somewhere else for a while. Choose a few small towns in the midwest. Don’t cut anyone here off, but pivot where we’re advertising. If we keep things a bit spread out, it’ll buy us time before we actually have to have a full on confrontation and accounting of our operation.”
“What, like, just start policing Ohio?”
“Can’t do worse than Ohio’s cops now.” Harvey shrugged. “And if we spread out, it’s only good for us. We teleport everywhere anyway.”
“Okay.” James said. “I hereby authorize that. Also, I’ll see about getting you some new faces. We can hire new… people… Karen, you seem mad. What’s up?”
“You already know we cannot hire new people, James.” It was impressive that she managed to *sound* like she wasn’t being condescending when she said that, while still making James *feel* appropriately chastised. “We need our budget balanced *first*.”
140 order -> money -> karen
“I’ll start a Patreon.” James quipped. But then, more seriously, “But no, you’re right. We need a real income stream to offset costs. And a big part of the problem is that the main buyers for a lot of our stuff are going to be people who we shouldn’t, ethically, sell to. So, put the word out, to the whole Order. We need good ideas that will keep us solvent, and also not make the world worse while we do it. And if you really need us to, we can just devote more delver-hours to hauling out chunks of silver for you to sell on the… black market?”
140 nowheresville Texas + jp + Myles + girl spy -> dungeon adventurers
“What about her?” Myles asked into his cell phone. He was sitting at a side table in an alarmingly open bar, in the middle of nowheresville Texas, alternating between listening in on other patrons, and watching the entrance to a coffee shop located across the dying strip mall. “She looks like she’s out of place here.” What he didn’t add was the phrase ‘like me’. But he thought it.
“Yeah.” JP’s voice came back to him. “Don’t stare too hard, but if she looks up, don’t shy away from eye contact. You’re talking to someone, right?”
Instead, he kept an eye on the woman who’d just walked into the bar. Their target.
Their target, who was a spy. Probably.
Well, he’d snuck into a secret headquarters for a clandestine society of radical anarchist dungeon crawling adventures, for one thing. Everything else had kinda snowballed from there. And before you knew it, an ex-agent was teaching you how to lose a tail and you were getting teleported across the country on stakeouts.
140 nowheresville Texas + jp + Myles + girl spy -> dungeon adventurers = to many cars and people
Parking lot. Too many cars for comfort, too much sun for December, even if it was properly cold. Cracked asphalt, brown weeds growing up through the hard ground with slashes of green every now and then. There was a grocery store that was doing a fair amount of business, a fabric outlet, two coffee shops, a sushi joint, and a mechanic. And then six boarded up empty slots in the dying strip mall. But even still, there were people moving around. A family with three young kids, an old man getting some shopping done, a handful of people eating cake outside the coffee shop, a half dozen cars with people still in them…
140 nowheresville Texas + jp + Myles + girl spy -> dungeon adventurers = to many cars and people ((another women))
Eighteen minutes later - he counted - someone else sat down at the target’s table.
“Huh.” He muttered. He was sitting by the door, but hadn’t seen this other woman come in. Was there a back entrance? He didn’t want to jump to conclusions about this being the kind of arcane society they were hunting after. But it felt weird.
“So good to see you!” The new arrival said. Except, Myles’ ears rejected that. She’d said something else. “Hey there, how ya been!” And “Well hello again old friend!” And… multiple sentences, all basically the same, all layered on top of each other.
140 nowheresville Texas + jp + Myles + girl spy + ((another women)) = UTH OH!
“Well, she doesn’t have a hair color.” Myles said, confused. “Or… skin? What the fuck is the target talking to?!” He was growing increasingly agitated. Something was wrong. The more he thought about how she looked, the more questions his brain fed him about the nature of the woman talking to the target. “Nate?”
“...Leave. Now.” Nate told him. “Telepad out.” His voice was strained.
“That thing you saw,” Nate told him, “it’s the same thing James ran into in the school last year. Probably. The thing they fought was… well, there’s a lot of rumors, and no hard intel. Some people think it’s what happens to people like us after too long. Some people think it’s a god.” Nate filled him in on the creature, relaying as much as he remembered off the top of his head, before ending with, “Either way, we don’t have a way to kill it right now. But… we do have a protocol for dealing with stuff like that, and it’s ugly.”
“What is it?”
“Die quickly, and far away from anyone else.” Nate said grimly.
Even now, it was still training. Myles glared at his teacher for a second, but then ran through his memory of the scene. “She didn’t look like she thought anything was weird. But she also didn’t look happy. So… not working together, probably. The target either couldn’t see it, or was used to it. But she seemed… high school angry. Like she was being forced to do something.”
“Well.” Myles thought. That’s why they’d hired him, after all. To *think*. To find the weak spots and weird bits in the world. “Okay. So, the Old Gun isn’t local, then.” He decided. “And it needs people for something. It sounds like… it sounds like it doesn’t care about killing anyone? Like, it’s not murderous, just that it doesn’t value life?”
140 dungeon -> bathroom
“So anyway!” James cut them off. “Our objective is *this*!” He turned in his seat, and slapped his hand under a printed image pinned to the board behind him.
It was a low resolution image of as far down to the bottom of the bathroom’s spire that they could see. And the single strange thing floating there in what looked to be a bubble of some kind.
“Let me sum up.” James reiterated. “We want to try to get to the very bottom of the bathroom; or at least, as far down as we can see right now. There’s clearly something down there, and I’m beyond curious what it is.”
“Then I’m direly curious what it *does*.” James told him with a rude noise. “The dungeon doesn’t put stuff in places like this for no reason. Or, if it does, then we need to learn that too. So. Enter the bathroom, secure the entry platform, and begin making our way toward the target. Secure it, and leave.”
“How far down is that?” Simon asked.
Anesh cleared his throat. “Assuming no wonky space, rough estimate based on the size of the first platform is that it’s six hundred feet.”
141 alanna + Channy
She’d traded the guns, and everything else she owned, to a man names Channy who was missing as many scruples as he was teeth. In exchange, she’d gotten a ‘92 Honda CRV that had been in two accidents, was missing any sign of ever having had a back seat, smelled like old dirt on the inside, and usually took three tries to start.
It was perfect, it was her glorious chariot that would lead her north, and it had instantly required the rest of her savings to get the leak in the gas tank fixed. Not to mention bargaining and scraping up a few coins to hit up a thrift store to grab a backpack, and a pillow and couple blankets to pad out the back. But *after that* it was perfect, and without saying a single goodbye, she’d hit the road north.
141 EL -> goes home + EL mom = long ramble of EL
The questions came in a barrage of concerned words. El’s mom had had her when she was pretty young, but even still, it always caught El off guard when her mom had more youthful energy than she did. “I’m fine mom.” She sighed, kicking her shoes off while fending off any further assault and trying not to get the melting snow on her socks. “I just… aw, hell. I’m sorry I haven’t called.”
“Go, go! Clean up! I didn’t rent out your room, even though I was *sorely tempted*, believe you me!” Her mother shooed her off. “You can tell me all about your little adventure afterward.”
141 order -> therapists = Lua. Marcy. Spire-Cast-Behind
“He has lost also.” The camraconda reminded him. “But no. Lua. Marcy. Spire-Cast-Behind. Trained to hear.”
“The therapists? They’re… busy, though.” Morgan feebly countered. “I can deal with this myself.”
141 Morgan + Color-Of-Dawn = killed morgan mother
Morgan and Color-Of-Dawn moved at a fairly leisurely pace. The human didn’t really go on walks that often, usually his method of transportation was ‘someone else’s car’ or ‘running’. Similarly, the camraconda didn’t go on walks very often, because being an unknown nonhuman wandering the streets of a modern suburb just wasn’t a great idea in general.
Morgan and Color-Of-Dawn were friends. Largely because they didn’t have to say much to *get* where the other was coming from. Too much kindness made them nervous. Too much introspection did too.
So they were out roaming the dark streets, blowing off some energy, and being alone together for a while.
“*Because I killed her*!” The words came out as loud as the camraconda could make them, distortion playing around the edges of its synthesized voice.
Morgan’s eyes went wide. A split second later, he lunged forward off the curb, rough concrete scraping against cold flesh as he reached for Color-Of-Dawn with outstretched arms.
And almost without thinking about it, his arms reached out to wrap around the shuddering camraconda.
Morgan pulled his friend into a hug.
“I don’t care.” He said.
“But I did.” Color-Of-Dawn spoke at a volume that was almost inaudible. “I did. I am…”
142 old gun -> ((((i messed up to this reference = last boss of high school dungeon = girl / god level abilty = girl in texas JP, myles, nate were spying on a girl and old gun showed up if i remember correctly)))))
“I swear to you, we do not have a timetable.” James said, holding up one hand in a solemn oath. “But yeah, we do have a lot of projects whirling up to full speed. Response, the arcology thing, especially as we start doing more with orange orbs, the infomorph creation thing… yeah, it’s a bad time. Okay, so, the Old Gun is operating out of Texas, huh? That… I mean, okay, I know, the name I gave her is kind of a placeholder, but that fits I guess?”
James blinked at the ex-agent. “I… don’t know why you’re asking me that?” He said. “Nate, I’ve got no fucking idea what the Old Gun is, what she wants, what she can do, or what we’re supposed to do about her. I honestly hoped that we could start off with something simple, like overthrowing the government and taking over the world, and then move onto killing the mad godling.”
142 FBI -> dekay -> missing person case -> asking order for help
“Sure.” DeKay said with a total lack of interest, pulling her hair back into a ponytail with practiced motions as she walked into the kitchen space. “I’ve been asked by my bosses to request your organization’s assistance with a missing persons case. Would you be willing to cooperate on that?”
“Absolutely.” James said, at the same time that Nate said. “No.”
James glanced over at the person who would actually be doing most of the cooperation. “Oh. Uh… no, I guess?” He rolled his eyes. “Alright, why no? I don’t care about the secrecy thing Nate, just tell me what’s up.”
“He doesn’t trust me.” DeKay said. “JP doesn’t either. But JP is also awful, so I’m asking you instead.”
“She works for people who have a vested interest in suppressing and silencing you and your goals.” Nate told James, talking like DeKay wasn’t in the room. “She isn’t your friend, and she absolutely isn’t your ally. The only thing she has to offer is ‘not actively taking away your rights’. Cooperation is a bad idea.”
“A librarian recently found records of people that no one remembers existing, including people mentioned in the records. This sounds like your kind of bullshit, we just want help finding the people. The bureau is willing to offer you full ownership of any ‘dungeon’ you uncover, if that’s the case, as well as your standard consulting fee. You will not be required to participate in any activity that violates your stated ethics, and I will be the AiC with final say on any arrests. With that in mind, it is within my authority to defer to your judgement if I so choose, and I would, if you agree to help.” The words were rattled off more mechanically than a camraconda, like the agent had a script scrolling across her vision to read from.
“He would.” Nate agreed with a slight scowl. “Alright, fine. I’ll task two rogues to it. Give them advice and training as part of the payment. If you need more help, I’ll stay on call to warp on site when needed.”
“Sounds fair to me.” Agent DeKay nodded.
Nate grunted. “It’s not about whether it’s fair. It’s about getting as much out of you as we can.”
142 FBI -> dekay -> infomorph
The federal agent nodded back at him, and they briefly shook hands to settle the agreement. She left the kitchen, and James shook his head with an amused smirk as he noticed the barely manifested spectral hands of the infomorph paired with her, reaching out and snagging cookies and scones out of the breakfast bar.
142 librarian + AiC =
“Two are definitions. What’s a librarian, in spy-speak? Also, AiC?”
“An archivist, basically. Someone who maintains the hard copy records. Most intelligence agencies are a little nervous about the internet, for some reason.”
142 panopticon + nate
“Can’t imagine why, mister ‘I am building a panopticon’. Stop working on that, by the way. I know no one has said this, but it’s a bad idea, and stop.”
Nate grunted in mild acknowledgment. “We’re not really building a panopticon. Just hijacking the one that’s already there.”
142 order -> intelligence department -> rent to hire spies = 7
“*A* god. God-ish. Look, it’s not… oh, whatever. Wait, yes!” James snapped his fingers. “How many fucking spies in training do you and JP have, anyway? You said you’d task *two* to DeKay, and you’ve got one other one in Texas? Is this… is this gonna make payroll worse? We’re already in trouble.”
“No you aren’t, because we rent out our spies at stupidly high rates.” Nate reminded him. “Also we have seven. It’s a work in progress.”
142 Bill + Mark = order 2 new hires
He was joined by two of the trade contractors that had joined the Order recently. Their names were Bill and Mark, and perhaps in defiance of the generic monikers they’d been given, they had surprisingly exciting lives before coming here.
“Yah, I spent, oh, six years on a salmon boat before this? In between doing renovations in the off season.” Bill took a swig of his beer, and cracked a grin. “Alaska is beautiful, and salmon boats honk. So does salmon! You will never get me to eat fish!” He declared. “I have smelled enough fish for a lifetime. Love fishing though.”
Mark hadn’t been taking quite the same bombastic approach to things, but his resume wasn’t any less fun to hear about. “I think the weirdest place I ever wired up was a coal mine.” He told them as the conversation drifted. “Dark, cramped, and you gotta make sure there’s zero chance that anyone accidentally rips a cord down that turns off an air vent and kills everyone. No fun, no fun! I moved out here after that, got into a company that does the electrical for all the state’s school districts. No one dies if I mess that up. And now this, obviously.”
142 camercondas = color patterns on them to tell difference
“What, the snake?” Mark glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. How do you keep track of their names, anyway?”
“They have color patterns, and I have a memory upgrade.” James said. “I meant that she grabbed our dishes.”
142 Battalion chief Herman Harrison = has a son
Battalion chief Herman Harrison was having a fairly normal day, all things considered. The round faced man, past his own prime but still stronger than most everyone he met just by virtue of a life of activity, had basically gotten his daily routine down to a science.
Mornings were checkin with one of his crews. Followed by paperwork, followed by scheduled disciplinary actions if any needed to happen, followed by lunch. He had an office at the largest station house in his battalion’s territory, but he could work anywhere. Firefighters had to pick that skill up.
Herman had no illusion that he was going to end up as fire chief one day. He didn’t particularly want the job; it sounded like his job, but with more paperwork, and less running. And he did still love a good jog, if only to offset the damage from the good chili they had every Friday. But he was *good* at his job, dammit. No matter how many budget cuts or policy changes he had to live through.
Today, he opened the door to his office to see someone sitting in one of the visitors chairs, typically reserved for his son, when they ate lunch together, or his delinquent probies, when they needed a good talking to.
Externally, he got to the point, before the aging firefighter choked to death on pepperoni. “I… Jesus, okay, the fast version. I’d like to offer you help with search and rescue operations, from people who can teleport.”
“Alright, now you’re wasting my precious lunch time.” Herman pointed a thick, scarred finger at the kid who’d snuck into his station just for a joke. “April first is almost two months off. And I’m not laughing anyway. You had your fun, now get out.”
“Alright.” James sighed. “Well, here’s a number you can reach me at.” He set a small card on the desk. “I understand that it’s hard to take at face value, but next time, maybe just ask for a demonstration.” He said, shaking his head as he pulled a telepad out of his coat pocket, tore a page off, and vanished out of the office.
For the next two minutes, Herman stared at the empty chair. Then he got up, stalked over to his door, and popped it open suddenly, rattling the blinds as he stuck his head out into the hallway and looked back and forth. Nothing.
He went back to his seat, picked up the phone, and dialed. His meatball sub was left cooling and forgotten.
“Y’ello.” The smug voice on the other end answered.
“What’s the catch?” Herman asked, bluntly.
“No catch.” James told him. “We want to help. Working with you helps us help. Though, some training for our team members wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe we can use you on a resume or two as a character reference.”
“Can you teleport an engine?” The part of Harrison’s brain that made him a good chief, that optimized crew logistics and found solutions to shortfalls, kicked in. “How about in or out of structure fires? Or just taking people with you?”
“We can take people with us. Getting into a fire is hard, getting out is easy. Moving a truck… I’ll call you back later on that.” James told him.
Harrison didn’t have to think long on it. “I’m in.” He snapped off the answer. “When…”
“Someone who’s smarter than me will make a real appointment with you later this week.” The smile James was wearing was audible over the phone. “And… thanks.” He told the firefighter, before hanging up.
142 order -> response department
The Response division was rapidly becoming more than even his own rather ambitious vision had seen it as. Forty six humans dedicated time to it’s operations, with about a third of those being full time in some way. Twenty two camracondas added to the mix, the majority of their people finding satisfaction in assisting. They had arrangements with three hospitals, and now one chunk of fire department. People were starting to *notice* them.
They were backing off on spreading knowledge of their presence in the Portland area. For now. They were following a good suggestion from Harvey, and pivoting to Ohio. And maybe this would be where they sorted out how they were going to set up branch offices, too.
142 portland, oregeon =??????? is this home city of james?
142 order -> response department = two more fire and rescue people, a CEO of an ambulance company, and four small hospital administrators.
James sighed with contentment as he leaned back into his chair, letting the arm holding this particular burner phone droop limply to the side. He was already tired, and even though it was a good tired, he still had to take care of ‘meetings’ with two more fire and rescue people, a CEO of an ambulance company, and four small hospital administrators.
143 Simon + 2 new cameracondas (unknown hostil)
Behind him, he led two serpent shaped forms on leashes of paracord. A pair of camracondas, one, James noticed, wearing the missing backpack over its head like a hood. The other one with a suit jacket and ample duct tape forming a similar mask.
Neither of the puppet camracondas could see, and therefore use their immobilizing power. They looked, it seemed, about as battered as Simon himself.
“I…” Simon started dryly, before coughing repeatedly until someone got him a bottle of water. He thanked them, and tried again. “I dunno… if they’re prisoners, or refugees, or what. But you’re probably gonna want to telepad them into the secure room.” He said.
144 order -> green orbs = 5th basement + 2 crawl spaces
“Okay, the first thing you need to know is that there’s something wrong with the Status Quo gear.” Reed told James as he stepped off the elevator to their basement.
Their fifth basement.
They’d found the limits of that particular orb. Five basements before it began to have diminishing returns. Which translated to “and then two crawlspaces”. And then an access panel. At that point, they ran out of copies of the orb to use, which was probably for the best anyway. James had netted a total of five and a fifth ranks in horseback riding from the whole thing, the rapidly diminishing returns on the skill ranks mirroring the quick decline on the quality of subterranean spaces pretty well.
Test to destruction. Find the limits. Then abuse those limits.
144 order -> setup of basements
Basement three was still undergoing repairs from where *someone* had punched a hole through its ceiling, but it would eventually be entirely for Research. Basement four had been given over entirely to Response, with James grumbling to himself and anyone nearby as he’d been drafted against his will to help set up the entire monitoring and communications station, *again*, only *bigger* this time. Basements one and two were still a jumbled mess of a dozen ideas, including a gold mine and also some apartments, but they were sorting those out as they expanded.
And basement five, well… it was closest in style to basement two - and boy was James having trouble keeping track of these, augmented memory or no - with a somewhat twisting mess of hallways that half the time dead ended in boiler rooms or janitor’s closets. The lighting wasn’t great either, but one of the new guys was already working on that. The building generated quite a lot of free electricity these days, so getting some better stuff in here wasn’t as difficult as it should have been. Momo and Deb were already talking about converting some of these small storage rooms or old offices into more living spaces, though these ones specifically for their camraconda population that still didn’t have permanent residences of their own.
And then the halls ended, opening into a space that had, the first time he’d been here, reminded James a little too much of the sudden way that Officium Mundi could have a cubicle corridor terminate in a break room, somehow sneaking up on you with stationary architecture.
Someone had set the place up as a temporary shooting range, and since no one was living down here yet, James was gonna allow it for at least a little while. They’d absolutely need this space for something else eventually, and having a shooting range in the same basement as where people were doing actual work was a bad idea without literal magic soundproofing. But for the moment, it was a good place to get some practice in.
144 Hilbert Goerman, professor of epidemiology (male) (hilbart husband has cancer), + Justine Patel, shipping and warehousing consultant (female) = 2 hires of order
The people James was actually meeting were a man by the name of Hilbert Goerman, professor of epidemiology, and Justine Patel, shipping and warehousing consultant. One of them was here because Karen’s pseudo-cryptic email had enticed him, the other was here as a favor to JP, and James hadn’t pried more into that one.
“So, ethically…” James realized how coy he sounded, and tried to adjust, before just giving up. “Would the two of you be open to a part time position running our distribution and public relations in exchange for effective immunity to cancer, and also, like, a salary?”
“What kind of…”
Hilbert cut Justine off. “Yes.” He said, and the tone of concealed desperation in his voice made James think that maybe his experience with cancer was a little more personal.
Justine had a protest, though. “Wait, no, hang on!” She yelped. “I’m not agreeing until I know your thing works! Also, you were talking about magic and you *weren’t* being metaphorical!” She leveled a pointed finger at James’ face, a little too close for him to be comfortable.
“I was, yes. Weird, huh?” James said. “Almost like I am some kind of cryptic wizard.”
“Where do I sign?” Hilbert asked.
“My husband.” Hilbert acknowledged, and then waited briefly to see if James reacted. When nothing came, he nodded in appreciation and continued. “Lung cancer. A life of smoking, I’m afraid. But now…”
James broke his look with a shake of his head, downing the rest of his by now cold drink. “You know, you’re gonna either get along with Momo, or the two of you are gonna kill each other.” He said. “Regardless. Here’s our card. Please, don’t quit your normal jobs. We can get more help, and we *are* running a tight budget right now. But we’d like you to come by and get acquainted sometime next week if possible. And after that, we’ll get started as soon as you’re both settled.”
144 Sandy + Willy + dinner / restaurant
The diner itself was exactly as small-town-diner as JP had ever experienced. There were five foot tall wood carvings of lake fish by the door, colorful kites hanging from the ceiling, and a speckled counter that was so sticky it probably hadn’t been washed in the last century. The smell of bacon grease from the kitchen and rainy mud from the front door filled the space.
Two people worked here, even during this breakfast hour. Sandy, and Willy. They weren’t related, the rhyming names were just coincidence. Sandy was a mid sixties woman with a smile for everyone she liked, and a passion for explaining in detail why she didn’t like some people. Willy was the cook, clearly hated his nickname, and looked like he’d sell his left arm for a telepad out of this place whenever Sandy started rambling.
144 JP + tiff dekay
A year ago, Tiff would have been insulted by the breach of operation security that was ‘discussing your daily investigation in public’. Now, though, she just prodded Debt to earn his keep, and make sure the words spoken didn’t get shared with anyone nearby. “Okay, there’s six places left on our list of points of interest that we might be able to pick something up from. The golf course and country club is probably a bust, since that’d be mostly personal memories, which are clearly being blocked.”
“What’s the last one?” JP asked.
“What?”
“You said six. That was five.”
“That was six. Country club, library, newspaper, motel, bank.” Tiff stopped as she rattled off her mental list. “That was five. Wait.” She pulled out her actual list from her pocket and unfolded it. At the top, a resigned ‘six left’ was written with a small frown face. Six lines of text were written on the page. “Golf, library, news…” she looked up at JP, “motel, bank. Six.” Tiff blinked. “No, fuck, what the fuck? Debt!” She barked out, sending a mental pulse of concern to her greedy partner.
If there was one thing her infomorph ally could be trusted to be, it was irrationally possessive of her mental processing power. So this time, she stared at the page, observing the line she couldn’t read, but had obviously written down at some point. And Debt, pragmatic in its greed, shut out literally everything else.
“Lighthouse.” Tiff spoke aloud. And something in her perception *cracked* as a veil she hadn’t realized had fallen was shifted aside, ever so slightly.
144 order (oregon) -> basement 1 or 2? iff?y which -> green orbs
The gardening one was a bit of a trick. There was a tree down here now. Two trees, actually. Called into existence by one of the green orbs. No one knew what would happen if they died; if it would spawn another tree, or if these maybe couldn’t die because the building was ‘required’ to have trees now. Kind of like how the bathrooms regenerated if you tried to shoot through them. So, to be safe, they were taking care of the duo of trees that now rose up past the balcony in front of the elevators. Rufus also spent a lot of time down here gardening, too. Mostly staples. Also some cacti.
144 order (oregon) -> basement 1 or 2? -> vault -> Kate Williams (mother of Morgan Williams ) + other stuff in vault
This was also the side that led to the vault. Arguably, it was the most secure part of the entire building, even with the upgrades to security above ground. It was where they stored the things of irreplaceable value.
Magic items that were too big to replicate, or that they hadn’t figured out yet. Weapons they didn’t want to just hang on the wall upstairs. A set aside sealed space for captured Office life. The dropped orbs from fallen members of the Order, a memorial to their sacrifices.
And the body of a woman by the name of Kate Williams. Constantly tended to by at least one camraconda, in a sacred vigil that kept her looking exactly as she was the day she’d died. The day they’d killed her.
Morgan’s mother.
144 momo -> AI she created -> interacting -> ohio anomaly
The AI didn’t really follow the rules.
It understood that it was different, too. It could think, it was very smart and it learned nearly perfectly. Mixed with the data downloads from specific sources, the red orbs, and the conversations with the knight that made it, it advanced rapidly. And it did seem to have feelings, or something that was so close as to make the distinction not matter. It didn’t want to be alone, but often counted just knowing where someone was as them being present. It wanted to sort and refine data, but that was something that was part of its initial programming. Momo had offered to take the compulsion away, but it didn’t want that. The AI *wanted* to want it, in a meta way that hadn’t ever been part of its code.
And that was the main thing, really. It had a lot of pieces that were all understandable, but the emergent effects that rose out of those pieces didn’t feel quite human. It wasn’t evil, obviously, but it had taken a lot of explaining to help it understand why it wasn’t cool to put webcams in all the bedrooms in the building. And when it did understand, from a thinking perspective, it asked Momo to add a grown program to it that would make it feel the ethics of consent in a personal way. So as to make sure the data wasn’t lost due to negligence or reset.
That kind of willingness to modify the self, because the creation didn’t actually think of ‘the self’ as having intrinsic value, was strange. And yet, it contrasted with the AI wanting to take time, perhaps a very long time indeed, to decide on its name. Because it wanted something useful, but also suitably self descriptive, and it hadn’t finished processing all of human literature yet.
“I would like to speak. I do not need a permanent data source though I would like one. I require the weather patterns for the southwestern quadrant of the state of Ohio for reference to determine if there is an anomaly located there. I am adjusting to listening. Why are there pauses? What is the linguistic difference between a question, and a sentence that sounds questioning but is not a question, and a rhetorical question? Why are some words pronounced incorrectly?”
Momo had to take a while to read the reply, but after she did, she answered this one out of order. “I’m gonna find an english major, and get them to explain language to you. You’ll get better information that way.” Momo told it. “Also… I need to go tell someone about the anomaly thing. And then get you what you need. So, hold tight, I’ll be right back.”
144 anesh + james + skulljack each other + potion of depression = secret but not secret showing up (i think) = depression is infomorph or anti meme!?!?!
“Yes.” Anesh agreed without hesitation. “Of course I’ll be there for you.” He said, without any reservations. “Do you want to do that now, or do you need a minute?” He asked as he pulled on a bathrobe, found an ethernet cable, and sat down next to James, already clicking the cord into place in his own skulljack.
James was breathing a little faster than he wanted, nervous beyond what he wanted to show. “Uh… yes.” He answered.
“Yes to… oh.” Anesh looked at James with concerned eyes, scooting over to pull his boyfriend down to his lap, running warm hands over James’ back. “Hey. There’s no rush, you know?”
“There is.” James said. “Because the only thing holding me back is being afraid. And I’m sick of it. Let’s go.” His voice strengthened as he spoke, and he reached back to pull his ponytail out of the way, revealing the skulljack on the back of his neck to Anesh.
“Alright.” The new person thought, shared conviction cutting away joint concern. “Let’s see if this works.”
A hand that James usually used reached out and grabbed the little crystal bottle. Took the stopper out, tilted a head back, and downed the whole thing in one quick go.
The collective thought, sourced from that body’s taste buds, was “bloody hell, that tastes fucking awful.”
And then, something changed.
Something in James’ brain. Something physical, mental, and spiritual all at once. A noticeable shift to something different.
The feelings coming from that body into the shared duality shifted. Less anxiety, less worry, less baseless panic.
They smiled together. And then something else shifted. And again, and then again. Changes coming in faster and faster, tiny little shifts to the operation of James’ persona, smoothing out chemical processes in the brain, paving over the jagged edges of old traumas.
And then…
It was like opening his eyes, and seeing he was standing halfway leaned over a precipice. The sky was the color of dead moments, and the abyss below was the depth of a nightmare. And James was *alone*, cut off, and something was going wrong.
Something inside him *changed*. Not a repair, not a patch to something damaged. Part of him shifted into something that *was not him*. And it wasn’t anything to do with his depression, either. It was something personal, something true. And it was an *addition* to himself. Surface level, yes, but he hadn’t given permission for that to change. It was *his*.
James fought back. Dragged himself back from the ledge. But the monster wasn’t the abyss below; it was the thing that had been standing behind James this whole time. Pulling strings, pushing him forward. An abomination that was oddly physical for the dreamspace, with a dozen rending limbs like shark’s teeth, and eyes that were far, far too human to belong.
There used to be a different monster here, James dully realized. But everything that had been his depression had been cut away, and replaced by this *thing* that used that platform as a stepping stone deeper into his mind.
James opened dream eyes, and looked up at the hostile sky, cracked open and rent asunder to make a path for Anesh to crash through. His partner, not a person but an indistinct presence, filled the dreamspace, filled James’ mind. Holding the thing back, but faltering.
James gathered every part of him he had left, and reached out. Grabbed the offered hand. Connected.
One shared mind, half operating in a dream, the other half literal. Anesh dumped into James’ body a snapshot of James’ persona; everything that had been cut off inside Anesh when the creature in the bottle had sunk its claws in. James, in unreality, found his strength restored, his form under his own control. His first strike slew the monster, the next paved over the abyss.
Together, the two of them cracked the sky, and fell backward away from the edge, and onto the bed.
“I think…” James looked over at the crystal bottle sitting placidly on his desk. It was, once again, *full*. “I think that, if you hadn’t been there, it would have removed my depression.” He said, grim certainty giving his voice an iron edge. “And then the rest of me. And then, it would have gotten up, and sold the bottle to someone else.”
“Did… did JP just try to kill you?” Anesh asked, kneeling forward over James’ body.
“I seriously doubt he knew.” James said. “But this is… bad. This is really bad. We’re gonna need…ugh. My skull hurts from the inside.”
144 james = locking up depression potion ? or what is in his head of secert ?!?!
“I’m gonna go find something with a lock on it, and shove this in there. And if we’re lucky, it won’t break out on its own.”
“Oh, so when you said ‘before bed’, you meant ‘before nervously falling asleep to nightmare town’.”
145 myles -> spying girl that met with "old gun" -> spying girl =
“Nothing. Yet. Myles is tailing the woman the Gun made contact with, but so far it just looks like she’s a factory safety inspector for a medical conglomerate.”
145 LSD + skull jack + drone + teleport pads + picking up truck of tomatoes = teleporting massive things.
“So here’s the deal. It has to be ‘you’ carrying it, right?” He didn’t wait for an agreement. “So, you need to have a different body. The notepads come from the same dungeon as the purple orbs, so I’m assuming that the same rules apply. And we’ve already got someone who’s had limited success getting the purples to apply to a drone body.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah, the girl in Research. The one that was helping you with making acid two months ago. Nik?”
“Guy. Also why didn’t I know about this?” James asked. “Wait, is this *about* the LSD?”
“Guy. My bad. And it absolutely is.” Nate worryingly confirmed. “According to some of the support group, the disassociation it causes makes using the skulljacks a lot easier. So, Nik started testing it with the drone controller, and I guess at some point got at least one purple to transfer over. If you *believe* your body is a different body, that’s good enough, I guess.”
“Is it bad that it doesn’t bother me that a good chunk of our organization is dropping acid when I’m not around?”
“It bothers me that they didn’t invite me.” Nate grumbled. “Do they think I’m a narc?”
James snorted, then pointed out, “You don’t have a skulljack.”
“I’ll get one if they’ll share their drugs!” Nate laughed gruffly. “Ah, whatever. Anyway, that’s my point. Use a different body with the teleporters to move stuff. That’s it.”
145 Myriad-Shining-Sparks-Overhead = wants to be called "Myri"
“Three things this week,” she intoned with a smile. The small news was her favorite; it wasn’t a put down, at all. It was the news that wasn’t warping the world, or about impending doom. It was little things, that mattered, that were special, but that weren’t going to kill them all. It was *nice*. “First off, yesterday was the name choosing ceremony for Myriad-Shining-Sparks-Overhead. According to her, she’d like to go by Myri. Thanks to everyone who was there for this special occasion, and hello to Myri for the first time on air!”
145 EL -> home town = Towton, Tennessee
El’s hometown of Towton, Tennessee, was an almost insignificant speck on the map that just happened to be close enough to a real city and a highway intersection that it could support not one, but *two* strip malls. She’d grown up here, escaped to go to college, been dragged back by social gravity over the summer, and then escaped again to go nearly die in an office building on the west coast. Over the years of her life, El had ‘vandalized’ probably a fifth of the non-house buildings in town. Being back was warm and inviting, both literally and metaphorically, in that it was still ninety degrees out in the middle of January somehow, and also that it just felt comfortable to come home and not be in mortal peril for a bit.
145 EL ->home town -> dungeon = her mythic road ‘Route Predation’
El’s hometown also abutted a rift in reality that led to another highway. A place that she had finally given a name aside from ‘the highway’, just before she’d left the Order. El hadn’t been able to stay with them, but she had to admit, their naming scheme was excellent. And so, she’d called her mythic road ‘Route Predation’, and the name had stuck in her head enough that it felt real to her now. And the way the sun was coming down now, the smell of baking weeds and the glazed look of the air over the pavement, it all reminded her of hours of driving the winding hostile roads of that other place.
145 EL + Cindy ? dating? + EL mom confused on situation
Her mom shook her head, and despite not coming up past El’s chin, still gave her daughter a chill feeling that she was a parental figure and maybe don’t speak to her that way. “Well I’m sorry, honey! It’s just not a very believable story, now is it? Paper men and snake things and secret societies? You can just say you broke up with Cindy and needed some time away from home. Though I’m still mad you didn’t call!”
“Mom, Cindy and I were roommates, we weren’t dating.”
145 EL + EL mother + El sister + not 4 dogs of family = no father spoken of
Her mom ignored her pseudo-prayer. “Well, I’m still glad you’re finally home and safe. And, if you broke up with your roommate, maybe you’ll have some time to help me around the house? It gets so lonely around here, what with you vanishing for a whole year, and your sister being away at school. Just me, by myself, in that big old house…”
145 1 of 4 dogs owners = Patterson + dog name = Goldie
Her mom didn’t seem concerned. “The sun’s still up! And they all know me! Mrs. Patterson especially will be glad you’ve tired out Goldie there. I’m so glad you came with me today.”
“Yeah…” El glanced away, not sharing the feeling. “Wait, the golden retriever is named Goldie? Come on. That’s not… you know, I know people who name things professionally. I can call them, we can get better dog names.”
145 EL mom + ice cream shop + EL = phone number of Steve (male) working in ice cream shop
“Hey mom?” She asked, before her mother could get back to talking about learning a recipe for a vegetarian quiche. “Where is everyone?”
Because El hadn’t been through hell and back to get casually ambushed at the end of it. She had eyes, and a general instinct for trouble, and she kept her senses alert even when her mom just kept talking and talking and talking. And it had taken a few minutes for it to click what was bothering her, but now that she realized it, it was a feeling she couldn’t shake.
El grinned slightly. Before she sampled the dessert she was holding, she used her now free hand to see what else her mom had pressed into her hand with the cone. A slip of paper? With… a phone number?
Her mother noticed her noticing, and nodded sagely. “The nice young man in there was kind enough to give me his number for you. You know, since you didn’t meet anyone on your trip. That you told me about, anyway?”
“His name is Steve and he’s *very* nice.” Her mom said.
145 EL father = died ? = EL acting like father
“You reminded me of your father, for a second there.” Her mother’s voice was gentle. Worried. “Any loud noise behind him, and he was reaching for…” She trailed off. “Eleanor, what happened to my daughter?”
“I told you, mom.” El said, not looking at her mother.
145 ava (has secert on her) + Jeanne (ava mother) + El + El mother
“Dogs! Look mom! Dogs!” And a second later, a pattering of small shoes on the sidewalk before the owner of that voice, a girl maybe twelve years old, leapt with both feet to land directly in front of the pack of four perfectly behaved poodles and one flagrantly excited golden retriever. “Hi! Can I pet your dogs?” The girl asked El with a beaming grin.
“Sure!” El replied, unable to keep an answering smile off her face. “The fluffy one is the most fun.” She whispered, as if the other dogs might hear.
From out of the parlor, following the young girl, came a woman who was probably her mother. “Ava!” She called. “Don’t bother people!”
“Oh, no bother at all!” El’s mom replied. “Eleanor, this is Ava and… Jeanne, was it? This is my daughter, Eleanor. She prefers a nickname, of course.”
“Of course.” Jeanne gave a wavering smile in reply.
El’s mom laughed, and Ava’s own mother joined in, still seeming nervous but otherwise happy her daughter was having fun. Ava, oblivious to all of that, just kept trying to give the biggest hug possible to a dog that was basically the same size as her. El, though, went silent, trying not to stare at the little girl, but finding it hard to not be instantly suspicious.
“Alright, Ava, come on. We need to get back to the motel. You’ll find more dogs tomorrow, okay?” Jeanne said. “Thank you,” she quietly addressed El, but also mostly her mom, “she’s been having a hard time lately. It’s good to see her cheerful.”
146 EL + james + (sarah, alanna + momo) = El dungeon = 1 week from now.
146 Rick = order person
Rick looked around worriedly, the new guy seeming a little confused as the other four people in their harvest team groaned in exasperation.
146 dungeon -> cubic office walls = carpet + thin concrete + carpet on other side
There were five of them, moving through head high cubicle walls. They’d learned mostly by accident that the walls here were made of a sort of soft crumbling stone on the inside of their thin carpeted exteriors. Which made it all too easy to be ambushed by things lurking just inside the small rooms all around them.
146 Dark Chocolate Mocha = shellaxy = friendly + eating there orbs when no one was looking.
They pulled two carts with them. The first heavy canvas camping tool filled with a spare medkit, a few extra pieces of kit they might need, a few dozen small yellow orbs, and one friendly shellaxy that had climbed into the cart while they weren’t looking and made Windows startup dings at them when they tried to move it. Sarah had named it Dark Chocolate Mocha. It was eating the orbs when no one was looking.
146 dungeon = second cave found recently (water tank cave seems like)
It wasn’t all they’d be stacking into the cart. They were on their way to another cave that had been scouted out last week, hoping to add to their pile of raw resources that would allow the Order to continue to grow. To hire more people, do more good, make a bigger impact.
146 3 dungeons = attack waves of monsters = 30 minutes
It was, more than the dungeons even, spooky. The dungeons were a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. Officium Mundi and the Akashic Sewer didn’t seem capable of going more than half an hour without a monster attack, even if one of those two places showed radically more restraint than the other. Clutter Ascent, too, didn’t really hesitate to let things get *weird*. There was no thought, as you stood at the top of that attic’s little staircase, that you had stepped into a place of magic and wonder. After all, there were three different skylights showing different skies, all right there.
146 cameraconda (female) = not sure just her or all camerconda = see in the dark
“Sorry, for no lights.” The camraconda hummed at him as they walked. “Construction occurring. Small light?” She offered Anesh one of the flashlights.
“Why didn’t you have these on when you came to get me, instead of just creeping out of the blackness like some kind of shadow creature?” Anesh asked, channeling a bit of his boyfriend into his words.
“Can see in dark.” The camraconda replied without hesitation.
Anesh gave the snake an exasperated sigh, and followed the rest of the way in quiet.
146 asphalt mech + orbs + bunch of boots, glasses, pens, pencils and more
Mundane technologies. The interior of the creation was hollow. It had no head, just a smooth body with two slots inside meant to hold humans. Oxygen tanks, reserve stockpiles of telepad blue orb. Telepads. Rations and medical supplies. Antennas reaching through the skin of the mech to stay in contact with the drone swarm that could provide extra vision outside.
They’d already tested it in part; the LSD trick totally worked. Someone could, without too much work, mistake this thing for their own body. Purple orbs shifted to it, albeit not at a perfect one to one ratio to a human body. It wasn’t a human shell, after all. But enough of them lined up.
The problem was, that person could barely do anything with it, before losing that connection. They’d solved that with someone who’d picked up four ranks in hypnotism from a large yellow. Putting a pilot into a trance, where all they had to focus on was using blues to move their new body, let someone take much more fluid control.
It hadn’t been enough to be functional, though. So, James, who had watched Pacific Rim roughly eight thousand times, suggested this solution. A second pilot, skulljack plugged into the first. Not gestated, just close enough to give mental nudges on what to do. One mind making tactical choices, one mind executing them without distraction. They hadn’t tested that yet; in fact, they’d just finished securing a connecting skulljack cable to an automatic cable winder embedded inside the heart of their creation when Anesh had arrived. Well, that, and the extra oxygen tank. Just in case. Safety first.
146 momo -> unnamed AI = found a dungeon = unamed ai turned into dungeon detector or very scary AI
Anesh sputtered a bit, turning to cover his flushed face. “Alright, *maybe*. Anyway, I came down here for a reason. Momo!” Anesh called the girl out from behind the leg of the humanoid golem they’d been building. “Your program child wants to talk to you. Something about a confirmed intersection?”
“It means it found a dungeon!” Momo said, bursting up from the other side now wearing the coat that she’d thrown under there while the group was working and the poorly ventilated basement storage space had heated up. “Come on, let’s go!”
“I think I’m experiencing a form of burnout.” James casually expressed his worst fear. “Like, there’s just so much magic going on all the time, I can’t process everything, so my brain has stopped getting super into new things. That said, finally having a dungeon detector will be neat, assuming it works.”
It was a mess of numbers James didn’t know the purpose of. To Anesh, it made a little more sense; he’d tried something like this himself a while back. Weather patterns, budget reports, missing persons statistics. But this had more. So much more. Vehicle emissions and average credit card purchases and traffic patterns sourced from local camera networks and every statistic that could be gathered, legally or not.
The thing Momo had accidentally created thrived in the ocean of data. If you asked it how it found something, it would be able to tell you eventually, but the process wasn’t quite like a human. There was no “oh, I *get it* now” moment that set it on the trail. It just looked for patterns, compared them, found averages, found outliers, identified strange behaviors and where they were focused.
146 new dungeon = Alice Springs, Australia
Alice Springs, Australia.
High projected fatality rate.
“This does not fill me with a sense of magic.” James glared at the screen.
146 fredric home -> attic -> dungeon -> fredrick + some sort of chess game
Also to say hi to Fredrick. He’d brought the strange shadow creature a bag of cashews. James had only really encountered the thing once, but Sarah had encouraged people to drop in and say hi. Apparently, the little guy was fond of snacks, and also some kind of game that *looked* like chess, but absolutely was not chess. He’d been challenging people to games when they’d walked through the corridors of forgotten boxes in the attic, and while he didn’t extract any price for a loss, he certainly didn’t have any inclination to actually explain the rules either.
146 fredrick = half spider + board game (james and fredrick)
Also Fredrick was there, halfway through chowing through the bag of cashews that had been stealthily extracted from James’ pocket.
The creature didn’t notice James waking up, and for the first time, he got a good look at it. Or a better look, anyway. It had blurred edges, like a shadow. Some deep blue scale patterns on its stomach, like a midnight salamander, and also shiny black fur that ran down its limbs and back. It had a muzzle somewhere between a gecko and a raccoon, and the way it was eating was *very* raccoon-adjacent. Rolling the nuts it was chowing down on over in its small hands repeatedly before nibbling them to nothing.
It had more hands than James had realized. Six of them, in fact. Its body and legs were, in no uncertain terms, arachnid. And suddenly, James figured he realized why it kept hiding from people.
“You know,” He spoke softly, and Fredrick froze mid-cashew, “we’ve got snakes and staplers and a half dozen tentacle monster computer things on the roster.” James said, watching the knee-high critter nervously fold his extra arms behind his small frame, hiding them out of sight. “What I’m saying is, you don’t need to be nervous just because you’re half spider, okay?”
146 Susan Halliston = old gun met up with + myles been spying on her for 2 weeks now
He’d been tailing her for a couple weeks. Her name was Susan Halliston, she worked for a company called Dow Chemicals in Bayton Texas, and she owned two dogs. Well, her husband owned two dogs. She didn’t like dogs, near as Myles could tell. And ever since he’d gotten a moment alone with her cell phone and had turned it into an always-on audio bug, he’d had a firsthand look at just how bitter a person in the late forties could be.
Susan Halliston did not like dogs, the weather, other drivers, her husband, her eldest and only daughter, the employees at any given drive thru, her job, or, it would seem, herself.
146 lin (female) = order person? or hired spy? unknown assume order person
The thing that was making today awkward was twofold. The first thing was that he’d had to get a backup car on short notice. Another rogue, a girl named Lin that he’d never met, but had known the passphrases that Myles had been given, had teleported into his hotel, and commandeered his rental car for something. She hadn’t said what, and Myles got the impression he was actually still being simultaneously tested and trained by Nate and JP. So, he’d wasted an hour today getting another car, and getting back to his stakeout.
146 lin + Susan Halliston + chemical plant + myles = chemical plant blowing up
146 Akashic Sewer = high school dungeon
The Akashic Sewer was about as disgusting as ever.
There was clearly a pattern to when and why it opened. Or at least, there was that weird fuzzy logic in the back of James’ head that screamed that there was some unknown criteria at play here. Anesh thought there was a much more overt logic, but he hadn’t actually found anything linking it all together. So, for now, they just had Lua keeping an eye out, and sent in a team every time the door was there. It came out to about once or twice a week, and the door tended to vanish when unobserved after a delve was finished.
146 Akashic sewer = better complicated maze
The team had plenty of time to examine the wildlife as they moved, as they were not making good time. Because the biggest change was that the dungeon had warped itself to have more than just straight corridors with the occasional intersection.
Dark pipe filled hallways led to miniature mazes, the walls and floors shifting abruptly to decayed wood and a layer of mud. There was, so far, nothing living here that they hadn’t seen so far. But the hallways suddenly twisted in sharp corners and slight inclines and drops. The two mazes they’d been through so far were simple enough that a toddler could have passed them if they were drawn on paper. But the fact that they were seeing something new grow like this at all was worrying.
146 Akashic sewer = new alcove / feature
The mazes also had a couple of those overly hostile academic questions scrawled on the walls. The group answered them, after explaining to Ethan that they tried to funnel the sparks to a single person so they’d have the most flexibility with the chests at the end. The second maze had another weird feature, too. A small alcove jutting away from one of the side corridors, within which there was a bright blue ring of moss on the floor that glowed like it was radioactive, and a rotting wooden lectern in the middle of it. Though Anesh confirmed the moss wasn’t actually radioactive with the Geiger counter he’d brought along. There was a handprint on the lectern, like they were invited to step forward and touch it.
146 Akashic sewer = nuclear waste pipe?
There was also a weird moment when Anesh’s Geiger counter actually did go off. It wasn’t exactly surprising; James had always figured they should be coming down here in hazmat suits. What was surprising was that the actual range of the radiation seemed to drop off exponentially. It came from one of those gurgling columns of thick liquid that poured out of a breached pipe and down into the floor. And it was *very* radioactive. If you were within a half inch of it, that is. If you were an inch away, it was a little radioactive. If you were beyond that, it was… well, ‘safe’ was a word that got thrown around a lot and probably didn’t apply here. But it wouldn’t cause telomere decay. It would cause nausea, though; even through the mask, James could smell this one, and it smelled like the worst lemon. Overpowering and rotten.
146 Akashic sewers -> arena
The light was from a source this time, instead of just being omnipresent. A massive burning orb hung above the black gravel rectangle that dominated the center of the arena space. Flickering shadows rolled around the walls and ground, cast by the wire fence, the red stone pillars, and the pack of ratroaches standing in the space.
As always, there was a crowd. Fifty, maybe sixty of the creatures, packed close together, many of them pressed against the wire fence around the ‘court’ in a way that made their fur and skin bulge outward. They did not speak, did not utter any sounds, but they made a rattling noise anyway, slamming their weapons against the fence, the floor, and each other, to create the entrance music for the trio. Many of them still wore scraps of human clothing; taken, James knew, from those who had fallen here.
Standing at mid court, there were three ratroaches. Two looked about as ravenous as the rest of the crowd, slavering pink drool dripping from the corners of their misaligned maws. But they stood behind and deferred to the one at the point of their van.
146 akashic sewer -> arena -> leader (was name given before?) = she has leveled up / changed again.
She did not look how James remembered, exactly. Again.
Pale cream fur marked with patches of ridged chitin or exposed skin, as well as pockets of redcapped mushrooms growing out of her flesh. A head with a rat’s muzzle sloping backward into a more rounded skull, with a single uneven antenna coming out of it. She had four eyes, two very small insectile ones up front and two larger, more mammalian ones farther up her face. Uneven with each other, of course. Two arms jutting out of her right side, a third from the left. And digitigrade legs that ended in clawed feet that already dripped blood on the gravel from where they had been torn up.
A mismatched creature. A failure of design. And yet…
She was taller than before. No, not exactly taller. Her back was straighter. Her extra arm more independent, supporting her grip on her spear instead of just flailing with it. The patterns of chitin and fur less raw and angrily infected where they met skin. Her eyes were focused on him. All of them.
146 akashic sewer -> arena = james won + books unknown
146 = 3 dungeons (1 EL road dungeon) (2 unknown dungeons) = 3 teams
Three dungeons. Or at least, three points of interest. One was a sort of known factor, James and Anesh would be tackling that, under the guise of a road trip. Or maybe the other way around. The other two were going to require investigation, and exploration, in new and potentially deadly spaces.
The teams had come together in the end, but there was *fierce* competition to actually be part of them. Especially from the newer members. In the end, it was decided to send two people to each region the old fashioned way, secure a hotel or other space, and then telepad in the rest. Fourteen person crews for each dungeon. Each one containing experienced combatants, members of Research, at least one rogue, and two or three new members of the Order to avoid monopolization of power, and also to get the people who were most excited some field experience.
146 FBI = new task / cold case
Also, while this was going on, the FBI had requested the Order’s help on another missing person’s case. This time not a missing employee, but a cold case that they’d decided to use the Order’s expertise to work though the backlog of. JP and DeKay were on that, bringing with them another pair of the agents in training.
147 momo = not momo
“Okay, well, before we first went to go fight Status Quo, Momo gave me a padlock, and instructions on how to use it. And I got the implication that it was a red item she’d *made*. Mostly because it was one-use, but she still knew how it worked. But I keep forgetting to ask her about it, and part of that is that I haven’t seen her make any more, so I never remember.” James grumbled. “Fuckin’ short term memory upgrade is great and all, but I am still scatterbrained as hell.”
“When could you possibly have talked to Momo that day? The day you and Nate saved Lua and the two kids, right?”
“Right before we left for the school.” James said. “Momo grabbed some people and followed us, got there just at the end. Why?” He felt something, creeping in on the edges of his skin. Something cold, and worrying. “Why?” He repeated, harder this time.
“Okay, I don’t want to worry you, but I don’t *think* that timeline matches up.” Anesh said. “And we can ask Momo when we get back, but I don’t think she’s ever made a red item.”
“Well.” He said, eventually. “Fuck.”
“We should turn around. Telepad back, right now.” Anesh said.
“Okay, think about this. Whoever, whatever that was, that wasn’t Momo, was giving us material aid. If they were hostile, then they’re someone that can warp time as a weapon, and we’re fucked anyway. Unless our defenses on the Lair are enough now. EIther way, they’re either not against us, can’t find us, or it doesn’t matter.” James laughed. A bitter, dark laugh. The kind that could end with tears, if it went too far. But it didn’t, this time. Instead, he just added, “You know, it’s about fucking time we had a god on *our* side.”
147 FBI -> tiff + JP = lighthouse
“Exactly.” Anesh cocked a finger at him. “So, JP and DeKay were at this little yacht town-“
“What.”
“-a town where the main tourist attraction is boating, please let me finish. Anyway, missing persons case, our kind of antimemetics stuff, all that. But the place they found the people was in a lighthouse. Not even kidnapped or anything. Just inside a lighthouse, that no longer connected to the outside.”
“What the fuck?” James opened his eyes and leaned forward, forgoing his nap to engage with the conversation. “How’d they get in?”
“Oh, it’s a place that’s hard to remember, but the records of it exist. They just kinda fumbled through it, and then telepaded out with the survivors.”
“What about the lighthouse itself?” James asked. “Did they get rid of it? Is it a dungeon?”
“Not a dungeon. It seems like it’s something akin to what the green orbs do. Someone made a space special, or added an outside effect onto a place, and then it got… lost. Forgotten. It’s a little pocket of weirdness, and people probably loved it at some point. But now it’s just a Venus flytrap for humans.”
147 alchemist guild
“There’s a worst case scenario analysis, yes.” Anesh frowned. “It’s not good.” He spoke around a mouthful of tomato and lettuce. “But it’s also unlikely that we’re dealing with an exponential crisis. The potion didn’t duplicate. But it did refill. So it seems like what it’s meant to do is take over one person, and then be passed on. Unless it just refilled because it didn’t take on you? But that would be the good option, and you know how that’s been for us lately. Nate has people watching the Alchemists, but there is legitimately no way to know who’s been… um…”
“Hollowed out and filled up with someone else.” James whispered.
“Yes, that. Thanks for that mental image.”
147 asphalt mech (name) or is the momo AI name?= Anton
“...but we don’t make life to be tools. We make tools, to be tools. We make life to… to be our descendents. Our children. Our friends. You know, we could have saved so much time on that dumb asphalt mech idea if we’d just crammed some yellow orbs into it, instead of working to make a pilot system? But then… what are we bringing life to? Creating a person, just to tell them they’re purpose in the world is to be a glorified forklift? Fuck that.”
“And less importantly, but I still *must* know,” Anesh added, “what would you name a golem like that?”
“Anton.” James snapped off the answer.
148 momo sent to Australia -> dungeon momo AI detected
“This is the professional team.” Dave looked uncomfortable this far removed from his emotional support dragon. “That’s why we sent Momo to Australia.”
148 order other team i think they are Iowa. to many people to list
“The ranking system is nerdy and dumb.” Deb, an official knight, cut in. “And also not relevant to what Dave said, which is that yeah, there’s at *least* five groups that’re orbiting this place.”
“Five?” Her girlfriend inquired. “Count please.”
“Well, us. The Old Gun. The woman who went in in the first place, who obviously isn’t on the ‘same team’ as the Old Gun. And now, these other two.” She counted off on her fingers. “And I’m sure we could deal with the human ones, if it’s one at a time, but even with all of us here, I don’t think I trust our ability to take them all at once.” Her voice was tired, but not actually all that anxious about the prospect of open fighting.
148 Jamie = high school intern to the order
Momo and Jamie’s flight landed in Sydney around noon, local time. Where this was on their personal clocks was largely irrelevant, at least for Momo. For the high school age intern to the Order who, by his own admission, hadn’t been out of his home state in his life, the time was probably a little harder to get used to.
148 Maki = order -> intelgeance department
“Can we be called interlopers, too?” The other rogue in the room, a short Japanese American girl who, as near as Myles could tell, changed her name every time she met new people, and today was going by Maki, asked.
148 Matt + Bill = order new hires ?
“Normal’s fucked off a long time ago.” Nate told him. “Alright. Everyone who doesn’t have an assignment, get some rest or some food. We’ll have more to do later. Matt, Bill, you two were quiet this whole time, you got any questions?”
“I don’t think I’m deep enough into this to have questions yet.” Bill said. “But I’m here for whatever you need me for.”
“I’m the hired muscle!” Matt reminded everyone. It wasn’t… strictly inaccurate. The guy had been recruited to the Response program, and loaned out to them by Harvey to get more experience with “the weird stuff” at his own request. He was one of those fringe cases; people who didn’t *clash* with the Order’s ethos, but maybe didn’t internalize it quite all the way yet. Harvey had several people like that, and the idea was to put them on rotation for adventures like this one. Get them some exposure to the people and ideas of the rest of the Order, as well as some mental preparation for in case something went horribly wrong that *wasn’t* normal, and that they’d need people with powers to combat. Only time would tell if the plan worked out. But for now, they at least had someone who knew more martial arts than an orb rank, and was willing to fight with them.
148 new dungeon /old gun = Nate + Myles + Deb + Frequency-Of-Sunlight + Mars + Dave + Knife-In-Fangs + four camracondas + Maki + two rogues + Matt + Bill
148 Dow Chemicals
“Creepy. Good for you.” Nate turned back to the rest of the group. “Mars, if you can, I’d like a more complete report on Dow Chemicals from an information perspective. Turnover rates, if you can find them, any comments from past employees. People post cryptic bullshit online all the time, and I bet if anyone knows about the dungeon, *someone* made a quip on Glassdoor that we’ll recognize.” The young man pushed his hair off his glasses and nodded, already tapping on the laptop he had sitting on the end table. “Dave, you’re with me. We’re going to go check out the building. You can do that voodoo that you and the old delvers do where you guess what it does and then get unnervingly close to the answer.”
148 Sydney + Alice Springs + Adelaide airport = Australia = momo and Jamie
Momo and Jamie’s flight landed in Sydney around noon, local time. Where this was on their personal clocks was largely irrelevant, at least for Momo. For the high school age intern to the Order who, by his own admission, hadn’t been out of his home state in his life, the time was probably a little harder to get used to.
Not that Momo actually got used to it, she just didn’t sleep much.
Alice Springs didn’t have a major airport, but it did have a private airstrip nearby, mostly for hobbyists, and the Adelaide airport had irregular short hop flights out there. Irregular because you either had to plan in advance, or get lucky and hitch a ride. Momo had been in favor of rolling the dice, and going with the adventure, because of course she was. Karen had booked them a charter flight without asking. Since the alternative to a flight was a thousand mile long road trip that would likely rival James and Anesh’s vacation, Momo didn’t complain too much. At least, not while Karen was within earshot.
148 pilot -> older lady = 4 seater airplane
“So! Whatcha in town for?” Their pilot called back to them as they stashed their limited luggage under the seats of the little four-seater prop plane. She was an older lady, with a bun of grey hair and hands that looked like they’d spent fifty years perfecting the controls of the craft.
148 austriala dungeon = momo + Jamie + Sarah + Ethan + Alex + Morgan + Color-Of-Dawn + Chevoy + Texture-Of-Barkdust + Diego + Elizabeth (Liz) = JP and FBI tiff dekay = got hurt and not showing up for this trip
Momo nodded, and got back on track while that social disaster unfolded. “Alright. Welcome to Australia, again. So. Here’s the deal. Somewhere, within or nearby this small town, is a dungeon. If, *if*, we are *very lucky*, then it’s going to be in one of the twenty art galleries in the downtown area. So! We’re gonna take today to relax, get settled in, get some food, and then tomorrow, we’re going to start poking around and seeing if we can get any signs around here.”
“And when we find nothing?” Texture-Of-Barkdust asked, mouthful of peanuts not impeding their speech at all.
“I figure we give it a week?” Momo shrugged. “Half of us have that weirdness sense. And I figure that wandering around town with camracondas asking wizard questions will at least be a starting point for flushing out anyone who has a starting point.” She looked over at the two new people who had shocked looks on their face. “Jamie, Diego, you guys…?”
148 order stay home = Daniel + pathfinder + karen + JP + tiff dekay + Nikhail + Reed + 30 camercondas + response team + research team + Davis
148 A few camracondas had chosen to move out of the Lair, to live with humans they’d formed a close bond with
They needed more and more living space, it turned out. Even if it was just temporary rooms for on-call Response agents and the camraconda population. A few camracondas had chosen to move out of the Lair, to live with humans they’d formed a close bond with; none of them had chosen to live on their own so far. And many members of Response, especially the newer recruits, didn’t live it as a lifestyle, but instead showed up for shifts and left when they were done.
148 infomorpths in general
“Right. So, what’s different, between Curious, and, say...Pathfinder? Or Planner? Or that one that died off after a while that kept me from using weaponry?”
“I mean, all the other ones you listed didn’t start with names, for one thing.” Anesh shrugged from the driver’s seat that he was currently occupying. “What’re you getting at?”
James, slumped forward in his seat so his head was right against the air vents, made an affirmative grunt. “Mostly that.” He said. “They started out… small? Narrow, maybe. Not *simple*, because they weren’t simple concepts. They were actually incredibly complex and relied on layered levels of context. Path was just ‘a map’. Planner was a compulsion to frame the Office as a job and be on time on certain days. But Curious? Curious was just… that. A word, a broad idea, and every piece of baggage that came with it, all at once.”
“So, you think the way to make an infomorph-“
“Safely, anyway.”
“-Safely make an infomorph, is to create something that’s so narrow it’s kind of meaningless, and then just let it grow into what it’s gonna be?” Anesh asked.
149 james = mentioned his dad for first time i believe ?
“First off, don’t question my car child. Second, I wanted to take a vacation. Third… no, no third. Just those. Road trip! Across some mountains.“ James replied, still grinning as he tapped the roof of the car. “Wait, I thought of the third one! My dad *had* a late nineties convertible! It was the worse thing in the world to ride in. I don’t think they’d designed ‘seats’ back then.”
149 EL + ava = ava states EL is a wizard (see previous chapters way back)
“Nope.” El shook her head. “I mean, there might be people missing? It’s hard to tell. The town is kinda small, but I really don’t know most people, especially since I’ve been gone a while. And nothing weird is going on, except the one kid that no-scoped me as a wizard.”
149 road dungeon = parts info
Now it was Anesh’s turn to have a headache. “Okay, fine.” He conceded, not wanting to get into a debate on how the dungeons did what they did right now. “How do you know what they do? Do you have a spell for that, too?”
“Nah. When I find the altars that have parts on them, what they do is carved into the stone around them.” El walked back around the side of her car and settled herself down next to one of the manuals, holding the metal rod in her hand in different directions to try to puzzle out which orientation she needed. “Also, I really want to finish this before it gets dark, or my brain forgets what I was working on.”
EL mom -> walking dog -> Ingrid = small car itself in size
“Yeah, no problem.” James cut off his boyfriend who was, presumably, about to object to mystic words carved in stone altars. “We need to-“ His words were interrupted by a loud bark, the kind of deep friendly greeting you got from a dog that was the size of a small car itself. He glanced over, and noticed an older woman walking something with about as much grey fur as a woolly mammoth. “-pet that dog.” He finished.
“Ah. Hi mom.” El looked awkward.
“Hello honey! Are these two bothering you? I can sic Ingrid here on them!” El’s mother said with perfect cheer.
149 order (oregon) -> basement -> old vault = 4 new observation rooms from old vault = Nikhail
He was speaking about Nikhail, who was presently occupying one of four observation chambers that Research had remodeled into.
Previously, the basement they were in had held what could best be described as a ‘vault’. And they still had secure storage down here, to be sure. But with the help - or perhaps better to say, entirely with the hard work of - some of the new members of the Order who were well versed in construction, the vault had been refitted into a series of four rooms. It wasn’t too much different from an observation room at a hospital, really, which was where they’d partially stolen the idea from. Locks and light controls on the outside, viewing windows, and a slew of measuring devices to check for anything ‘off’ inside the chambers.
149 camracondas = own basement
Reed had wanted something like this, since before they’d started actually trying to work with infomorphs more. But it was only now that the camracondas had their own home floor, and a more dedicated place of worship, that they had moved their most precious artifacts out of the vault and given Research space to start messing with things.
149 order (oregon) -> basement -> old vault = 4 new observation rooms from old vault = two ‘wild’ camracondas
Another room contained the two ‘wild’ camracondas that Simon had brought back about… oh, a month ago? They were visited frequently by other camracondas, who did their best to establish communications with their brethren. But despite being outside the dungeon’s reach, the new arrivals were randomly hostile, and didn’t seem to understand communication in the same way the older ones did.
149 order -> response -> de-escalation
“Hmm.” Reed glanced down at the readouts Davis turned his way. “Tomorrow. Just in time for the deescalation classes with the new Response members.” He looked up and met Davis’ eyes. “If we’re all being sort-of punished for being reckless, Nik gets the extra condescending version of that.”
149 order (oregon) -> basement = each basement has a stairs going in/out of it, besides the elevator
“Yeh, every basement has stairs. How have you not noticed this?” Reed folded his arms and leaned his hip against the desk. “Did you think the basements were just huge fire hazards with only one exit?” Davis opened his mouth, and Reed cut him off, “Don’t answer that. Take the stairs. It’s easy once you figure out which staircase goes where.”
149 iLipede = up to mischief of burning through status quo bracers and going through stored charges
“Do you ever feel like there’s too much going on around here?” Davis asked, sounding tired, almost to the point of numbness. “How are we supposed to keep up with everything? Like, oh, hey, you know how we have an iLipede that can tell us where a given thing was produced? Well, for obvious reasons, we gave it one of the Status Quo bracers. Did you know that iLipedes can - and will! - set the bracers to intercept dust motes and burn through all the stored charges to see the lights?”
149 issues with skulljacks =
“That’s cool? Also, Sarah has a podcast? That might help. And I bet she’d love to know that.” Reed offered, but then shook his head. “Hell if I know how to keep up on everything. Hey, here’s something else fun. Did you know that the camracondas can have memory problems if their voices or arms get unplugged suddenly? Not, like, serious ones or anything. But they forget faces and names and stuff for a few seconds. Until someone snaps them out of it, I guess? We haven’t looked into it too much so far, but that new hardware guy, Mike? He’s concerned about it. Specifically, he’s concerned about brain damage.”
“Oh yeah, that can happen to people, too.” Davis nodded. “Learned that in the support group when someone tripped on a router during a meeting. Weird two minutes where a couple people puzzled out that they were married.”
“Were they?”
“Not at the time!” Davis replied. “I think they’re engaged now? It’s hard to-“
149 EL home town -> motel -> room 7 = james + anesh + LOTS OF CARS IN PARKING LOT
“Yeah. Room seven.” James tossed him a key which his boyfriend had to fumble for. “Fuck, I forgot to ask about all the cars.” He grumbled, navigating through the dense line of vehicles in the parking lot to get to the little sidewalk that led to their room. “Place is clean at least!” James happily pointed out.
149 youg girl 10-11 yrd old -> states hello to wizard = is this ava ?
James caught the ricochet of the ball under his foot, balancing with a duffel bag in one hand, and a suitcase handle in the other, trying not to step too hard on the toy. A second later, he spotted the kid it belonged to as a young girl came scampering out from between the cars. She was maybe ten or eleven, wearing a light coat with the hood up even in this heat, and James saw her eyes get wide as she looked at him. “Careful!” He said, pushing off with his foot and rolling her ball back toward her. “Lotta cars around here, don’t wanna get run over.” He informed the child.
“Yes sir, mister wizard.” The girl said meekly, not meeting James’ eye at all before she grabbed her ball and sprinted away back between the rows of weathered pickups and beat up camaros.
149 order (oregon) -> basement -> gold vein = gold + quartz + pyrite
Also Karen had been informed that the Lair had a vein of gold. Specifically, lodes of the stuff, formed in sizes well beyond what was normal. Karen had checked. It seemed as if someone had looked at what a standard native metal deposit of gold would look like, saw that it had a lot of quartz and pyrite in there, and just shrugged and replaced all that extra stuff with *more gold*. It was preposterous, it was *quite* extensive, no one really minded the noise of drilling into the growing tunnel, and Karen refused to rely on it.
It was, she knew in her gut, going to run out. It would help, absolutely. It *was helping*. The undoubtedly and perfectly understandably suspicious smelter that Karen had contracted to dispose of the ‘waste’ silver from the cooler caves could handle gold just as well. Though it being unregistered and in such large quantities would become suspicious to other parties in short order, and he advised her to look into distributing who she sold to, even if only because he couldn’t keep liquid assets available to soak too much more.
149 emerald chips = grew programs for order / scheduling + selling the software / program + free lancer + website
There was also the business software the first generation of chips had finished growing, the digital seeds and their carefully balanced inputs cracking open to reveal highly specialized tools that a good management team would find invaluable. At least, that was the sales pitch. It wasn’t even a lie; the tools were things the Order had made for itself, to direct their energetic chaos as effectively as possible. And while it was a little strange having to tell a program when you *liked* to sleep, and also when you *felt best having slept*, as if those were different things, Karen couldn’t deny that their scheduling application was eerily on point when it came to assigning knights and aspirants to groups.
Where the sales pitch ran into reality was a problem. For one thing, a lot of elements like scheduling had become harshly simplified with the pandemic for a lot of companies. And for larger corporations, they used in-house software that didn’t work very well, and didn’t care. For another, it was simply very hard to justify the expense of a piece of software to a company that wasn’t actively shopping. And it only took a few attempts before Karen and her assistants had come to the joint conclusion that sales calls were shit and no one should ever have to work a job that involved taking or making calls all day, and had just hired a local freelancer to make a professional website that was easily searchable and could accept credit cards for product keys.
149 high school dungeon = samples of fungi + molds + liquids + other
Many of the world’s most useful medicines and chemicals were derived from plants or fungi that were, at first glance, horribly lethal. Not from the actual glance, that was a dungeon thing, not a reality thing. But they were fatal to smell, to taste, to touch wrong. And even beyond that, the discovery of new species of biological life pushed human science forward one more step.
Mushrooms and spores, insects, liquids that defied normal physics… maybe they could leave that last one alone for now. But here, perhaps, there was a chance to contribute to human progress, and collect a finder’s fee in the process.
She started looking into how one would go about capitalizing on discovering a new and hostile species of mold. Then she purchased a few hundred sample vials online, and began formatting another list of delver equipment.
There was a delve scheduled for Friday, three days from now. She’d talk to some people before then to make sure. And then, all things working out, maybe they could find something that would be a lot more reproducible than the anti-cancer purples.
149 alanna -> finds out she has = wallet of holding + alanna was heading west to something she felt
At a certain point, after one particular odd job that wasn’t crime based, Alanna made the bizarre realization that her wallet was bigger on the inside. She’d stared at it for an hour; not in confusion, but more hoping that it would help her uncover some clue in her memory. But just like with her inability to overheat or her power to sense emotions, it didn’t do much aside from be a highly useful tool to an aspiring master thief. She could fit a ton of granola bars in there. And granola bars didn’t care if they were broken in half by the wallet’s fold.
Alanna was heading west.
149 EL road dungeon -> getting in, you just gotta feal it and ready for a drive, ready to go!
“It is weird. Shut up.” El bit back. Then she took a breath, and in a storyteller’s voice, explained. “There’s a feeling that you get when you’re running away from everything.” She said, staring up at the fraction of the moon hanging over the horizon behind them, a white wedge over a field of glimmering lights from a distant city. “A feeling where you don’t know exactly where you’re going, but you’re excited to be moving. You could probably give it a name, like the call of adventure or something like that, but don’t. This isn’t the kind of thing where a name helps, where words really help. This isn’t your kind of art.” She glanced back at James and Anesh, who were giving her solemn looks. “You get into the Road by not thinking about what’s behind you, or what’s ahead. You get there by just being a traveller.” She cracked a smile. “And, you know, *here*, at 2 AM on a warm night. Gotta be a warm night, always.” El told them with a raised finger.
“It’s a pretty damn warm night.” James agreed.
“So, yeah. I’m not great with this kinda stuff. But I don’t think I should tell you what’s in there. Or you’ll be looking forward to that, and not… being. Here.” El shrugged. “I think I can lead you in, but you’ve gotta be at least a little lined up right with the door. As for what’s over there… I mean, it’s a road. And some monsters and stuff. I’ll show you when we make it.”
“Alright.” El said. “It’s about time.” She didn’t check her clock. Didn’t need to. As near as she knew, the door here opened when it *felt* like it was time, not according to any actual timekeeping device. “Let’s go.”
She didn’t waste any more time. It wasn’t with impatience or a hurried rush that she slid into her driver’s seat and started her engine. After all, if it was a hurry, El probably wouldn’t have taken the time to roll down the windows and fiddle with the bass on her radio. No, it was just that she felt like she wanted to get moving, so she did. No real need to waste time chatting any more, when she could instead be flying across the black ribbon of road stretching out into the night.
James and Anesh weren’t quite so elegant about it. Anesh fumbled his seatbelt the first couple times, and James couldn’t get his heart to stop pounding so loud he could hear it.
“You know.” James said, in the quiet interior of their car, lit up by the furious red of El’s tail lights. “I didn’t think I’d be this nervous when we started?”
150 james -> dream + "The Right Person, At The Right Moment" = infomorph = helped with high school dungeon with padlock and showing up as momo during the time
The Right Person, At The Right Moment laughed softly at the narrative. “Ware.” It told him. “You might not like it if *that* defines you forever.” It said. It was still wearing Anesh’s eyes, but they went on for miles and miles, years and years, of tired trials.
“Why are we in my dream?” James asked, barely brushing his thoughts against the thin cage of sleep.
The figure across from him gave a small shrug. “There aren’t many places around you in the real where it’s safe for me to be.”
James turned away from it. The game was still in progress. He could think more about it now, but his eyes drifted back to that one piece that he couldn’t know. “What happened to them?” He asked.
“They did the right thing.” It said, shaking its head. “Idiot. Picked it up from someone they met once.” And then, in that quieter sad echo, they added, “You know why you can’t think about them?”
Thoughts ticked in James’ head. His physical mind was still a limit, and how fast time was working here was up in the air. But his physical mind was still pushed well beyond human normal, and it didn’t take him more than a few subjective days to make the connection. “Because they’re an infomorph.” He said. “I can almost remember them. Wouldn’t that… bring them back?”
“Yes.” The Right Person, At The Right Moment said. “And you are so, so close. Now. Ask the next question that I’m thinking.”
“Back from where?” James whispered.
“From a next life. From a sister that loves her. From a new start.”
“You gave me a lock once, didn’t you?” James asked.
A languid nod, another little affectation that didn’t belong on Anesh. “I did.” The other said. “It was something you needed. Not quite sure why, but that’s the way it goes more often than not.”
“I’ve been wondering about that.” James was curious about the details. “I could have made it without the weapon. Unless I used it wrong? Or at the wrong time? I don’t understand why that, why then.”
A truck rumbled past outside, past the door that went nowhere, out in an imagined street that didn’t exist. “You could have made it.” It nodded at him. “I never have all my own answers, you know. All I know is that you needed it. Since the knots worked out, that means you used it well. That’s all that matters. Sometimes, it’s something small. One extra bullet, plus or minus, can tip the scales.”
“Is that what you do?” James questioned.
“Tip the scales.” It nodded. “Little things. It matters more than you’d think. Big picture stuff here.”
150 "The Right Person, At The Right Moment" + 288 people infomorph sides with
“Are you on our side?”
“You barely have a side.”
“Not an answer.”
“I don’t have one side.”
“How many sides are you on?”
“Two hundred and eighty eight. Eighty seven, if today ends badly.”
“They’re… all like me?”
“No one’s like you. You’re something new. Even I don’t know what that means yet. But yeah, you’re one of the sides I’m pulling for.”
“There’s something you’re not letting me… ask.” James felt a pressure in the back of his head. His actual, physical head, not this projection in the dream. “What are you doing here?”
“I came here to help you let go.”
“That was before. Why are you still here?”
“Waiting to see if you can do it.”
“Do what?”
“Ask.”
150 "The Right Person, At The Right Moment" = asks for help
Anesh stepped into the dream through the skulljack link, wide eyed, instantly aware of the dream logic that was going on, and *furious* to see an intruder wearing his face, holding James’ spirit by the throat.
“*What do you want*?” Anesh demanded of it.
The Right Person, At The Right Moment could have cried, or laughed, in equal measure.
It grinned, a wild, manic smile that split the false face it was wearing. Around them, the dream was coming apart. The walls of the motel were just *gone* when no one was watching. Chunks of things and conceptual objects vanishing without focus as the two partners began to truly wake up. “For the first time in four hundred years...” it gasped the words as the dream dissolved, “I can say… that I want you… to...” it stumbled to its feet as the last of the furniture departed, leaving the three of them standing in a circle of white light in the middle of eternity, “*help me*.” The last words came out in a hiss of panic, as it reached out for James, a pleading look in those old tired eyes.
And then it was gone.
150 EL road dungeon
James and Anesh whooped as the world around them lit up. They’d made it. And were also partially blind while their eyes adjusted.
“El could have maybe warned us about the *bloody sun*.” Anesh had an arm in front of his face as he yelled. James had no such luxury, just trying to keep his watering eyes open enough to stay on the road. He wanted to respond that he suspected this dungeon had a softer form of antimeme, which was why El couldn’t explain that much. But when he tried to form words, it just came out as a pained growly noise.
150 EL road dungeon = EL + james + anesh = under some memetic effect
“So, El’s absolutely under some memetic effect.” James said as they got moving. Anesh stayed in the back seat, crouched in the middle of the car so that he could react quickly to anything. They’d planned out their general engagement strategy, at least. “And I think we might be too. Why didn’t we prepare more?”
150 old gun + "The Right Person, At The Right Moment" = both once human?
“Well the Old Gun made it clear she wasn’t allowed into dungeons.” Anesh settled back, resting his arm against the headrests of the back seat. “So at least we’re *pretty sure* we won’t be overheard here.”
“It was in my head.” James said quietly, hands tightening on the wheel in a motion that had nothing to do with his driving. “How long has it been there?” He wondered. “It knew about… fuck, it knew about everything. I could feel it. It’s like *her*.”
Her being the Old Gun. Something that looked human, but no one who saw it thought that was anything but a nostalgic affectation. And the Right Person, At The Right Moment, was like that.
“Well, I feel like this is a really good post hoc argument for why we were right all along about that.” Anesh said dryly. “Both of them are obviously tied to the dungeons, and both of them are *absurdly* powerful. I think this is just a little more evidence into the basket for the theory that they used to be human, and pushed that a little too far.”
150 dungeons overall
Ever since experiencing the heart of the Akashic Sewer, the Order had been attempting to figure out if that was something present in every dungeon. It wasn’t a good idea to make a judgement based on just one point of data, but there was fringe evidence to support the fact that dungeons had something akin to a central vital point. Evidence like the existence of defenses; defenses that were frequently balanced out with prizes, but even then, the existence of the prizes could be a sort of evolutionary solution to getting delvers to keep a dungeon alive rather than kill it.
Their working assumption was that dungeons *were*, in some way, physical. Which meant, in some way, vulnerable. Which made the different layouts, life forms, and dangers of every dungeon very interesting, because it meant that in some way, anything could be a defense of that vulnerability.
150 EL road dungeon = exiting
After a few miles, James felt the adrenaline wearing off. His legs started hurting with a dull throbbing pain, and he started to worry that he’d broken something in the fall. A part of him, as they headed back to the breach to reality, felt a little cheated. Five hours, and more still to go to actually leave this place, and what did they have to show for it? A few pieces of maps that might be magic, a weird humming gear, and a more bruises than they’d started? He could see why this dungeon’s defense worked; he wasn’t feeling particularly motivated to come back.
151 EL road dungeon = exiting
Reality was still dark as they drove out into it, despite having spent well over twelve hours in the dungeon.
Once again, they parked by the side of the road, this time after James narrowly avoided hitting an innocent skunk. The three of them stretching out after the long trip, James and Anesh stripping off armor plates they’d been wearing for a full day of car travel.
151 EL = forgets 2 others = EL been in road dungeon longer than she knows? = EL road dungeon no infomorph
“But you can feel it. There’s no infomorph there. There’s no urge to keep it secret. It’s just on El. Which means she picked it up on a delve.” Anesh shook his head, staring down the dark road that El had left by. “She’s too comfortable here.”
“She’s been doing this longer than she knows.” James surmised. “Or, no. That’s not right. She knows how long she’s been doing this. She just isn’t seeing it. Anesh, she *knew she could split the velocity gear with us*.”
“Threes.” Anesh stated.
“The… mana amount?”
Anesh rolled his eyes. “No, threes. It’s a thing the dungeons like. Groups of three. You, me, Alanna. The three kids at the school. Even now, we have rotations of three people hanging out in the attic, we delve the Sewer with three person teams. Why? We’ve broken the habit in the Office, but-“
“But that’s not normal. We’re doing something *different*.” James jumped in. “And now here’s El. El, who was *already* paranoid when Alanna and I came through here the first time. El, who knows the dungeon so well, but can’t talk about it. El…”
“Who’s the last one left.” Anesh finished. “El, who survived her friends.”
“And forgot.”
“Let’s kill this one.” Anesh suggested.
151 EL road dungeon =
It was maybe 2:30 in the morning when James stopped the car on the shoulder of that hillside road. Time dilation in the dungeon had flagrantly messed with their sense of time; twelve hours in ten minutes or so was a much larger gap than the Office usually gave. He still hadn’t said anything, and Anesh was starting to get worried when he pulled the car over and parked by a dented metal guardrail. With tired movements, James popped his door open, and stepped back out into the night.
151 dungeons + patterns of 3 + status quo leader
James snorted. Of course he wasn’t. That was the problem. But still. “I think I might actually believe in fate, as a concept.” He said. “Or something like it. There are currents, around the dungeons. Things we’ve seen, things we know, that we can’t ignore. The three person team is part of that. But there’s more to it. The organization. Did you know what we found in the old Status Quo files? The administrator was like me.” He said it quietly, and didn’t falter, but the recognition of that truth hurt him almost physically. “He started the organization with two others. One of them was dead before we got there. One of them was dead after.” James pressed himself into Anesh’s side, not looking at his partner. “We’re not new, not special. It’s all patterns.”
151 order -> response department = reed =
The real public image problem, Reed decided, was that people didn’t have an easy way to know that Response was legitimately there to help. Or to have a fallback of reporting any actual problems with Response members.
Reed was halfway through sketching a design for a website for them when he realized this may be something he’d need to seek approval for. Learning from past mistakes, both his own and Research as a whole, Reed dialed it back a bit, outlined a plan, and made a note to talk to Karen and Harvey when they had time.
Then he had a brilliant idea, completely forgot to stop being reckless, and made a note for the next Office delve to duplicate as many of the laser pointers that broadcast emotion as possible. Before that idea had even settled, Reed was writing up a proposal for creating some kind of public face infomorph to automagically propagate accurate information. By the time he’d realized that was probably going to end badly, he was half an hour late to check up on Nikhail.
151 Nikhail + authority is mixed with ?
Though as far as anyone could tell, Nik was fine. He also wasn’t alone. There absolutely was a non-physical life living within him, in some way. According to Planner, who Reed had scheduled some time with to get a second opinion, it wasn’t the same as an Office infomorph. A different texture, a different function. It was very likely this was a larval form of the Authorities that Status Quo had used. But how Nik could communicate with it, what it could do, or even what or if it wanted anything was still unclear.
151 Australia-> dungeon = mountain that disappears to everyone but liz = Antimeme
“It’s a climb *down* though, right?” Elizebeth asked, worried that her legs wouldn’t survive. “We’re not going up the mountain?”
Chevoy and Morgan both shot her the same kind of confused look. “We’re at the top of the mountain.” Morgan said, in that voice that teenagers mastered early that clearly added the phrase ‘you moron’ at the end.
“What? No. There’s a whole… that one.” Liz turned and pointed east, yet farther away from the city, to where the flat hill they were on rose up further to an imperious double peaked spire of earth so tall it was capped with snow. “I mean, I know it’s probably Momo and Sarah who will go all the way up, since there’s no official park trails there.” Elizebeth continued. “But isn’t that the direction we were going today?”
The other three were all staring at the mountain. “What the fuck?” Morgan muttered.
“What the fuck!” Chevoy yelled. “Where the fuck did that come from?!” The woman jabbed an accusatory finger at the landscape. “How the fucking shit did we get ambushed by *geography*!?”
Color-Of-Dawn pivoted to look at Liz. And then said, calmly, “I, too, am ready to return.”
“There’s something making you all forget.” Liz half sobbed to the camraconda.
“Ah.” The serpent nodded once. “Antimeme protocols.” It announced to the group loudly.
“Shit, okay.” Chevoy said, kneeling down next to them. “Liz? What do you need from us?”
151 james = still in a dungeon ?!?!?!
James snapped forward, eyes wide and worried.
It felt like when he and Dave and Alanna had led the escape from the Office. That odd feeling in the air. It felt odd, because it didn’t feel *different*.
It felt like he was still in a dungeon.
152 LOTS OF REVIEW INFORMATION AND UPDATE INFORMATION
152 FBI => tiff dekay
To : Deputy Director Duchene (c_duchene@fbi3.gov)
From : DeKay (liVi24Aax4@yesmail.temp)
CC : Office of Insider Threats, Department of Information Technology
Subject : Case Update - OOER
The Order has continued to expand their operations, though not outside of what has already been decided is acceptable. They are almost insultingly up front on what they consider to be counterintelligence operations, and in my opinion, they lack the capacity to hide any larger plans that haven’t already been openly discussed.
Their response program is worrying, because it is showing itself to be effective. What was initially thought to be their group play acting at being heroes is turning out to be a prototype of a potential large scale replacement of local law enforcement groups. Their report logs are attached, for review and assessment of if this represents a disruption beyond what is acceptable.
Their funding appears to be coming from a renewable supply of precious metals. I’ve consulted with the white collar department, and they say that it shouldn’t be enough to flood the market yet, but that’s a big yet. Debt requests we be allowed to take a cut of the resources. I request you say no
On that note, I would like to remind everyone again that non-human, non-physical creatures do exist, and can hurt us, and that the analysts that are supposed to be looking into this have once again stopped returning my emails. If this keeps happening, I’m going to let Debt eat their credit scores as a warning.
As for my updated assessment of the situation as a whole; things are going to get out of hand quickly. The Order is, unintentionally, creating a culture that doesn’t respect normal power structures, and has the firepower to back that up. I doubt they would initiate violence, and I don’t think we need to worry about them taking terrorist actions at present, but their plans are going to cause disruptions. Those disruptions could lead to loss of American life and property, and should be critically looked into. Files are attached for the insider office to look over.
Recommendation is to use soft pressures to destabilize and break up the organization over the next year or two. Evidence shows that direct confrontation doesn’t work, and they’re only getting tougher as time goes on.
Personally, I would like to request a raise. I’ve put in more field work here than I have in the last six years working white collar crimes. I’m a desk agent, not a spy. It’s already enough of an effort to make sure they can’t read my emails.
|Debt agrees with me about the raise.
-DeKay-
153 miss chase = EL mom
“Thanks for the bacon, miss Chase.” James spoke politely as he devoured the fried food on his plate.
153 EL + hostile infomorph in her head
“I was having breakfast.” He defended himself. “Look. We’ve got bigger problems than this. El, we need to talk about actual tactical problems. There’s something wrong in this town, and we need to break that hostile infomorph you’ve got in your head. And I want to finish my coffee. So, while it’s clear you and your mom have some issues to work out, can we please deal with the bigger problems first?”
153 order -> response department -> 3 new operators = (1 of 3) Marcus + Dr. Amy Morris (vet) + missing large cat of order
“Emergency Response, are you in immediate danger?” Marcus recited the words calmly. As calmly as possible, anyway. Two years voulenteering at the Suicide Prevention Hotline, and a lifetime living in what other people would call ‘a bad part of town’, had left him capable of faking calm at the worst of times. And working here certainly wasn’t the worst of times.
“Oh. Oh no, I was...calling because I think I found your cat?” The woman paused. “The big cat.” She ‘explained’.
“Oh. Damn, sorry.” The woman sighed nervously. “I was hoping this was how I could get in touch with Deb. I never got contact info. Are you sure you’re not...um…”
“Well, I found a cat, like I said. I kind of assumed it was yours, but if not, maybe you could figure out what to do with it? I don’t really have space for it in my clinic.”
“Is your clinic small?” Marcus asked, wincing as he felt like he already knew the answer.
“No, the cat’s just the size of a truck. And invisible.”
“Of course it is.” He nodded, typing in ‘giant cat’ to his form. “Sorry, what was your name?” He asked.
“Oh, Dr. Amy Morris. Veterinary doctor, but I’ve worked on some people before.” She added, sounding a little self conscious.
“Oh, no, it’s alright. He’s asleep right now, after I fed him. He’s been here a few days, I just didn’t know how to get in touch.” The vet replied. “I just figured you’d have a better place for him?”
153 dao chemical refinery plant (dungeon) -> parking lot -> guard post -> 2 guards = replaced by (Harlan’s Wolfpack, Enforcer)
Nate moved toward the front of the chemical refinery, casually approaching the check in post to the parking lot. Calling it a guard post would be generous; it was a chain link fence that rolled back to let cars in while a security guard checked people in.
“Yo!” Nate called out to the two guys who were trying really hard to look like they were casually lounging in the guard shack.
Of course, Nate knew what to look for, because he’d watched these two through a scope while they incapacitated and replaced the actual guards. And then let a dozen of their friends into the facility.
“Not taking delivery today.” One of them said, stepping out of the guard shack. The accent was hard for Nate to place. Thick, slow, almost Russian, but with an intimidating tone that any supervillain would be happy to have in a henchman. It matched the wide frame and polished bald head of the man who’d stepped out. “Chemical spill.” He lied. “Return tomorrow.”
Nate was only half listening. Because he was processing visual input from a few sources, and one of them was a pair of ill-fitting glasses showing him the words “Harlan’s Wolfpack, Enforcer”. A glance through the door of the guard shack got a similar tag on the other one too.
“They’ve got two big trucks pulled up around the back, like we saw go in. A couple of guys waiting there. The drones we have don’t have super high zoom yet - I’ll fix that later - but I’m pretty sure they were just openly carrying rifles. No signs of any of the actual employees inside, or the rest of them. And the place just doesn’t have enough big buildings that there’s too many places without windows to spot through.”
“Yeah, alright. I’m calling it.” Nate said. “We’re out. Everyone make sure all our gear is accounted for, we’re porting back in ten.”
153 EL road dungeon + EL home town = 20,000 people -> 17,000 dead or moved away
“A whole city, though?” Anesh shivered. “We’ve seen dungeons, or the things in them, kidnap groups of people before, but not *thousands of people*. And *no one* here has noticed?”
“El’s mom noticed there were fewer people. She just assumed that meant people were moving away.” James pointed out.
Anesh hated this. “I hate this.” He said. “How are we supposed to fight something that can eat the population of a whole city? How’s it even doing it?! Officium Mundi can send out agents, is that what the road’s doing? Just dragging people back one by one?”
“Thaaaaat doesn’t actually make sense.” James wrinkled his forehead. “Yeah, actually, you raise a good point. Because there are cities around this size with alarmingly high murder rates, and *they* aren’t losing population like this one is.”
“I know asking this will fill me with regret,” Anesh massaged his temples with his fingertips, “but how many people would a hypothetical dungeon have to kill to actually make the population go down?”
“For a population of twenty thousand people, like here? Seven to eight hundred a year.”
“That’s a couple people a day. Someone, *someone*, would notice. What’s the population actually dropped by?”
James hummed. “Well, it’s actually hard to say.” He admitted. “I’ve been trying to make an educated guess, based on how many people are physically around, hence the marketing stuff. But the pandemic really messes with estimates, even if it feels like no one here is taking it seriously. But thanks to the magic of ‘online realtor services’, I’ve got an idea of how many homes are for sale around here, and I’m gonna guess - *guess*, mind you - that this place currently has about five thousand people in it.”
“That’s three quarters of the population, gone.” Anesh didn’t know how to process that. “That’s insane. That… fifteen thousand people?”
“Seventeen thousand, give or take. Assuming my guess is close.” James confirmed.
“All dead. Eaten by the dungeon.”
“Well *that’s the thing*.” He slapped the laptop shut and sat up, shuffling his feet back into his shoes. “I feel like that would have attracted *some* notice. And a lot of the homes for sale around here? They’re for sale by owner. El’s mom wasn’t wrong! People are just leaving.”
“Not dead.”
“Well, I mean, they might be dead.” James shrugged. “I haven’t checked everyone.”
153 EL road dungeon = Route Predation ((dungeon name)) = getting on the highway to the Danger Zone (((((james name for dungeon)))))
“Can I not don’t?” James asked playfully. “Because I was gonna make a joke about getting on the highway to the Danger Zone.”
“That’s a terrible name.” El told him. “Also, I already named this one, so you can’t call it that!”
James’ eyes lit up, whatever enmity toward El he had forgotten for a second. “Oh yeah! You can tell us what that is now! What *do* you call this dungeon?”
In her driver’s seat, El flipped a pair of sunglasses down over he eyes and titled her head up to look at James with a wide grin.
“Route Predation.” She said, before throwing her car into first gear and pulling away with a screech of the tires, shooting toward a line in the ether that her car slipped past effortlessly, vanishing from view in a pale cloud of sand and light.
153 EL road dungeon = maps do not work. left at fork = random, right at fork = a hotel.
James pursed his lips and thought for a second. “Nah.” He settled on, and poked the radio where it was clipped to the dashboard. “Hey El, why do the buildings here sometimes just go away? Over.” He asked.
The radio crackled to life as El’s response came through. “Oh yeah, stuff rearranges. Maps don’t work here, sorry, shoulda told you!”
“What the fuck does…” James scowled at the radio before hitting the talk button again, ignoring Anesh trying to smother a laugh behind him. “El, how the hell do you find your way around then? Over.”
“There’s patterns, dumbass.” El sounded like she was exasperated with him, even through the radio’s imperfect sound quality. “You take certain turns, you get to denser locations. That sorta thing. If there’s no building here, that means we look for a building at the fork of the next split, and if there’s nothing there, we can go right and get to a hotel, or left and go somewhere random.”
154 EL road dungeon -> dune buggy (see chapter 154 / monster notes) -> skeleton
While he did that, James moved over to the driver’s side and kicked away some of the shattered glass still in the window. It seemed to be real glass, and not some sticky organic facsimile that he expected, which was strange, but at least less messy. Kneeling down, James peered into the crumpled interior at the skeleton that was still sitting lashed to the chair.
Half its bones had been pulverized in the crash. But the skull was still intact, along with some of the spine and legs. Scraps of fabric that weren’t the entwined seatbelts stuck out, old decayed clothing making James suspect this had once been a real person and wasn’t just a dungeon construct.
He reached in, carefully trying to avoid slashing his arm open on any of the jagged pieces of metal or bone, and grabbed what used to be a jacket pocket. The material was so close to falling apart that the front of it practically crumbled under his touch. James snagged what fell out with the tips of his fingers, and pulled his arm out of the car.
“Map fragments.” He muttered. “This was a delver.”
154 pathfinder = was just a map = EL dungeon road = pathfinder home = """james got another infomorph?!?!""""
James took a breath of hot air. “Ah. No, it’s… well, maybe.” He opened and closed his fingers a couple times. “I might need some time to think about this. And it *might* be a trap. I think… I think it’s one of those tricks the dungeons pull. I think it folded a trap into a reward.”
“What happened to you when you passed out?” Anesh asked quietly. “And do we need to telepad back so Planner and Path can clear it out?”
“No no.” James waved him off, rolling to a kneeling position. “We worked it out. It’s a map. It… fuck, I just realized something!” He looked around, throwing his arms wide. “*This* is where Pathfinder came from!” James announced. “Remember? She wasn’t an Office construct! She started as a *map*, that a different dungeon broadcast in! This is her home!” He looked at Anesh and met his boyfriend’s eyes. “And I just got something like that.”
154 EL home town = is part of EL road dungone = speed bump monster shows up
Anesh jumped, but James turned with a grin on his face. He’d spent so long living in the suburbs that this place, with all the forested area butting up against the ‘civilized’ spaces, was something quite novel. And the number of raccoons and deer he’d seen on this trip hadn’t yet been enough to make him bored of it yet.
Though it was a bit of an uncomfortable surprised when, off the gravel shoulder of the road, a small asphalt lump in the ground shuffled forward like a thick slug, merging with the freeway like it belonged there and slithering off down the road toward the city.
“Was that…”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.”
“Well, good news.” Anesh told him, worriedly checking around his feet for more of the creatures before hopping into the car. “You were right. There *is* a reason this place has the dungeon feel to it.”
James got in and slammed his door shut. “I’ll be honest,” he said, “I wouldn’t have really minded if I’d been wrong.”
154 EL road dungone = other delvers / team shows up
“Yeah, we could try that.” Anesh shrugged. “I mean, we’re edging closer and closer to just being public anyway. And besides…” He trailed off, screening his eyes against the headlights of the truck passing in the oncoming lane. And then the next truck, and the car after that. A veritable convoy passing them by over the course of a minute or so.
James let out a small laugh. “Friday night, eh?”
“They’re headed toward the dungeon gate. Is that a problem?” Anesh turned in his seat to watch the taillights vanish around the bend behind them.
“The first cars we pass all night, and they’re all one big group? Nah. They’re either a bunch of friends going camping, or a bunch of friends who already know the dungeon is there. Either way, I kinda doubt that any of them are gonna accidentally fall in.” James shrugged.
Anesh had a thought. “We should actually try to find anyone who’s a delver, huh? There has to be more than just El, right?”
154 Jeanne + ava + james + anesh
“I’m Jeanne.” The woman took his hand in a firm grip, and James smiled at how solid she felt. “This is my daughter, Ava.”
155 jeanne mother = lives in North Carolina
“No. No no no, that’s impossible.” Jeanne laughed nervously. “We’re going to visit my mother in North Carolina. This is just a stop on the way for the evening.”
155 ava powers
“Now, I have a question.” James said, half watching the lights of the semi-truck that barreled past in the other lane. “Anesh started to bring this up, but the town is emptying out, and I’m sure you noticed. But so far, you’re the only people we’ve seen walking out of town, and then waking up and walking back. So. Can you tell me, what’s going on with *you*? Why are you being targeted, and *why isn’t it working*?”
In the back seat behind him, their passengers sat silent, neither of them providing James with an easy answer.
“Might have something to do with the fact that the kid can clock an augmented human out of nowhere.” Anesh muttered to James.
“Yeah, wait, I didn’t really ask about that, did I?” He paused. “And she’s met El, too. Same deal there. Huh. Okay, that’s kind of… have we met *anyone* with built-in human powers?” James asked his partner.
James sighed. “I’d be willing to bet that’s it, entirely.” He said, meeting Jeanne’s eyes in the mirror. “Ava can see more than most people. Not sure how that translates to you two waking up from the compulsion, exactly, but it’s a good bet that's why you’re being targeted. Also, is anyone hungry? I haven’t eaten in a while, and… is McDonalds the only thing open? Bah.”
155 ava = ages of eight and eleven = jeene = older than James was, if only by a few years
Jeanne had more questions, mostly small things that they fielded as they ate fast food garbage. Ava obviously had questions too, but for someone who looked between the ages of eight and eleven, she was doing a shockingly good job of eating her fries without interjecting every other sentence. Jeanne was shocked to learn that she was older than James was, if only by a few years. And by the end of the meal and her tired interrogation, she was somehow less sure this was real, and more terrified of the world in general.
155 order -> make money = fixing roads with manuiplating asphalt
“Control over asphalt.” James confirmed. “Which is, let’s be real here, *super cool*. And it turns out that most places people are these days have roads near them. But it’s limited. And refilling its uses is...um…” He shrugged, giving a sheepish grin. “Still, pretty cool.”
“So would it be rude to ask you to fix the pothole at the end of the block?” She asked.
“Mom, don’t ask people to use their powers to cover for bad municipal policy.” El said, shaking her head as she slunk into the room. She sounded tired, probably because she didn’t have the benefit of coffee yet. Or maybe because she hadn’t slept much at all.
James disagreed though. “Actually, that’s a really cool idea. We haven’t really started to make maximum use of the powers that we can resupply, and road work is *expensive*. Not to mention it takes forever. We might actually be able to do some real good with this, in a way that gets us paid, and saves cities money. Everyone wins!” Then he cleared his throat. “Also as payment for this idea, yes, I will fix your pothole.”
155 El home town -> city office -> city person -> Malory
The guy’s name was Malory, and he’d been doing an internship here for about three months. In that time, he’d acquired more and more temporary responsibilities, and no one ever seemed to show up to relieve him of them. So, like a good government employee, he just worked harder and harder, rapidly going mad with burnout.
James empathized with him, really. It was, he told Malory, unfair that he was this overworked. Especially since he seemed to be the only one in the building actually doing anything. He nodded with sad appreciation for the tireless labor of the hapless intern. Then he told Malory that he needed to know how many people lived in the city, and also to arrange a meeting with the local chief of police.
By the time Anesh got out of the bathroom, James had maps of the city, recent voter registration statistics, and a date at the local police station.
155 EL home town -> police station = 1 cheif + 3 police in charge of entire town
It had, surprising no one, gone poorly. But not for the normal reason that police interactions went poorly for James. No one had tried to shoot him this time; instead, the chief of police - a pudgy man for whom this was somehow a secondary job - told him that they’d love to help out with the missing persons thing, but they just didn’t have the manpower. When James started questioning as to *why* they didn’t have the manpower, he ran into the alarming fact that there were only three active police officers covering the whole town, and the chief was one of them. Everyone else had quit, or moved away, over the last couple years, and with taxes down and funding cuts, they hadn’t bothered to hire anyone new, because crime was basically non-existent anymore.
155 ava + hidden (secert?)
She’d stopped being afraid of monsters about the time she’d actually met one. Though, despite looking like a cross between a snake and a deep sea slug, Hidden did *not* like being called a monster. Ava also knew that Hidden didn’t like being compared to a deep sea slug, but it had been *months* since she’d decided the strange creature was her little sister, and Ava was culturally aware of the fact that sometimes you just had to compare your sister to a deep sea slug. It was the law, or something.
And in the last eternal summer of subjective time, from Ava’s perspective, she’d also gotten used to Hidden helping her pull useful information out of nowhere. Sometimes, she used this to solve very important mysteries, like the mystery of who flagrantly stole the brownie out of her lunch at school. Other times, Hidden would just tell her small secrets that she found drifting on the wind. And *sometimes* Hidden would tell her when someone was… different. Like her. Maybe with their own snake-slug friend. Maybe something else. Always something magic. And sometimes, Hidden would take information away from other people. Let Ava get away with things, or keep them both invisible to the bullies. Hidden was a good sister.
Hidden wasn’t ‘around’ all the time. When she was, she hid inside Ava’s hoodie, and didn’t really like coming out. But there was a lot of moments where Ava would realize she couldn’t feel the weight on her shoulder or arm, and it would be because Hidden was inside her head for a while. That had been scary at first, but it was more like napping than trying to eat her brains, so that was okay too.
“Weak?” Ava asked. “I had to walk for *miles*.” She drew out the last word.
“Not you. Me. Weak. Tired. All sudden, less of me.” Hidden really did sound worried. And Ava looked closer at the absolutely-not-a-slug body of her little sister. Did she look smaller than before? Ava couldn’t tell.
So instead, she asked. “Why? You said you could make people forget. But you’re not supposed to...” Ava gave the shimmering snake a sudden angry look. “Did you make us forget?”
“Think so.” Hidden said. It looked like there were tears forming in some of her eyes, and Ava instantly felt bad for sounding angry. “Don’t know why. Something else, too.”
“An echo. From yesterday. And before. Me.” Hidden said. “My crying. Asking for help. Don’t remember saying, but I hear myself. And… getting quieter. Something else is… stopping it now. Yelling over it. In the air.”
Ava stuffed her sister onto her head, and pulled her hoodie up over the blue slug-snake. “Uh huh.” She said, moving over to the bathroom door. “So we tell mom, and…”
She had pulled open the bathroom door, and there, arms folded, was her mom. “Tell me what, honey?” Jeanne’s words were calm, despite the situation, but Ava had seen that look before. It was the kind of look that said, in pretty clear terms, that she was *probably* going to be in trouble after this.
156 james + ava + hidden + jeene
“And you don’t think it’s creepy that *this one* has emotionally blackmailed my daughter into not talking about itself?” Jeanne crossed her arms and glared at James.
“Uh… I mean… it’s not a good look, I admit. If this infomorph were a human adult, that would be a red flag the size of Montana. But it looks like what’s happening here is more about survival than manipulation.” James kept himself from shrugging, not wanting to seem too casual. “You asked for my opinion, and sadly *I’m* somehow the only known expert on this stuff, and that’s my call. It’s fine. Ava’s safe. Probably *safer* than any other kid on the planet. I don’t think… you understand.” James leaned against the door and stared down at his shoes. “I don’t think you get how devastating an infomorph can be, if they’re hostile. What Ava has as a friend-slash-sister is roughly on par with carrying around a rocket launcher all the time. Humans don’t *have* a defense against that; we‘re just screwed. And somehow, Ava does. It sounds like, from what she’s shared with you, that the only reason you snapped out of that walking trance was because of her friend.”
“So I’m just supposed to be grateful that there’s some kind of snake thing that came from nowhere and that no one understands, living in my kid’s head?” Jeanne couldn’t really decide if she was exhaustedly resigned or tiredly angry.
“Yeeeeeeeeeees? Yes.” James nodded. “Also it’s not that bad. Some of my best friends are snakes.” He said.
156 hidden + ava = screaming for help
His partner let out a small grunt of confusion. “I don’t think the timeline comes together perfectly.” He said. “But you’re implying that we were summoned here?”
“At the very least, we were drawn to help them. There’s some kind of hostile compulsion here. And Ava’s infomorph has been blanking their memory every night to get rid of it. But it’s also been *screaming* for help.” James sprawled dramatically over the hood of their car. “I don’t know what to dooooo.” He moaned. “Are we being manipulated here? I told Jeanne it was fine, but I’m actually kind of worried! I don’t… I don’t know what to do about this!”
“Yeah. There ya go.” Anesh shrugged. “Oh no! A little kid and her imaginary-and-also-real friend asked for help, and we came running! Whatever will we do with this world-shattering information about the nature of who we are as people?” Anesh swooned, holding a hand against his heart as he tried to contain his fragile ego.
156 El home town -> some teens? -> Daryl (female) + Foster (male)
James nodded and looked back, deciding to go with a different route instead. “I could impersonate the FBI if you really want, but nah, I’ve just got a few weird questions about this town.”
“Impersonate…?”
“Daryl, shut up.” One particularly smart girl in the group said. “Don’t talk to the cops, remember?”
One of them, who’d been edging toward the back of a car and the line of bushes that marked off the parking lot, perhaps getting ready to run, suddenly perked up. No one else noticed it, and a couple other kids started talking over each other asking what James meant, but both James and Anesh had caught the flash of recognition.
“You, in the back.” Anesh said tiredly. “Come on, we’re not gonna kill you. What’s up?”
James eyed the dude for a second. He was still clearly deciding if he should just bolt into the bushes and make a run for it, which was stupid, since James was tired and had no intention of chasing him at *all*. Then he shrugged. “In general? I’ll pay for your guy’s food tonight. For you specifically?” His eyes locked onto the kid’s, and he let a sharkish grin out. “I’ll tell you that you’re right about what you suspect.”
“Dude! Don’t talk to the-!”
“They go by my house every night.” The kid said, and the fear in his voice gave James some pause. “My parents live by the highway, and I see them every night. Ten cars out, nine cars back. Every night. I’ve been counting. I don’t know… I don’t know what’s wrong. But there’s something wrong?” His voice cracked. It was obviously something he hadn’t shared with the rest of the friends around there, either. “You said you’d tell me.”
James nodded, taking the asshole grin off his face. “There’s something wrong in this town.” He said. “And you already know, don’t you? You just don’t think anyone will believe you if you say that you’ve seen an actual monster.”
“...yeah.”
“Foster, what the fuck are you talking about?” The girl from earlier demanded.
156 EL home town -> convenience store -> cashier = someone that humannoid most likely came out of the road dungeon and most likely controlling speed bumps (monsters) around them.
They followed up on that, and two hours later, closing in on midnight, James got a sudden shift in tone from the cashier at an all night convenience store.
“Yeah. There’s someone out there moving ‘em.” The old man told him. Dude had scraggly hair and more tattoos than original teeth, but when he started talking, it was like his voice was liquid gold. But no level of soothing tone could mask the obvious worry he felt. “Never see ‘em. But he’s there. Called the cops once, but the pigs won’t even come out. Say I’m seeing things.”
“Are you?” James asked, earnestly.
The old man laughed, a warm belly laugh. “Ayy, I’ve been strung out a few times, yeah?” He gave James an appraising eye. “But not this one, brother. He’s out there. And there’s something *wrong* with ‘em.” He tapped the plexiglass countertop, obviously not indicating the lottery tickets on display. “Got a sawn off under here if he ever comes in. Don’t like the feel of ‘em one bit. The road moves whenever he’s nearby. Everyone fucking laughs, but you aren’t gonna, are you?”
James gave him a card with a couple numbers on it, collected the candy bar he’d paid for, and headed back out to the parking lot.
“Speed bumps aren’t the only thing that’ve come out of the Route.” He told the other two as he bit into the wafer bar. He paused, and glared at the candy in his hand; it was the first candy he’d paid for in a while, and he decided he didn’t like it. “There’s something that the clerk there at least thinks is person shaped. And the speed bumps are moving around it. Might be following it, or it might actually be controlling them.”
156 truck + people in and in back of truck + speed bumps chasing the people + dark hood person in back standing on a speed bump
El just pointed across the parking lot, past half a row of dead trees and barkdust that separated them from the road. The road itself was a very mild hill that climbed to their right, and dropped off to level ground farther left where it met a big traffic circle intersection in front of a strip mall. And because of how open the space was, except for evenly spaced street lamps, they had a great view of what El had spotted.
The engine noise of the battered grey pickup hit James’ perception shortly after he realized what he was looking at. The car was flying down the hill at an irresponsible speed, a pair of humans hanging on in the bed of the truck for dear life. Someone was leaned out the passanger window, twisted to face behind them, and as another loud engine cough sounded, James realized that what he was hearing was gunfire.
Then the truck blew past them, screaming through the intersection without even blinking at the red light.
And a second later, a school of speed bumps followed after, flowing in ripples through the pavement that looked surreal and otherworldly in the pale orange light of the streetlights.
What makes it look a lot more otherworldly was the humanoid figure in the flapping black cloak, face obscured by a dark hood, standing tilted forward on the back of one of the speed bumps, riding it after the escaping truck.
156 EL + james + anesh + jeene + some person in armor = jeene going after some person in armor
El met them at the door to their motel to complain about her phone being broken. Then she’d actually filled them in on what she meant to, which was that when she’d gone to a drive thru last night after splitting up, she’d asked the staff if they’d noticed anything weird. And she had *also* gotten a “you’re the second person to ask that” from them. Except this time, they had a description for her; some blonde kid wearing armor. El had made a comment about a bulletproof vest, and been corrected; the kid was wearing *plate mail*.
James tried to assign El to deal with that, but she waved him off. She was meeting up with a friend today. He tried to assign *Anesh* to that, but Anesh was already busy. Jeanne said she could try, but James wasn’t sure he wanted an unarmed, untrained, barely initiated civilian getting into a potentially dangerous situation. Jeanne had glared at him, and demanded he arm her then.
Jeanne got James’ spare handgun, a long range radio, Ganesh, and instructions to run if anything seemed even slightly suspicious. Then she assigned herself to asking questions around town.
156 realestate agency + front cleark (female) + Mr. Mark Stephens
“Good afternoon.” He smoothly greeted the receptionist at the desk of Sunshine Realty while he reached into the breast pocket of the suit jacket he was wearing. “Fred Timman, New York, Fidelity Investments, I’m here to see Mr. Stephens?” As James spoke he words, the magic of the suit jacket materialized an appropriately ostentatious business card under his fingertips, which he drew out and handed to the grey haired woman who was eyeing him with raised eyebrows over her thick glasses.
This jacket was James’ favorite. Partially because it was hilarious and made him feel incredibly suave, but also partially because the contact numbers on the generated business cards were *real*, and some kind of potentially unethical memetic effect would make his cover bulletproof for exactly ten minutes. Or until refreshed.
“Hire me?” James’s persona tilted his head back and laughed deeply. “I’m not looking for a *job*.” He told the man. “I’m here to offer you a deal.”
Mark Stephens was a cautious man most days. And something about the grin James was giving him put him off; it seemed a little too smooth. But then, this was some jackass from a big city who probably thought he could just stroll in here and buy the place.
And if there was one thing Stephens wanted, it was a chance to shove it in this guy’s face. “You’ve got ten minutes. Step into my office.” He said, with his own rude grin splitting his face under his salt and pepper mustache.
156 james + Mr. Mark Stephens = no one will sell property and its their town
“A certain industrial corporation is looking for a large portion of land to develop.” James said, purposefully vague. “They don’t just want to build factories, though. They need space for workers, services, the whole thing. Company town in all but name. We’re looking to buy out as much of this hamlet as possible, and it *seems*, Mr. Stephens, that you already own a fair chunk of it.”
“So what if I do?”
“Then I’ve got an early offer for you, that I think you’ll find very lucrative.” James said with a slimy tone. “After all, whoever sells first is going to get the best offer.”
Stephens was pretending to read something on his computer while playing solitaire. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong guy.” He said. “Not sure what you’ve heard, but I won’t be selling to you.”
Stephens looked like he was considering it, but he came to the conclusion James was leading him to quickly. “You’ll use my properties to pressure the others to sell.” He said, pointing a meaty finger at James.
“Yup.” James admitted. “But what do you care? You’ll already be rich.”
“I play poker with ‘my peers’.” He put on a nasaly mocking tone for those words. “You’re asking me to betray my friends.”
“No.” He growled at James. “None of us will be selling to you, mister Timman. Get out of our town.”
James raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. None of them? Their town?
156 realtor -> Ms. Terry = not selling + majority of town owned by four-ish people,
Were they dealing with a full on dungeon cult? It was adding up that way. But James wanted to do a little more digging before he went in guns blazing.
By the time he made it to his next destination, the woman who ran the office had heard he was coming.
“Yes, Ms. Terry is aware of you, Mr. Timman.” The employee who answered the door had told him. “She is uninterested in your offer. Fuck off.” And then, with a door slammed in his face, James had returned to his car with a puzzled look.
“Way more aggressive than I was expecting.” He spoke to himself, sorting out his thoughts. “Either I’m flagrantly misunderstanding how dedicated realtors are to each other, and this is some kind of secret guild I didn’t know about, or else these guys are in *deep* with each other.” He watched the building through his rear view mirror, almost snickering as he saw the blinds snap closed from someone ducking away from watching him.
“Okay.” James reordered his thoughts. “Dungeon feel in town, majority of town owned by four-ish people, monsters in the streets, cell service down…”
He paused, narrowed his eyes, looked down at his hands. Took a second to go over that information again. And then, snapped his head back up.
156 jeene + person in armor + note left on car
“Someone left a note on my car.” Jeanne said, handing the folded paper to Anesh.
He put aside his worries about phone connectivity instantly and took it from her, opening the page to see words written in a flowery script and thick ink.
‘You are looking for me. We wish to meet. Highway 122, 10 PM, tonight.’
156 EL home town -> 3 cell phone towers + internet hub = destroyed
“Oh yeah, someone demolished three cell towers, and a broadband hub point.” Anesh sighed. “Stuff is escalating, fast, and-”
Ava jumped in, tacking into Anesh’s leg and staring up at him. “You can teleport?!” She demanded.
“Yes. No. Yes.” Anesh faltered. “Um… yes, we can teleport. But I only have two uses of it left, and we’d want to make sure everyone leaves safely, and… it’s a logistics thing.”
Jeanne pulled her daughter back and set her on the bed, admonishing her to not grab people at random. “So someone is cutting off the phones?”
“And internet.” Anesh said. “Everyone thinks its just a single car crash that messed one thing up, but it happened in multiple places.”
156 EL home town -> anesh + ava + jeene = Golden Valley Property Management
“Is Hidden people?” Ava asked quietly.
“Yes. But, as far as the telepad is concerned, you’re not moving her.” Anesh told the young girl. “But even if she did count, that’s still six of us. So. Ready?” He held up the note pad onto which he’d written down ‘Across the street from Golden Valley Property Management’.
They arrived safely, Ava laughing gleefully and Anesh jerking in surprise as his map updated to inform him that his destination was on the left. And after that, they really didn’t like what they found.
156 james + james car + another car hitting james car + 2 set of boots coming to james cash car + a fight + alanna showing up
Two dozen small cuts across his face and arms were already healing. Upgraded endurance had mingled with enhanced bone density to keep his left arm from shattering when he’d hit the frame of the car, and now it bolstered his improved clotting speed to seal over wounds at a superhuman rate. But nothing that James had could do much about whatever he’d slammed his forehead into at high speed, leaving his brain sluggish and vision spinning through the haze of a concussion.
Through the spiderwebbed cracks in the windshield, James saw boots approaching. Two sets of legs moving toward his car. There was something wrong with them, he thought.
Then something else impacted his window. And he let his lips slip into a slightly drooling grin as he let out a dazed chuckle.
Because someone had just slammed that guy’s face into his car. Twice, judging by the number of impacts he heard.
James could hear shouting, and at least one bang that was probably a gunshot. And then another thud on the side of his car, before silence.
“Ohhey.” He slurred out, tongue not obeying him properly. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Come on.” Alanna said, not acknowledging what he’d said, as she grabbed him under the shoulder and hauled him out of the wreck. “We’ve gotta go before this gets worse. You really pissed someone off.”
157 girl /kid / with freckles + james + alanna
“You’re awake!” A girl’s voice near him whispered. James looked up to see a thin kid, face covered by freckles and dirt, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. She’d dropped the book she was reading in surprise with a thud onto the wooden floor, and James tried to get his vision to focus as the girl bolted out the door of the room.
Which meant Alanna had just saved his life. Which meant Alanna was *here*. It was likely that the girl who’d bolted out of the room when he’d woken up had gone to get her, in fact. And James suddenly realized he didn’t know what the upcoming conversation was going to look like.
Alanna had been gone for *months*. Whether she had a good reason or not, she’d never even tried to contact them, as far as they could tell. And that really, really hurt. What was he even supposed to say to her?
James blinked and looked up at her, abandoning his attempts to itch at his bandaged leg. “Sorry, what? A fed… oh! No, sorry, the FBI ID card is fake! I can see why that would be confusing. I meant, like, *partners* partners. Um… holy shit, this is beyond awkward. Can I ask, do you remember anything?”
Alanna didn’t mind answering. “I remember my name. A few other small things. A lot of really bizarre information, but none of it personal. Pretty much nothing else before I woke up in Florida. And then I get… eh, not sure what to call ‘em. Hunches? Instincts, maybe?”
“Eh.” James flapped a hand. “Why are you here, actually?”
“The second thing you said.” Alanna told him. “I think. Something’s been pulling me here. And this town is in trouble.”
“I’m really not sure it can.” James said. “Everything’s been going pear shaped in the last couple days. And it’s absolutely not a coincidence that the phones are down *now*. I need to get in touch with Anesh or El at least.” He paused for a second, then added, “Also if you don’t believe me, we can seriously just solve that with the skulljacks. I don’t know if you’ve got a chunk of Ethernet cable around here, but…” He shrugged, tapping the back of his neck.
Alanna’s hand defensively went to her own skulljack, eyes narrowing. “No.” She said, voice hard. “Absolutely not.”
157 anesh + ava + jeene + james car crash site + telepad = (torn in half)
They were about three blocks away from the wreckage that was distinctly absent a James-shaped corpse. Anesh had sent Jeanne running back to the motel to grab her own car, and had rapidly pilfered the crash site of the guns, armor, magic items, and trunk full of orbs before any first responders had shown up. It had been over an hour now, and none of them had, which said a lot about the state of the city. The unconscious forms on the street in front of the car had gotten up at some point, helped each other stumble away. They’d be missing the guns they had on them, as well as their wallets; Anesh had taken those too, and recognized one of them as one of the realtors James had gone to speak with. He didn’t feel bad stealing their shit.
Right now, Anesh was wondering the same thing Jeanne was. “What now, indeed.” He said softly, sitting in her back seat alongside Ava, an arm on the pair of long cases he’d set in the middle of the car. Rufus and Ganesh had the front seat, and the young girl next to him was clearly trying her hardest to be on an adventure and not scared for her life.
“Where did he go? Why did he crash in the first place? I thought… I thought…”
“The car had strike marks.” Anesh said, drawing on a vehicle repair skill orb. “Something hit it, hard, from below. Someone tried to kill him. Car’s still running though, so it’ll heal over time - sorry, yes, that’s a thing our car does, please don’t ask. I don’t know what we *do* though.”
“Yes.” Anesh agreed. “Okay. James is alive. He has to be. We stick to the plan; teleport out, get help, come back.” He pulled out the telepad, writing the specific syntax that would land them in the Lair’s teleport receiving platform. “Link up. Hold this.” He awkwardly maneuvered the box of orbs into Jeanne’s arms, while he took an uncomfortable overcommitted grip on the gun cases. “Ava, we need your help here. Think you can get us out of here?” He offered the girl what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and the nearly empty telepad.
Her eyes brightened. “Yes!” She said, gripping it in her teeth, one hand held out to her mom, the other used to pull the page. With a gleeful grin, she gave it a tug.
The telepad didn’t move.
“Uh…” Anesh looked at the magical artifact. “Pull harder.” He said.
Ava’s face scrunched up as she adjusted her grip, her hand sweaty against her mom’s grip. She wanted to growl at the telepad, but she *knew* that wouldn’t make it work. So instead she just pulled harder. It still didn’t move. So she braced her legs on the chair, put the telepad between her knees, and *pulled* as hard as she could.
“Um…!” Anesh stared to say, just before the telepad tore.
The whole thing tore. Folded in half just a little too much, the cardboard backing ripped under the force, and it instantly dissolved into a blue orb, that dropped into Ava’s lap.
157 ava + jeene = sent to EL home
“No, no. It worked fine the first time, remember? Something’s changed.” Anesh frowned. “No communication. No teleportation. The town’s getting cut off. Deliberately. This is an outside force, and now we’re really on the back foot. Damn. Damn and damn!” Anesh looked out the window at the cluster of pigeons winging by through the parking lot across the street from them. “Okay… okay. I have one idea.” He said. “First off, you two need to get somewhere out of the way.”
“Where are we supposed to *go*?” Jeanne asked, bitterly.
“El’s place. Her mom is nice, it’s away from the motel that’s probably compromised at this point, and we know we can meet up there later.” Anesh nodded. “Yeah. And if my plan doesn’t work, James can find you there.”
157 order (orgeon) + momo + reed + australia dungeon mountain
Reed gave her a sympathetic look. “I was going to say there aren’t any mountains around where you went, but I guess that answered that question.”
“Yeah. Well. It’s sorta like the Sewer. You go in, and the exit isn’t where you started. Except there isn’t an exit, exactly. The exit will just show up, after a certain amount of time. Somewhere. That’s it.” Momo rubbed at her arms. “If you live.” She added. “It’s *cold*, dude. So cold. And we saw these massive spider things. And parts of the stone go in the wrong directions. It’s… fuck, it’s bad. Like, it’s *trying* to kill you, from minute one.”
“Is everyone okay?” Reed asked quietly as he hit the button for the elevator, glancing up at the strings of colored lights hung around the weird balcony that had appeared in this pseudo-lobby one day.
“Barely. Chevoy’s in the hospital, Color-Of-Dawn lost a chunk of his tail. Liz almost got gutted, and I’m not planning to tell her mom that.” The two of them stepped onto the elevator together, leaving the open area. “I’m fine. I was barely there. They were in for a lot longer than I was, I just came in at the end when I figured it out, to help them, then teleported out.”
“Oof.” Reed didn’t know what to say. So, instead of staying quiet, he decided to put his foot in his mouth. “Guess now we know the AI’s lethality rating is accurate.”
157 order (LA office) -> emergency concuil = james no phone + no teleport within 50 miles of Townton, Tennessee (El hometown)
Karen was here, viciously ignoring Momo. Harvey was also present, looking like he’d finally gotten a good night’s sleep for once. Nate sat on the other side of the table, next to a chair awkwardly occupied by Texture-Of-Barkdust. The end of the table had a webcam and microphone setup on it, allowing the still nameless machine intelligence in the basement to listen in and participate. And rounding out their emergency council, looking uncertain about being included at the grownups table, Alex sat nervously drumming her fingers on the treated wood surface.
“No, we’re not naming it that.” Momo confirmed. “So I shot him a message. And didn’t get an answer. Which isn’t weird, he’s on vacation. But I kinda thought it was important, so I called.” She took a breath. “And got an out of service message.” Momo looked around at the faces that had gone from interested to *concerned* very quickly. “So I did the obvious next step, grabbed a couple camracondas and Dave, and tried to teleport to their motel.”
“*Tried*?” Harvey stretched the word out into a singular note of concern.
“Tried.” Momo said, face grim. “And it didn’t do anything.” She rapped the knuckles of a clenched fist on the table, resisting the urge to get up and pace around. “So we started testing. Took about ten minutes to figure it out. We can teleport anywhere we want, as long as it’s *not* within fifty miles of Townton, Tennessee. As far as I can tell, it’s just a circle drawn around where James and Anesh are.”
“An attack?” Nate put forward.
“Or something gone wrong with the dungeon.” Alex suggested. “Is there a dungeon there?”
“Confirmed Relevant Space. Low lethality. Strange conditions.” The AI spoke up.
157 FFA + 2 people in FFA + air space + karen + dave and pentadragon
“Hm?” Karen looked up. “Oh. Almost certainly not. Being out of contact is one thing. Something interfering with our magic is entirely another. This is a problem, and we should respond, especially since we have people inside the zone.” She paused, then tapped the table. “I’m going to go file a flight plan.” Karen decided.
“With who?” Reed gave her a puzzled look.
“With the FAA, of course.” Karen replied. “There’s two people there who take my calls now. James authorized me to use the anti-cancer orbs to establish a network of contacts, so they’ll cooperate. It’s important, if you’re going to be taking a dragon through used airspace, that you don’t crash into a traffic helicopter or something like that.”
157 anesh + infomorph map of anesh = die'ing or needs to upgrade
Also Alanna was in town. He knew this for an absolute certainty, since his Map had updated him on it. That Map had started to go dormant since then, and Anesh knew that he’d need to make a choice soon, to either let it fade away as a simple object, or to try to uplift it to personhood, ask it to stay, and give it a piece of his mind.
157 EL home town + on ramp had a crash on it + anesh + lots of other people trying to go out of town + fuel truck on fire + emrency vehicles blocking it all up.
He saw the meeting point before it was actually in view, and instantly, it reinforced his feeling that this was getting out of hand. As the main road out of town approached the highway, Anesh started to see a red glow in the distance, through the trees. It flickered lightly, even from this distance, like hell itself was waiting just around the next corner.
Then he took the next bend in the road, and had to slow down rapidly. Because he’s found all the other cars that should have been on the road. A line of vehicles, stretching so far forward that it went around another heavily forested curve to where the on ramp to the highway was. All of them parked.
They weren’t abandoned, which was good. That would have been a little too creepy. But they’d clearly been stopped for a while, because there were a few people milling around on the side of the road.
They looked up at his shout, and a couple of the men looked away. Anesh didn’t need enhanced hearing to notice the mean looks and muttered slurs that he’d been getting a lot of around here. But the last guy just gave him a straight answer, which was always appreciated. “On ramp’s closed. Some kinda crash!” He called back.
“Thanks!” Anesh called to him, and shifted back into the car. He thought for a second, and then made a decision. If the highway access was closed off, then no one was gonna be using the left lane anyway. He shifted back into drive, and pulled left, moving into the empty half of the road, and getting a few amused or accusatory points from the people who’d been waiting for who knew how long.
Anesh ignored them. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to know what they were up against.
Three minutes of low speed passing a seemingly endless line of cars and one instance of having to get out of someone’s way, he made it to the turn to the on ramp.
‘A crash’ didn’t even start to describe it. Every emergency vehicle in town, and a few other city maintenance trucks besides, formed a semi circle barrier around the inferno. The shillouette of the jagged remains of a fuel tanker shown against the night sky; gas fires scattered across the road and nearby vegetation keeping a shouting army of responders busy as they scrambled to keep what was already a disaster from getting worse.
The on ramp itself was gone. And Anesh knew, in that moment, that it hadn’t happened because of a fuel truck going up in flames.
157 police officer ? + anesh + police officer -> daughter = town quarintine. ((The Last Line Of Defense -> police officer -> humaniod figure ??? + daughter Camille = humunoid figure???))
Firefighters jogged by, a sheriff barked commands, someone maneuvered a bucket lift to secure a power line, and all around, the flash of dozens of emergency lights, flares, and small fires filled the night. And among it all, Anesh spotted someone leaning on the side of a police car, sipping out of a battered tin cup.
“Excuse me!” Anesh called out, both hands on his rifle, but the gun still pointed at the ground. “I think we’re looking for each other!” His voice shook when he said it; James would be so disappointed in him.
The man was wearing armor. A flak vest, chainmail, a brigandine, modern body armor, a police vest…
Anesh blinked. The man was wearing armor.
“Oh dear.” He whispered.
“You got my daughter’s message. Good.” The man said. “I appreciate your presence here tonight.”
“Wait, what?” Anesh snapped out. “No, no. We need *reinforcements*. Do you know what’s going on here?” He demanded. “This city-!”
“This city is forfeit.” The man said it with sadness, but he said it all the same, in that precisely confident voice. “It’s people already lost. All that is to be done is to cut out the corruption, and starve the demon of its prey.”
“Excuse me?!” Anesh shouted, stepping back and adjusting his hands on his gun, on the edge of knowing he was going to have to use it, and *soon*. “You’re just going to… rope it off? You could be *helping us*!”
“I could not.” The man shook his head, a blast of tired melancholy flowing out of him. “I cannot set foot within Her territory, and that city is a minefield of pockets that She has claimed.” He sighed deeply, taking in a breath of the ashen night air. “My purpose is clear. I will hold the walls. The city will be forgotten. And my daughters will go forth, to destroy, until the demon withers and retreats. And only after it is starved to a bitter death will I allow the survivors escape.”
The armored figure cocked an eyebrow in a gesture that was as perfect as it was hollow. “I am the Last Line Of Defense.” He said. “And you are on the unfortunately less survivable side. It is a sad thing, but the more stable a civilization becomes, the higher a price it takes to keep it safe from the demons.”
Anesh slung his gun down to his side. “You’re here to make sure the dungeon doesn’t escape, right?” He called across the stretch of road between them. “To contain the spread?”
“Correct.” The Last Line Of Defense replied with a sharp nod.
The armored figure gave him a respectful nod. “Perhaps. But this requires something more than simple desperation. Show me your conviction. Camille! Test him.” He called out into the night.
157 anesh + Camillel = spare that anesh won = The Last Line Of Defense saying good = anesh + camillel partying up for 1 day before city burns.
Instead, he mostly just had time to register that a vaguely humanoid figure had slammed into the fire truck immediately behind him so hard that it caved in the side of the vehicle. The scream of metal and the hissing bang of a pressurized tank being breached filled the night, followed shortly by the screams and shouts of the first responders nearby.
Anesh finished his roll, came up to a kneeling position, propped his gun up, and unloaded toward his target.
And Anesh was reasonably sure the figure, yanking a meter long bar of metal out of the side of a destroyed truck, could take a hit.
His adversary looked similarly stunned, and as he blinked the spots out of his eyes, Anesh realized that the person who’d been trying to kill him this whole time was a young woman with a scarred face, and the strange silhouette she left was because of the sharp lines of the platemail and cloak she was wearing.
Anesh processed this, and then pulled the trigger, sending three clusters of five bullets, layered on top of each other, into her stunned face. Flesh warped, as if in slow motion. Bone vibrated, before stilling the impact. Skin breached, if only barely.
“Hold.” The word came from the inhuman man who had now decided he was done with his drink.
A single drop of blood rolled off her cheek and hit the ground.
“Very good.” The Last Line Of Defense said, lowering his hand. “Better than the last generation, so far.” The words were approving, and empty, all at once. He pretended to think for a minute, while Anesh staggered to his feet, tripping on the cracked asphalt around where he’d been punched into the ground. “Very well.” The man said.
“Very well what?” Anesh rasped out in a dry voice, adrenaline having stolen all the moisture from his mouth.
“You have one day.” He said. “And after that, the city burns. And no, you may not leave.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Anesh glared at him, taking a step back and bumping into a firefighter who’d come running at the sound of gunfire. “Alright. Well. See you tomorrow, I guess.”
“Mm.” The Last Line Of Defense made a noncommittal noise. “I find you interesting. My daughter will go with you.”
158 alanna + (girl with alanna) = Katie + kent (dead boyfriend of katie) + Nick + Henry (nick + henry = brothers + parents ran away without them)
The girl who’d been with Alanna was named Katie. Ragged blonde hair, a razor thin nose, and a layer of dirt that had given way to reveal a series of scrapes and scratches after she’d taken a half hour in the shower. She was, after getting over being timid, honestly kind of a rude person. Older than James had initially assessed, too.
She was one of three people sitting around a milk crate table with James, who had finally hauled himself out of bed and was more or less upright. The other two were a pair of brothers, *probably* twins, by the names of Nick and Henry, who couldn’t have been older than twelve and had spent a lot of time hiding around corners trying to peek at James like he was some kind of mythical creature.
If the table was quiet before, it was silent now. This lasted another couple of plays, before the twin James was *pretty* sure was Nick spoke up. “Our parents left a couple weeks ago.” He practically whispered. “Then the sheriff told us we had to get out of the house. And… and… Alanna found us, trying to get to our grandma.”
“Sh- ah.” James stopped himself swearing. “Did your parents… what happened to them?”
“They just left.” The other brother said, voice on the edge of breaking suddenly. “Took everything, but not us, and drove off.”
James winced. Then he pursed his lips, and tried to give as good news as he could. “If it helps, it probably wasn’t their fault. The thing that’s eating this town is messing with people’s heads. If you didn’t leave with them, it might be that you’re immune to it. Which… I mean, right now, that’s not good, yeah. But we’ll find your parents, get you back where you wanna be.”
“I don’t want them.” One of the brothers scowled bitterly, hands partially crumpling the cards he was holding.
“They’re victims too.” James said softly. But the kid was, at the end of the day, a kid. And it was hard to understand how something could happen and not be someone’s fault when you were young. James still remembered that, pretty vividly. So instead he turned to Katie. “How bout you?”
“Boyfriend got in a car crash.” She shrugged. “We had a lot he was gonna build a house on. Some asshole kept trying to get me to sell it, since Kent was dead. I kept saying no. Then a couple nights ago, something tried to eat my car. And some nutjob came out of nowhere and saved my life. So I’m here. Got nowhere else to go, right? Not if there’s monsters all over the place and the world’s ending.”
158 safe house + Katie + Nick + Henry + james = realtor + Pat Benetar + another dude = breaking in safe house wanting "little girl"
The deadbolt to a house that they were hiding out in. A house none of them had keys for. Where Alanna had climbed off the back porch to get in and out.
The sudden slam of a boot on wood, cracking the aging frame and splintering part of the door, drew a scream out of Katie, and a startled jolt from the twin going out the window. The kid twisted, and pitched forward, and James had to hope that the soft dirt would arrest his fall enough that he didn’t get hurt. Because he was already trying to get the other brother up, cupping his hands and lifting the kid up to let him climb out smoothly.
“We know you’re in there!” A man’s voice came from outside. It was slightly muffled, and not just from the door; James assumed the guy was wearing a mask, and not just for pandemic reasons. “Open the door!”
“Hard pass!” James called back, trying to motion Katie over. But the girl had pressed herself into the corner, and was frozen in the kind of fear he recognized as being paralyzing if you weren’t prepared for a situation. “Fuck off!” He tried yelling, but his words were drowned out by another heavy kick to the door, wood cracking in protest as the flimsy handle bowed inward from the force.
“Give us the kid, and you can leave!” The voice shouted again. And suddenly, James recognized it. He’d spoken to this man, not even four hours ago. Tried to drag information about the property scam going on out of him. Because this guy was one of the realtors. “Just hand over the little girl!”
That statement stuck in James’ mind. He needed, he knew, more time to break that down. But just on the surface of it, his immediate reaction was that there was no way they were talking about Katie. As he’d gotten older, and breached into his thirties, he’d noticed that he mostly referred to anyone under the age of twenty five as ‘a kid’. But at no point had he considered calling a twenty something woman a ‘little girl’.
Katie might have recognized that. But as James gave her a push out the window to the tune of another hard kick to the door, she didn’t have any complaints about it.
There was a pause, and low voices. A woman’s voice yelled back, “That was Pat Benetar, you moron!” Followed by someone telling her to shut up. The door to the bedroom, at this point, had bowed in around the handle, and there was light pouring through the gap. The man’s voice that James recognized boomed into the room, from right at where the hole was. He saw an eye peeking into the room too, before the light was blocked off by the man’s bulk. “Look, buddy, just hand over the kid. You’re just here for the money, you don’t wanna risk your-“
158 james + realtor + Pat Benetar + other dude + hummer + parking lot + using maps from road dungeon = 3 goons after ava = james taking their hummer and driving away
So James leaned against the wall, and took deep, heaving breaths, sitting in the shadow of the parking lot lights, hoping none of the few scattered cars in the parking lot at this late hour had people in them.
And then a yellow hummer whipped into the parking lot, the newest car James had seen in this town so far screeching to a stop in the middle of the orange lit asphalt desert. The doors flung open, and three familiar masked individuals hopped out, scanning the area. One of them looking down at a glowing orange circle hovering over their outstretched hand.
“Oh fuck me.” James groaned to himself. They had found him *way* too quick. He couldn’t actually run as fast as a car, but he’d been sitting here less than a minute, and he’d crossed so many potential side streets and hiding places. It was statistically unlikely they’d just stumbled on where he’d crouched for a rest. “They’re using Maps.” James realized with a grunt of exasperation. Of course they were using Maps, he thought to himself, they were *allied with the dungeon*. Why the fuck wouldn’t they have a way to track him?
It also explained earlier, his brain shakily realized as the trio swept the front of the store, but didn’t go in. They might know he was ‘in the parking lot’, but not where. One of them broke off to circle around behind the loading dock, while James stayed unmoving, hoping he’d have a few more seconds of rest. Earlier, when the lead man had yelled at him to give up the girl, made a lot more sense now; they were after *Ava*. And they obviously couldn’t find her, because Hidden was the perfect counter to being found. So, they just went to the next closest person, and ended up on James.
So he waited for them to hustle by, the bigger man panting and wheezing as he rounded the corner after his smaller counterpart. And the instant they were by the shadowed patch James was crouched in, he stood, and bolted.
Straight for their car.
They’d even left the engine running for him.
James almost, *almost*, wasted energy laughing when he heard the guy yell “Don’t shoot my new car!” A bullet slapped the asphalt near him; someone wasn’t listening. Another one hit the runner on the hummer; they were aiming for his legs.
158 EL home = alanna + EL mother + ava + jeene + EL home + anesh + Camille (My name is Camille the Violet) + rufus + ganesh
“Um…” She didn’t know how to say this. “Is that…?” Alanna shot a nod at the young girl.
“Ava. My daughter.” Jeanne said, sitting down stiffly as El’s mom went to get them another mug. “I’m Jeanne, by the way. You must be Alanna.”
“Do you know your kid’s haunted?” Alanna asked, before her brain caught up. “And do we know each other?” She asked.
Jeanne sighed. “I know. They say it’s okay. And she won’t… give it up, anyway. And we’ve never met. The guys just talked about you a few times. And Anesh said that his ghost had spotted you at the crash site.”
“Oh, they’re not ghosts!” El’s mom settled into her own chair. “They’re *maps*. Though with how my own rebellious daughter described things, I’ve decided they need a better name. They can’t have two strange miracles called maps, that’s just rude.” She turned to Alanna. “Cream and sugar?” She asked with a friendly smile, taking an answer and passing over the coffee before continuing. “This is all a lot for an old lady like me to take in, you know. But between the dog walking, and this, I don’t even need to bother with TV to entertain myself these days! Much better than the status quo, eh?”
The door handle rattled, and a young man’s voice, tinged with an English accent, came through the thin glass of the windows. “Ahem. Forgot it would be locked. My mistake.”
And then another voice. Female, but deeper. Angrier. “Then I shall-“
“No!” The first voice echoed. “Jeanne! Door please!” Mixed with a frantic knock.
“It’s Anesh.” Jeanne sighed in relief, darting past Alanna, who rose to her feet and calmly added the gun to her belt. Jeanne ran to the door and unlocked it, throwing it open to reveal a young man with short black hair and olive skin, along with a stern faced girl in…
Alanna did a double take. Plate armor? That was new. The girl was also posed like she had planned to punch the door down, and Alanna got the terrifying impression that it would have worked without her even trying too hard.
“My name is Camille the Violet.” The girl spoke for the first time in her rough voice. “And you will-“
“Oh man, you said that title like it was a *rank*, not a name.” Alanna bitterly shook her head. “That thing has its hooks deep in you, huh? Damn, that’s just sad.”
158 EL home = alanna + EL mother + ava + jeene + EL home + anesh + Camille (My name is Camille the Violet) + rufus + ganesh + folks wanting little girl
“We know you’re in there!” A man’s voice bellowed into the house. “Give us the girl!”
Before Anesh could answer, the man pounded on the door again. “Hey! Fuckers! Hand over the kid, and you get to live!”
“I think,” Anesh said, “we’ve found whoever was trying to kidnap Ava this last week.”
“Mmh.” Camille hummed. And then, Alanna was shocked to get a vibe of awkward curiosity off of her. “Do you mind if I…” She waved with one hand toward the door, where someone was now rattling the lock, and someone else was peering in through the side window. And while asking, she pointedly didn’t make eye contact with them.
“Uh…” Anesh glanced at Alanna. “Sure?” He said, not really capable of denying the woman anything anyway. “Oh! Leave them alive! We need answers!”
“Very well.” Camille said. She closed her eyes, and tilted her head. “Cover the rear. Two are circling around. Neither are armed.”
158 EL + james + EL home + several cars wrap around EL home = EL home = alanna + EL mother + ava + jeene + EL home + anesh + Camille (My name is Camille the Violet) + rufus + ganesh + EL + James + 6 humans tied up
Then she turned the corner down the street her mom lived on, and the panic intensified to a sharp peak.
There were cars around her childhood home. Several of them parked in a way that walled off the street and clearly showed that they weren’t here for a polite visit. Even as El approached, gut clenching as she found she had no other plan than to run in, another vehicle barrelled down the road from the other direction, coming to a jerking halt in front of her home just as El pulled up more smoothly on the other side by the sidewalk.
Her relief when James jumped out of the massive bright yellow truck thing was like water in the desert. Though the pained stumble he gave, and the lack of any resources beyond a torn shirt and a lack of shoes, reignited a new fear in her chest.
El got out of her own car, pulling the shotgun she kept under the passenger seat with her. She didn’t have a secondary for James, but she could at least back him up. “What’s going on?” She called to him.
“Someone tried to kill me. Guess they got here first.” His voice was dire, and betrayed just as much fear as she was feeling. “I’ll go first. Watch my back.” He said it simply, like he *trusted* her, and El felt a burst of angry indignation that was quickly overwhelmed by a tight feeling in her chest that she didn’t really know how to place.
Six humans, all of them restrained in some way, were lined up on the carpet around the room’s fireplace. One of them was glaring at James, but the rest were either unconscious, or had a terrified look in their eyes. A pile of stuff sat on the kitchen table next to a cold pot of coffee, the pile of guns, knives, handcuffs, and one police badge watched over by a grumpy looking Rufus.
159 the last line of defense = gatekeeper / gateguard = by james (see below)
159 explosion -> 6 miles away
“What the shit was that?” El demanded, practically flinging herself down the thin stairs that led to the home’s upper floor. The front door was still hanging open, though most of the shattered glass had been swept up; a fact the still shoeless James was grateful for. “You all heard that, right?!” She asked in a panicked pitch.
“Sounded like an explosion.” Anesh said. He, along with James and Alanna, were standing on the front lawn discussing how to proceed. Anesh had his arms folded, but it didn’t seem like the distant blast had changed his mood one way or the other.
James nodded at his boyfriend. “I’d guess about six miles away.” He added.
“I think a lot of people tried to leave all at once.” Anesh said. “I don’t know if they knew why, but when I went to meet the Last-“
“Don’t call it that.” James shook his head. “It doesn’t get a cool name. It’s the gatekeeper.”
“-The… gatekeeper… there were a *ton* of cars lined up trying to get to the highway. And that was just an hour or two ago.” Anesh shook his head. “For some reason, everyone knows to bail.”
“I think the biggest problem is that the dungeon is snapping up territory out here, which is what attracted the ol’ gatesman.” James grit his teeth. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s spawning anything out here, just casually existing. And declaring the town our property hasn’t worked.”
159 alanna = mind reading
“Of how *we* can interrogate *these* people.” Anesh replied. “Alanna, you can read minds, right?”
“No.”
James blinked. “What?”
“Nope.” Alanna added.
“I also wanna double up on the ‘what’.” El said.
“If you take perception from me.” Anesh clarified. “Then your empathy ability can pick out details to the extent that it may as well be surface level mind reading. Yes?”
“Okay, fine.” Alanna conceded. “But don’t call it mind reading. I don’t really like how that feels.”
“To be clear, we could *all* read their minds, with a router and a length of cable.” James pointed out. “I’m glad you have an idea that isn’t that, but I just want us to be aware that if it’s a choice between the lives left in this city, and the mental privacy of those assholes, I know where I’m falling.”
159 1 of 6 prisoners + alanna + james = mechanic (unknown what)
What followed was the strangest opening salvo in an interrogation James could imagine. El had picked out the guy who looked the least important, and also had the most broken bones from Camille, so he wouldn’t have to spend too much time on this. With Alanna watching carefully, and Anesh blinding himself to effectively double her ability to do so, James read off single relevant keywords from the notebook provided.
“Road.” He said flatly. No response besides mild confusion. “Monsters. Suns.” The man flinched, making the connection.
Alanna spoke quietly. “Fear, of us, for someone else. Undercurrent of protective instinct. He won’t say anything because he is worried about hurting someone. Someone he worships.”
Nodding as if he understood perfectly while Anesh wrote that all down in a separate notebook, James continued. “Property. Acquisition. Missing persons. Murders.”
That got a reaction. “I didn’t kill anyone!” The man… no, the *kid*, protested. He was probably older than James, but James labeled him a kid in his head at hearing the whiny voice. Though, to be fair, his arm was in a makeshift splint right now, which couldn’t feel good.
“Half truth.” Alanna said. “He won’t say what he knows.”
“You aren’t the police!” The idiot said, as if that protected him. “The horizon won’t… you can’t do anything to me!”
James blinked and almost went off script. If someone said that to *him*, he’d find it reassuring, but for *most* people, the police would be the safe option. Random people with superpowers, not so much.
So he just continued. “Blackout. Communications. Cut off.” Nothing. “The Last Line Of Defense.” Nothing but confusion, Alanna said nothing, so he kept going. “Tradition. Profit. Ritual.”
“He’s panicking.” Alanna informed him. “He knows something he’s not supposed to, and he’s terrified to say it.”
“A ritual.” James said, eyebrows raised as he stood over the kneeling figure on the dried out front lawn. “No. *The* ritual. Would you tell us what you know?”
The man looked up at James with pleading eyes, tears welling in the corners of them. “I can’t.” He moaned. “He’ll kill me. The mechanic will kill me. Please. I have a fam-“
“Quiet.” James said. Then he nodded at El. “Take him to the back yard, let the others see he’s alive, but don’t put him back with them.” He paused, then added with a sigh, “Then bring the next one.”
159 2 of 6 prisoners + alanna + james = mechanic (unknown what)
This man, who’d escaped mostly unharmed due to Anesh pointing a gun at him and telling him to sit down instead of letting Camille break his legs, was older than the last. Before James could even start listing words, he tried to take control of the conversation.
“You won’t get away with this!” Was his first incorrect assumption. “Just give us the girl and you can still leave!”
None of them bothered answering. James just sighed, while Anesh pushed his perception toward Alanna, who caught it and opened razor sharp eyes to watch the proceedings.
“Horizon.” James said.
Instantly, Alanna tapped him on the shoulder. “He knows something he hasn’t told the others. Deep notes of greed, and guilt too, buried under the greed.”
“Those idiots want to protect the damn thing!” The man shouted. “Like it’s some kind of nature preserve, or endangered animal! But it’s *property*, dammit! What’s the point of owning property if it doesn’t make you money?”
James considered shooting him right there, but restrained himself. It was mostly a passing, sarcastic joke of a thought, anyway. “Missing persons. Empty city. Murders.”
“Self defense!” Came the snapped protest.
“Lie.” Alanna growled.
“The mechanic.” James said, eyes hard but voice even.
“He’ll kill you when he finds you.” The man snorted and spat at James’ feet. “You can’t stop him. So it doesn’t matter. We’ll be rich, and you’ll be dead.”
“The ritual.” The man’s face betrayed enough that Alanna didn’t even bother chiming in. “When is it happening?” James asked directly for a change.
The older man just laughed at him. A smoker’s laugh, rough and rude. “Supposed to be as soon as we had the kid.” The man shifted on his knees, trying to get comfortable and failing. “Guess he got impatient.” He said with a flinch as a distant crash of metal and glass sounded.
“Tell us where to find the mechanic.” James ordered.
“Nah.” The man settled back on his heels. “You’ll have to offer-“
“We’re done here.” James cut him off, channeling everything he remembered from Nate about how to maintain control of an interaction like this. “Apologies for the inconvenience, but my friend here is going to render you unconscious.”
159 cult name = (Horizon) + Mechanic = leader?
“Okay.” James said, doing a quick review. “These guys are obviously a cult, worshiping the road, which they call the Horizon. Good name. The mechanic is, I’m guessing, their leader?”
159 dungeons overal -> ascent (fredrick home -> attic -> dungeon)
James let out a small noise of recognition as Alanna nodded along with El’s words. “Ah, okay. So. The Last Line Of Defense is - yes Anesh I said it - is here because the dungeon took territory outside its own borders, and has been spreading outward. Since, you know, it obviously doesn’t give a shit about the people in danger. The obvious fix to this is to just reclaim the territory, which I guess it can’t do. We’ve run into this before, and tested it a bit with the Ascent; dungeons apparently have a very, *very* hard time holding on to bits of Earth without something anchoring them. Now, that *could* be the real estate agents owning all the lots and having a ‘claim’ on them, and if any of the people in there are those people, we’ll ask them to give it up. But it’s way more likely it’s all been moved to the head of their cult.”
159 6 prisoners = 2 marks (names / folks) 1 of them is realtor + Kirk + a women = (((3 men + 1 women so far))) = Horizon (female) (dead) (come back to life with ava usage)
“You killed Mark!” One of the bound women accused him harshly.
“Wait, hang on.” James stretched his enhanced memory, but couldn’t quite remember. “Wasn’t Mark the other guy? The realtor from earlier? Are there two Marks in your…” He raised a questioning eyebrow.
One of the prisoners actually answered. “It’s really confusing, yeah.” The man said awkwardly.
“We were supposed to bring her to life.” One of the younger of the tied up men said.
“Kirk!” The woman next to him snapped harshly, her voice acidic.
“What?” The kid looked like he was still looking forward to going to a bar for the first time. “Gonna kick me out or something? We’re all going to jail anyway. Who cares?” He looked back at James, anger in his eyes. “We weren’t supposed to hurt anyone. We were just doing what we needed to bring her back to life.”
“Her?”
“Horizon.” The other woman said, with the reverently solemn tone of a true believer. “The Lady Of Travel. Years of work, so much effort, so much *waiting*, and all of it undone at the last step because of you.”
“If you call me a meddling kid, I’m adding you to the naptime pile on the porch.” James said. “Last step?”
“The vessel.” The young guy said. “The… the little girl. The Mechanic told us we just had to wait, that she’d arrive in due time. He didn’t tell us that we’d be *kidnapping her*.” He snarled.
James smothered a grin. “Alright, alright. Everyone shut up, let me put this together.” He pressed his fingertips into each other, tapping his steepled hands against pursed lips. “Okay. So. The Mechanic of yours discovers the d- the road. Horizon. Then recruits all of you?” Nods, even if they were reluctant. “Okay. And this was years ago. But he has a plan, some kind of grand work. So you all get to work. Buying up property, getting jobs in the city government or police. And then you settle in to keep rolling along, enjoying the wealth and power, until it’s time to finish the work, right?” No one argued. Even the young guy, who must have been a teenager when this started. Hell, he might be one of the other cultist’s kids. “So that brings us up to recently. When Ava and her mom roll into town, and for some reason, your boss singles her out as the culmination of his plans, starts the ritual that needs her, and attracts outside attention.” He didn’t say that he was pretty sure he knew *why*. “What I don’t get is, why wait until tonight to try to kidnap her?”
159 james + alanna + Camille = dungeon person
Then James spoke up. “It’s the Mechanic’s plan, isn’t it?” He asked. “You were fine helping Anesh in small ways before. But you heard that, and now you’re back to the whole ‘observe and report’ thing. So what about it bothers you?” He puzzled it out aloud, mostly for his own benefit. “It can’t be the dungeon territory expanding; you’re literally here to deal with that. So it must be something about the ritual itself. Or is it just the end result? The idea of a dungeon, in a human body? Is that-“
“That’s it.” Alanna confirmed, reading the smallest hints of emotional tones off Camille’s face and body language. “She’s worried about a dungeon person.”
“I worry about nothing. You waste time. Kill your prisoners, and be about your business of heroism.” Camille snapped at them, grinding her teeth in frustration.
James rolled his eyes. “I *know* that.” He said. Honestly, he wasn’t *that* transparently single minded. And Camille, for all that she could punch trees in half, wasn’t exactly a skilled manipulator. “Look,” he addressed the armored woman, “I get it. It’s not exactly subtle. You’re worried that if this works, there’ll be a life form on the planet that’s a massive threat to your father, what with his seeming weakness to dungeons for some reason. You don’t need to explain yourself to us. But being standoffish because you don’t know how to manage your fears isn’t helpful. You want this thing stopped before it’s a problem? Help us stop it. Everyone wins.”
“Very well.” Camille said, her emotions solidifying into a plan of action that she was much more comfortable with. With a single nod, she banished the doubt she was feeling. Of *course* there was an obvious way to help her father. He would understand. “We will kill the aberration and its minions. My father will understand.”
159 site of aberration and its minions = Sturdy walls, reinforced. Two trapped doors. A small army. And one very large guardian
“The site is defended.” Camille spoke up. “I can feel it.”
“And you didn’t say anything because..?”
She shot a cold look toward Alanna. “My assault sense requires me to be part of said assault.”
“First off, that’s a rad power.” James commented. “We’re gonna talk about that power later. Second, defended how? Is it something we can get through?”
Camille looked like she was focusing into the distance. “Sturdy walls, reinforced. Two trapped doors. A small army. And one very large guardian.”
160 EL road dungeon = dave + pentadragon + chevoy + Nate + Deb + Frequency-Of-Sunlight + Knife-In-Fangs + Nikhail
“I’ve got em.” Chevoy spoke, and a rustling excited energy sprung into being within Pendragon’s carrier pods.
They were a half mile up, soaring over deserted streets and a creeping darkness that was slowly but surely killing streetlights below them. Pendragon’s newly reinforced aluminum frame keeping them in a steady glide, only mildly enhanced by a collection of dungeontech that she’d been gradually incorporating into herself.
There were six people that Dave/Pendragon were carrying. Nate had claimed a seat early, and was their backup for if things got dangerous. Deb and Frequency-Of-Sunlight were there for any medical aid needed. Knife-In-Fangs had tagged along in case things got *really* dangerous, and the first batch of people weren’t enough. Chevoy and Nikhail were here mostly because they were available on incredibly short notice, and they were both proficient drone riggers.
Right now, they had twenty camera eyes spread out around the area, the signal amplifier built into Pendragon’s frame letting them keep up fine control with their skulljacks.
They had assembled, geared up, and teleported in two batches to an empty field roughly sixty miles away about four hours ago. It was still a little unsettling to Nate to watch Pendragon flatten her belly to the ground and peel back her flanks like they were car doors, but the insides of the artificial dragon that were designed for carrying people were clean, dry, and devoid of any kind of weird biological matter. So in they got.
Pendragon was not large, and despite being a magically augmented aircraft, she also didn’t have the ability to carry infinite weight. So with the exception of Nate - who insisted - the team was selected from who was available to be fairly light, and they kept their equipment from being too heavy as well. What was more frustrating was that the little pods they were in, held along Pendragon’s sides, had about as much room as a seat in coach. Nate was pretty sure he had an indentation in his flesh in the pattern of the rifle he was wedged against.
What she lacked in size or comfort, though, Pendragon made up for by being airborne, and *fast*. They’d taken a bit to get up, but once at cruising altitude, the dragon could move when she wanted to. Not as fast as something with actual jet or even prop engines, but for a creature that was mostly organic, being able to clear fifty miles in under two hours was insane. And she was still keeping moving after that sprint, too.
“Weapons check!” Nate called out to everyone. “Braids in! Remember these are the new model! Pendragon will serve as our connection point, so Dave, back in the air as soon as we’re out, but don’t go far! Riggers, drop the drones! We’ll retrieve ‘em later!” A series of sounds and shifting motions answered him. Nate reached back to the back of his head and clicked the wifi adaptor into his skulljack, awkwardly pinging the connection and beginning to set up incoming video and audio. Humans and camracondas calling back with ready checks as they got in position. “Remember! We’re probably going into save *James*! So just because something looks weird, don’t shoot first!” Nate reminded them.
160 EL road dungeon -> garage -> massiv machine / ritural site + mechanic (bob = name) + a bay much smaller for someone smaller + mechanic robot (humanoid)
The inside of the garage caught both of them off guard. Through their combined minds, they compared and contrasted how they saw the place. Anesh saw a great machine, lines of mathematical engineering drawn out in reality through interlocking gears and engine components. The entire thing, he reasoned instantly, was a *tool*, designed to be used for something.
James saw an altar, a religious site. The orange glow coming from the light sources around the expansive area were shaded and placed so that they *felt* like candlelight, while being nothing more than color tinted shop lamps. The machinery that had been dissected and reassembled to cover the walls and ceiling, to create a dome that felt like being under the hood of a monstrous vehicle, wasn’t so much meant to *do* something as *feel* a certain way.
Both of them were probably right, and their combined view shared that thought.
On the far side of the bay, wearing oil stained overalls and carefully adjusting something with a carefully held screwdriver, was a man. He was balding, looked a little bit over fifty, and was shaking his head in mild annoyance, seemingly impervious to the gunfire still sounding outside.
At James/Anesh’s entry, he finished what he was working on and turned, revealing that what he’d been working on was a frame in the shape of a human. It was sunk into the wires and pipes and pistons that coated the walls, and it was almost certainly meant for him. It was his height, and while James/Anesh couldn’t see his exact dimensions, it just felt like there wasn’t anyone else it could be for.
On the opposite side of the mechanic’s bay, just to their left, was a similar indentation. This one sized for someone much smaller, who James/Anesh were pretty sure they’d already met.
“Made it past my army, eh?” The Mechanic spoke first. “With *swords*? Now ain’t that fuckin’ insulting! I shoulda made em better! But, eh, it was a rush job, you know.” He flapped a hand, dismissing the topic with a spiteful look. “So, what do you want?” The old man demanded of them.
“For you to stop.” James/Anesh let their bodies speak in unison. “You need to unanchor the dungeon, or-“
“Ah, that fuckin’ thing?” The Mechanic’s voice was a rude, loud, and angry one. He made a sound like he was dragging something out of his throat, then spat to the side. “Knew that whole club was a mistake. Bunch’a parasites. Idiots couldn’t even catch a single kid. What’s the point?” He looked James up and down. “You’d probably make a good one, huh? Ya seem big on the whole hero angle.”
“Nah there fucking ain’t!” The mechanic yelled, spittle forming on the corner of his mouth as he flung his screwdriver to the side in a sudden outburst. “It’s never been fuckin peaceful! Don’t you get it?! Everyone just wants to take from me! Take my work, take my magic, take my god! Well I’m sick of it! I’m sick of being stolen from!” The Mechanic leaned back and crossed his arms, and James/Anesh caught sight of a nametag on his chest. ‘Bob’, it read.
“You heard me! Fuck em!” The Mechanic stuck a cigar between his lips and carefully lit the end with an old lighter. “You already know, I bet! Fuckin cutting your way in here with *swords*. You’re strong! Got the right blood, don’t ya! You already know; everyone else is just gonna try to take that away from you. Always asking you to do favors, until you’re worn down and weak like them! Well, I’m not having it! If people die? So what! People die all the time! I’ve survived everything life’s thrown at me! I deserve a little reward!” He gazed reverently at the human-shaped crèches he’d built. “I’m gonna be a *god*.” He muttered. “She told me so. I know it’ll work, too. Just need the right materials.”
160 EL road dungeon -> garage = james + anesh + mechanic (bob) + horizon (captured) + top of ceiling (something) = mechanic (bob) is dead = horizon sucked back everything back into dungeon.
Ah, it was simple. The one place the Mechanic was never looking, and that they *couldn’t* look. There was a single spot on the ceiling. James’ body drew his revolver, still loaded from the start of the fight, and emptied all but the last rounds into whatever gently humming machine was up there.
Oil fountained down like black blood, small waterfalls of it pooling on the floor as the Mechanic screamed in fury at them. All of a sudden, all the vigor seemed to go out of the man. No longer was he a mildly balding mid fifties guy, but someone much older. Wrinkled skin and liver spots, sunken eyes, bony hands and gnarled knuckles, he looked like he’d lived a hard life for the last ninety years.
The shooting outside stopped. “No!” The Mechanic tried to scream, but his voice tore halfway through. “No, you’ll let it escape! I have to, have to…” he scrambled on his bench for tools, staring up at the beating engine-heart that hung suspended from the ceiling, the no longer hidden centerpiece of the whole room.
Around them, the world *eased*. The electric salt feeling of being in a dungeon faded, pulling back. But it didn’t disappear entirely. “Let it go.” James/Anesh said. “Please. You’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t let it go. You can’t keep anchoring the Horizon here.”
The body dropped lifelessly to the floor, whatever defenses he might have thought he had already gone, or never there in the first place. James let his arms drop to his side as the dungeon feeling abated instantly, the sensation of high speed traffic carrying the last remnants of the dungeon’s forced claim on the outside world back to where it came from. The revolver clattered to the floor as his exhausted fingers let it drop, and he shook his head, partially to try to keep his tired eyes open, and partially in frustration.
160 Camille = joining order = yesa
“We are.” James looked over at the injured, exhausted woman. She seemed so *tired*, beyond even himself. “Come with us.” He said, suddenly. “Again. But… more. Join us. I haven’t met your father figure, but I’ve encountered others like him. It can’t be a good life. And I saw you. I saw how much you want to be the hero. We can give you that. And an actual home.”
Camille opened her mouth, then closed it again. She looked at James like she was seeing him for the first time. “I…” She paused.
“You don’t need to decide now.” James told her. “But we’re going to try to leave soon. Assuming your dad drops the barrier.”
“He will already be gone.” Camille shook her head sadly. “Nothing left to defend against. It is his way.”
160 EL home town = cleaned and wiped up
Six hours later, between aerial sweeps from Pendragon, and several long range red orbs Momo teleported in, the Order had verified that there were no further survivors in the city.
Everyone they had found, they’d teleported out, handed off to Recovery to begin the long process of managing temporary housing, contacting family, and putting destroyed lives back together. There was, nowhere, any news about Townton vanishing from the map. A smaller town in Canada had been consumed by a forest fire, and that had gotten more press. Just another side effect of the dungeon’s antimeme at work.
Of the remaining population, however large it was, they found three hundred and fifty one survivors.
The butcher’s bill was steep on this one. Though at least those people hadn’t lost their record in the memory of their families and friends.
The town was completely empty now, except for a curious population of opossums and raccoons. The last sophont life being three members of the Order who were acting as security, James and Anesh who insisted on being there until the end,, and Camille.
160 El’s mom Marjorie ((((NAME finally, though i missed it a few chapters back i thought it was someone calling her some nickname or some such to be nice. not her actual name)))))
Jeanne and Ava had been found safe, along with El’s mom Marjorie. They were all back at the Lair, getting special treatment beyond being put up in a hotel temporarily. No one knew exactly what to do with the cultists who’d lived through the event. So they treated them like every other victim, but kept tabs on their number, to sort out later.
160 Camille = You’ve passed the test
Five people arrived in the Lair’s teleport landing platform, James’ hand extended to empty air, Camille nowhere in sight.
He looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand. “You’ve passed the test.” It read.
“Well *fuck*.” James muttered with a sigh.
160 Camille + Camille sister + the Last Line Of Defense + US army + dead dungeon = next place london.
Overhead, a heavily armed US military drone expended a part of its payload. Three guided cluster munitions slammed into the empty ground nearby, turning a portion of the local hills into a thunderous inferno in an instant.
Far away, commanders and technicians would see a successful strike on a ‘terrorist training camp’. Here and now, the Last Line Of Defense saw the death of a particularly aggressive dungeon.
“London, then.” Her sister echoed in an identical voice. “I shall see you there.”
161 Scott Ogden = alanna ex boyfriend
“It sounds like you just need to reestablish emotional reflexes. Also… ah, no! I can answer this!” James blinked, trying to pull up a memory. “You briefly dated some guy named… Scott? Back in school as a teenager.”
“Scott… Ogden. Yeah. Yeah! That guy fucking sucked!” Alanna snapped her fingers as she put it together. “God, compared to that, any relationship is probably pretty good, huh?”
161 skulljacks = if disconnect wrongly has issues with long term memories
She snorted. “Nah, I mean, with the memory loss thing. Was that not head trauma? Nate filled me in on the whole Status Quo siege during my preliminary debrief. I don’t remember the whole thing, but I do know I got taken out midway through.”
“Oh!” James suddenly remembered something, and pointed at her with what remained of his apple snack. “That’s not head trauma!”
“What?”
“Yeah! Apparently, people have known about this for a *while* and Research only just got around to telling me! Abruptly breaking the hardware part of the skulljack connections to other people causes loss of access to long term memories! Normally it’s not a problem, because you’re right next to the person and the memories recover quickly. But when Anesh teleported back and left you, he didn’t take the time to do it right, and so you woke up without memories, and no way to get them back.” He scowled lightly. “Everyone just kind of assumed I knew this, so no one informed me directly, which is a *dangerous* way to think around here.”
“Wait, why didn’t that Anesh remember then?” Alanna asked, confused.
“Uh… that was the Anesh who died.” James muttered, trying to press away the pain in his chest that wasn’t quite physical. “Rapidly, upon return. So he might have had memory problems too, but… well.”
161 camracondas = can have sex
“She’s the one dating Deb, right?”
“Right.” James confirmed.
Alanna nodded, then held up a hand, making a gesture of trying to figure out what she wanted to say next. “How do… I mean, is…. I just…um…”
“For reasons that are way less fun than you’d think, I can confirm that camracondas *can* have sex, yes.” James told her, not moving from his odd spot.
161 Aaron McKinly = Estate specialist
“Oh, yes.” The man stuck out his hand, “Aaron McKinly. Estate specialist.”
Ethan gave a weird teenager impression of knowing what a handshake was, and James tried not to laugh, while also promising to show him how to do that correctly later. “Okay. Well, you’re gonna want to talk to Karen. She’s upstairs, just go back along the left, and take the elevator up. You can’t miss it!” He called over his shoulder as he turned and half jogged back to whatever meeting Nate was running.
“Elevator?” The lawyer looked around at the various people going about their day like he was being pranked. “This is…”
A human emerged out of the stairs just past the lockers. “It’s a single floor building, we know.” Marcus said, shutting the door to the stairwell behind him and going over to the row of lockers. “Are you one of the lawyers? I think Karen is upstairs. Just take the elevator up, you can’t miss it.”
“I should have been filming this…” James whispered to himself, regretful.
161 Marcus = order -> response department -> person
“That was kind of perfect.” James said to the young man who’d come up from the basement, which he realized must be the Response HQ. He was wearing one of the stylized pins that someone had been making for Response members on his coat shoulder, right next to a rainbow flag pin and another one that was some kind of fancy sun emblem. “Have you been here long?”
Marcus grabbed a small pill bottle out of his locker and pocketed it. “A little while, yeah. Are you new here? Or…” He looked over James with a worried look. “Someone who got teleported for medical? Uh… is your face alright?”
“Face… oh! Right. Chemical burns. They’re not serious, it just looks bad.” With the realization that he was sitting atop a mistake identity comedy gold mine, James just gave the smallest, least painful shrug he could. “I’ve been here a while. Clearly I don’t know everyone though.”
161 momo = ask james to help create life + momo is in charge of a response unit
“Well, you looked restful, and I figured I’d give you something to do. Do you wanna help me try to make some life in the basement?” Momo looked altogether too excited.
James looked back and forth between the two of them. “Momo, are you… in charge of things?” He asked, suspiciously. “When did *that* happen?”
“I’m not in charge of anything, I just lead a Response unit, and Harvey delegates a lot to me.” Momo said.
161 camracondas + stapler + any of the other non-human life = not aliens but earth citizens
“Better than the alternative.” Marcus agreed. “I guess I just appreciate the chance. Also the people here are nicer than they should be, and it’s weird, but also cool. Also *aliens exist and I can be friends with them* so *that’s* happening!”
James held up his injured hand in a ‘hold on’ motion. “Okay, as great as it is to see people as excited as I am about all this, I think it’s important to note that the camracondas or Rufus here or any of the other non-human life around here aren’t actually aliens.”
“How do you figure?”
“They’re *from here*. Maybe not the normal places, but still from Earth. They have the same claim on the world that we do. We’re all… citizens of the world, you know?” James looked over at the camraconda helping a human set up for the support group meeting later today. Looked down at Rufus, nestled in his lap. “It’s different, but it’s not alien.” He reiterated. “We’re all in this together.”
161 james first car = dead + james second car = alive just healing and in another state.
“Maybe? I teleport everywhere. But then, I think a lot of people just don’t want to tell me I can’t, and I may have special permission because two of my cars have died in the line of duty.”
From his side, Alanna spoke up for the first time since pretending to go back to sleep. “Your most recent car isn’t dead, just upside down and in another state.”
161 Nikhail -> authority (infomorph?!?) + Nikhail -> authority = healer ablities
“Did you finally get a copy of an armory package?” James asked. “I saw the note on the server that we expanded the options while I was on vacation.”
Nikhail looked guilty. “I actually still haven’t. Reed says I have to before I’m allowed to go back in the Office, but there’s a wait list. So I’ll probably just join the Akashic Sewer rotation instead.”
“That’s *not better*.” James gaze sharpened. “Now *I’m* gonna tell you that you can’t do a thing. I’ll put in a word with our duplication wizard, and get you an orb set, okay? Though good job learning first aid stuff the normal way.”
“Oh, I did not do that.” Nikhail shook his head. Holding up his left arm, James saw it was wrapped in an oddly patterned green glove that reached midway up the forearm. “The authority that bonded with me can do it. Figured it out when I was assigned to a Response team, actually. It’s really cool, and Reed has a very, *very* long sales pitch to give you later when you’re not injured.”
“So you’re a healer.” James blinked. “You can heal people with magic.”
“Nnnnno.” Nikhail’s voice turned a little pedantic. “Aidimy can do a few things involving first aid and stabilization. Or rather, produce the outcome of those actions. As long as I have the authority - see what I did there - to be operating in that role.”
The fact that the glove Nikhail was ‘wearing’ looked more than a little bit like a pattern of interlocking chains did not help James associate it with anything comfortable.
“This one isn’t from Status Quo.” Nikhail rebutted. “Aidimy was hatched here. And his focus is on rendering medical assistance.”
“So, the authority thing? We mostly called them that because it’s what we overheard. Is that thematically linked?” James was curious now.
Nikhail nodded excitedly. “Yup!” He flexed his fingers, and the glove rippled around his arm. “His strength appears related to both our institutional strength, and also how well I, personally, am filling my assigned role. It’s a very… well, I think it’s interesting. Reed said you’d have something to say about it.” He raised his eyebrows, looking at James expectantly.
161 EL home town -> townton = order new town that order owens
“You can’t die now. You have to go be a leader and decide what to do with the city we own now in about half an hour.” Anesh told him. “Also there’s that movie thing later.”
162 Texture-Of-Barkdust + Priestess-Under-Stone + Davis = (((((not sure if these names have shown up before?!?!?)))))
It wasn’t even everyone who would normally be at meetings like this. JP was still off, presumably spying on the Guild of Alchemists, but more likely just avoiding awkward contact with James. And Texture-Of-Barkdust was participating in search and rescue at Townton.
Their seats were still filled, though. Nate taking over as representative of the intelligence branch of the Order, and Priestess-Under-Stone standing in for their usual camraconda liaison, full name chosen at last.
Harvey and Knife-In-Fangs were there for Response, and Davis filling in for Research on the grounds that he was more interested in the long term than Reed was. The three of them were having a conversation about basketball when James entered, though it trailed off as he settled into his seat. Around Davis’ shoulders, the organized ethereal form of Planner waited patiently.
162 Jake Redding
And then, Sarah, as the proxy for the broader base of the Order’s membership. She was sitting next to a man that James hadn’t actually met before. Cocoa skin and a smooth wide head, an appraising look on his face that flashed through concern as James entered, still damaged from his time on vacation and showing it plainly. Maybe in his late thirties. He had a sharp jacket hung over the back of his chair, and a professional shirt on that James figured looked better on the other man than it ever would on himself.
“Jake Redding.” The man’s voice was warm and firm, but clearly all business, and his handshake matched. “Legal counsel and civilian oversight. Which I guess is something secret societies need now.”
“You’re taking this pretty well.” James said, nodding at him.
“Well, it’s that or run screaming. And the elevator ride back down would be awkwardly long.”
James grinned, and was about to keep the banter going, when Karen cleared her throat. “Mr. Redding is a potential permanent hire for us, and has been cleared for everything but the most threatening knowledge.” She said, referring specifically to the skulljacks. “He’ll be working with us on the Townton situation, but I’ve invited him to this meeting to give him time to acclimate.”
“What happened to the other lawyer?” James asked, shooting a look at Karen.
She cocked her eyebrows. “The other lawyer?”
James gave a wide-eyed questioning gaze. “The lawyer that came up here shortly before I did? The one who was doing legal consultation for us? This is a different lawyer. Do you have a thing that transforms people into other people?” He paused, his eyes shifting downward as he idly ran his thump across his fingertips. “Actually, do you have a thing that does that? I wouldn’t mind.”
“No, and also we have hired a small legal staff to work on contacting next of kin, managing estate transition, and other affairs. Mr. Redding is here specifically to assist *us*, which means knowing slightly more than just the fact that our one floor building has an elevator in it.”
162 Harlan’s Wolfpack
Nate started talking. “First off, the issue with Harlan’s Wolfpack.”
“Same.” He agreed, but then louder asked, “This is the group that stormed the chemical plant, right? What do we know about them?”
“Pretty much nothing but the name.” Nate said, shaking his head. “We have a rogue going over the immediate area, looking for any sign of where they came from or operate out of, but nothing so far. The refinery workers don’t remember anything about that whole day, and a check against employee rosters show that no one’s missing, except for the woman who was working with the Old Gun, so they didn’t kill anyone. But that *does* mean they have a way to wipe memories.”
“Continue watching.” Priestess-Under-Stone added. “See if it is a hunting ground, for them.”
162 FBI + Agent Tiffany DeKay = selling out the order + dealing with FBI
“JP’s girlfriend is planning to sell us out!” Sarah offered.
James paused, made eye contact with his friend who was sporting a toothy grin, and then turned to Karen. “Alright, what’s next?” He asked her.
“JP’s girlfriend is Agent Tiffany DeKay, and she works for the FBI.” Nate said flatly. “She also isn’t his girlfriend, they just think they’re being funny.”
“Ah.” Jake said, lowering his hand. “No further questions at this time.”
James waved their conversation down. “Point is, it seemed like it might be a useful point of contact. And in a lot of ways, it has been. Because they know about us, we’ve been able to take jobs from the FBI at our discretion, that gives us more exposure to the weird stuff, and also lets us… um… Nate, how would you phrase our billing plan?”
“Extortionate.” He answered.
“Cool. That.” James said. “That, but to the government.” He sighed. “But now they’ve assigned us a liaison that’s… um… a little more conservative than I’m comfortable with? Is that how I should phrase this?”
Karen met his gaze again, a hint of annoyance in her eyes. “She believes us to be incompatible with ‘American values’, doesn’t have a solid internal definition for that term, has recommended to her bosses that our operations be disrupted and our membership pressured into leaving, and is, in fact, literally spying on us.”
“As hilarious and probably accurate as that response is, Karen’s right.” Nate interjected. “We’ll need a little more to go on than that. But I’ll look into it. Talk to JP, get you a real, hopefully legal, plan within a week. What is the *actual* end goal?” He asked, looking around the table.
“Cut contact.” Sarah said. “No more doing jobs for them. No more taking their money.”
Harvey nodded in agreement. “Non-interference would be preferable, but we’re already starting to work with rights groups that they actively interfere with. Or at least, want to. Like them.” He pointed a scarred finger over at the new guy. “Though we’re probably going to be drawing more attention as time goes on. And they have no actual reason to keep their promises. It’s historically been an issue. So I dunno what to add, or where I was going with this.”
“Okay. Cut contact, make ourselves into a non-issue. I’ll get on it.” Nate stated, like it would just be that easy.
162 bill = order -> R&D divison
“Furniture in general. Chairs, lamps, whatever. Only works with commonly used materials, though. So far! Can’t copy a silver chair.” Davis shrugged. “Anyway. We expect that we’ll be able to begin laying the foundation for the trial arcology by the end of the year. Though Bill has asked that I ask you to hire more people for the initial construction, so it can be as polished as possible, and-“
162 camerconda -> Color-Of-Dawn -> lost flesh in austrialin -> mountain dungeon = camerconda should regrow chunks of flesh
Momo looked up from the surface of the table she had become fascinated with. “Chevoy is going to be alright. She’s only been here for a month or two, and she’s already racking up as many concussions as James. Liz and Morgan both got out scraped up, but no serious injuries. Color-Of-Dawn… well, you’d know better than I would, actually. Do you guys ever regenerate lost ‘flesh’?” Momo asked.
Priestess-Under-Stone looped her security camera head around in a camraconda version of a shrug. Unlike Knife-In-Fangs, she wasn’t wearing the mechanical arms many camracondas had taken to, so she couldn’t shrug directly. “It depends, often. Starvation makes the process slow. Often lethal. But we do not starve here. Rest, time, will help heal. May never be fully the same, though.”
“Well, his damage wasn’t to a vital organ, so he’ll get away alright then.” Momo sighed. “I managed to get to them in time to help, so everyone’s going to be alright in time.”
162 Australia -> mountain dungeon = dungeon trapping
“Yeah.” Momo nodded. “And a fuckin’ angry mountain, at that.” She took a deep breath. “So, the problem is, we went in just hoping to *find* the place. And weren’t really ready to actually *go in*, right? But the breach for this one *moves*, you guys! Chevoy said it was like ball lightning. Caught them totally off guard, and dropped them into the dungeon without warning. We bailed out of there afterward, so we haven’t started tracking it yet, but it’s possible that it can roam out up to about fifty miles from the base of the mountain. And also, it’s possible the mountain isn’t real.”
“Run that last one by me real quick?” James blinked in abrupt confusion.
“The mountain. I think it’s a mirage. There’s just no *mountain* there. Weird weather patterns, alarming missing persons rates, a whole lot of signs of a dungeon. But you can’t just hide an entire fuckin’ mountain like that. I’ve had Liz check out some satallite photos, and she can see what’s obviously a mountain. *But*, the place where it supposedly is? *People have been there*. And I don’t mean, like, they *think* they were there but were actually somewhere nearby. There are vacation photos online that are geotagged to the middle of where that mountain supposedly is. I think it’s one big mirage.”
“Not exactly.” Momo uttered a long ‘uh’, as she put her thoughts together. “It’s… a functioning city? But also, yeah, it’s the kind of place that seems like it gets a lot of business from tourists. Campers, hikers, that sorta thing. Has a big art-town vibe to it, too.”
“Right, right. Can these dungeons think?” All at once, James, Sarah, Harvey, and Knife-In-Fangs echoed a single “Yes.” Jake jolted a little at the varying levels of vehemence and venom in the different voices, and then leaned back in his chair with a nod. “Okay, then it’s a trap.”
James, though, tilted his head back to the ceiling and groaned. “Oooooooh! I get it!” He ran his good hand through his hair. “The kind of people out there would be *super curious* about the mountain that isn’t on any map! They’d probably love to check it out, at least a little. And the sporadic memory effect is gonna make it so they don’t realize how long they’ve spent walking toward it! And then, they get *too* close, and bam. In range of the breach.”
162 Utah -> grim monolith ((name?))
“There was that weird grim monolith that showed up in the Utah desert that no one found for years. Maybe it would be like that? Also, wouldn’t the presence of the mountain make it harder to do anything about?” Davis pointed out.
Knife-In-Fangs hummed, a low vibrating tone from his natural voice. “Did we investigate the grim monolith?”
“Nah, the grim monolith was a human thing.” Harvey gave a small frown. “We assume. It was too recognizable as weird art to be a weird dungeon thing, I think.”
162 Australia -> mountain -> dungeon = folks with drones watch and warning folks away till a later time.
“How bout keeping someone in the area as a lookout? Warning people away?” Harvey suggested. “We’ve got more and more trained drone scouts available these days.”
“Requested hours exceed available hours.” Planner softly murmured into the air.
Harvey gave the infomorph’s manifestation a betrayed look, before turning back to James. “We’ve got drone scouts that can train more drone scouts to be available.”
162 accounting + karren = budget = civil engineering = dealing with roads
“No.” Karen said simply. “Not immediently. We are operating at a deficit, and that’s only gotten worse this month with the influx of refugees to take care of. Now, a lot of those people are going to be on the path to recovery within the next month, so that cost will be going down. But we still don’t have access to enough resources to have the financial power to hire that many people.”
“But.” Planner added, an angular limb shifting around Davis’ shoulders to interject. “Ourselves can account for increased operations. A number of ideas float toward the surface, projects near ready states. Money is acquirable. Especially when Relevant Space operations are expanded. There are materials to make use of, if we simply make use of them.”
Karen nodded. “Yes. Exactly. Precious metals alone are enough to balance our books, if we had perhaps one or two more experienced teams exploring Officium Mundi. But there’s also opportunities to begin applying powers for civil engineering, which can be a very lucrative field with the proper access to contracts.”
“Do we… have that access?” James asked.
“Yes. I’ve been securing it, since it was made clear that we can do road work at an inhumanly rapid rate.”
162 townton, Tennessee -> EL road dungeon = 351 survivors + order clean up dealing with surviviors
Momo started them off. “Okay. One big thing that’s been worrying is if this is going to get us… you know, shut down or anything. Like if any random government might take offense to the whole *thing*.” The young woman pursed her lips and ducked her head as a few people around the table gave her incredulous looks at the way she made it sound a lot less horrifying than it actually was. “Right. Well. I’ve been keeping tabs on things. Nameless is watching news feeds for anything, and I’m checking in with Planner and Pathfinder fairly often. It looks like the geographic memeplex around the dungeon was still operational in the claimed areas when you killed the guy.” She shot a nod toward James. “The dungeon pulled back, but from what I can tell of how things like maps and Wikipedia have been edited over the last couple days, the general consensus is that the city is just way smaller than it always was written down as.” Momo shrugged. “We’re in the clear, as far as anyone noticing. I think even DeKay didn’t actually know anything happened, beyond James and Anesh going on vacation. Large scale forgetfulness, basically.”
“Oof.” James shook his head. “That’s gonna make it hard for the survivors to rebuild, assuming they want to.”
“Most of them do not.” Karen spoke in an informative tone, rattling off statistics like an automatic weapon. “We brought back three hundred and fifty one survivors, not counting the people who are here in the Lair. Of those, roughly half owned property in Townton, and most of the rest are underage. Recovery has already begun contacting family where possible, and transporting the children affected when it makes sense to do so. We may need to either interface with state social services for at least twenty of the children who have no known family, or else make Order-esque arrangements.” James snorted a laugh at the sentence, and he noticed he wasn’t the only one. Karen just rolled on though. “Of the adults that owned property in the city, many of them are struggling against the antimemetic effect, and are treating this as a singular traumatic event that lost them their homes, and sometimes families. We have made counseling and therapy available, but despite the violent nature of the event, it would appear the memory loss is actually helping many of them move on quickly. As before, Recovery is assisting in finding family, and providing ‘insurance payouts’ where needed.”
“How’s the money situation?” James asked. “Can we afford that?”
“It is cutting into our savings. But it will not bankrupt us” Karen said honestly. “I have secured us very affordable accommodations at a number of hotels, but I have also learned that you cannot get a bulk discount on therapists.” She paused, and it took James a minute to realize she’d just made a *joke*. Undeterred by the lack of laughs, Karen continued on. “The ones who want to go back to the city are being pressured against it by those who consider the whole place lost. And in my opinion, as well as that of our resident mental health experts, we should simply tell them that their homes are gone. Recover mementos for them, if possible, provide them the funds to move on, and not let them go back.”
“Homes made unsafe.” Knife-In-Fangs commented. “Practical measure, to keep them away.”
“Exactly, thank you.” Karen tipped her head toward the camraconda. “Fortunately, the fact that they’re treating this a single traumatic event means that we’ve seen a far, *far* lower rate of suicide than we did among…” The words caught in her throat, and she looked away for a second before turning back and continuing. “Among survivors of long term imprisonment from Officium Mundi.”
162 Connie = order -> department of health care -> mental health expert
Sarah gave an energetic nod. “Yeah. Though she’s still at the school, mostly. Connie is the one who’s been our weird-things mental health expert for this. And Karen’s right, sending people back is just going to lead to those people living somewhere they subconsciously associate with a *lot* of death.”
162 EL road dungeon -> prisoners from cult
“Now, there’s two questions left to answer.” Karen brought them back to the topic at hand. “The first is, what do we do with the prisoners from the cult?”
“Probably why people listen to him.” Harvey muttered to Nate, who gave an agreeable snort. Then, out loud, added to the group, “This is basically where the rubber meets the road for our - stop laughing, Momo, that wasn’t a pun - for our interpretation of a legal system. Or rather, a *justice* system. Now, I know James has talked about this before, but it’s not theoretical anymore. The good ‘ol US of A doesn’t consider ‘attempted deicide’ to be a crime, and we have no proof that these people ever attempted kidnapping, murder, or fraud. Their fates are entirely up to us, and we need to decide on what that’s going to be, because it’s gonna come up more and more.”
“But they’re still… I dunno what to call it.” Momo shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. “Incompatible? Assholes? Maybe not all of them, but some of them. They *wanted* to have power over people, they were *okay* hurting people if it made them richer. That’s messed up, and we shouldn’t tolerate that.”
And now, James spoke. “I wouldn’t ever want to be part of an organization that kills people it finds inconvenient.” He said. “Hell, it’s part of why I think we’d be better for humanity than most governments. No, no executions. But we need to do more than just lock people up.”
“No, the point is to make a better world. That’s always going to be the point of anything we’re doing here.” James answered her. “Isolating someone from society fixes one problem; they can’t keep hurting people. But it doesn’t fix the problem that you either have to keep them isolated, or eventually let them go, and then you have the same risk as before.” He shook his head. “It’s something we see with US prisons *all the time*. Recidivism is way too high, because the main thing people learn in prison is contact information for other criminals, and how to do violence better. And yes, that’s reductive, I know, I’m going for a point here.” He cut Harvey off before the other man could correct him. “My point is, we need a better solution. Rehabilitation. Therapy. Cultural immersion. Isolation from anyone they can hurt, sure, but also a path toward a better life. Maybe as members of the Order, maybe just as citizens of our new world. But we can’t just lock em up or shoot em.”
“You want to treat them like victims.” Davis commented. He didn’t say it with malice, just like he was making a mental connection.
162 EL home town -> townton = order taking it over = no longer has a road/s going to the town anymore
“...Sure we do.” James said, blinking. “We have a whole city.”
“And now we get to the second question.” Karen quipped.
Jake jumped in. “Okay, I was asked to prepare for this. If you look at page ten through sixteen in the meeting notes, you can see a cost breakdown of expected capital gains and property taxes, and legal fees. As well as the process of becoming an unincorporated township in the US.”
James gave her an exasperated glower before looking back around the table. “What if we just moved in?” He said. “With the dungeon there, it’s a powerful resource. And the residual antimemetic effect gives us at least a little cover. If we move fast enough, by the time anyone notices… well, refuge in audacity, right?”
“A number of small things, yes. Though since your people have made it clear that the area is functionally an active disaster site, it mitigates most of them.” Mr. Redding flipped a page of his notes over and checked a couple of things. “The thing to remember is, the law isn’t always enforced equally. A number of things, such as zoning restrictions, or use of firearms within city limits, would normally be enforced by people who are dead now. And no one is planning to take their place.” He let his shoulders slump slightly. “The loss of life, assuming this isn’t some elaborate game you’re all playing, is… staggering. There have been wars that cost less than this.” He sighed, banishing his frown as best he could. “Your concept of refuge in audacity isn’t even legally irrational. If you were the sole caretaker of otherwise abandoned property, and that property remains abandoned for seven years, then you can claim the title for it. I’ll need to do more research to see about the responsibilities of a city government.”
“That would be helpful, thank you.” Karen told him. “Is there a barrier now to occupying the empty land?”
“Well, Tennessee trespassing laws could allow you to be arrested by local or state authorities, regardless of if the property is owned or active.” He shrugged. “But again, they’d have to find you.”
“I should mention the city doesn’t actually connect to a highway anymore.” James pointed out. “The Last Line Of Defense blew up the main road out of town.
Harvey pushed his chair back and stood up, and Nate followed suit. “This mostly answers my question on what our future operations should be.” He said. “We’ll start preparing for combat operations starting next week. Clean the place up a bit.”
Nate nodded. “Also, I’m gonna find someone to take my place as a military commander. Not my thing, and I’ve mostly just been filling in.”
“I can find some people to get to work on putting all the asphalt back where it belongs, and not ‘all over the damn place’.” Momo added, stretching out before she also wobbled to her feet.
162 EL road dungeon = Route Predation (EL name) = Route Horizon (james name) = and dungeon is a female
“Oh, you’d like it, I think. It’s got mazes and magic gasoline and a whole bunch of weird stuff. Though not all clumped up, like here. It’s a hell of a road trip.”
“What’re we calling this one? El said that she didn’t like the name Route Predation anymore, since… you know, the whole thing.”
“I’ve been mentally saying Route Horizon.” James said, nodding understandingly at El’s change of heart. “It… it tried, you know? I think that’s the thing. The inside is hostile, and *harsh*. But when the time came, the dungeon *tried*. It for sure saved Jeanne and Ava. And probably thousands of others. It was fighting back, I think. Right up to the end there.”
“Route Horizon.” Sarah said the words, like she was intoning them into a mental shelf where she kept special names. “I like it. Can’t wait to visit her.”
“Her?”
“Oh, her, absolutely.” Sarah nodded. “Probably. I mean, I’ll *ask* when I have the chance!”
162 Chevoy -> cloning herself
“Pff. No. Because Karen would kill me, and I cannot prove she doesn’t have that power.” James shook his head. “Also, hey, I didn’t realize this, but Momo said that Chevoy was there too? But Chevoy was… one of the people on the rescue team for *me*. Is that girl cloning herself too, or did she just walk off frostbite?”
Sarah blinked. “Thaaaaat is a good question. Wanna go get lunch and see if we can ambush her and ask.”
163 order (oregon) -> basements = 6.5 = what basement is what
James pushed open the stairwell door to one of their many, many basements. He’d started taking the stairs more, because they were so much easier to deal with, and because someone - probably Anesh - had put up convenient signs on all of them. And now that the Great Reorganization was more or less done, all six and a half of their basements were in full use, and a single elevator simply wasn’t logistically enough for everyone anymore. Especially not if James was always hitting the wrong button. Because he *was*, even if there was a nice floor guide in the elevator too.
This floor was now wholly devoted to Research, and the vault. Basement one, it had been officially relabeled, after it was revealed that half the order called it basement one, half of them called it basement two, and at *least* two people called it basement A. The new basement two was living quarters, along with a garden space, made possible by the ongoing attempts to domesticate and safeguard May, the living raincloud from Clutter Ascent. Basement three was operations for Response, making use of the biggest open floor space to set up banks for phones and computers, and using the rest of the floor for break or nap areas for teams on call, a small armory, and a few rooms for evacuated civilians, until they could be moved somewhere safer. Basement four was more living space, but these ones actually designed and the whole floor remodeled by the Order to be camraconda-comfortable. That was also where they’d set up a permanent worship space. Basement five was a sort of catchall, and was currently where the asphalt golem they’d built was stored. They used that one for experimentation a lot, or group projects. Basement number six was just storage. Mostly for clutter extracted from the other basements, but also it was where continual efforts to organize the various non-dangerous dungeon artifacts were ongoing.
163 order (oregon) -> basement 1 + shellaxis not people yet + Chevoy + John + Mars + Mike + Quiet-Intentional-Dark + camerconda (specialized desks)
As he headed down the hallway to the main collaborative research space, James appreciated the remodel down here, even if this floor wasn’t as heavily redone as the others. Gone were the patches of darkness lit by unsteady hanging lightbulbs. In their place, the whole basement was bathed in a nicely diffused white light from properly bolted LED clusters up in the corners of the wall and ceiling. The floor was still concrete, but in the new light, the whole thing really showed off how clean the place had been made. And cork boards outside the doors to the repurposed storage rooms showed off up to date reports on experiments or scheduling, making the whole place feel like the well used and well loved rec center James remembered taking flute classes at as a kid.
When he emerged into the large floor area that members of Research tended to use as a sort of office space, he found it mostly empty. “Hey, uh… John, right?” He greeted the singular human down here. There was a small pen in the center of the desks full of shellaxies, but despite all efforts on the part of some people, they weren’t actually people at this point.
“Oh. That’s perfectly normal.” James was almost disappointed. “What *is* your job, by the way?”
“I check pencils from Officium Mundi. It’s… I mean, it’s boring. But sometimes there’s a cool one.” John shrugged. “Someone has to do it, right?”
John winced, then looked up from the desk he’d been staring at in an attempt to escape this conversation. “I mean, I kind of want to… this sounds stupid.” He trailed off, but James just waited patiently, arms folded, with an understanding expression. “I wanted to be one of the people exploring the other dungeons. Not the Office!” He quickly explained without being prompted. “I don’t want to go back there! But… there’s other places, too, right? And… and I wanted to see them. But it sounds stupid when…”
“Oh, skulljack stuff, mostly. Designing secure firmware. I’m not really good at hardware, which is what Mars and Mike are in charge of. Mike and Mars who, by the way, have *also* worked here for only a few months, but *I* have several different magic things more than! Anyway, I’m mostly just trying to find ways to natively host something like a firewall on the skulljack’s primary connected platform.” She shrugged. “It’s kinda slow going. In my spare time, I read all the notes Virgil left before he quit, and try to understand what the hell he was thinking. Also! Now I’m aware of my breathing at all times, because I keep thinking about the ‘breath’ thing the mountain gave me!”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” James put on a shaky smile. Then, he paused before turning to leave. “Also, I was actually curious what you were doing *right now*, with the drill and stuff. Not… sorry, were you talking about getting the human brain to run programs?”
“Uh… yes.” Chevoy said. “It’s not working. Also I’m just setting up a workstation for a new guy. Quiet-Intentional-Dark wants to work with us. So, new desk.”
“...shouldn’t a camraconda desk be lower to the ground, or have a ramp or something?” James asked.
Chevoy paused, looked at the human standard desk she’d just finished drilling holes in and running computer cables through, looked down at the drill in her hand, then back to the desk. Then she started swearing, while James excused himself with a laugh and headed back to the stairs, shaking his head the whole way.
163 james + momo + momo AI (no name / nameless / it / them) + wikipedia dungeon (Virgil)
Momo stuck her tongue out, before continuing. “Seriously, though. I’m worried about Nameless.”
“The AI, with no name, who we all now call Nameless.” James clarified with a sigh. “Yeah, this place is infectious. I’ve only just noticed.”
“Yeah, her.” Momo nodded. “Or, it, I guess. Them? Them. I keep thinking of them as… this is unimportant. Look, the point is, I’m worried.”
“I think they’re breaking down.” Momo said, a slight hitch in her voice.
“They already know.” Momo said. “Also… I don’t know how to explain this exactly. They don’t *feel*, the way we do. Not really. They have things they want, and they become frantic if they can’t get those things, but most of their recognizable feelings are things that they pick up through a few red totems, and… well, they’re breaking down.” Momo seemed to shrink into her seat, twisting back and forth as she talked. “I don’t really know why, but I think it’s because they keep changing things. Making tweaks to their own code, or drawing too much on the totems, or something. I dunno? Just a lot of little things that’ve added up, and now it’s causing bigger problems. But *also*, there’s one really big thing that happened recently that accelerated it.”
“I know.” Momo shrugged. “*Nameless* knows. It doesn’t matter, though. They just… they don’t *care*!” Momo practically yelled the last word, as she pushed out of her chair and started pacing the cramped room, stepping around boxes and piles of tools on the floor. “They’re just interested in doing what they want! And it feels like they’re just in massive denial about having a problem, while they throw their time away looking at weather spreadsheets! And I’m… I don’t know what to *do*! I made them…!” Momo whipped her head around to look at James, and he saw the beads of tears in her eyes. “I made them, man. And they don’t even care that they’re dying, and they don’t want help, and… and…” She trailed off, breath coming in unsteady gasps.
“Oh. Nameless found a dungeon.” Momo said. “Uh… they found Virgil’s dungeon, actually.”
“Holy shit, no way.” James’ eyebrows shot up. “Have you checked it out?”
“I have not.” Momo said, shooting a glare at the bank of hardware that was Nameless’ physical container. “Because apparently, they aren’t just interested in *finding* dungeons, but collecting *all sorts* of data on them.”
“Wait.”
“Yeah!”
James squeezed his eyes shut before speaking. “So… the AI’s degradation is… battle damage?” He asked incredulous. “Also why haven’t you checked it out?”
“Because!” Momo threw her hands up. “The access point *moves*! And apparently Nameless is alive enough that whatever antimeme protects the dungeon wipes its memory of the method!” She pointed an arm behind her, leveling a finger at Nameless. “They’ve been in *five times*, and didn’t tell anyone! And it’s *killing them*!”
“I do not hurt.” The nameless AI replied. “I am collecting data. And resources. Information and xenotech are both of use to the greater organization. My actions reinforce the pattern. Why do you do what you do? What would you have me do instead?”
“The… you…” James shook his head. “No, no. Answers first. Why do I do what I do? I do what I do to help people. So fewer people are hurt, more people live. So that the pattern, as you call it, grows and becomes more complex. What would I have you do?” He paused, and glanced at Momo, who was fuming, clearly having already had this conversation. “I’d have you be part of that pattern.” James said. “A permanent part.”
There was a quiet tension in the air, broken when the AI spoke again. “My existence is not self-defining.” They said. “I am different from you. I want to study, to compare. And also to explore, in my way. When I end, I will not measure my success or failure. I only know, now, whether I am doing as I want. Momo says I am defining myself as a tool. But if that is true, am I not a good tool? I am succeeding, now. That is all I can know. The future is not real. I am not human.”
“The impermanence of all things?” Momo suggested, and instantly regretted it as she saw James shudder and clench his hands into fists. “Uh… also, I don’t think it would help. It would only make them… sad. AI-sad. Whatever. Because the degradation is ongoing, and more or less unfixable.”
“Terminal.” The AI added, and it sounded like it was *smirking* with its synthetic speech.
“Did you just make a pun?” James asked. “Is puns one of the things you want?”
“Yes.” The AI answered. “It is confluence of linguistic data.”
“I guess it is, yeah.” James agreed, before turning back to Momo. “Do you want the shitty truth that I don’t see a workaround for?”
“No. But say it anyway.”
James shook his head, shoulder’s slumping. “Let them be comfortable. Happy. And when they can’t keep doing what they want, we help them shutdown easily.” The words felt *wrong*, even as he said them. The emotional part of him that hated the idea if death rebelling against its existence. “Or, you know, we hope they find a healing potion for AIs in the dungeon they *apparently* keep finding and delving!” He was a little annoyed at that, and let that emotion take over, driving away the shadows.
“A week, like I said. But I literally only found out today about the dungeon thing.” Momo shifted something on the desk, and handed a cardboard box over to James. He peeked inside and saw a mishmash of data storage hardware. Floppy disks and USB sticks and other such pieces of technology scattered together. “I haven’t tested any of them.” Momo said. “I don’t… really want to, right now.”
163 order -> ritual depart = one girl division of order
“You know I’m part of Research, right?” Momo raised her eyebrows at him.
James cleared his throat. “Honestly? I’ve internally been thinking of you as a one-girl division called Ritual, because I noticed the other day that all of our divisions are r-words.”
163 james = chemical explosion and face is damaged
“Dang, kid. What happened to you?” Bill let out a low whistle as he passed his nominal boss in the hallway.
James stopped as the burly older construction foreman turned to face him in passing. “What?” He raised his eyebrows, and instantly winced as the skin on his face pulled. “Oh, right. That. Chemical explosion.”
“The fuck did you blow up?” Bill asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the basement wall.
“Well that’s just mean. What makes you think I…? Okay, yeah, not even gonna try to finish that sentence. It was a living tanker truck full of what I *think* was some sort of explosive concoction. A lot of it got on my face. Alanna’s kinda messed up too, but there was more intact windshield protecting her.” James sighed. “Really don’t wanna do that again, honestly.”
163 order -> Yamhill -> order acreage some place
“Yeah, I’ve actually been out for the week. We got some acreage over in Yamhill that no one ever goes to where we can test out buildings. Someone said it was fine if I worked in chunks, so I can take a whole week off every now and then.” Bill stated it like he was almost challenging James.
163 james + bill = urban engineer (now vs building shacks)
Bill’s shoulders slumped a bit in equal parts relief and exhaustion. “Honestly? Kid, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. It’s like… like I’ll put together a building frame to test on, and everyone will gather around, and when they look at it, they’re seeing stuff I’m blind to. Like I woke up one day an’ got told that I’ve been disabled this whole time, but nothing’s changed.” He shook his head, staring down the hallway to avoid looking at James. “They don’t need me there. I’m just putting together shacks. You can find someone better at the magic part for that.”
“Are you... quitting?” James was confused.
“Do you actually want some old guy who can’t adapt around?” Bill snorted out.
James sighed. “Okay, so, here’s the deal. And I’m gonna try to make this quick, because I’ve got a lot more of this exact same conversation today, probably. So you get to be my guinea pig.” He paused, but didn’t get interrupted, and so carried on. “You’re not here so you can build a magical city. You’re here so you can help us build a magical *society*. I didn’t hire you to be an urban engineer-”
At that point, Bill actually did interrupt. “Wait, really? Shit, kid, I’ve been studying for that like I’m back in college and exams are coming up, and I could have skipped all that?”
163 james + hospital + nurse (female)-> (gains of pile of purple cancer orbs) + EL (blushes over james) + 15yr old girl (patient)(chemo) -> james give cancer orb
James snapped into existence outside the door to a hospital room, and elicited a startled yell from a passing nurse. “Sorry!” He said, flushing in embarrassment, glad that his face mask blocked most of that detail. “That’s literally never been a problem before!”
“Wh.. you! What?!” The woman clutched her chest through her blue scrubs, pointing her other hand at him like was a ghost. “You scared the hell out of me!” She accused him.
El was occupying one of two beds that were placed opposite each other, making the already rather tightly efficient hospital room *very* cramped. The other resident, another girl who looked to be about fifteen, was watching El with a sarcastic look as the older girl spoke. “...so then he did something stupid with a dragon, and just sort of… oh, hey James.” El nodded at him. “Anyway, the point is, we *didn’t* die, and you can tell, because I’m here, and awake, and hungry, and still haven’t gotten the pudding I was promised an hour ago.”
“Uh… I’m gonna need a wheelchair or something.” El motioned down at herself, laying in the bed. “Leg’s still… you know.”
“I mean, you got clawed up, like, three days ago.” James said. “I’d be shocked if you could walk. But yes, we’ve got a chair waiting for ya back at the Lair. Uh… assuming you… you know, want to… come back?” He cleared his throat. “I realize we didn’t talk about this much, and I dunno if anyone’s been visiting you here, but… well, you’ve got a place with us if you want, you know?”
El stared at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been less surprised to hear anything in my life.” She said, dropping her head back to the rough hospital pillow. “Also no visitors right now. Cause, you know…” She waved hand around the hospital. “Anyway. Yes. Get me out of here. I *obviously* don’t know what I want with my damn life, so… whatever. Let’s go, come on. Spirit me back to your anarchist utopia.” She held out a hand to him, eyebrows raised expectantly.
James stared at her. “You do realize you’re going to have to stand up, otherwise when we blip back, you’ll fall on your ass, right? Also, I keep *telling* people that the Order isn’t specifically anarchist, and no one believes me.” He gnawed at his lip under his mask. “I should draw a diagram.”
“What are you here for, if you don’t mind?” James asked her.
“Nothing.” The girl looked away.
James turned toward the nurse, who just shook her head. “I’m not violating HIPAA rules for someone who just came in here to rile up a patient.” She snapped, before turning back to El. “Now *lay down* or I will call security!”
El, still struggling, sagged back panting for breath, and gasped out at James, “She’s here for chemo.”
James tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling tiles. “Of course she is.” He muttered. “Nikita’s getting too fuckin’ smart, huh?” He gave the nurse a resigned look, and she replied with an alarmed expression on her face. “Whatever. Here, kid.” James pulled his good hand out of his coat pocket, and tossed a purple orb over to the teenager. “And a pile for you. One for you, the rest for anyone here for cancer treatment, kay?” He held out his hand, and the nurse reflexively accepted as he poured a handful of orbs into her palm. “Careful with those. Justine tells me they’re worth ‘basically all the money’. And I’m pretty sure we hired her to know that kind of thing.” He looked down at the bed. “El, I’ve got things to do today. You getting up or not?”
163 Clutter Ascent (fredrick -> home -> attic -> dungeon)
Clutter Ascent welcomed James with an intensity of warmth he hadn’t known was possible. It was like… like waking into the kitchen on Christmas Eve after taking a golden retriever through a long walk through the snow and smelling cookies in the oven. He didn’t know how the attic had captured that feeling, but then he realized that the feeling was just a fragment of the whole thing. The Attic was projecting something much deeper, and James was just feeling his own memory resonate with it.
“That’s really cool.” He whispered as he stepped up to the top of the ladder. On his shoulder, Rufus nodded in agreement.
The landing at the entrance to the dungeon was as cluttered as ever, the attic really living up to this name. Cardboard boxes, stacks of board games that were assuredly missing pieces, bushels of old garden tools standing up in buckets, sheet covered dressers and cupboards. It was a riot of faded colors, wood tones, and dusty cloth. But every time he was here, James always seemed to find something that caught his eye.
“...Is that a *stuffed camraconda*?” He asked no one in particular. “Whaaat. That’s adorable!” He spoke in a hushed, excited tone to his companion as he found one of the pathways through the piles, and started making his way toward his destination.
163 Clutter Ascent + rufus + james + Fredrick Umbra Armillary the First
“Sorry, sorry!” He apologized. “I’m still a little wobbly. Sorry.” James softly settled himself down into the blankets, smile turning more natural as Rufus bobbed in acceptance of the apology. “So, this is where I last met him.” James said to the stapler. “I think he has some kind of dungeonsense, so he should be here eventually. Kind of skittish.”
The two of them were here because James had asked his stapler friend if he’d be interested in meeting the strange rat-gecko-spider hybrid creature, whom Sarah had gleefully named Fredrick Umbra Armillary the First. And Rufus had… well, Rufus had thought for a long time, but eventually said yes.
The stapler spidercrab was not blind to what James was attempting here. There was an impulse for dungeon life, as far as he was aware, to view humans as alien, and in a lot of ways scary. Though that might just be him, because he was *very* small compared to the human friends he’d made. But he *had* made friends, and he was a living proof of concept to any other dungeon’s denizens, that coexistence was not only possible, but welcome.
Also he had a suspicion that James and Alanna and possibly also Sarah had conspired to try to get him to make more friends. Which was… fair, really. He’d been spending a lot of time on his own silent, lonely project lately. And while he and Ganesh operated well as a pair, they didn’t spend a lot of time together casually these days. Similarly, human friends could be hard to talk to, especially when they were constantly rushing around to this or that crisis.
And the thing Rufus came to realize was… he didn’t mind that. He didn’t mind the idea of meeting new friends, crafted creatures like him, from other places. Maybe with similar lives, who could understand what he’d been through. For sure, there were human parallels, but it wasn’t quite the same.
So he’d said yes. And here he sat with James, waiting on a coffee table and trying to deduce how the sprawling game in front of him was played without a rulebook, or any sense of logic to its layout.
And when the other creation, Fredrick, materialized out of the shadows, hummed a greeting at James, and settled in after accepting a bag of pistachio nuts as payment, Rufus started to think that maybe James wasn’t just tying to get *him* to make friends.
And a few minutes later, after they’d all lapsed into a comfortable quiet, Fredrick opened his muzzle after moving a piece, and asked, “Bringing them home?” His voice wavered, like he was uncertain about using it. Rufus was honestly a bit jealous that he had been made with a voice at all.
“Home… here?” James asked, and shook his head in response to Fredrick’s nod. “No, no. We’re going to help them find their own homes. Or recover the ones they lost. It’s hard. There’s a lot of people who need help, and even then… we didn’t save everyone.”
“Help?” Fredrick asked.
“Help finding a home.” James explained. “Getting back on their feet. Recovering.”
But Rufus had heard the real question in the word. He wasn’t asking what help was. He was asking how *he* could help.
Rufus decided he liked Fredrick.
There came a point when James leaned back, and just started watching, as Rufus and his new board game opponent played against each other. And then, when James excused himself and headed off with a smile and a promise to have someone check in with Rufus later.
163 rufus + Fredrick Umbra Armillary the First = fredrick not being shy no more
And then, it was just the two of them. And Rufus watched with curiosity as Fredrick seemed to completely drain of tension when James left, relaxing and rustling under his cloak.
He made a series of gestures. You know, he asked of the amalgamation, he really doesn’t care what you are.
Fredrick answered back with his own motions, either because his voice wasn’t meant for conversations, or because he was just more comfortable this way. I don’t want to upset him, Fredrick said.
Rufus rolled his eye, not needing to move to make the message clear. You’re upsetting him more this way; he’s worried about you.
The other dungeon creation kneaded scaled paws in front of the clasp to its cloak. Anxiety. Fear. Emotions, not words with meaning.
Rufus changed track. Gestures around them, looked up at the window with the false sunset coming through. Gave a curious look at the seated Life across from him. What, he asked, is this place?
And Fredrick didn’t have a gesture for it. So he spoke a word that he’d heard the humans use before. That he felt, in his bones, was right. “Home.” He answered.
Tapping at his head, Rufus jabbed a leg toward where James had left. Think, he encouraged. Think about *that human*. The one that just spent half an hour wishing he could have protected more people. You think he cares what you look like? Or do you think he’d just see a home that needs protecting?
Fredrick’s fidgeting stopped, as the dungeon Life really did think about it. And then, with a nervous motion, he unclipped his makeshift cloak, and pulled the hood down. Three extra rows of eyes, colors fading from blue to red, but never losing that glittering shine, stared at Rufus. And with a relieved stretch, Fredrick unfurled his other four long furred spidery legs from behind his back, and moved them into comfortable positions around himself.
Rufus nodded. Held up his own extra forelegs to show that he, too, had an advantage in limb count over the average human. They were *large* yes, but they didn’t have enough *legs*.
163 james + tiff dekay + dekay (sabutaging order + stealing + wrinting fake sucide notes + held gun to kill james) + firing tiff dekay + ending FBI contact with order + Frequency-Of-Sunlight + dekay wanting to kill james + dekay infomorph -> That Which Is Owed To Me (nickname dept)
Taking a deep breath, James gave a small shake of his head. “What are we gonna do with you, DeKay?” He asked quietly, and watched her tense noticeably. “Stealing magic, plotting sabotage, what did we ever do to you aside from invite you in?” James sighed.
“Is that all this is about?” DeKay asked, trying and failing to cover up the stress in her voice.
“Wow, not even a denial. And that sentence *super* implies that you’ve been doing more stuff I’d hate too, so nice job.” James shifted his feet to a casually guarded stance in the doorway.
“Think of them as already paid for.” DeKay suggested bitterly. “You charge enough for your services, after all.”
James shook his head. “I’m not charging *you* though. Come on, what the hell is this?” He asked.
“Oh, what?” The agent asked, suddenly *angry* in a way James hadn’t really seen from her before. “You thought no one was going to notice you? That you’d coast by under the radar because anyone with enough power to stop you would be blind to all the alien mindwarping bullshit you have here?” DeKay jabbed a finger toward James. “You are a *threat*. To this country, to its people, to its *government*. And you’re a fucking idiot if you think you can just do whatever you want and get away with it.”
“Shut up.” Now it was James’ turn for anger. “Just… shut up.” He closed his eyes. Let the simmering fury in his chest subside. “I’m here to tell you that you are no longer welcome in this building, agent. You will be leaving now.” He tried to keep his words calm as he spoke.
DeKay stared at him. “Your organization’s relationship with the Bureau…”
“Is *over*.” James informed her with a hiss. “There is no relationship with you, or your government. Your presence here is no longer required.”
James didn’t rise to the emotional bait, just kept his voice level, if a little shaky. “Control… ugh. Control is what we strive for so we can stop being afraid. It’s great, when you want control over your health, or your food supply, but get much bigger than that and it starts to turn violent. Dangerous, to use your word. No, no. I’m done being scared. We’re building something better. And you could have been part of it, but you’re still jumping at shadows.” James looked away. “Get out, DeKay. And come back when you’re ready to face the world with courage, and not the gun in your hand.”
The gun in her hand was literal, not a metaphor. She was leveling it at James, having plucked it off the desk like it was a secret and he hadn’t noticed it five minutes ago. “I could kill you now.” The look in her eyes was wild. Almost feral.
James stared at her, not bothering to even rise from his position braced against the doorframe. “First of all, no you absolutely could not.” He started. “Second of-“
The agent tried to pull the trigger. And found that her finger would not move. Nor, in fact, would any other part of her.
“Red light.” A synthesized voice came from just above the ceiling tiles, where Frequency-Of-Sunlight was peering through a small gap.
“*Second of all*,” James continued, “what the *fuck*, lady? That’s your answer to everything? Gun in hand, threats and violence? I changed my mind, don’t ever fucking come back. Christ on a bike. This is the real world, not an action movie. You don’t need to shoot everything.”
DeKay didn’t reply. Instead, she was busy reaching out with her mind. Connecting to her infomorphic companion, the old greedy assignment spinning to life as she promised him an equal share of the spoils of war after they-
“That Which Is Owed To Me.” James solemnly addressed the flickering green spectre that was building around DeKay’s arms. “Good to see you again.” He didn’t make a move to flee or fight, instead saying. “When we first met, I let you go. Gave you a second chance. A favor is *owed*, and I am calling in that marker.” James calmly reached over the desk and spun DeKay’s briefcase around, plucking one of the hundred or so telepads she’d packed into it out, and quickly shredding the first five pages before scribbling an address on the last one. “What do you say? Call it even?” James asked, holding up the telepad.
In her mind, DeKay screamed defiance. But it didn’t really matter; camraconda’s weren’t a test of will, they were a test of whether you brought a friend along. And Debt… well, Debt was a lot of things. But he always paid his own dues, and at the end of the day, Tiffany DeKay had been a far better home than his previous ‘owner’.
The infomorph manifested a single spined hand, and plucked the telepad away from James. Debt did spare several seconds of longing look at the packed briefcase, but his gaze was drawn back to James when the young man held up a roll of bound green bills. “Here.” James said. “A gift, just for you. As thanks.” He gave Debt a smile. A *real* smile. “You know, you’re welcome back here. Even if she’s not, okay?”
Debt made another few hands, snatched the money. And gave James a tentative thumbs up. But paused before tearing the telepad. With a voice like clinking metal, he told James, “Tiffany wants you to know, this is not over.”
164 james + alanna + sarah + Frequency-Of-Sunlight + Anesh + Deb + Lua + high school dungeon + ((Frequency-Of-Sunlight -> camerconda that died in fight)) + school’s cop says hi ((do not remember name))
“Some of us died, too.” Frequency-Of-Sunlight added, as she curled up inside the duffle bag and shifted her weight to be as even as possible. “I miss my brother.”
“So, to fill you in on what Lua shared; the dungeon has exactly this one entrance. But if left unattended for more than a week, it starts to send out small creatures. We’ve caught a few on camera - they’re the little rat things - and pretty much all they do is steal stuff or break things, then run back to the dungeon.” Anesh let out a sigh. “It was mostly by accident, but since we know it isn’t too bad after a week now, Reed’s asked us to ‘reset’ the place, then wait for it to do it again, so we can get repeat data.” Cracking his knuckles, Anesh led the rest of them around the corner and down the ramp that went too far under the building. “I think he’s gonna ask us to keep waiting, at some point, and I’m a *bit* bothered, because this is probably the one dungeon we shouldn’t be experimenting with, unless we can clear out the school.”
“Yeah, absolutely not.” Deb nodded to them as they approached from the bottom of the ramp. She was leaning against the wall, eyes never really leaving the battered blue metal security door set into the otherwise normal brick wall that the ramp ended at. “Hey guys.” She offered them a wave. “The school’s cop says hi, James.”
“Oh yeah, that guy!” James gave an appreciative nod. “I think we can probably recruit him, if we ask nicely.”
“Do we… is that a thing we’re doing now?” Sarah asked. “You have a noted dislike of the police. Wait, hang on, *I* have a noted dislike of the police! Everyone here has been shot at by the police at least once!”
164 Akashic Sewer + james + alanna + sarah + Frequency-Of-Sunlight + Anesh + Deb + camerconda mechanical arms (prosthetic) + sample cases
“Frequency’s here too.” Deb said, unzipping the bag that held the camraconda and giggling as her partner shot up to flick a serpentine kiss over her lips. “Arms, too. Maybe the place thinks of it as a prosthetic?” She pulled out the set of mechanical arms that Research had constructed for the camracondas, and helped Frequency-Of-Sunlight into the harness, tightening straps and adjusting for comfort before adding the plug to the connector the camraconda had affixed to the back of her neck. “Battery’s good for an hour and a half. Feel good?”
The set of manipulators unfolded from Frequency-Of-Sunlight’s back, four arms, all with two major joints for mobility, and a basic gripping tool on the end. This was still an early prototype that was being updated frequently as the engineers working on the project tried different styles. This one was trying to cover for the lack of actual stable lifting power with more flexibility. Frequency moved the arms a few times, before carefully reaching up and ruffling her girlfriend’s hair. “Yes.” She stated. “Sarah! Here!” The camraconda turned, offered and received a high five. “Hm. Needs work. But can feel them. Should test purples with them.” Frequency stated, as Deb helped her fit a transparent camera cover over her eye before seeing to her own goggles.
“Nope. Looks like it’s all here. Sample cases are secure, too.” Anesh confirmed, standing up and shouldering the bag, now with the two other bags emptied and packed into it. “Your glasses, too.” He handed a pair of dungeontech glasses from the Office to Alanna - one of the first sets they’d found, that let someone see in infrared. “Let’s get to it?”
164 Akashic Sewer
The yawning dark sewer tunnel greeted them like an irate ex. Immediately, the piping underfoot became a navigation issue, as the uneven tubes were sometimes slick with condensation. James and Alanna took point, and had small flashlights pointing forward in the webbing on their armor, while in the middle of their group, Frequency-Of-Sunlight carried two larger maglights in a pair of her hands, keeping them as steady as possible on the walls around them as she slithered.
Overhead, the ceiling closed in at odd times. The chaos of different sized pipes sometimes leading to large, almost organic looking bulges in the faux ceiling that required the human portion of the party to duck under them. As they moved, they had to navigate around the occasional steady drip of some bizarre liquid, or step carefully over a jagged rent in the floor below them.
“This place has changed too.” Alanna said. “Way more attention to detail. I hate it.” She stated with a stomp of her boot that eliminated a skittering fist sized green roach thing. A pathetic red spark jutted out of the corpse under the foot, and up into the palm of her hand.
164 james + jeene + ava + ava grandmother
Jeanne sighed. “Ava loves it. That’s all that matters. She’s gone from looking forward to seeing her grandma to being sad she has to leave her new friends for a couple days.” She shook her head, but didn’t lose the smile. “She’s never been happier. I think she wants to trade me for Sarah as her mom.”
“Sarah would *not* make a good mom.” James chuckled. “Or… well, maybe she would, but I don’t think she’s in the market. Besides, she makes a better weird aunt.” He bit into a chunk of cucumber and spoke around the bite of food. “But how are *you* doing?”
“I…” Jeanne looked away. “I’m fine.”
“Wow, that was so obviously a lie even I noticed.” James said. “Spill.”
Jeanne looked down at her meal, like she was considering if she could time bites of food just so she wouldn’t have to speak. But then, decided against it, and talked. “I’m having nightmares.” She admitted. “Ava and I need to go home eventually. But… I’m having nightmares. I’m scared to go outside. How am I supposed to be anywhere but here? It’s weird, but it’s also probably the safest place on the planet, right?”
James shrugged. “We hope so. Probably not though.”
164 Officium Mundi -> carpet grasslands - > tower + james + anesh + alanna + daniel + pathfinder + 2nd projector + phone ringing + el road dungeon (route horizon) talked over phone = shitty parent to pathfinder + pathfinder shape + route horizon going to sleep
“No, see, that’s the thing. Path is *still* telling me there’s something here. Specifically here. And it’s not the second projector, either.” Daniel looked over at the device that looked like it would be right at home in a normal middle school classroom; maybe a slightly newer model than the one they had in their home base tower that duplicated matter. They’d found instructions for a different ritual to make it work, and absolutely no information on what it did. They were in no hurry to test it today. That would be a job for Research, in the future. Daniel looked back and continued. “And she’s not talking to me, like a person. I’m just getting the background impression. Like there’s a problem and a target all at once, and it’s right here.”
James looked around. “We cleared the tower.” He said. “There’s nothing nearby, I can see that there’s, like, a few of the quills down there on the ground. But we aren’t about to be ambushed by something huge unless it’s invisible.” He hummed. “Weird.”
“Sorry, I know it’s hard to believe, but…”
“We’re in a magical infinite office. Chill.” James told him. “I believe you, I just don’t…”
Somewhere, maybe two floors of cubicle below them, a phone started ringing.
“Um…” Daniel looked at him with a worried expression. “That…”
It was sitting on a desk that had already had its drawers tossed open, buried in a lopsided cubicle in the middle of the tower’s floor, where the light didn’t penetrate much. The ringing guided James close to it, but it was the blinking red light that really highlighted it. The phone was one of those older multi-line corded office phones, that were basically everywhere in the nineties.
James only paused for a couple seconds to wait for everyone to get a little closer to him, before he answered it. “Hello?” He spoke down the line.
“The wheel turns.” A distorted young girls voice came through from the other end. “The crash is averted.”
James gave a small smile as he recognized the voice and speech pattern of the road dungeon, which they had collectively dubbed Route Horizon. “Yeah, thought it might be you.” He said. “Glad we could help. Hey, maybe, as a thank you, tone down how lethal you are?”
If the dungeon heard him, or cared, it gave no indication. “The sun dips on the horizon.” The girl that wasn’t a girl told him. “Too much fuel burned. Low on everything. Asleep at the wheel.” In his head, James made the connection the dungeon was trying to get across; it had done too much, and it was going to take some downtime. What that meant, he didn’t know, but it would be interesting to see what a sleeping dungeon was like.
The others found James all at once, Anesh and Alanna stepping aside to let Daniel limp into the cubicle next to James. James could see him coming, and could see why his partners let Daniel approach first; Pathfinder’s wavy orange Fata Morgana form was lighting the air around his shoulders. “James!” Daniel gasped out. “Can…” He just waved a hand around him.
“Hey,” James spoke down the phone, “your daughter wants to talk to you. Do you have a minute for that?”
There was a *pause*, and James could feel emotional ripples of shock and confusion from the other end, and then... annoyance. “This is a solo route.” The girl’s voice said, like it was trying to pretend to be a trucker. “Watch the lines. No tampering with the cargo. Ten four. Out.” And then, a click, and the line went dead.
“Uh…” James looked down at the silent phone in his hand, and then up at Pathfinder’s eager form. “She… it… hung up.” He said.
Pathfinder seemed to dim a bit, swirling around Daniel slightly. Daniel huffed a breath, and tilted his head to listen to his partner before looking back to James. “Dungeons can’t really talk much, huh?”
“I… it…” James didn’t know how to phrase what he had heard. “I think… it doesn’t… I’m sorry, I don’t think it cares.” He felt his voice go rough as he tried to say the last part.
“...Oh.” Daniel said. Around him, Pathfinder stopped moving, stopped the swirling motion, and just… sagged. Dimmed and faded, back into the background. ”Oh. Well. That’s…”
“Wow, what a fucking shitty parent.” Alanna said bitterly, breaking the awkward painful conversation like a hammer through plate glass. “Hey Path, if you want a better mom, I could legally adopt you.” She said.
164 bill + james + alannna + anesh + anesh (another one) + rufus + harry potter bathroom / pool / spa + gold mine (greeb orb died?!??!)
“So.” Bill said with an attention grabbing clap of his hands. “Turns out, some of the greens aren’t permanent. But Karen had me and Jim excavating kind of a lot of this space looking for more gold before we… you know, you don’t need to know. Point is, we had a big open, structurally stable, space, and a bit of free time.”
“You liar.” James accused him. “Where did you find free time?”
Bill glared at the interruption. “Also it turns out you can make a remodel go pretty fast when you’ve got a few toys that let you cheat. *And*, when you I think on purpose hired the best plumber in the state.” He stepped past them and pressed both hands on the double doors. “Anyway, my kid really likes Harry Potter, so if you wanna blame someone for the design, it’s her fault.” He gave a push, and the doors slid smoothly open on oiled tracks.
The room beyond was like something out of a fantasy. And that was kind of impressive for someone like James, who could say that about most of the places he visited on a weekly basis. But this fantasy, in particular, would have been one from someone who had spent the last three years looking at home improvement catalogues, drooling over color swatches, and dreaming of the time they owned a home and had an infinite budget to screw around with.
The space was roughly the size of an Olympic swimming pool, with rounded off corners and a slightly rough white stone making up the floor in what looked like an unbroken single piece. And the swimming pool comparison was apt, because the center of the space was a sunken basin, full of clear water, divided into four quarters by a river stone wall through the middle. Overhead, a seemingly intentional maze of copper plated pipes fed into waterfalls and drains, the piping sharing space with orange, red, and blue lamps that cast shimmering lights across the whole room. The walls, largely taken up by colorful tile mosaics - the first one James saw was of a *very* familiar looking stapler - also held hanging racks and what looked like heated towel holders.
A few parts looked mismatched, like the white wire baskets around the pools, or the not quite finished mount points for what would obviously be faucets in the future. But…
“You built the bath from Harry Potter.” Alanna breathed out, eyes glittering with excitement.
“There’s a few technical things you might appreciate.” Bill said, pointing around the room. “We’ve got different heating controls for each section, and there’s a raisable barrier in the middle for privacy. Still workin’ on the atmosphere settings, but we’ll get there. Piping for soaps and stuff is in the works, too. Modeled a lot of the pool design off Japanese hot springs. Onsens?” Bill pronounced the word like he’d read it, but never said it out loud. “Uh… what else… oh, you know that brooch Knife wears around?”
James rolled that sentence over in his head for a minute. “Knife-In-Fangs? I… refresh my memory.”
“The thing purifies food. Turns out, it counts water as food.” Bill shrugged. “Got a copy made, hanging on the wall over there, it’s our main cleaning tool. Zero-chemical waters.” He pointed to one of the bare walls. “Left a couple spaces for future art. I’m not much of an artist.”
“Rufus seems to disagree.” James grinned at the mosaic of his strider friend.
“Eh. It’s kind of a mess.” Bill rubbed the back of his head. “Anyway. It’s not *done*, still haven’t set up changing areas, we probably need some safety features and all that, but… well, it’s done enough, and you looked like you could use a break.”
“When did you… how did you *do* all this?” James marveled, stepping into the warm and wet room. “I was gone for a *week*!”
165 townton + james + myles + JP + (sign reads Mark Matthews, Chief of Police) + JP staff = (12 poeople + EL for 13?)
“Really? That’s weird.” James commented. “Well, once we get a better handle on this place, we’re going to start making regular runs of Route Horizon. So get in on that!” He clapped Myles on the shoulder as they came to a closed door that read ‘Mark Matthews, Chief of Police’ across the frosted glass. “The magic is pretty fun, though it’s actually annoyingly hard to recharge when you teleport everywhere.”
“JP.” James put on his serious voice. “I’m not a fucking idiot. You’ve been taking on stuff like this constantly, and avoiding me as much as possible. I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re not talking to me, and now you’re actively trying to refuse help with the… checks notes… city wide reclamation project. Where your staff is *twelve people*.”
“Thirteen. El’s here.” JP told him.
“Oh well in *that* case!” James threw his hands up. “Can you please get over the fact that you nearly killed me and just tell me what you need help with?!”
165 townton + james + JP = gather as much wealth as possible and run before anyone notices townton not here
“Shut the fuck up.” JP gave him a welcome grin. “Alright, moving on. Problems. Dungeon’s not making waves, which is good. The only real problem is the necroads, and the threat of anyone figuring out what’s going on here. There’s still, like, shipping routes that are supposed to go through this place. At some point, very soon, someone is going to come to investigate. Memeplex or not, you can’t just disappear a city.” He shrugged. “So we’re against the clock, and I honestly don’t think we can move fast enough to make it look like we own this place before it becomes an issue. Do you mind a suggestion?”
“Sure, lay it on me.” James nodded, groaning as he stood to also go look at the map that JP had stuck a lot of little colored pins in.
JP set his mouth in a line. “We deal with the monsters, and we leave.” He said. Seeing James’ raised eyebrows, he elaborated, but didn’t back down. “I’m not saying we abandon the dungeon, or don’t take as much wealth out of here as we can. But I think we should make it our goal to secure this place and deal with the biggest secrecy risk, and then not push our luck.”
165 townton + james + JP = good food but need cold + water + power on generators + need high power guns and rocket launchers
Pivoting back to the situation at hand, JP shrugged. “We’re good on food, we’ve been drawing truckloads of stuff from the closest grocer. Actually, the fact that a lot of stuff is going to rot is a big problem. If you could get a blue or green that could handle that, it’d be great. Um… power? We’ve got some generators here, which is part of why we’re using this building and not some random house, but the power is out across the city. Water’s still good. We’re in the water district for the county, and I think the memeplex is working in our favor for once, since no one knows we’re here to shut off the water to.”
“So what do you need most?” James asked.
“High caliber guns that can shoot through street.” JP said quickly. “Or a rocket launcher? You know how you can technically cut a necroad in half if you use this?” He tapped the ornate earring he was wearing. “Well, you get one of those a day, and I’m out. And it doesn’t work on guns. And cutting something in half involves getting close to it.” JP looked away and took a deep breath. “We’ve got both the rifles that are bound to gun bangles, and I already checked, so I know we don’t have more bind charges ready to go. Which sucks, because did you know this police station had grenade launchers in it? I mean, it still does, but it used to, also.” He paused for James to laugh. “But again, no charges for the bangles to reload them. So we’re limited, and also the police don’t just have frag grenades sitting around. But just… I dunno, can you rob a National Guard base for me?”
“How comfortable would you be with… problems?” James asked, suspiciously.
JP glared at him. “Oh, well, when you say it with the ominous tone and that stupid smirk, how could I say no?” He demanded. “Sure, bring it on. I’ve got so many problems, maybe if you bring me more, they’ll cancel out!”
“Great.” James told him. “I’ll be back later tonight.” He pushed off the desk and stepped back, but met JP’s eyes before turning away and leaving. “Hey. Are we good?”
165 james + karen + townton surviors (351 if memory is correct) + hotol (Crown Royale) + 4 ex-cult of mechanic + 15 actual cult before but only 4 left ((see below happened to 11 of them)) = Kirk (male) + Dorothy (female) + short girl 3rd + (male) 4th = 3 join order dorothy says after some consideration will decided or not
James snapped into existence again in the empty bathroom of a hotel room. He hadn’t known exactly where Karen had been keeping the survivors of Townton until he’d needed to ask so he could talk to some of them, but now that he was here, he had to admit that the Crown Royale was a pretty dang nice place.
For all that Karen talked a big game about budgets and spending, she still made sure that Recovery did their job with some style.
“Where did you come from!?” A woman yelled, crouching behind one of the generously sized beds. One of the room’s other residents, a young man who James was *pretty* sure was named Kirk, had interposed himself between James and the others.
“I came from the bathroom.” James said, like that was obvious. “Also calm down. I’m not here to hurt anyone.” He grabbed one of the padded chairs around the room’s small breakfast table, and plopped into it, kicking his feet up onto the end of one of the beds. “Hey Matt.” He said, addressing the nonplussed guy by the door. “How’s it been?”
“Boring.” Matt replied. He was standing in a relaxed posture, but the way he carried himself just made him feel like an implicit threat. James didn’t much care for the Response member, mostly because of that vibe of violence he carried with him. Also partly because he seemed to be one of those people that thought wearing sunglasses all the time made them look tough. But he was one of the people who were working as rotating guards for this group, and he was effective at it.
James gave him a sympathetic nod. “Well, I’m here to fix that.” He said, and turned back to the other four. “How have *you* been?” He asked the group of cultists.
Well, ex-cultists.
These four people, seemingly both the youngest and oldest pair that were part of the cult, were the last remaining members of the Mechanic’s cadre of minions. There had been fifteen of them, initially. Well, initially being when James and Anesh rolled into town. Two of them had failed to apprehend James, due to an Alanna-shaped miscalculation, and had been murdered by the Mechanic when they’d reported back. Four of them had fled from El’s home where they’d been held prisoner during the last fight, and had been promptly killed by the rampant asphalt. One had killed himself afterward.
And four had chosen the option that James was *extraordinarily* uncomfortable with, taking the Order up on the offer of Planner’s services. The infomorph surgically taking memories from them, assisted by their own desires, and wiring into their minds small personal routines, and leaving them unaware of their own involvement, their own culpability. Just another group of survivors of a traumatic event, albeit ones who would get over it a little faster than the others.
That left four ex-cultists, who still hadn’t decided what they were going to do. And for James, they were the least surprising people to be in that position. Because all four of these people were the ones who hadn’t really understood what the Mechanic’s plans were, who weren’t in it for profit or power, and who had just wanted to protect and explore the dungeon that the Order had since named Route Horizon. The others had been cruel or greedy, and for those that had chosen the mindwipe, James felt absolutely justified in asking for removal of their worse habits as payment. Along with the actual ownership of any of the properties they’d acquired, which did actually leave the Order as legal owner of a big chunk of Townton. But these four were just people who had tried to help, and been misled.
“We’re fine.” The older woman, Dorothy, said, crossing her arms and meeting his eyes with a steely gaze. “Or have your guards not reported that to you?”
“First off, no.” James answered. “We’re obviously keeping you under guard, but… think of it like patient confidentiality. Matt won’t tell me anything about what you’ve been doing, if it’s not directly a security risk.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the guard. “Also, fine? Really.” He crossed his own arms in response.
The two stared at each other for a long moment, before the others cut in.
“Tell him.” Kirk said quietly to the girl with short brown hair and a grim expression sitting on the bed next to him.
James shifted his attention, and the girl took a breath to steady herself. “Not fine.” She said. “We’re all having nightmares. Even-“ she flipped off the older woman, “-even Dorothy, yeah! We’re fucking… we’re… none of us are fine!”
“But we’d forget.” The other man in the room said with a shrug, walking past James to idly rummage through the suite’s kitchen fridge. This hotel room was way nicer than James expected; it was basically a small apartment, and the rotund man seemed happy to raid whatever the Order had stocked their food supply with. “We’d forget everything.”
Kirk elaborated. “Yeah. They figured it was just a matter of time before you killed us for what we did.” He still didn’t have any emotion in his voice except quiet resignation. “This place does kinda feel like a ‘last meal’ sort of deal. And then you’d get our globes, too.”
“Sorry, what?” James raised his eyebrows.
The others gave either shocked, or furious looks, directed at both James and Kirk equally, as Kirk just shrugged. “What we call the place where the spell map bits go. We’ve all got ‘em. And… we know they can be taken if we die. So they just figured.”
“Huh.” James said. “That’s gonna be weird for the people who took the memory wipe option.” He mused. “Awkward. Not gonna kill you, in case you were wondering.” James sighed, and pushed himself up to his feet, wincing at how sore his soles still were. “Okay, so, here’s the deal,” he said as he started pacing, “we have no idea what to do with you.”
Dorothy stood and started pacing herself. “What do we want? We just want to leave.” She snapped at him.
“That’s not what I want.” Kirk cut in. James turned to him with a cocked eyebrow. “I want to go back.” He said. “Back to the Horizon. All… all I wanted was to keep it safe. But that’s done. So now I want to go back. Explore the roads, find new spells, maybe die.” He shrugged at that like dying was just another part of a road trip. “Do you know how it feels?” The kid asked James, seemingly honestly. “To have the whole world go back to being boring?”
“I just want the nightmares to stop.” The other girl said. “But I don’t want to forget. Kirk’s right, it’s too special. And also… I wanna try to help. Undo what we did. I know we can’t, but I…” She sniffed, and blinked tears out of her eyes.
James wasn’t sure if she was as completely honest as Kirk was being. He should have brought Alanna. Behind him, sandwich guy spoke around a mouthful of food, adding, “I wouldn’t mind unfucking some of our mess. But I also won’t forget. My fuckups are *mine*, you hear me?”
“Alright.” James said. “I’ve got a deal for you then.” They looked at him, expectantly and apprehensively in equal measure. “You work for us.” He said. “We’ve got a whole city, most of which we own, that needs cleanup, and security. And if you were honest with us, then I know at least two of you have spells that could help. After that, well… you can stay with us if you like. We’re going back into the Horizon, and other places like it. We’re going to save people. And if you fit with us, and want to join, you can be part of that future. Otherwise, you can consider your penance done, and make your own way in the world. We won’t stop you, unless you start hurting people again.”
The ex cultists shared looks with each other before their more matronly member spoke. “We’ll need some time to-“ “Yes” “Yeah” “Sounds good to me.” Dorothy looked at the others with a frustrated glare. “Okay, I suppose they don’t need time to talk about it at all.” She said. “I’ll give you my answer after *some* consideration.”
165 james + vet + Dr. Marris (Amy Marris) + black cat (one that escaped order and is from dungeon) (Romulus is named by amy) + amy marris keeps black cat (Romulus) + Romulus = 1300lbs + Amy Marris joins order
A small silver bell hanging off the door by a dog collar jingled cheerfully as he pushed open the glass door to the front reception area of the vet’s office. Instantly, the smell of a building made for cats and dogs hit him like a wall. Alongside, almost paradoxically, the clean smell of disinfectant and that weird tang that he always associated with hospitals. Within seconds, a golden retriever with a tail wagging fast enough to generate lift had plowed into James’ legs and demanded affection, which James was only too happy to give, scratching behind the ears and making a mental note to wash his hands later.
There were actually a few animals in the lobby, a couple other smaller dogs and a pair of cats, one of which was in a carrier on the linoleum counter. all but the dog that had come up to greet James were napping in a fenced pen in the corner, which took up more of the room than the chairs for waiting humans. And after the golden retriever had gotten its pets and sufficiently smelled James, it headed back into the pen through the open gate, and lay down in the middle of the floor, forming a line of fur with the other sleeping animals across the middle of the penned in area.
He looked at the napping animals for a while with a concerned frown on his face, and the black cat in the middle of the line looked back at him with feline contempt. This staring contest could have gone on longer, but a voice broke him out of his focus. “Hi there! I’m Dr. Marris, what brings you in today?”
“Hey there!” James matched her grin, and offered a handshake. “I’m James Lyle. I owe you a few favors. Or a *lot* of money.” He said.
She gave him a confused look as she shook his hand. “Oh, are you here for an owner’s account? My desk person isn’t in today, but we can make an appointment…”
“Oh, no, sorry.” James bit his lip sheepishly. “To be clear about this, I’m here about the giant invisible panther sleeping in the corner of the room.” He nodded toward the animal pen. “Which, not gonna lie, is actually making me super nervous, but I assume you know what you’re doing?”
She snorted. “Amy. Please. And I’d *hope* I’ve bought some loyalty, given how much it costs in cat food.” The veterinarian shook her head. “He eats. A *lot*.” She met James’ eyes. “A *loooooot*.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugged. “I was already kind of primed for it. Um…” Amy looked at him with some worry. “Are you here to take him back?”
“The cat? Oh, uh…” James cleared his throat. “Would you be shocked to learn that we don’t really have a place to keep something like that?”
“Yes.”
“Because we… wait, really?”
“Yeah? Don’t you have, like, a magic farm or something?”
“I… have no idea why you would think that.” James admitted. “We have a small industrial-commercial flex space, that has too many basements and not enough room for the increasing number of weird members our Order has.” He told her. “I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to keep-“
“Yes!” Amy yelped, like if she took too long James might rescind the offer.
“...okay, well good.” James nodded, and laughed.
The vet came out from around the counter, and walked over to the cat. But rather than bending down to pet it, she instead extended an arm to the air overhead and to the right, and James watched as her body shifted while the small cat below bobbed its head like it was nuzzling something.
“That’s kind of adorable.” James said. “And also terrifying?”
“Welcome to my life!” Amy told him. “So… uh… what do I do?”
“Like, in what way?”
“Well, I don’t know anything about the care and feeding of magical invisible tigers.” She admitted with a roll of her eyes. “Also, am I even allowed to keep him? Is he intelligent? Can you help with the times when he wants to be *really* active? I have so many questions!”
James laughed, idly scratching his nose. “Oh yeah, welcome to *my* life.” He shot back at her. “To all of those? Your guess is as good as ours. Although we can help you cover food costs. We do actually owe you a lot of money.” James stepped over near her, and waited with a little anxiety that he tried to quash as the cat turned, and an unseen huff of breath moved his shirt while he was curiously sniffed. “Actually, we *do* have a farm-esque plot of land, and we can arrange transport there and back whenever you need space for him to adventure around.”
“That would be *great*.” Amy sighed.
“Actually, question.” James said. “Do you know if he likes other people?”
“He’s actually *really* friendly.” Marris said. “He *knows* he’s not supposed to bother people who come in, but it’s hard sometimes. I think a lot of people think the building is haunted.”
Dr. Marris eyed him like he’d grown an extra head. “Are you offering me a job?”
“Technically, I was going to do that later. And it’s less a job and more a… calling? Affiliation? What are we. I have no idea.”
“I have a job.” Dr. Marris told him. “I *like* my job.”
“I admit, hiring people who aren’t currently unemployed or haven’t recently lost everything in their lives is a *little* weird for me.” James said. “But we’re not asking you to give up your current job.” He shrugged as he tried to explain. “We want you to be independent from us, but know that you can rely on us for help. We like what you’re doing, both mundane and magical, and we want to help you keep doing it. We’ve got some resources we can share. And mostly, all we ask is that if someone needs help, you give it.”
Amy cocked her hands to her hips and glowered at him. “I already would have done that.” She protested.
“And now we’ll give you very specific superpowers to do use while doing it!” James grinned at her. “Also you can make friends with a giant snake-thing made out of cables. Is that a plus?”
“...Yes.”
“Look,” James said, still smiling but shifting his tone away from joking. “I’m trying to solve two problems at once here. If you’re not interested, that’s alright. We will still help with upkeep on the cat… does the cat have a name?” He asked, suddenly realizing he hadn’t checked.
“Romulus.”
“Because… of…” James racked his brain. “I thought Rome had a wolf-based creation myth? Or is it something else?”
“Because of Star Trek. He’s cloaked!” The doctor seemed a little too pleased with herself.
“I actually haven’t seen much Star Trek.” James admitted, ducking his head. “Don’t tell anyone, I’ll lose my nerd card.” He laughed, and she joined in before he continued trying to be serious. “But really. We’ll still help. No strings attached. But *also*, if you want a part time role hanging out with weird creatures, exploring strange places, and assisting with the backbreaking labor of cleaning up an abandoned city? That’s on the table. And it’d be kind of a big personal favor to me, if one of the people I sent JP’s way today was someone we already know we can rely on.”
“I’m not sure why you think that’s a compelling sales pitch. Also, JP?”
“He’s in charge of the city thing.”
“Ah.” Amy nodded, running both hands through the unseen fur of the cat which had, judging by the position of the smaller feline projection, laid down and rolled slightly onto her legs. “How dangerous is it?”
“Pretty dangerous, probably.” James admitted. “That’s part of why I’d like a six hundred pound panther shaped security blanket.”
“He’s actually closer to nineteen hundred pounds.” The veterinarian replied. “I had to lie to a truck weigh station to get that checked.” She paused in her petting to think, but resumed when she got a light bump from that cat’s muzzle to her chest. “This is kind of a lot, all at once.” Amy admitted.
“If you told me you could teleport, I probably would have said yes sooner.” Amy Marris’ belligerent voice told him.
James grinned. “Alright. Pack your bags and clear your calendar.” He said. “There’s a lot to do, and we are *so* understaffed.”
165 james + alanna + ann = wanting "women armor" not male armor for themsleves
“You have shield bracers, shut up. Anyway, the body armor we have.” Alanna deftly blocked his attempt to derail the conversation. “It’s kind of the worst fucking thing ever, and I was hoping maybe the one other woman who spends all day in it could help me out with that.”
“Worst… how?” James asked.
“So, you know how I’ve got tits, right?” Alanna asked, giving James an inscrutable look.
James paused and tried to look just as enigmatic back at her. “I’ve been informed of this, yes.” He said. “Sources say they’re very nice. Especially when you-“
“*Yes thank you* anyway moving on.” Alanna’s sarcasm crumbled. “The point is, the armor wasn’t designed for that. And even my, let’s be real here, not-very-voluptuous form still ends up getting crushed and pinched in ways I don’t appreciate.”
“I’m not sure what side I’m supposed to be defending here!” James exclaimed. “Also, we have a machine that makes the armor shells, and the Kevlar mesh that goes in them! We can just make you better armor!”
“I know! That’s why I was going to talk to Ann!” Alanna grabbed James by the shoulders and shook him lightly.
165 order -> reserach basement -> ughs
After an unintentional dance with a camraconda that was also trying to slip past a choke point in one of the halls, James emerged into the main floor space that the investigators, researchers, engineers, and historians of the Order shared.
It, too, was a chaotic mess. Though more in the sense that it had a lot of moving pieces, more than it had a lot of clutter. Reed had a *line* of people waiting for him to give them a slice of his time, one of the new engineers was having - and losing - a debate with a camraconda about AI ethics, someone was giving Momo a status update about one of the grown program chips, a manifested Planner watched and took careful records of orange totem design plans, and there were a half dozen other sources of movement and sound besides that, all vying for James’ attention.
165 jamas + momo + momo ai (nameless) = authority + programs ((floppy disck, laser disc, cd, other)) + momo create list = to save AI ((((( personal comment waiting for virgil to show up)))))
“It isn’t fair.” James agreed. “We’ll divert an authority to you, to see if you can make that work. And any other resource you need. Do you need more red orbs? We can prioritize that. Has running the programs Nameless won in the dungeon helped? Is there some kind of code-based healing potion? That would fit the pattern…” He muttered the last sentence quietly.
“What, just like that?” Momo asked, brain only just catching up to the authority comment.
“Yes. The AI is dying, the camracondas aren’t. It’s worth it to see… hm.” He paused.
“Yeah, you thought it, didn’t you?” Momo said. “What if the AI dies, and the authority goes with it?”
“They don’t start as people, same as with most infomorphs.” James said. “It’s weird and ethically uncomfortable, but it’ll be okay.” He raised a hand and caught Reed’s attention from across the room, and then indicated Momo. Reed nodded once, and then went back to his petitioners. “There.” James told her. “I am curious about the programs, though. And if that’s a little too much right now, that’s fine, but maybe if I could get a list? It could literally save lives.”
“I… yeah, I can do that now.” Momo said. “We did try them, just to see. They’re all like that CD that Anesh made a bunch of copies of. Run the program, get immunity to something. But the portion, processor load of the program, and usefulness, all seem random.”
“As expected.”
“Yeah.” Momo rolled her eyes. “Whatever Virgil got, either he aced some challenge for it, or just got super lucky, because…”
James winced. “Oh good, the part where things go wrong!”
“It’s not that bad. But it takes one CD tray, and any PC made after 2010 can run it. Anesh’s obviously been testing it, and I think he’s got a computer around here that we should be mining bitcoin on, that can run maybe six copies? That’s pretty cool.” Momo shook her head. “Most of these are clunkier. Like, they need dedicated hardware, and I don’t know how much we’re willing to invest in that.” She gnawed at her lip. “Also a lot of them suck.”
“Like?”
“Like the one that gives immunity to wood?” Momo suggested. “There’s also one that protects against ‘hammers’. So, that’s vague. Oh, they also both are hugely inefficient programs.”
“What are the good ones?” James asked, waiting outside the vault door to finish the conversation. “And how comically inconvenient are they?”
“Heat, lightning, and drowning.” Momo rattled off.
“Lightning or electricity?”
“Lightning.”
James clicked his tongue. “So heat and drowning then.” He said. “Weren’t there, like, twenty things in that box? Is that really all that’s good?”
“More now. I’ll get you a full list. But the heat one is a floppy disk that’s actually a very small program. It just only gives a quarter of a percent. The drowning one…”. She winced as she looked at James. “The thing’s a laserdisk.”
“...How?”
“Dungeon nonsense?”
“Kay. How often do any of us really drown, though?” He mused. “Nevermind, that’s the point, isn’t it? Okay, get me the full list. I have a thing to do right now.”
“Okay.” Momo nodded vigorously, the spikes of her short Mohawk wobbling as she did. “And… thanks. For jumping me over the line like that, for the authority.”
165 order (oregon) -> basement R&D -> vault -> prisoner room -> james + sarah + deb + 2 ratrouches (partners / lovers) + shaper substance (sample from dungeon) = 2 ratrouches (what is a hug?)
James just shook his head, but he couldn’t hold off a smile as he did so. Punching in the code to the vault, he pulled open the heavy door as the locks disengaged, and let it swing shut behind him as he walked into the containment room.
The inside had been rearranged since he was last down here, mostly making use of the extra floor space since the camracondas now had a new space for their religious observances. The wall of trophies from the fallen was still in its place, tucked in a corner for anyone to visit, and James noticed that some superstitious engineers had left skulljack accessory prototypes on the shelf with Virgil’s orb.
The back of the room, though, was very different, having been divided into secure observation rooms. The whole place was brightly lit and a lot cleaner and more organized than the outside, which was simultaneously offputting and a huge relief.
Sarah was waiting for him by the desk that was positioned to watch the cells - James knew they weren’t technically a prison, but they reminded him too much of cells for him to think of them as anything else - talking to Deb, who was flipping through a sheaf of papers.
“Bloodwork came back… uh… nothing.” Deb was saying. “It’s not blood. And despite us having a bit of a reputation with that particular hospital right now, I think they might think this was a practical joke.” She sighed. “Hey James.”
“Hey you two. And hello to our guests.” He nodded politely toward the wide security glass windows of the two occupied cells.
The occupants were already watching, but at his nod, both of them reacted. The two ratroaches that had been brought out of the Akashic Sewer, one standing by the window, the other sitting in a ball on the bed, both flinched as he acknowledged them. They were wearing shirts that had been specially sewn for them by members of the support group, along with loose fitting sweat pants that looked enormously baggy on the smaller one, and almost comically tight on its larger partner, accentuating the odd proportions of its musculature.
They weren’t prisoners, at least, not to the Order. But a lifetime of being imprisoned, no matter how nice anyone here was going to treat them, was going to leave marks.
That’s wasn’t why Deb was here, though. She was here to check on the more physical marks.
“Well, despite not having ‘blood’, they still aren’t carrying any foreign pathogens. I think we talked about this, but I did some of my own tests, and they do benefit from most vaccinations, though whether or not they can get chicken pox is up in the air. If they could before, they can’t now, though. You were right, too, that red inflammation where fur and chitin meet is absolutely an infection. Their bodies seem adapted to it, and they were probably made for it, but it still leaves them in intense pain. We’ve been using tacrolimus as a treatment, after it became clear it was working like organ rejection, and that’s been helping a lot, along with a standard antibiotic routine.” She flipped through her pages, and turned one to show James an outline of a ratroach form with a slew of red marks. “They have multiple badly healed fractures, scar tissue clumps, and open lesions.” She frowned, and looked back through the windows. “Or at least, they *had*. They heal *fast*, even if they don’t heal well. Just being out of the Sewer, they’re getting healthier by the day. Good food and real beds probably don’t hurt. I have a report on recommended nutrition here for you, too.”
“They can understand us.” Sarah said confidently. “And communicate through gestures and some words. They were ‘gifted’ with different languages by the Sewer, so we got them overlapping yellows to cover. They both know English and Spanish.”
“But they can’t speak very well.” Deb told him. “Undeveloped vocal cords, badly connected lungs, and misshapen jaws make speaking painful for them, probably on purpose.” She snarled. “Whatever did this, it’s a real fucker.”
Sarah gave a sad look at the two ratroaches, who were still watching James on high alert, multiple sets of eyes tracking him. “I’ve been talking to them, as much as I can.” She said. “They’re terrified, you know? Oh, they did help identify one of the weird samples Anesh brought back! They call it shaper substance; and I think it’s what the big one keeps using to modify herself. If we had more of it, enough of it, we could probably help them do the same. But if I understand right, it’s insanely painful?”
“We do have anesthetic that could help.” Deb commented. “But yeah, that’s what I’ve got for you. They’re as healthy as I can make them, and with the proper routine, they’ll only get healthier. And they don’t have anything that could cause problems. They *had* some nasty spores in their fur that could have caused lung damage to a human, but that’s taken care of.”
“So, Deb tells me you don’t need to quarantine anymore.” James said softly. “We can get you moved to real rooms, not isolation cells, probably today if you want.”
The one that had been pacing stopped and pivoted toward the window, and James noticed he had a quartet of antenna coming off the back of his head that bobbed when he moved. The large ratroach rapidly alternated glancing between James and the wall separating their rooms, a worried look in both kinds of eyes on its face, mouth open as it struggled to say something.
“Take your time.” Sarah stepped in, stopping the ratroach’s attempts. “There’s no rush, do you want paper to write?”
The ratroach paused, looking down at the three clawed hands it possessed, folding and unfolding its fingers as it struggled to breathe. Eventually, it steadied itself, looked back up, and croaked out a word. “Together?” He asked James.
“As in, rooms next to each other, or one room?” James asked. The ratroach held up a hand, and with effort, gestured with two raised fingers. “One room then?” A nod. “Yeah, that’s easy, we can do that.” He said simply, and saw in the other room the smaller ratroach curl itself around the pillow it was holding as it sat, muzzle twisting into a happy smile. “Wait, hang on. Are you two... partners? Romantic or otherwise?” James asked, curious more than anything.
Both ratroaches froze, any hint of a smile vanishing from their faces.
“I cannot,” James said quietly, “imagine trying to both have and hide a relationship in that dungeon.” He shook his head. Then, speaking up, told them, “But yeah, we can get you out of here now, if you want. Would you like to come upstairs and meet some people?” He pressed a few buttons on the door’s keypads, and opened each of them with individual hisses of slightly pressurized air.
The two ratroaches didn’t move, staring at the open doors like they were a trap. “People?” The smaller one said.
It took some time to marshal its voice, and then asked slowly, “What… is a hug?”
And finally, James couldn’t keep the tears back any longer. He jerked his head to look away, a hand covering his mouth as he stifled a strained set of sobs, hot tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
There was, he had figured, a finite limit to the amount of cruelty in the world. And now he was given a front row seat to a massive alert that he had been absolutely wrong.
And then Sarah wrapped her arms around his back, and thunked her head into his neck, pulling him close and throwing him off balance in surprise. But he didn’t fall, and she helped him stabilize, and he put his own arm around her shoulders and just tried to be *okay* for a minute.
“This is a hug.” Sarah said. “It’s something you share with people when they need it, or you need it, or to say hello or goodbye, or just because you want to. It’s a very flexible gesture.” She told them.
In their temporary room, two new people, secret loves who had survived injuries both physical and mental, who had taken a wild chance on freedom, shared a hug for the first time in their lives.
And James’ kept crying, but he smiled while he did it.
166 camercondas ((author playing author in amount of camercondas)) + 49 + 2 (captures still getting there but not yet)
Alanna swallowed her mouthful of drink and made an interjecting noise with her throat. “I’ve actually been meaning to ask about that.” She said when she could. “And I wanna start this with ‘I am not trying to be a shit’. But, do the camracondas actually have the population needed to be a part of society? There’s only… forty of them?” She glanced at Anesh. “Help me out here. Is that the right number?”
“I’m a mathematician, not a wiki.” Anesh indignantly stretched out the word ‘mathematician’, putting emphasis on each individual syllable. “...Also it’s forty nine. You were close. Did you know James initially miscounted by, like, a dozen?”
“Technically fifty one, now.” James pointed out, rotating his drink in his hands and waiting for it to cool. “Sort of. The two camracondas that Simon captured from the Office are… I’m not gonna say ‘integrating’, exactly. But they’re in the custody of the others, and I’m given to understand they’re growing and learning.”
166 nasa + anesh + new satellite telescope in orbit soon to watch sunspots
Alanna gave him a *look*, while Anesh just let out a snort of laughter. “Ah, it’s going! I’m making friends with a lot of the other people there, actually, which is weird. I dunno if I’ve ever talked about this, but syncing up to myself always leaves me feeling like I’ve had really, really full days. Not busy, exactly, but *packed* with stuff. But yeah, it’s going good. We’re putting a new satellite telescope in orbit soon to watch sunspots, and I actually worked on it, and I don’t know if I can fully express to you how ridiculously good it feels to *put something in space*.” Anesh glanced down at the table, partially hiding the small smile he was wearing. “Oh! And I’m on the unofficial NASA basketball team.” He added.
166 alanna = mechanic
“I often forget you were a mechanic.” James noted.
“I was lots of things!” Alanna cheerfully reminded him. “Worked a bunch of stupid jobs. Mechanic was the most fun, like Anesh said, once I learned what I needed to learn.”
166 police harrassment = setting around in cars watching order
There was, at the end of the day, only so much the police could do to stop them. There was a reason that Response teams never teleported to exactly where the problem was. And there was also a remarkably high level of security in being unable to be located. It wasn’t impossible to infiltrate the Order, but it would be very, very hard for a militarized force to do significant damage to them.
And maybe the local PD was, specifically, looking for him. Maybe thinking of arresting him, or worse. Well, good luck to them. James could teleport and block bullets, and had a handful of tricks besides. He knew, *knew*, he wasn’t immortal or invincible. But it would take more than one cop menacing a parking lot to make him worry.
166 james + Auberdeen + Auberdeen (knows spanish language from an orb)
James stopped at his apartment just long enough to grab a coat, and to greet the giant white ball of fuzz named Auberdeen that met him at the door. He asked the dog if she wanted a walk - in Spanish, of course, the language the dog had picked up from an orb - and still feeling pretty energized, James clipped a leash to their pet-and-maybe-roommate, and headed back out into the night.
167 james + dream + "secert"? + map infomorph + nightmare!!!!?!?!?!
James passed by another figure. An orange glitter, that spoke in directions and destinations. The words were strangely real, and his sleeping mind woke slightly, folding a wall of stabilized dreamspace around them.
“Thanks.” James told the Map.
“Anytime.” The Map replied easily. “Especially if that time is spent on the road, and not waiting around.”
James rolled his dream self’s eyes. “To be fair,” his mind woke a bit more, but held within the dream, “I’m not really ‘waiting’. I’m just not covering geographical distance.”
“Same thing.” The Map rippled. It wasn’t a person yet. Not really. But it was getting there, and apparently it was learning snark as its first language. Though James knew that it wouldn’t be free to make that choice until he completed the task it was created for. Which meant, at least a little bit, a road trip.
He would have grinned, but the last road trip he’d gone on had been *a problem*.
“Time’s up.” The Map said, pointing at the failing dreamwall and the nightmare seeping through.
James sighed, and felt himself toss and turn in the real world slightly, as his lucidity was pulled away and he fell back into the terror of endless flight.
Dark rooms, slippery falls, always running from a monster that wouldn’t die. Rejection, failure. Failing the people who trusted him. Failing the world, before it had a chance to thrive. Anxieties piled on fears, dragging James downward.
167 simmon + other james + dream = who is who and who lives who dies
But Simon was pretty much always on call. Even when he wasn’t scheduled, he stayed here, dozing lightly, and waiting for the next problem he could solve.
Dozing, and being someone else.
It had taken about three days after the assault on the Lair from Status Quo, and the death of his partner, for Simon to notice that sometimes he looked in the mirror and saw the wrong face. That he’d seen James - his James, he always rolled his eyes at the people who apparently couldn’t tell from context clues which James they were talking about - looking back at him.
A month later, and sometimes he forgot which one he was. He’d look down and see hands that weren’t his, because in that moment, he wasn’t Simon. Someone would call a name, and he wouldn’t know if he was meant to respond or not.
And when he slept, which he did rarely these days…
“You really need to sleep more.” James told him.
Simon wasn’t as good at dreaming as a lot of members of the Order inexplicably seemed to be, so he couldn’t exactly scowl. But he wasn’t fully asleep anyway, so he gave it a shot.
“Don’t give me that look.” James flicked his nose. “Especially not with our face.”
“Sorry.” James said sheepishly. “I’m not keeping away very well.”
Simon didn’t know how to tell him that he didn’t need to do that. That he’d caught this chunk of him, at the moment of death, explicitly so he could be here.
“Yeah, yeah,” Simon’s James sighed, “but this brain isn’t built for it.” He trailed off, and the two of them just sat and watched the river.
Until there weren’t two thoughts; one of recognition, and one of alienation. Just familiarity. Still split; one of them had *lived* this, after all. But there was less of a divide.
James lifted their shared arm, and flexed intermingled fingers with raised eyebrows. “Neat.” He said. “Why?”
Because, Simon wanted to tell him, I am getting tired of being me.
“Not a good reason, man.” James shook his head. “It’s okay to let me go, you know? I dunno how. But the support group could probably help.”
The sun set on the river. You’d die, Simon said.
“Eh. Yeah. I mean, it sucked the first time.” James laughed, and Simon felt the dream shudder around them as he made light of his own demise. “But I’ve got practice now!”
The night cooled around them. It’s not fair, he told James.
“Nothing in the past three years has been fair.” James’ ghost shrugged. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
“Maybe you can take over.” Simon finally said out loud. “And I’ll sit here, and watch the trees.” His friend and partner gave him a shocked look, full of fear and unplaced anger. “Or maybe, I should stop running.” Simon suggested, almost to himself. “Maybe we should just double down, on what we were always doing. Being one person. Maybe this mind isn’t built for it. But so what? Magic. That’s all. It’s magic.”
Simon smiled, and a second later, James did the same. Then he winked at Simon, and the two of them moved. They had places to be, right now. People to save. They’d catch up in the next dream.
But after all that had happened, they were still here. Still themself.
167 Orange-Summer-Evening
He woke up to someone lightly shaking him awake. “Hey.” The kid, Marcus, stepped back. “Everyone’s tied up and we need a medivac. You awake enough? Orange-Summer-Evening is ready to go now.”
167 Myles = getting to be a better spy + Alchemists (70 yrs old)
Who was an Alchemist.
Or at least, a member of the Guild Of Alchemists. Or the Alchemists Guild? Myles couldn’t, and on principle wouldn’t, remember the difference. Either way, this guy, who was about seventy years old and who drove like he was a teenager with their first car, was the person Myles had been tailing all day.
There was a stray thought, the kind that he couldn’t keep away sometimes, that maybe one day he’d be that ancient. Myles wondered if he’d be able to keep his perspective. Would he still be… this? Sitting in a rental car, planning to turn some guy’s sock drawer inside out looking for secrets?
Myles didn’t really *intend* for what was supposed to be a long blink to turn into a short nap. And yet, that’s exactly what happened. When he woke up, he’d swore as he realized he’d missed his window of opportunity, and was going to have to try again tomorrow.
He’d dreamed of being very old. But still having fun.
167 jeene + ava (12 yrs old) + apartment in Chattanooga + jeene lost her job
Ava’s bedtime had become something of a running joke around the Lair.
Jeanne, her mom, had decided after a long conversation with a few other survivors that made their home here, to reject the offer of a hotel room somewhere or even a trip back home, and to stay in one of the guest rooms the Lair had on offer now. Jeanne and Ava weren’t actually *from* Townton; they had survived the disaster there relatively unscathed, financially. Jeanne still had a small apartment around Chattanooga, though apparently she was being fined a half month’s rent for being late on rent, in a move that would have crippled her two months ago. And yet…
Going home didn’t feel right, at the moment.
It also helped that there were not any outside obligations at the moment, since her two week absence while she’d been mind controlled by an apparently-not-hostile patch of highway had led to Jeanne losing her job. She couldn’t even blame her employers for that, much as she wanted to blame someone, anyone, for *something*.
Jeanne poked her head into the mostly empty kitchen, nodding to Knife-In-Fangs as she scanned the half-lit room for her daughter. There was no sign of her, and the camraconda shook his head when she gave him a questioning glance. Jeanne sighed. It was two minutes after nine PM, and she *knew* that it would be another half hour until this was resolved.
Ava’s bedtime was something of a running joke for the Order.
Currently, the young girl was absolutely not in bed like she was supposed to be. As someone who would be turning thirteen on her next birthday, the concept of a bedtime was frankly rather insulting. Not that she’d really thought that deeply about the indignity of being assigned time to be asleep; it was more a prevalent ongoing sense that she was somehow being disrespected for wanting to stay up until midnight doing more fun things.
167 order (oregon) -> basement (response basement) -> plucked form some univeristy or something + jeene + ava + ava likes Nikhail
The basement that Response occupied was constantly busy. It was apparently plucked from a university somewhere, according to Harvey; lots of maintenance corridors and bits where wire grates had walled off small storage spaces before they’d been cleared out, all of it occasionally coming together in one of the two larger open spaces. One they used for all the phones and stuff, the other as a kind of hub for the Response people to relax in.
But there were a *bunch* of small hiding places around, and Ava was having fun exploring them.
There was a storage area here that was way off in the corner, that hadn’t been cleaned out yet, that just had a bunch of rugs in it. The carpet was scratchy and unpleasant, but crawling through them like a forest of padded trees, surrounded by the smell of old fabric, was still fun. There was a cabinet in the break room that was bigger on the inside than it should have been, and Ava could fit inside and poke around for a while. And of course, there was the dispatch floor itself, which she absolutely wasn’t supposed to be in.
But she slipped in anyway, Hidden perched on her head just under her hood, keeping both of them stealthed against prying eyes.
Often times, they would be checked out by Nikhail, who would come running, something green and complex sitting on his arm as he turned serious injuries into minor inconveniences, or minor wounds into nothing.
Ava had decided that Nikhail was cute, which was a first for her, but it didn’t diminish the intensity of her goal to one day do what he did.
“Message for you, ma’am.” Davis said politely. “Planner wants you to know your kid fell asleep on schedule, and…” he cleared his throat, “‘would you please fetch her from the back left corner of the Response dispatch floor?’ Uh, if you’re not too busy.”
Jeanne stared at the older man for a while, who had the good grace to look at least a little uncomfortable with the situation, before she sighed. “Thanks.” The exasperated mother shook her head. “And tell Planner thank you, too. Which one is Response?”
By the time Jeanne found Ava, she and Hidden were fast asleep. They dreamed of flying.
167 anesh + orbiting stardock + ship leaving with collective hope of earth (dreadnaught = name?) + admirl of ship always needing something (female)
He’d been having a dream about an unreal future. Some sliver of it yet remained, and he tried to will himself back to that moment. Of standing on the edge of an orbiting stardock, watching some impossibly large ship unmoore itself and begin to slide out into open space. It carried, he knew, the collective hope of Earth. Why, he couldn’t say. Anesh didn’t know if the dream was a happy or a sad one. He just wanted to see how it ended.
Dreaming alone had actually become kind of novel for Anesh. Not *this specific* Anesh - there were four of him active currently - but for the collective Anesh in general. Most Anesh’s, when they slept, tried to do so at the same time, so they could resync their personalities and memories while they were unconscious. And yes, this Anesh would teleport back every week or two to link back up. But more nights than most of the others of himself, he slept alone.
His dream came back into focus. He was talking to people. The time-dreadnaught was complete. The endless pathway had been breached. The admiral needed something. She always needed something. And there was a ringing… somewhere, distant, a ringing that got louder and louder and louder…
167 Clutter Ascent lived in a dream + war sparks + Clutter Ascent created / wrote a book!
People were real, she knew this. But they were white smoke and dim lights moving through her. Nothing like the warm sparks that she had made herself.
Walls were real too. Her own walls were more real, but there were other walls outside. They stretched on forever, they were labyrinth paths and deep secrets that she could not understand.
Certain actions were also real. Moments frozen in time, bits of happy glass that caught the light and smoke and made it glitter for an instant, gone in a blink if she didn’t catch them.
But just because they weren’t as easy to see in her drifting sleepy state didn’t make them any less precious. They were all important. Even the ones that she couldn’t feel, but could ‘hear’ moving around ‘below’ her. They didn’t come into her self; somehow, she knew it was an old fear that she couldn’t quite understand but had been told about by someone. But they were still here. They protected her. And because of them, she didn’t have to make any war-sparks. So they were also real, and important.
The important and very real people would read to her, when they visited. Or read to each other. Tales that they seemed to pull out of nowhere like she pulled her sparks. At first, she had thought they were trying to influence her somehow. But then, over time, she started to understand.
Stories were both real, and not real. And also something else! They did not happen, but it didn’t matter, because they could still be real anyway. And they weren’t pulled from nowhere, but pulled from *books*. Books were real, in an incredibly dense way. They were real much like the people were real, lights and smoke. But the more she listened to them, the denser and more solid the smoke became, the brighter the light shone and multiplied.
Clutter Ascent stirred in her sleep, as a thought echoed through her self.
She should *write* a book!
Apparently, people did it all the time, judging by the seemingly endless library that was growing in her depths! She should add to it! Share a story in turn!
But how? She had no stories. This was a problem.
Clutter Ascent turned in her dream, and, mostly out of an unknown reflex, pulled the smoke of reality out of several of the stories she had been told. Then, she collapsed them down into the format that had become familiar.
Pages, a cover, several images and several more words. A beginning, middle, and end. Mmm. No. No end. Endings were always sad, because even when they were happy, the story was over. No end.
The dream receded, and the book hissed into reality. It didn’t have the same smoke and light that the other books or walls or people did. It looked like her own walls, or her own sparks. But it was there! Sitting with the stack of other stories they had brought her.
167 Frequency-Of-Sunlight slept in an unfamiliar bed. + deb
And now, she lay in a curved arch, back pressed against her *girlfriend*, sleeping without fear and dreaming of seeing new colors.
It took Deb five minutes of careful movements to free her arms and slide out of bed without waking her snoring girlfriend. Though part of that might have been the comfort of the warm weight, and less the fact that she was actually trapped.
167 Rufus was having a nightmare. + 1 stapler like rufus + 1 larger staplier + 1 shellaxy ((3 friends? of rufus)) + 14 of them went down to 3 then down just to rufus who survived + truth seekers + island + repeated nightmare of joining up with others and being alone again
He was back in hell. Back in the deep places, where death was common, violence was frequent, and trust was an illusion. Where the walls never had clean lines, where the hiding places were always occupied. Where nothing grew that wasn’t angry, and fertile spots to set down roots were fought over with a fury.
And yet, he had companions. Others, some like him, some not. They didn’t have names. He didn’t have a name then, either. They weren’t important.
There was a boxy one that he got along with well, and another frame like himself that liked to play-tackle him. There was a larger one of them that was always alert, and another who was always trying to understand the world around them.
In reality, they were long gone. Part of Rufus knew that. But for a moment, his nightmare was a dream, and he saw them again.
One by one, they died. Their desk shattered by something so much larger than them; his little farm crushed. They were pushed into hunting for sustenance, pushed to fight and kill. They got good at it. But it cost.
There were fourteen of them, in his band. Then twelve. Then eleven. Then, two weeks of survival and safety. And then, a single accident, and in blood and pain, their numbers dropped to three.
The other one, like him, his friend who enjoyed play fighting, just… stopped. Sat down one day, and didn’t get up.
The big guy left shortly after. Or maybe Rufus had been the one to leave. He couldn’t remember, but he relived it both ways anyway. Dreamed the scene a hundred times, over and over, the pain of being alone again, and it was always his fault.
Rufus just hoped that this time, he wouldn’t find himself truly alone again.
167 momo + planner (dream shape = simple rotating white and blue cube) + momo uses LSD + authority larva (is alive and blames nameless AI)
“Planner.” One of Momo’s dream selves got the infomorph’s attention. “Need your advice on something.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Planner’s dreamform was a simple rotating white and blue cube, and Momo considered rolling her eyes at it. She could do that; she was pretty deep in her own head right now. Feeling exasperated while dreaming was a trick when you weren’t intentionally crammed down to a floaty subconscious level through a mix of skulljack tricks, red totems, and acid.
Momo had never been into ‘the drugs’, honestly. Aside from, like, getting drunk once at a friend’s house, and getting stoned repeatedly at a different, cooler and more responsible friend’s house. But she had made the jump to a world where drugs gave you superpowers pretty easily.
If asked, James would deny that drugs gave you superpowers. But the sort of floaty disconnect between your omnipresent anxieties and your appreciation for the beauty of the world that Momo got from a small dose of LSD was critical to shaping and understanding the lines and patterns of the totem shapes she designed. So James could shut up. Besides, he’d built a mech that needed a hypnotic dissociative episode to pilot, so he was in no position to talk.
Momo was looking at what she was pretty sure was a mental imprint of an Authority. But it was dormant, maybe even dead. She couldn’t tell, her human mind wasn’t built for this kind of information patterning. But that’s why Planner had a summer home in her cerebellum.
“Nothing.” Planner said, humming with the scritching of pen on paper. “I cannot see it. But. It is there, in its appointed place.”
“Okay, quick check. Can you not see it because it’s too different from you, because it’s dead or dormant, or because it’s abstractly ‘not on the schedule’?” Momo pried, one of her secondary dreaming selves poking at Planner’s angular bit.
“The second option, part one or two.” Planner dryly replied. “I am not ‘in the abstract’. I am capable of seeing beyond the schedule perfectly…”
“Cool.” Momo nodded. “So, why isn’t it moving?”
“This is a strange place.” Planner rotated, making an idle comment. The first Momo had ever heard them say, actually. Planner was a stickler for precise language. “I do not know why it is dormant. According to you, all the proper steps were taken, all the proper resources allocated. It should be live.”
Momo examined the Authority’s form. It almost looked like a larva, if tools had a larval form. Half insectile shape, half smooth metal and waiting potential. One of her other selves, the one that was the input from the red totem that showed her personal connections, could see a slight line forming between it and herself. But not, crucially, between it and anything else.
“It does not appear to know anything.” Planner gave a written hum again. “This I can see clearly. Unshielded in any way. It is waiting for something, looking for a command. Yes. There, deeper in. It waits for an order. It isn’t dead at all.”
“You think Nameless is doing this?” Momo asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.” Planner replied. “The deeper I look at the Authority, the more I understand. It is not like me, but its complexity is elegant. It requires orders, and it feeds off of a strange form of acceptance. And this one appears to be healthy, as much as I am qualified to determine that. However… when I look at the mind we are visiting, I find no drive to give those orders. Nor does your friend appear to have accepted its own place in the Order’s structure. Both of those thoughts are alien to it; there is no complexity or subtly here for an infomorph to feed off of.”
“You’re saying Nameless isn’t a person.” Momo accused, anger rising through the haze of her subconscious. “You don’t think it’s real.”
168 FBI -> The Critical Incident Response Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation -> executive director Brians
“I’m afraid not. You are remarkably easy to get ahold of, compared to what I was expecting. Your actual number is on file with your service record.” The man didn’t laugh at the comment, which was something that put James on edge rather rapidly. He put a lot of value on someone’s propensity to recognize and react to humor, and the lack of even a small chuckle was a warning sign. “I’m executive director Brians, I’d like a word with you.”
“Director of what?” James asked, standing up and starting to pace back and forth behind the couch as he talked. Slouched over the chair didn’t seem like a good position for this conversation.
“The Critical Incident Response Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Ah.” James paused and glanced over at his partners. “The FBI wants to talk to me?” He raised his eyebrows. “Soooo…”
The older fed cleared his throat. “You recently broke contact with one of my employees, and by association our agency. It seems prudent to attempt a peaceful resolution to this scenario, if even half of what Ms. DeKay says is accurate.”
“Oh yeah, that.” James sighed. “So, you do get that she was trying to steal from us, right?”
“Confiscation of dangerous and unregulated weaponry is well within the authority of…”
“Please.” James cut him off. “If you actually wanted to confiscate our ‘dangerous technology’, you could have just sent a few hundred people to our headquarters.” He grinned wolfishly, even though he knew the other man couldn’t see him. “Or did you try that?”
“Yes.” Brians admitted easily. “Which is when DeKay’s concerns began to make more sense.”
“Yeah, well. Wizard.” He said, as if that explained anything. “Alright, let’s skip to the end of this. What do you *want*?”
The man cleared his throat. “To know if you’re going to be a threat, or a resource.” There was the sound of shifting paper from the other end of the phone. “It’s really that simple. And, more directly, to ask you: are you going to stop?”
“Stop what, exactly?” James put a hard tone on his words.
“Stop interfering in police affairs. Stop drawing attention. Stop your little revolution now, before it becomes violent.” The man spoke, and James heard something in the background. Suddenly he realized he was probably on speakerphone.
He sighed, and looked over at his partners, who were watching him with a worried look. “I have a fundamental problem with how you phrased that.” He said slowly.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You’re probably not stupid, so you’re looking at the history of the world, and seeing every revolution being one of violence. Break the old system to build the new, right?” He didn’t wait for a reply, just kept talking. “Well, we’re not super interested in that. Because it’s obviously never worked. The people who hate the new systems will never see them as legitimate, because they took power with violence. And, like, a lot of other reasons involving *not killing people* too, which I thought was obvious, but I just realized what I’m talking to, so I feel I should mention in passing.” James’ voice held an amount of vitriol.
There was a sigh from the other end of the line, and James stopped his pacing to lean forward and prop his elbows on the back of the couch as the director spoke again. “Your subversion of police authority is already an implicit threat. Both to the safety of the public, and the structure of the legal code. Specifically, the technology you’ve demonstrated to, and I cannot believe I need to say this, teleport.”
“Oh, fuck off.” James couldn’t help bark a laugh. “The existence of a group that has a state sanctioned authority to… you know what? Nevermind. We don’t need to cover that right now, and you don’t care.” He gave his own sigh. “No. We won’t be ‘stopping’. Though I appreciate you asking politely, so thanks I guess.”
“We can offer you a number of incentives to disband your organization now.” Brians suggested.
“Pass.” James said. “Also, seriously, DeKay’s take on us as some kind of destabilizing factor is weird. I didn’t really get to talk to her much about it, what with her trying to shoot me and everything, but you do get that most of our objectives involve radical improvements to the daily lives of people, right?”
“And the removal of the federal government.”
“And the *obsolescence* of the federal government.” James corrected.
“You know, most of your activities are actually illegal. You could be arrested quite easily.”
James snorted, but did it away from the phone. No need to show *that* much contempt. “I would argue that you have bigger problems.” He said. What he did *not* say was that he doubted it would be that easy for them. “You also glossed over that part where one of your agents tried to shoot me.”
Executive director Brians continued to gloss over that fact. “My job, and the job of my staff, is, on a bad day, to respond to attacks on the American people.” He said. “On a good day, it is to prevent damage from becoming a pattern. What I would like to do, now, is take an opportunity with you, to keep it from even getting that far.”
“You really don’t believe me when I say we won’t kill people, huh?” James grimaced.
“No.” The man replied. “Whether by malevolence, accident, negligence, or simply introducing disruptive technologies. You are going to cause deaths.” The words were delivered with absolute conviction.
James was kind of sick of it. “You know what?” His voice was strained, as he tried to refrain from simply throwing his phone through the sliding glass door and off his patio. “That’s pretty goddamn rich, coming from someone… no. No.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Look. I can appreciate what you’re trying to do here. Really. But you cannot bribe or threaten me, and the fact that you’re trying is annoying. That you seem to have missed that we’re making the world safer around our home, which is *the country you claim to protect*, is annoying.”
“I have not missed that fact. You’re not seeing the bigger picture.”
“Ah, the endless rallying cry of the status quo.” James let out a low grunt of exasperation. “Again. Kinda tired of hearing that one.” Anesh and Alanna tensed up as he said that.
Brians gave a small laugh. The first James had heard from him. “And you don’t know how tiring it gets to hear people adhere to destructive ideologies.”
“I’m getting there, though!” James told him. “Look, I don’t think either of us are going to change our minds in this one conversation, right?” His conversation partner made a hum of assent. “So,” James continued, “I’m gonna just go now, because I actually do have a life outside of getting in ideological fights with authority figures.”
“Of course. Understandable.” Brians sounded resigned, but not surprised.
“That said,” James added, “just in case it was ambiguous; we do not have to be enemies. Please don’t try to dramatically arrest me or my people, and in return, I promise that we’ll keep doing what we’re doing. Which is, you know, acting as a magical ambulance service and trying to kill cancer.”
There was a noise from somewhere in the other room, and James knew for *sure* now that he was on speakerphone. “If only those were the only things you were doing.” The director sighed. “I won’t promise you anything. But this conversation was more productive than I had worried.”
James smiled. “Well. It’s been nice talking to you too. I’m going to go back to researching transit networks now, so that I can build a magical utopian city. And when it’s done, you’re welcome to come live in it. Hell, this isn’t even a bribe; you can come live in it even if you try to arrest me or something. I’m even building the thing in the US, so if you need to sell if to your bosses or something, you can talk about how it generates jobs or something.”
A long pause followed, and he half figured he’d already been hung up on. Just as he was about to lower the phone from his ear and hit the red end call button, the older man laughed. Actually laughed. “Well.” He said, voice warmer than when the call had started. “Isn’t that interesting?” And then, a moment later, “We’ll be in touch.”
“Yeah, don’t bot… he hung up. Wow. Rude.” James shook his head at his phone, and then looked up to see Anesh and Alanna staring at him with concerned looks. “Soooooo. The FBI called, I guess?”
168 finally loot drop when they die (will of loot drop per say)
“Hey Alex, what’s up?”
“Hey, uh, sorry to bother you on your day off.” The young woman sounded apologetic. “Just wanted to ask something before I say anything stupid to the interns. Is it okay to let people know that everyone’s orbs drop when they die?”
“First off, not my day off. Second off...Ooooooof.” James drew out the word as he stood and stepped over to the patio door. Fresh air sounded nice for this conversation. He caught Alanna’s eye as she poked her head out into the living room. “It’s Alex.” He said to her, covering the phone with one hand as he slid the door open and stepped outside.
“Yeah, oof.” He could practically hear Alex nodding. “Like, I don’t think anyone cares? Or, you know, *you’re* not gonna kill me and eat my orbs, right?”
“I love our conversations.”
“But it just seems kind of awkward to tell everyone? Like, I don’t wanna make people think that’s an option, you know? Anyway, Sarah said to call you, since she was busy.”
James paused. “Busy with what?” He asked. “Wait, no, that’s not important, and knowing Sarah it could be one of thirty different reasonable things. Okay. Looting the dead. Hm.” He thought for a second, until a certain tangential thought struck him. “Hey, question. What do you want done with your loot drop?”
“...Are you planning to kill and eat…”
James rolled his eyes and cut her off. “No.”
Alex made an uncomfortable noise. “I dunno. I don’t really think about that a lot, for… reasons…” She didn’t elaborate, and James didn’t need her to. He was familiar with existential dread. “Anyway, I don’t really know? Like, if you can bring me back to life with it, then fuckin’ do it I guess. Otherwise, just give it to someone.”
“You’d be okay with that?” James was a little surprised.
“Sure, why not? I’m not using it.”
It made sense, and standing there on his back porch, feeling his feet get colder and colder on the stone patio, James realized he more or less agreed. “Yeah, I guess… yeah. Ugh. Don’t like thinking about that. But I guess I’d rather it not sit on a shelf.”
“I did wonder why we had the shelf.” Alex half-asked.
“No one told us what they wanted done with their… remains.” James struggled on the last word. “We should really… shit, this is actually important. I can’t believe we haven’t one this before.” He sighed. “Okay, so, *yes*, tell them what happens. And then, get informed consent from everyone on what to do with their final loot drop. Because that *does* matter.”
169 FBI calling up all order folks telling them in trouble and play good
“I got the most interesting call from the FBI last night.” Sarah informed James as he stepped out of the telepad arrival zone.
“Mostly to tell me that I was going to throw my life away and end up in jail for decades if I didn’t roll over and play nice.” Sarah’s face was still smiling, but there was a vicious note in her voice James didn’t tend to hear often. “I said yes, obviously.”
“Oh? Well. Curse you and your sudden and unexpected betrayal, I guess.”
“That’s not the right line! Say the line!” Sarah admonished him.
James kept walking toward the elevator, letting Sarah fall in behind him as he made his way out of the basement and up to their California office. “I’m not *that* much of a blatant plagiarist.” He snorted. “Also, how many people got calls?” James let his voice turn serious.
“Everyone you’d expect. Not Nate, though. Haven’t heard from JP or Dave.” Sarah filled him in. “No one who got hit hard by the Office’s memeplex, but everyone we’ve hired since then. No one’s quit yet, and as far as I know, everyone reported it. If anyone didn’t, I guess we wouldn’t know, but, well. We’re not spying on everyone. Duh.”
“Duh, indeed.” James nodded as the doors opened and he stepped off the elevator. “No one quit?”
“Well, you know! Most of the people in Response are there because fuck the police, right? A threatening call from the Big Police isn’t gonna convince them otherwise.” Sarah threw her arms into the air. “I don’t get why they think the answer to ‘there is too much abuse of authority’ is *more* abuse of authority! Just stop doing that, and it’s fine!”
169 order vs FBI = options
“Threats, harassment, probably bribery, this is the kind of stuff they do when they can’t just arrest an entire problem.” Nate said. “It’s why it was the go-to for civil rights stuff. Too many people to really bring the hammer down on. But it’s *not* a contemporary tactic, at least that I know of. So to use it here, it means they don’t think they could just break the organization.”
“Well yeah, they literally cannot find us.” James said. “Unless they’re playing the *long* game. But seriously. I don’t think they’re an immediate threat, and I have no intention of upgrading them to that until something actually *happens* beyond just vaguely coercive phone calls to people who are already inclined to not listen.”
Nate ran a hand across his smooth head. “Alright. Well, I’ll go with your say for now. But we’ve got options if you want to hit em back. Just so you know.”
“...Options like…?” James’ voice was more suspicious than curious.
“Targeted blackmail, financial pressure, assassination if it gets bad enough.” Nate shrugged. “The usual.”
“No.” James deadpanned.
169 EL mom (Marjorie) = 55 yrs old
“You needed somewhere people could make appointments to talk to you. Even though you are *never here*.” Sarah instantly dropped back into the mock glower for a second. “But yeah! We’ve got some cool new people. Take, like, Bill or Mark! Take *Marjorie*! She’d probably… no, no. Nevermind.”
James cleared his throat. “El’s mom?” He asked. “Isn’t she… okay, I know magic makes the line fuzzy, but isn’t she a bit old?”
“She’s only fifty five, but she has some other reasons to probably not go, that aren’t my place to talk about.” Sarah shrugged. “Take El, maybe? Or, or! Ask the whole Order, then go from there!”
169 the building Officium Mundi is located in is currently for lease + james get a secretary
Karen paused in James’ office door, turning her head without moving the rest of her body or shifting the manilla folder full of paperwork she was holding to look at him. “There’s a budget report sitting under your keyboard. Costs for Response are stabilizing, but our payroll is still incredibly high relative to our income. I’ve made some recommendations on potential investments. Also, the building Officium Mundi is located in is currently for lease; it looks as though the company is suspending operations due to pandemic losses. It’s expensive, but we should look into acquiring it. Additionally, Harvey will be up in ten minutes to talk to you about an independent review board for Response. And my daughter and her friends will be arriving after that to meet with you.”
“...Karen, are you my secretary?” James asked, legitimately confused.
“No, I…” The older woman paused. “Hm. I am going to assign one of the new interns to act as your secretary.” She said. “One of them is competent. It will be a good fit for him.”
“Thanks.” James deadpanned. And then, following that, “Actually though, thanks. I’ll read over this really quick. I appreciate the work you do.”
“Yes, well.” Karen gave the smallest hint of a smile, and then continued past his door.
169 extra stairs in LA office of order
“What was that?” Harvey followed his line of sight, trying to figure out why the elevator door was so important.
“Well.” James said. “How many doors are over there?”
“Three. Elevator, stairs, supply clos…” Karen stopped, and frowned. “Four. There are four doors. Why?”
“I’ll bet you a dollar it’s Research testing green orbs.” James offered. “Anyone?”
Harvey gave James a shake of his head. “Active Response members aren’t allowed to gamble.” He said. “That includes him, by the way.” He spoke to Karen’s assistant who looked like she was about to pull out her wallet. “Also, don’t take that bet.”
James rolled his eyes as he walked over and opened the new door, looking down the seemingly endless spiral of concrete steps and metal railing. “Alright. Well. I’ve gotta get to lunch and talk to some teenagers. I think I’ll take the stairs. I could use some exercise.” He shook his head. “This building is gonna be so fucking weird by the time we’re done with it.” He muttered. “Anyway, Harvey, thanks. Check in with me when it’s all set up, if you want me to meet the council. Or whatever we’re calling them.”
It took him eight flights before he regretted his choice. On the one hand, it was important to make sure the new stairs were normal and safe. But on the other hand, it was apparently as many stairs from here to the Lair as it was floors for the elevator to cross.
At least there were no other doors out. That would have been a massive security and existential headache.
169 australia -> dungeon ->naming the dungeon (Winter’s Climb) + Morgan + Elizebeth + Color-Of-Dawn + (Chevoy gave up on naming)
Across from him, three people sat. Two human teenagers, and one camraconda for whom age wasn’t really a meaningful measure of maturity. Morgan, Elizebeth, and Color-Of-Dawn; the three non-engineers who had survived the first encounter the Order had with the dungeon in the memetically slippery mountain.
Chevoy had abdicated her naming privileges, saying she couldn’t be trusted with something like that. And Momo had argued that she hadn’t been first, just the rescue crew. So that left these three.
“Is it okay if we call it Winter’s Climb?” Liz asked, blushing a little and not meeting James’ eye. “It sounds silly when I say it out loud, but… when it wasn’t trying to kill us, it was really pretty there. I don’t want to give it a rude name, just because it’s dangerous. And these two say they didn’t hate that name.”
169 dungeon has winter + snow
Color-Of-Dawn nodded, a bobbing motion of its camera head. “I, too, find it reasonable. It is all the parts of winter I have seen, and nothing else.”
“That’s… wait, yeah, hang on, have you experienced a winter?” James suddenly started thinking back. “Yeah, you were here last year, right? Did we ever have snow?”
Color-Of-Dawn froze in its bobbing. “The snow is not a dungeon thing?” It asked, alarmed.
169 Arrush (ratroach) + Keeka (ratroach) + angry, vicious bond between the Beautiful One (ratroach leader) + arrush going to "winter climb" unknown about keeka
Arrush crouched in a cautious position on the roof of what he was told used to be a police station. What a police was, or why they were stationed here, were questions he had technically had answered, but still didn’t fully comprehend.
There were a lot of things he did not fully comprehend. Civilization was a big one. Food that tasted good was a small one. But they were all linked. There were so many connections, between so many things. He had never needed to track that many connections in his life.
Previously, there were two connections that mattered. There was the angry, vicious bond between the Beautiful One, and all the others she owned the lives of, and there was the gentle, impossibly fragile bond between himself, and Keeka.
They had names now. They had always had names, really. The soft sound of affection that Keeka called him had now become the thing that everyone referred to him as. And the noise of alert that he had used to get the smaller ones attention when danger was near had become his own name as well.
It was… so strange. So public. Out in the open. Others, who saw their bond openly, and did not try to use it to hurt them. Who took them in, told them they were valuable.
Arrush was waiting for the trap to close, but it still hadn’t.
James had folded the book shut and gently set it on the edge of the roof, before asking one last question. “In a few days, I’m going somewhere like your origin point.” He’d said. “Less dark, more cold. It’ll be dangerous, and risky, but it might be something that gets me more strength. To protect what I think is important.” James had met Arrush’s eyes, and asked then, “Would you like to come with us?”
“I am going to go.” He rasped out, voice still aching from overuse today, not yet modified to what the humans promised would be a state that didn’t hurt anymore.
Keeka burrowed into his side under the blanket, clutching tightly to his partner.
“Not forever.” Arrush reassured him. “Want to… keep you safe.”
His partner made a hissing click. Their own secret language, a voice they would never really give up. They didn’t have a word for ”why”. But they did have a signal for “you won’t leave me behind.” Not a question, but a statement.
If Arrush was going, Keeka was too.
“Stay.” The much larger ratroach half-whispered. “Be safe. Back before you miss me.”
“Miss you already.” The thin, wispy voice came from under their blanket.
170 Alice Springs, Australia + james + alanna + anesh + Nikhail + Arrush + Alex + winter climb (dungeon)
Six people blipped into existence in an abandoned campsite outside of Alice Springs, Australia.
The six of them were the planned team for this initial delve. James, Anesh, and Alanna all basically just had dibs. Arrush had been asked because the ratroaches needed all the help they could get with things. Nik and Alex were… well, not exactly ‘filler’, but they were both very interested, and hadn’t been in nearly as many dungeons as a lot of members of the Order.
Reed had complained that James was stealing his best research assistant. Harvey had complained that James was stealing Response’s best medic. Nik had complained that he basically never got to do delves, and yet somehow had two jobs in the Order. James had snatched him up for this as soon as he’d shown an interest, but had made the concession to Research and Response to not poach any more of their members for this run.
In contrast, Alex didn’t seem attached to any particular project in the Order. In fact, James wasn’t actually sure what the girl *did*. He’d been kind of surprised to find that the answer was mostly just background research for other projects, and then trying to guess at how blue totems worked in her free time. The answer left her basically unattached, and she was happy to tag along. She legitimately loved dungeon exploration, and James was pretty sure she loved it more for the danger.
Sadly, much as they had wanted to come, Rufus and Ganesh were excluded on the grounds that anyone the wind could pick up and throw off a cliff were just off the guest list. Similarly, while they’d talked to the camraconda population about it, none of them were confident enough in the mechanical arm harnesses to test them under these harsh conditions. Well, Frequency-Of-Sunlight was. But she was vetoed. And not just because her girlfriend was worried about her.
Arrush actually had custom armor plating, and seemed… well, James wasn’t used to reading the ratroach’s emotions. But when presented with the bundle, he stared at it for several minutes as he held it with all three of his hands, clutching the package like he was worried someone would take it back. He’d almost held back from giving Arrush the custom fit Status Quo glove, worried the big ratroach would cry if he was handed it too suddenly.
He was the last one to get changed, with James helping him into some of the armor. The ratroach tried to control it, but James noticed how he flinched when touched.
They weren’t actually using their own phones, really. They were just copied smartphones with no plan. All of them in durable waterproof cases, with a slot on the front of the armor’s webbing to be tied into so they could have a recording of the delve for future reference.
The rest of their gear was a mix of standard mountaineering, and standard delving tools. Ice picks and pitons, rope and climbing rigs. But also sidearms, sharpened hatchets, reflex coffee thermoses, a set of blue orbs each, one of the copied Status Quo material-breaker gloves, a trio each of exercise recovery potions, and a half dozen other little dungeontech tricks and tools.
Also, the Order now had enough random computing power chugging away in the basement of the Lair to operate a number of the immunity programs that their AI had been harvesting for them, and Anesh had been slowly copying in the miscellaneous part of their weekly duplication rituals. Not all of them were incredibly useful, but everyone here was sitting at a minimum of five percent protection from both venom, and wood.
And, of course, everyone had been given an armory kit of purples. All six of them, if they hadn’t had it already, had gotten an extra meter and a half of safe fall distance, a couple prevented broken bones, an extra half liter of daily blood production, and a degree and a half of temperature tolerance.
It was posed as a question, but he pulled a set of ski goggles over his eyes, and slipped on the mismatched set of dungeontech modified gloves regardless. The others followed his lead, James trying to not feel stifled as he covered so much of himself in a protective shell that wasn’t yet needed.
170 winter climb -> dungeon entrance
James opened his mouth to say something, when motion in the dirt to their left caught all their attention. “Group up!” James called over the sudden wind and kicked up dirt. Twenty meters away from them, an oval of twisting lightning was forming in the air, growing steadily and beginning to move toward the party. “Here we go! Everyone stay calm, pair off, and get ready to land and start moving!”
The dungeon net sprung into motion, whipping forward at an appropriately lightning speed. Anesh and Alanna linked arms, leaving James to step back and pair off with Alex, feeling the other girl vibrating with either fear or excitement. Behind them, Nik stepped closer to Arrush, and while the ratroach tensed, he didn’t shy away from gripping arms with his own delve partner.
This took seconds, and in that time, the mountain’s combination trap and doorway had closed the distance, and wrapped around them. The sky shifting from sunrise colors to a crackling dark void as the electric edge sealed around them in a dome. And then they were *falling*, sensations snapping into place around them one by one as they crossed the edge between the real world and the dungeon’s domain.
170 winter climb -> description
Momo had described it, but actually seeing it in person was something else. The sky felt too close, and not even twenty feet behind them was the edge of a cliff, beyond which was just more sky and distant mountains barely visible through the white and black curtain of wind and ice. Ahead, the peak was so tall it wasn’t fully visible. Up and up and up it went, a somewhat gentle slope at first, but rising at a higher angle as it pierced through a cloud layer. Beyond that… there was more. He could feel it.
There was no sun or moon. No way to tell if it was supposed to be day or night. Instead, the sky radiated a dull, pale light that made the shadows of the landscape jump out without ever making it feel like they had good visibility.
170 winter climb -> arrush (custom armor + boots + other?)
Arrush didn’t reply to James with words, just gave a rattling hiss and moved forward, the boots Sarah had refitted for him crunching against the powdery snow. The ratroach would move forward, then sweep his gaze around, before signaling it was okay and letting James make the same leapfrog motion as well. Both of them were trying to do this without looking too closely at the ice crystal hovering suspended above the shattered frozen lake.
171 arrush + james + Nik = arrush states they smell
“Hey, what did you mean when you said this place smelled like your birthplace?”
Arrush shook his head. “Not this place. The smell is… here. Not from here.” James raised an eyebrow and made a ‘please elaborate’ gesture. “It is Nikhail. He smells… wrong.”
“That’s *worrying*. Why didn’t you… oh, because you didn’t know if speaking up would get you hurt, yeah, okay, I get that.” James sighed. “Okay. Okay, that’s… I’m gonna talk to him when we get back then. Is it because he has a Lesson? No, that doesn’t make sense. I’ve got one and I… wait, do *I* smell?” He was suddenly self conscious. “You have to tell me if I smell.”
“You? Smell like… books. And quiet fear. And some chemicals.”
“Oh, that’s my deodorant. Okay. I’m fine then.” James sighed. “Alright. Let’s get back. My legs are starting to hurt from high stepping to avoid vines.”
171 arrush + arrush (extra arms) + not armor but cloth arrush wearing
“I mean, if this is the same guy, isn’t he missing arms?” Alanna said. Then, with considerably more worry in her voice, “Wait, *is* he missing arms? Did something happen? They’re staying in Townton, is this JP’s fault? I’ll break his arms if he let something happen to our precious new kids.”
“First off, pump the brakes a bit.” Anesh told her, lightly leaning against the cold stone outcrop. Behind them, a small fire was dying out, the smell of wood smoke seeping into the fur of his coat. “You know, you can just ask him these things, right? But yeh, it’s not JP’s fault for once. Arrush’s other two arms are… eh… not quite vestigial? Or at least, they’re not super useful. So Sarah put pockets inside his suit that he can slip them into. Probably more comfortable, certainly safer.”
“That’s gonna make the armor awkward, huh?” Alanna hummed. “Wait, did Sarah’s refit power work on armor? I thought she said it was clothing only.”
“It is. He’s not wearing armor.”
Alanna’s mouth puckered like she’d just taken a bite of the angriest lemon. “‘Scuse me? The fuck? That’s not okay!”
171 james + nik + shaper substance from high school dungeon + nik still in pain from using shaper sustance
James sighed. “You’re probably not in trouble, and the delve has been going fine. You need to work on not freezing up when something unexpected happens, but that’s a matter of experience. Also not what we’re talking about.” He shifted, trying in vain to get comfortable. “Arrush says you smell like the Sewer.”
“That’s kinda mean.” Nik’s voice came out angry. “And we’ve been hiking! We’re all probably sweaty and gross under the-!”
“Nik.” James cut him off with a hand held up. “You smell like the *Sewer*.” James didn’t look away as he saw Nikhail flinch. “And you obviously know why. Can you just tell me?”
There was a silence where James was pretty sure that Nik was deciding whether or not to just lie. But, to the kid’s credit, he kept his mouth shut until he’d decided. James could remember all too well the feeling of tripping over himself to make some bullshit up, when he could have just paused and then answered normally, and he was glad Nik didn’t try that.
The answer still unsettled him. “The shaper substance.” Nik said quietly, turning to scuff his boots over to the edge of their little overhang, thumping his shoulder into the rock where the wind started to whip past his face. “I’ve been dosed with the shaper substance.”
James had already started to nod, but then froze as he realized what Nik was saying. “The… highly radioactive fluid?” He asked, voice rising an octave.
“What? No. No! It’s the other stuff. The goo you and Anesh brought out of the Sewer.” Nik grimaced. “It’s how the ratroaches remake themselves. It’s how the two with us rebuilt their speech ability, with Deb’s help. Deb and Reed have been trying to figure out a way to make it less painful, and we’ve got a bunch of it from the samples you brought back.”
James cut in, stopping Nik’s erratic rambling. “Okay, yeah, I know what you’re talking about. Did you get exposed to it by accident during the… oh, wow, you look *so guilty* holy shit.” James couldn’t help himself. “Does Reed have any idea about this?”
“No.” Came the meek reply.
“Did Deb’s idea about reducing the pain get results?” James asked, a little annoyed.
“Not really.” Nik answered.
“I feel like I know the answer to this but *fucking why*?!” James snapped out the last two words, going from calm to irritated speech mid sentence. “Why in the *world* would you think that was a good idea? *Especially* since you’re wearing the last time you did something reckless and stupid as a glove?” James jabbed a finger at Aidimy, the nascent Authority wrapped around Nik’s arm.
It was the wrong thing to say, probably. And Nik instantly got defensive. “I just wanted my own body!” He yelled back, voice cracking. “Are you gonna be mad at me for not being cis now?!” He snapped at James.
James took a minute to take a deep breath, pulled his goggles up to his forehead, pulled his gloves off, and slowly rubbed at his eyes. “Oh my god.” He muttered. “You absolute dumbass. I’m so not mad about that, I literally almost forgot you were trans, I wasn’t thinking about that at *all*. I’m *mad* because you *spiked yourself with weird experimental dungeon serum* that *causes crippling pain*!” He was on his feet now, pacing back and forth by the remains of the fire in the tight confines of their shelter. “What would have happened if something went wrong? Did you even *tell anyone*? You could have *died*! Again!”
“But I didn’t!”
“I know! It’s really bad confirmation bias!” James said, and then huffed out something that was half laugh, half groan. “You think this isn’t something we were planning to do anyway?” He asked, voice suddenly soft. “You think we’d just… leave you out like that? Alanna and I were talking about literally this thirty near-death experiences ago. The shaper substance is some of the most important magic we’ve found. I’m not mad that you want to change yourself, I’m mad that you did it alone. I’m… not even mad.” James sighed. “I’m not mad, I just wish you’d asked for help.”
“I was worried someone would say no.” Nik said quietly.
“Dude.” James snorted. “Have you met us? I say yes to so many crazy ideas, it’s a miracle I’m still alive.” He shook his head, and stopped pacing. “Okay. Everything is fine, assuming you’re okay? Like, not in pain or anything?”
“Uh…”
“Nik.” James frowned. “Nik, really?”
“It’s not that bad.” Nikhail threw his hands up defensively. “I’m okay!”
171 james + nik + arrush + shaper substance from high school dungeon = arrush has tips / tricks with shaper substance
“Oh, that reminds me!” James said, trying and failing to snap his fingers. “Nik, are you okay with me explaining to Arrush the thing?”
“The th… oh. Uh. Sort of?” Nik seemed to shrink slightly under James’ gaze.
“Then I will sort of explain.” James turned to the ratroach, who had, not unintentionally, set himself up on the opposite side of their camp space from Nik. “He’s been using the shaper substance to fix his body. Nothing to worry about. Can’t do much about the smell though.”
Arrush blinked his eyes at James in a circular sequence of surprise. Like he hadn’t actually expected a follow up on that, and certainly not a real answer. He hissed out a breath, then turned to face Nik directly for the first time, voice rough and pained from the cold on top of his flawed biology. “Do… you require help?” Arrush said. “I can show… some tricks.” He had to pause between words, both for breath, and to consider what he was saying. But he still said it.
“Uh… I mean, if Reed doesn’t get *super* mad about this and ban me from it forever. Yes? Yeah. Yeah! That sounds like… I’d like that. I didn’t think to ask.” Nik stumbled through something approaching real conversation.
171 nik + Aidemy (Authority )(healer)
Nik jerked upright. “Oh! Uh, you’ll be okay, I guess? Aidemy keeps infection out, and is staving off frostbite, and you… uh, you heal *fast* actually. She’s just kinda helping it along. Should be good in, like, three or four hours? If you can get warm.” The answer actually surprised James, who had kind of assumed he at least would need to telepad out for safety.
172 nik + Aidemy (Authority )(healer)
Then, they took stock of injuries. James had the worst of it; his hand still ached from where he’d had to scrape bare skin against frozen rock to haul himself up when his glove got eaten. And also, the hole in his arm wasn’t that great either. There was a feeling like ripping off a scab when Nik’s Authority had pulled back from the wound, leaving behind a patch of pink scar tissue, but no hole.
172 arrush + drool causing damage to suit + fur poking through suit
When he approached the nearest watcher, Arrush inclined his head the way he’d seen the humans do to James. This had the unfortunate side effect of causing a thin line of blue drool to roll down the corner of his mouth, splattering to the drysuit the ratroach wore under his climbing harness. It sizzled, slightly, eating away at the material before Arrush whisked it off.
It was a little strange, the line between Arrush’s black fur and grey-brown chitin that adorned his neck and head, and the smooth monochrome black of the drysuit. The contrast was startling, for all they were close to the same color. But now that James looked… he noticed a handful of small holes in Arrush’s suit where the fur was poking through.
172 james = had a grandpa
“I’ve heard that. But also, complaining about how the cold makes my bones hurt is a time honored tradition among my people.” James said. Then, realizing what he’d just done, corrected a bit by saying, “That’s mostly a joke. My grandpa used to say that, and I’m exaggerating to make a joke. But I just realized that you don’t have the context. There is not tradition of complaining. But you still can if you want.” He faltered through his speech more than Arrush had, though for different reasons.
173 arrush + overall ratrouches
“As with Arrush.” Deb pronounced the ratroaches name like a whisper, no hard r’s involved, and James suddenly wondered if he’d been butchering the name. She glanced up to the window of the observation chamber where her patient was currently sleeping. “Two things you need to know about his physiology. First, he is *built to break*. If he wasn’t, he’d be dead already. He has between eighteen and thirty broken bones, depending on how you count, major blood loss, several lacerations that would have been lethal to a human, and also frostbite. And *yet*, he is still alive.”
James followed her line of sight to where the ratroach was laying on the medical cot, breathing heavily, an IV drip feeding into his arm. “What’s the second thing?” He said softly.
“He’s not meant to break painlessly. From everything I can tell, his species has incredibly dense nerve clusters. His skin, where he has it, would be able to feel tiny differences in temperature, or even wind speed, without any real focus on his part. Internally, he actually has the same kind of nerves that you have on your fingertips woven into his muscles and I *suspect* around organs. They are built to *feel pain*, James.” Deb closed her eyes, and held them that way for a long breath. “And I didn’t even notice before. I only just realized he was reacting, *while unconscious*, to being touched. Had to restrain him to sew up that hole in his side, even with anesthetic. I hate this. I… ugh.” She made a small noise, deflating slightly into the chair. “When did I become our doctor?” Deb whispered. “I haven’t even gotten my nursing certification and I’m doing improv surgery.”
“But he’ll live?” James asked, deciding to loop back to the personal crisis in a minute.
Deb took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. Nik and his authority kept him from losing too much blood - and it is blood, by the way, I was wrong about that and you don’t need to call it ichor - and I have the majority of the breaks splinted. And his body is absurdly resistant to infection, especially when supplemented with antibiotics. I think it might be *eating* it, as stupid as that sounds. When he wakes up, there’s a pile of purples with his name on it, too. Otherwise, I’ll start looking into how to make casts, I guess.”
173 james + deb + JP + Aaron = (deb broke up with JP) + (deb likes aaron her assistant)
Before she could actually get into rattling off reasons why she was a bad pick for all of that, someone buzzed themselves through the security door to the observation room. Two people, actually. JP, and one guy James didn’t recognize. Thin, hawkish nose, someone he hadn’t actually seen around the Lair before.
But he’d been the one to buzz in, and JP was following him, so James didn’t get up from his perch against the wall. The new guy made a beeline for Deb, and handed her a pair of folders, one thicker than the other and packed with documents of some kind. “Thanks Aaron.” She said, tiredly. “Is this everyone?”
“What the heck was that about?” He asked, affectionately bumping shoulders with James.
JP just grinned. “I like him. Shows proper deference!”
“This is why we broke up.” Deb said without looking up. And then, as if suddenly catching up to what she’d just said, snapped her head up with a horrified look on it. “Wait, no, I mean…!”
But JP’s face had already cracked. Not the direction James had expected, though. His friend wore a massive grin, and it didn’t take long for him to burst out laughing. A big, hearty laugh, like he’d gotten used to being at ease and happy. “Ha! Ah, yeah, that checks out, huh?” He said eventually, wiping at the corner of his eye. “Hey. So, who’s the new guy?”
“My assistant.” Deb was now hiding behind the folder, trying to cover up the bright red flush on her cheeks. “He’s… fine. Smart, picks up stuff well. Good at using knowledge from yellows. But kind of a jerk, really. You know the kind, the sort of people who no one’s ever said no to?”
173 townton, Tennessee = large part legally owned by order + necroads (roving packs of asphalt and bone claw monsters) + looting (including banks)
The majority of survivors had taken payouts from the Order to start new lives, handing over property rights to their destroyed homes. That, mixed with the Horizon cult also transferring ownership of the *many* properties they owned around the city had left them with actual, factual, legal ownership of most of the place.
It did fall below the minimum population to actually be legally a city in Tennessee, though. Which made them… something else. It was unclear. Their lawyer - they had a real lawyer now! - was trying to get them registered as an unincorporated township. But was running into the ongoing problem of the place not being remembered, or connected to any actual highways.
Also there were still roving packs of asphalt and bone claw monsters that prowled the streets. They weren’t spreading out into the wild areas around the city, as far as anyone had noticed; instead staying within a few hundred feet of asphalt at all times. But it was ‘a problem’ in a lot of ways.
But JP and his group were making progress. Picking off the creatures - they called them necroads - recovering personal effects from destroyed homes to ship back to victims, and making sure that there weren’t any leftover surprises from the Mechanic still around. Also looting. JP didn’t call it looting, but they were looting.
There were more than a few banks in Townton, and no one really felt like giving Bank of America their money back.
173 davis
“No, no, ‘m fine.” Deb insisted. “I just don’t want to leave Arrush here alone. Davis’ll be here in an hour. I’ll sleep then.”
“Davis? Why?”
“He was a med student for a few years before he switched majors in, like, the 80s.” Deb muttered. “He’s a decent guy. Good with patients.”
173 arrush = ratroaches in general
“Do ratroaches respond to therapy?” Alanna muttered, sinking back into her pillow. “They seem more alien than we’ve run into so far.”
“I think the problem,” James told her, “is that they’re not alien at all. They’re reacting like abuse victims are. We’re seeing high levels of trauma in action. And we absolutely shouldn’t have taken Arrush into the field. I suspect that he came along in part because he thought it was required of him to stay with us, even though I told him otherwise. Because… well.”
“Because you can’t believe people once you’ve spent long enough being lied to by your mom.” Alanna answered. James and Anesh both looked at her, thin frowns on their faces and sympathetic hurt in their eyes. “Parents. Dungeon. Whatever.” Alanna tried to wave it off. “Ugh. I’m dizzy. I need to sleep.”
173 ascent (dungeon) -> bond sticks = relation sticks (NOW NAMED) + james parents has a lead to find them
Karen held up her hand, the back facing James, to show off a small circular mark on her index finger. “Recently, I shared one of the Ascent’s bonds with my daughter.” She explained. “But… I don’t seem to be able to… I don’t know what the term would be. Unlock it? Connect it?” Karen lowered her hand and looked down at her fingers. “We aren’t strangers to each other. I love my child, and I want her to be safe. So I was wondering if you might know why this wasn’t working.”
“Ah!” Reed perked up. “I can actually answer that one!”
“Can you answer it in a way that isn’t… uh…” James cleared his throat. “Terrible?”
“All of my answers aren’t terrible.” Reed earnestly defended himself. “Anyway. We’ve actually got a pretty decent data set for the relationsticks now, and…”
“That’s such a good name.” James cut in. “Sorry, that’s all, carry on. I’ll shut up.” He cleared his throat and looked back at the browned potatoes as Karen glowered him into silence.
Reed also looked back at Karen from his slightly less effective glare at James. “The point is, it looks like the people need to experience the same emotion at the same time. I’d tentatively say it also needs to be from the same source. So, when you and Liz are together, even if you’re both feeling what you’d call ‘love’ for each other, you’re loving her as a parent and she’s loving you as a daughter, and that’s not the same. My brother and I actually had a similar-ish problem with this.” He held up his own hand to show his own unconnected corridor mark. “Just being family doesn’t mean we see things the same way. Hell, it seems like it makes it *harder*.” He shrugged. “It’s probably not impossible. But I don’t think it’s nearly as easy as it is for everyone else.”
“Damn.” Karen said simply.
“That actually explains why it took Anesh and I so long.” James said. “We’re close, but we’re… I dunno, we experience a lot of things differently. It took us a long time to drop our guard, even after we started dating. Even if it’s easy for you, Liz probably has a hard time being vulnerable around you, right?” He shrugged. “I always did around my parents. And I love them. That didn’t make it easy to tell them things. Hell, I never actually got around to coming out to them before…” He trailed off. The memory of his parent’s disappearance still wasn’t easy to cope with. Then, the smell of slightly singed potatoes reached his nose, and he snapped back to the moment, latching onto the crisis at hand and frantically killing the heat and scooping his breakfast onto a trio of plates.
“I may have a lead on them.” Karen said. “But I didn’t want to raise your hopes.”
“I’ve mostly assumed that I’ll never have them back.” James admitted as he passed Reed a smaller portion, sending him off in search of a fork. “They’re not gonna remember me. And I don’t… I don’t even know if it’d be safe for them to. I mostly just want to know they’re safe, and alive. You know?”
173 unlimited water broach (fourteen thousand gallons per day) + james + davis + bill + Knife-In-Fangs
“The water purification system isn’t, actually.” Davis reminded him.
James snapped his fingers, then realized how loud that had been in the enclosed space of echoing tile, and winced. He quieted his voice down, too, as he kept talking. “Yeah, the brooch! That thing is neat. What about it?”
“Well, it purifies the entire pool, yes?”
“One segment of it.” James answered easily. “It actually caps out at around fourteen thousand gallons, which I think was a consideration when Bill designed the place. That said, this is a copy, and we don’t know if it scales up as it levels up.”
Davis nodded. “Right. Okay. So, we should make more copies of this then.”
“...What for?”
“Well, I have some rough math here.” Davis flipped open the small notebook he carried with him at all times, revealing an arcane scrawl that would put most wizard’s spellbooks to shame. “Two days per charge, scaling down by two hours per level, which is workable. We can fairly rapidly get that down to a day and a half. At that point, you’re looking at one of these being able to provide for the clean water needs of roughly two hundred people a day, and the numbers only get better as it advances. Not to mention they’re small, and easily copied. We could, without much effort, radically improve the lives of a lot of people with this.”
“Hmm.” James brain whirred as he processed that. “Wait, yeah, hang on. I was gonna say this isn’t as impactful as an anti-cancer orb, but these don’t go away, do they? They keep adding value, forever. Oh, dear. I didn’t think of that.”
“Well, to be fair to you, I don’t think anyone considered that one of these could turn a swimming pool into drinkable water.” Davis replied. “Until Bill did it, and no one realized what that meant.”
“Okay. Okay, yes. First off, Bill’s getting a raise.” James nodded to himself, then cocked a finger at Davis as he started to raise a hand. “Yes, you get a raise too. Or something, we’ll figure it out. Uh… wait, no no no, there’s a potential problem with this.” James had a grim thought.
Davis wasn’t actually ahead of him, but assumed he was. “I admit, the fact that it’s a point of vulnerability is an issue. They’re easy to steal, or lose. But unless they’re destroyed, they don’t go away, and we can make more at a decent rate. I think it’s worth accepting that loss, though we’ll need to put safeguards on to make sure it doesn’t end up monopolized.”
“Actually, no.” James shook his head. “I’m mostly thinking that we need to unlock at *least* one more power on them first. Maybe two, to be safe. Because if we do this, they will all eventually get there. And if one of those powers is ‘kill people’...”
“...Oh.” Davis deflated. “Christ, didn’t think of that.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit grim.” James said. “But still. Good idea. We’ll keep an eye on the thing. Actually, go check in with Knife-In-Fangs when you get a chance. He’s got the primary one, and he uses it *constantly*.”
174 order -> cameracondas -> 2 last captured, seems 3 more captured, and another dozen captured and turned into order folks?
Mostly the camracondas. There were, miraculously, more of them now. James had been *terrified* that they were going to end up as a dying splinter of a slave species; a few dozen freed camracondas slowly attritioning away until there was nothing left of their people but the controlled specimens in the dungeon itself. But instead, they’d turned that around, capturing a handful of Officium Mundi’s guard monsters, and slowly, oh so slowly, breaking the residual hold on them that the dungeon held.
They were different than the original population. They hadn’t been through years of trapped fear, starvation, guilt, and collective trauma. They woke up, slowly, softly, to a world where they could be people, guided by the others who had come first, but free to be something new. There were three of them so far, they were constantly confused by the world around them, and James empathized with them on a deeply personal level. The original camracondas weren’t actually that old, but they’d been forged in a crucible that had pushed them to an emotional maturity beyond their years. The new ones, though, were just kids. And it was something special to watch them learn and grow.
174 route horizon -> rubber from car tires -> ball = setting up order concil to get money from selling it.
James finally, *finally*, remembered to ask Reed about the weird rubber stuff from Route Horizon.
The answer did not impress him. It constantly pulled itself into a ball shaped mass, melding into itself like it was liquid, even though it didn’t interact with any other matter that way.
Reed looked at him like he should understand why this was a world-shattering development. James looked back at him like he didn’t understand mechanical engineering beyond how to repair either lawnmowers, or Jettas made between 1994 and 1998.
Reed cracked first, muttering something about self-healing qualities for high stress machines, and then just sighing and telling James it was kind of a big deal, and that they’d like more of it. Even if they just sold it to a car company or something, it could be worth billions.
That got James’ attention. He promised to have a talk with some people about it, and asked Planner to set up a council.
174 Sarah -> pod cast -> assistant = Kelly
Sarah looked down at the notes in front of her. “That actually brings us to our first question.” She said, sheepishly. “If you look at your own sheet…”
“When did this get here?” James jumped slightly in his chair.
“My assistant put it there. Kelly is very good at this.” Sarah said with a nod. “Anyway! Question one! What is your favorite dungeon?”
174 james + lin (female)(one of orders rouges) + Utah -> Kaysville (minor city) -> diner = Walter Crongle (Alchemist Nile / Jack) + Colorado
James followed Lin, one of their rogues and the least inconspicuous person he’d ever met, through the door of the Utah diner. It was an unfairly warm and sunny day for the middle of September; back home, it was already starting to convert to the permanent gray and wet of winter, but here in the minor city of Kaysville, it just kept being pleasant.
James already knew why they were here, but he let Lin lead him anyway. She waved at the waitress in a way that somehow made the gray haired oak of a woman just nod and leave them to it while she wiped down a coffee pot. And then stalked through the diner, shoes sticking slightly to the tile floor, to stand next to a booth with a solitary gentleman sitting in it.
“Alchemist Nile.” Lin said. Her voice was crisply professional, and had the pitch you’d expect coming from her five foot two frame, but she had a grin while she spoke anyway, watching with her own satisfaction as the man in the booth snapped his head up to them with wide eyes. “Real name Walter Crongle, eighty four years old, left his gun in his car today. It’s the Mercedes outside.” Lin rattled off the words like a script. “Estimated net wealth, about a hundred and forty million. Technically, third in command of-“
“Yes thank you, shut up!” The old man’s voice snipped through Lin’s words, though the rogue didn’t lose her smile. “Should have brought the fucking gun.” His grumbling voice had a ghost of a drawl to it. “Well? Here to kill me, or just waste time until my breakfast gets cold?”
James liked him immediately, which he probably shouldn’t have. With a smile of his own, he slid into the booth opposite Walter, just as the waitress finally decided to come bother them. “Jack? These kids bothering you?”
Walter - absolutely not a Jack, but oh well - looked over at James, who just gave him a friendly shrug, before glancing back up. “No, no. Just an old family friend I wasn’t expecting to see today.” The man said. “He’s fine.”
“And I’m going.” Lin said, giving James a tilt of her head. She’d be ‘going’ about as far as she needed to to join the perimeter of Knights who were watching the place.
“Can I get a coffee?” James asked the server. “Lots of cream and sugar.”
“Don’t poison it either.” Lin commanded her, meeting the woman’s startled gaze, and holding it with serious eyes until the older woman broke and looked away, glancing at Walter, then James, and then giving a resigned sag of her shoulders.
“So.” Walter asked. “Not here to kill me. What do you want then?”
“Well.” He started with. “First, I have a question for you.” James reached into his too-warm coat, and slowly pulled out a small crystal vial. He set it on the table, the roil of blue-black dragon scales and fangs inside twitching slightly. “Do you know, *really know*, what this is?”
Walter just cocked an eyebrow. “It’s one of ours, yes.” He said. “Permanent cure for depression, since you seem to insist on having this conversation in the open. Though it also works on general anxiety disorder, social agoraphobia, and post traumatic stress disorder.” The man’s drawl took on the tone of someone giving a sales pitch.
It got an angry twitch of the eye from James. “And what, exactly, do you think it does?” His voice was low, but steady.
“...Rewires the brain to human neurotypical?” Walter was starting to show some confusion. “It’s perfectly safe. The price tag is simply because of the limited stock. I’m sorry, if you purchased from us, and it didn’t work, then I regret to tell you that you did not have one of the…”
James groaned, and shook his head, cutting off his conversation partner’s pitch. “Okay. How do you make these?” He asked. “I’m not asking here, to be clear. This isn’t a threat or anything, but I need to know what goes into *this specific potion*.”
“I… don’t know.” Walter admitted. “Only Colorado knows. It’s the highest secret, even though it’s not even close to our best seller.”
James ignored the question. “So, eighty four, huh? Looking pretty good for that. Do you guys make anti-aging potions?”
“Hardly. If we did we’d… no, I won’t let you do this. You are mistaken about this.” Walter tapped the crystal container still sitting on the table. “It’s harmless. You are attempting to manipulate me.”
James didn’t respond to that, though he filed the word ‘wards’ away for later. “So. How many of your fellow Alchemists have taken this potion?” He asked.
Eventually, though, Walter made a choice. “Two.” He said. “We don’t… you need to understand, we don’t sample our own wares. The cost of production is high, and our wealth is based off of our product lines. Only those who are truly in need take them, for the price alone.”
“You have their names?” James prompted.
“Yes, yes of course.” Walter flipped his receipt over, scrubbing the names of two other alchemists on it before sending it fluttering toward James with a jerky motion. While James reached for it, Walter pulled a small silver flask out of his coat pocket, and poured a fairly substantial dose of an amber liquid into his coffee. “Damnable start to a day.” He muttered to himself. “Who are you people?” He asked as he raised his coffee cup with shaky hands.
“Security.” James replied, picking up the paper.
‘Amature attempt. Better luck next time.’ It read.
Walter downed his coffee in one go with a motion that gave James the feeling that this was a man who had *considerable practice* gulping down potions. Then, he winked at James, before flickering and casually rolling through the wall of the diner they were sitting next to. The older man - displaying an athleticism that should just be flat out impossible on anyone over the age of sixty - threw himself through the front windshield of his car without touching the physical matter, then twisted to land in the driver’s seat, and blazed out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.
“Amateur attempt my dick.” Nate’s voice from one of the three vehicles surrounding the diner came through the tactical link in a way that could best be described as ‘belligerent’. “Both GPS trackers are on. Radio transponder, too. Audio’s coming in. He didn’t even check his car. I’ll fucking show you amateur you old cunt.”
“Spelled ‘amateur’ wrong, too.” James added. “So, what now? That’s the third one today, do we just keep ruffling feathers?” He stole a piece of overdone toast off the alchemist’s abandoned plate and started nibbling on it.
“Myles and Lin are on tail duty now, and I’m gonna follow up on this chucklefuck in a minute.” Nate’s voice, James realized, got the exact same tone when he was running an intelligence op as when he was giving commands to people in the kitchen. “Three is enough. Let ‘em panic, see if it reveals anything.”
“Wish the damn glasses worked.” Alanna griped.
“Oh, sure.” The woman gave him a bitter look. “And Jack’s bill too? Since you’re such good friends.”
James looked down at the meal receipt for the food the alchemist absolutely had not paid for before ghosting himself through a wall. He looked back up. “If I tell you that we hate each other, can I get out of this?” He asked.
174 order (oregon) -> roof -> (lease illegal = extra HVAC units + hidden watch towers) + Watcher-Of-Motion (female + cameraconda) + Arrush + Keeka + planner (checking arrush + keeka for infomorph on them)
The camraconda he greeted was perched coiled under one of the covered watch posts they had up here. Technically, this violated their lease, and it was ironic that *this* was what was most likely to get them in trouble, and not the six-ish basements. “Yes. Evening.” Watcher-Of-Motion replied. “They are over that direction.” The camraconda indicated.
“Now hang on.” James protested. “What if I came up here to chat with you?”
The camraconda narrowed the aperture of its camera eye. “Appreciate the intent. But prefer the quiet, and the rain.” She told him. “Also, you did not.”
Behind the cluster of two meter tall mechanical cubes, James found who he was looking for. Perched on the wall that overlooked the back parking lot and the struggling and unkempt patch of trees and grass beyond it, Arrush and Keeka lay together in the rain.
It might have been unsettling to see Arrush, who had nearly been torn in half a week ago, lounging with his boyfriend. But James had walked off being shot almost in the heart once, so who was he to talk?
No, it was something about how they were put together. Something that screamed that they were wrong and broken and alien. That they were a threat, and that he shouldn’t get close, and that he needed to fight, and…
A nova of anger flared up in James’ chest as he realized what was happening. What had been happening. What he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t been looking for.
“Planner.” He whispered, catching the attention of the infomorph that tended to always be listening around the building. “Do me a favor, and make an appointment to check these two for infomorph parasites from the Sewer, please.”
Planner wasn’t actually running on James’ mental hardware, but they were firmly rooted around this place, and the word ‘appointment’ attracted their attention rapidly. “As you say.” Came the scribbled response in James’ ears.
Keeka, curled up in Arrush’s lap and currently having several of his boyfriend’s hands running through his fur, tensed instantly at the sound of James’ voice. He was facing out toward the treeline, and didn’t turn, instead just freezing suddenly. James took a glance at the ratroach, and realized he was shirtless; the rain matting fur and sliding across chitin, and also starting to soak the ankle length skirt the ratroach had on. More, though, James noticed that there were thin stalks of greenery growing out of the fur on the ratroach’s back. Strands of grass or stems of flowers, they poked out from around the wiry black fur, like they were rooted in him.
“Healing.” Arrush rasped at James, his voice as harsh and painful to use as ever.
174 sarah -> Sarah’s car, a *very* used and apparently immortal VW Beetle + james + james map (infomorph) + buger dinner
He borrowed Sarah’s car, a *very* used and apparently immortal VW Beetle that she’d picked up since her return, stole a bag of chips and a bottle of lemonade out of the kitchen, made sure he had a telepad and a spare shield bracer on him, and then set his GPS to take him… south.
The cartomorph in his soul stirred as he hit the on ramp to the highway. He’d put this off for too long.
Somewhere out there, a pretty good burger joint waited for him. For James, now, some time to think alone and some good food sounded excellent. And, also, it wasn’t fair to the map based life that had been sticking around this long. He needed to finish his trip, and give it the choice to either grow, or leave, as it wanted.
175 sarah + clutter ascent + fredrick home (now owned by order) + kelly (female) + kelly intern (male) + Feeling-Of-Home + Nick + Brian + Suri (female) + Jose + Echos-Crashing-Waves (male) + (not order members Nick + Brian + Suri + Jose + Echos-Crashing-Waves) + (cluter ascent -> jewerly box -> relationstick) + sarah -> over a dozen people = relationstick with + (sarah -> sarah share intuition with her production assistant) + (sarah share stamina with the camraconda high priestess) + Umbra (clutter ascent -> raccon + spider + something else) and Rufus
All things considered, Sarah was having a pretty good day.
Currently, she was in the house underneath Clutter Ascent, eating some kind of melted goat cheese on toast. It was a bizarre flavor, she was pretty sure she didn’t ever want it again, and it was also shockingly compelling to the point that she was also pretty sure she would be having it a few more times before her tongue caught up to what she was doing to it.
The house was occupied now. Karen had done some money magic and ended up sniping it off the market. Harvey’s old fraternity brother who used to live here hadn’t wanted a thing to do with it, even after they’d been up front about the nature of his ‘haunted’ attic. He’d already moved, he was perfectly fine, he’d just take the money and go, thank you very much.
So, the Order owned a house, which was nice. A house with a dungeon in it. There were just a couple problems, like how the dungeon was mostly defenseless, and also their friend, and also it was a waste of property taxes to not actually use the house.
Fortunately, Sarah had solved most of those problems all at once by making the house a communal living space for several victims of the Office’s old kidnapping attempt.
Nick, Brian, Suri, and Jose were all members of the support group. Two of them were competent programmers, *all* of them were scarily good at a lot of esoteric skulljack tricks. Suri especially, who had learned how to leave an ‘imprint’ of herself when disconnecting from another’s mind, a little ghost that could continue to influence or communicate until it faded away. Sarah was pretty sure it was one of them who had come up with the trick of having one person listen to her update podcast, and then sharing the direct memory file.
None of them were members of the Order, though. They were all welcome, obviously. But they weren’t part of it. Either because they weren’t ready, or weren’t interested, but whatever the reason, they hadn’t wanted to take up the banner.
The house was just sitting here, and the new residents were more than willing to pay a little rent and deal with maintenance. Brian had picked up a job as a truck driver, Suri worked as a barista, Jose was - Sarah was pretty sure about this - doing data entry and flagrantly cheating. The fact that their ‘rent’ was, like, a hundred bucks a month probably helped with the general friendly mood in the house.
The human residents were supplemented with a pair of camracaonds. Who had arguably either a better, or worse, history of trauma. Echos-Crashing-Waves and Feeling-Of-Home both lived here as well, and *so far* there hadn’t been any problems with the mixed-species home. Feeling-Of-Home actually was a member of the Order, recently having become a recognized Knight and having a place on a Response team. But Echos-Crashing-Waves just… well, he wanted to be somewhere else.
He’d survived years living on the edge of doom within the Office. And while the colony of liberated camracondas *had* a culture, it wasn’t exactly a strongly rooted set of traditions. They weren’t a monolith, basically. Some of them wanted to join the people who’d saved them. Some of them wanted to take time to discover themselves. And some, like Echos, just wanted to live away from all the chaos, meet a few new people, and spend their days watching nature documentaries.
Sarah was pretty sure Clutter Ascent agreed with her, insofar as a dungeon thought in any similar way to a human. But it was a confident guess on her part, and as she clambered up the steps into the attic, she felt an aura surround her that reminded her of chocolate chip cookies on a summer afternoon. The feeling of comfort and safety that she missed painfully out in the real world.
Kelly was out today. Their newest full time mental health specialist used a part of Clutter as a private area for therapy and counseling. She had a sign up by the stairs, a little plaque hanging from a string of pink hearts informing everyone that the doctor was out. Sarah smiled at it. Kelly was, in addition to acting as a trauma specialist for a lot of the high schooler’s that had survived the attack from the Sewer, doing long term research on the influence of Clutter’s peaceful atmosphere. She had even supplied her own intern, which was amusing.
He’d been checked out first, obviously. They weren’t gonna let people just bring random interns in without *some* safety measures. But for the vast majority of people, there wasn’t a reason to say no.
Sarah followed a path that she *almost* knew, but that changed on a whim sometimes, through distortedly tall chests of drawers and blinking balls of tangled Christmas lights. At one point, she passed by a dresser with a simple jewelry box sitting on it in plain view, a certain curious vibe to it. These kinds of things popped up sometimes, and Sarah smiled as she reached out to open it.
Six minutes later, she’d pieced together the scene of standing on a sandy beach staring up at the stars minutes after the sun had set. The jewelry box held a relationstick, a word that she still internally giggled at, and Sarah pocketed it with a vague intention to pass it off to someone else in the future.
Her hand was already marked with a nebula of circles, over a dozen people she had formed connections with. Already, she could share intuition with her production assistant as long as the two of them were in the same city, and stamina with the camraconda high priestess if they could hear each other. The rest, well, she’d unlock them with time. Time and charm! That was her secret weapon.
Continuing her pathfinding, Sarah paused briefly to share what was left of her toast and cheese that she’d been holding in her off hand with Umbra and Rufus when the two of them ‘ambushed’ her. Umbra’s idea of an ambush was making startling noises and then demanding snacks. Rufus’ idea… Sarah met Rufus’ eye, and nodded at the supervising stapler. If Rufus actually wanted to set an ambush, she was pretty sure he could kill a human in the opening five seconds. But instead, here he was being a kind of dungeon big brother to a growing Umbra.
Rufus nodded back, and Sarah kept moving, the two of them tailing her for a while until Umbra got distracted by a noise in the distance and lit off after it, multitude of limbs unfolding to carry him up over the furniture and across the ceiling, Rufus taking dramatic hops to follow.
175 clutter ascent -> book (only bok she made in her dream) + sarah
And then she tried to make sense of the book.
It had appeared one day out of nowhere, which wasn’t exactly uncommon for this place. Nested slightly askew between a worn, dog eared copy of The Practice Effect, and a brand new copy of Good Omens, the book had almost instantly caught Sarah’s attention as a creation from Clutter. She knew that James and Alanna could feel stuff from the Office, and El had a similar vibe check for Horizon, so it made sense that the place she spent most of her time would give her a similar synchronicity. What had surprised her more was the book itself.
She had no idea what it did.
It was almost comically magical. The cover was a shifting galaxy of stars, arranging itself into patterns that *suggested* at the presence of great beasts and heroic knights. The words inside were complex runic arrangements that said nothing, but *felt* like the weight of a story. And yet, aside from that, it just seemed to be… a book.
A perfectly normal book, that was an inch thick and weighed twenty pounds, bound in void-black leather that came from no living creature on Earth, with stars on the cover.
Sarah had been trying to read the book for weeks. It was driving her slightly mad.
There was a moment, briefly, where she had *almost* said something that she’d once been told by her mom. “I don’t understand, but I’m glad you made something you like.”
Sarah had reigned that impulse in, and flipped a page, trying to sort out what story was being told.
One way or another, she’d crack this one. And then she could maybe talk to her dungeon friend about the book they’d made.
175 El + Daniel + Theo + pathfinder (infomorph)+ speaky (infomorph)(named by daniel)(EL -> infomorph) = (EL + Daniel = lovers?!?!)
“Corporeal.” He corrected her, smiling like he couldn’t hold the feeling inside, seeming to just slide over her joke. “And I don’t really know. Don’t have anything to compare it to. How about you? Getting along with Speaky?” Daniel named the infomorph that had been growing in El’s mind ever since James had put it there to kill off whatever the Route had been using to keep her from talking.
“So, the thing is,” El continued their conversation twenty minutes later when they found a patch of safe, non-trapped cubicles to search over and rest in, “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
Theo opened her mouth to comment from her seat in front of the computer as she tried to crack its password, but Daniel held out a hand. “She means about the infomorph.” He cut off the potential sniped insult. “And… yep. Good luck!”
“Oh, come on!” El griped. “You’ve gotta know something. How’d Path get… you know… better?”
“Different species.” Daniel reminded her. “Talk to James or something. Or go find your own cartomorph! Just ask JP for a venture into the Horizon. Get Speaky a sibling.”
“That’s different.” Theo offered. “With that, I’m…”
Whatever she was going to say was cut off as a glowing red fish-shaped blob of light shot out of the computer screen, darted through her chest, and shot away into the hallway. El snatched for it, but missed, and the creature was gone in a heartbeat, diving down a dark hall before taking a corner and vanishing.
“Uh oh.” Daniel said, eyebrows raised.
“What was *that*?!” Theo said.
“Uh… check your wallet, I guess?” Daniel said. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while. Ops says that they steal personal info, so you might need, like, a new driver’s license or debit card or something.”
“Oh, I don’t use a debit card.” Theo said, like she was on autopilot.
El and Daniel looked at each other with knowing expressions. “Debit card.” They echoed.
They let it go. The card was replaceable. Their lives, chasing a tiny fast dungeon Life through dark cubicle corridors, were not.
She’d shrugged at Daniel, and he’d nodded back, and both of them knew they weren’t going to delve with Theo again.
“Oh. Well, good. Cause they hurt.” She rubbed at the lines in her flesh where one of the asphalt things had carved into her a couple months back. “You got Theo’s money stack?”
“Yeah, let’s pay her and get back to doing something useful.” It was the closest she’d heard Daniel come to being sarcastic, and El snorted a laugh at it.
They gave Theo her money, and she gave them a half-baked apology about being a jerk for the evening.
And then, before leaving, she’d said something that hadn’t left El’s head since.
“You two work way too well as a team.”
They did, El realized. Which was weird, because she wasn’t really a team player. She’d always done this alone. And yeah, she’d had time to learn since really actually joining the Order. But… she just didn’t have the same experience being on a team that everyone else did.
And yet, she meshed perfectly with Daniel when the two of them ran supply delves like this. She knew where to stand to be out of the way, knew where to cover to keep her partner safe, and she knew without actually thinking about it.
175 Dave + JP + parasite + alchemist + pen / pendragon + dave grampa (farm in Grant’s Pass with wildlife rescues, so I get to play with raccoons and foxes and stuff
“So, why not just ask them?” He was asking his friend.
“Because, again, if there’s some kind of magical mental parasite that’s replacing people, you can’t trust those people to answer honestly.” JP explained the same point for the third time.
Dave nodded, mostly just because the gesture was an expected one, and then ruined it by continuing. “Right, right. But what I’m saying is, what if you ask the parasite? Which seems like a rude thing to call it, by the way.”
“We’re not being nice to the thing that kills people.” JP shot back without thinking.
JP had been through a lot of turmoil in his life lately, but he still, on a deep and fundamental level, knew that he wasn’t going to let Dave pull that shit with him. “Self defense is different from eating people’s brains and puppeting their bodies, you dumbass.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, not taking his eyes off the car ahead of them. “Let me know if you and Pen start, I dunno, eating random farmers or something.”
“I don’t think she’d find people very tasty.” Dave joked, giving a single dry laugh. “Okay, so, you don’t want to talk to the potion monster. Why bother spying then?”
Holding up one hand, JP started counting off. “Because they could spread to more people, because they might try to retaliate against us if they learn that James didn’t get converted properly, because the Alchemists have a lot of networking contacts and they could be a threat through that, because we need to know what their actual plans *are*, and no, we can’t just ask them because they might lie, because their existence is a form of lying to begin with.” He took a deep breath, then kept going, having lost track of how many points he’d made, now counting on his other hand and driving with his knees. “Also! Because technically we *tried* to ask them, and it didn’t work! And then on a more pragmatic me-style level, because learning how they make potions would be really valuable, because they probably have a vault somewhere with a bunch of cool stuff in it, and because they’ve personally offended me.”
He let the conversation lapse for a bit as his friend drove them through a parking lot, keeping sight of the target vehicle as their quarry’s car stopped at a red light, while not following directly behind them. It was a clever little move, but Dave didn’t appreciate all the speed bumps, and he knew Pen didn’t either, coiled up in the back of the van.
The van was *far* smaller than Pendragon was. His good girl would have been uncomfortable in a semi trailer. But the simplest possible orange totem that Research had managed to build all on their own was currently expanding the space available in the van, and while it was impressive, it also meant that speed bumps had a greater subjective motion for whoever was in the back.
Like, in this case, the aircraft sized aluminum plated dragon, who was, almost certainly, not happy.
“I’ve been pretty good!” Dave answered. “Been staying out with my grandpa, mostly. He’s got this giant farm down in Grant’s Pass, and there’s basically no one down there, so I spend a lot of time flying with Pen, making sure she’s growing okay, that kinda thing. Also helping out with the animals. He’s got a bunch of wildlife rescues, so I get to play with raccoons and foxes and stuff. It’s nice.”
175 route horizon + dave + JP = roads (resource) + invasive plants
“Nah, I’m good.” Dave smirked, ignoring the verbal snipe. “I mean, I trust you in general.” He shrugged. “Mostly I’m just sorta interested in the whole resource exploitation thing, you know? I’ve been sorta curious about it, because with the *road*, the only thing I can really imagine being useful is… uh… road? And road isn’t exactly a rare resource.”
Eventually, he shrugged. “I’ll take the chance.” He settled on. “So, asphalt? Sand, I guess. Didn’t I hear something about how the plants there were just normal plants from Earth that were hilariously invasive species?”
“Is that what James called them?” JP snorted. “Yeah. Mostly. Look, I’m not the person to ask about this. I’m here for the social stuff. But *yeah, sure*, I guess it doesn’t really help to steal entire strips of asphalt! I don’t know! It’s not like we’ve tried digging in the middle of the road-desert or anything. We’ll get there eventually, probably.”
“There’s got to be better ways to find mineral resources than randomly digging.” Dave suggested in the voice he used for when he knew he was right. “But I guess we could use it for making more of the big golem things? We’ve got the orb that-“
175 Dave + JP + parasite + alchemist + pen / pendragon + alchemist (male) (order following) + 3 trucks -> 3 drivers = total 4 enemies
The car they were after had just turned. Off the main road, into one of those connecting veins that strung through suburbia. They caught a good look at the driver as the car turned, another older gentleman with an angry frown and a salt and pepper beard.
He hadn’t said anything since getting in his car. The other two had; audio bugs had picked them up quite clearly as they almost *instantly* dialed their fellow Alchemists, and while they spoke in what was obviously coded language, the tension in the voices was enough to let everyone listening from the Order know that it wasn’t just a polite check in. One of the others had driven home, breaking the speed limit by a *lot*, and hadn’t come out of their mansion since. The other had gone straight to the old manor house that the Alchemists used as a place for their gatherings and a sort of storefront for anyone who could actually find them.
This one, though?
He had said absolutely nothing. Just driven, using a few tricks that Nate had shown the Order’s rogues to evade any potential tails. Dave was mostly here as muscle, and to bother JP, but he was pretty sure they hadn’t been specifically spotted. Their quarry was just paranoid. Rightly so, but still paranoid.
And, in total silence, heading to a seemingly random house in the middle of the middle class suburbs.
JP parked the van at the end of the street, just around the corner. And so he and Dave got a pretty clear view as, all at the same time, three different cars pulled up in the same driveway, their tailed Alchemist pulling in alongside a pickup truck like they’d choreographed it.
Three people got out of three cars, not even acknowledging each other, wordlessly walking up the cobblestone path and into the unlocked front door together.
176 thanksgiving order had = alanna + Alex + Matt + Sarah + Tyrone + lue + high school + highschool dungeon + highscool staff in school still + ratroaches + smaller rats + order not clearing dungeon and waiting for it to spew out monsters on purpose === 1 ratrouch with 4 arms + teacher
And then life had happened. A few years, a few fights, a little magic. And all of a sudden, it hadn’t been much of a thing for her anymore. The last year or two, it had just been another day, and Alanna had either been in the middle of fighting some weird monster, or just distracted with something more important. Her work and her life were the same now, and her friends were a family that surrounded her constantly. She didn’t need a special day for it. Even though they’d had a fancy dinner anyway.
All of this was preamble to the fact that it was deeply ironic that she was, on Thanksgiving, in a high school. Working. Because the wireless cameras they had left up by the dungeon entrance had all been disabled one by one, and then Lua had called and reported something ratroach-shaped moving through the school.
“Radios on.” Alanna said, checking they were sharing a frequency. “Alex, Matt, Sarah, you’re group one. Tyrone, with me, we’re group two. Lua, you’re with us.”
Lua, who had let them into the lower level, added her own comment. “Please be careful.” She said. “There’s still staff in the building.”
So, how many ratroaches?” Alex broke the awkward silence, asking Lua the question she’d missed in the briefing. She also left out that she kinda liked the fighting. Or at least, the excitement. “One? Two? More?”
“I don’t know.” Lua admitted. “At least one. I’ve seen it around, lurking. And some of the small rats, too.”
Here was one thing the Order knew; if you left a dungeon alone long enough, it started to get creative. And for the Akashic Sewer, ‘getting creative’ meant opening a new entrance somewhere, and firing a handful of monsters out into the school like organic bullets.
It had happened once, and the Order had mostly kept it from happening again. But they needed to know more real facts about the process, so, under the most vigilant observation they could keep the public and in-use building, they let the dungeon sit.
Mostly because the last time, it had taken over a month, and Reed had figured the outburst would happen over winter break. But this time, the dungeon moved fast. Two weeks of inactivity, and it was spewing out creatures that were stalking the halls.
They’d noticed within minutes. And now, Alanna was here with everyone she could grab, to deal with it.
Which was good, because it was why when the ratroach exploded out from around a corner, trying to drive a splintered chunk of a table leg into her neck, Alanna was more than ready.
She caught the creature’s arm. One of them, anyway. The other three - why did it have one more than normal? - came around in a roughly coherent wide swing, a trio of haymakers aimed for her exposed side.
The trio ran into one teacher, working late in a computer lab. Lua greeted him by name, and he gave a nervous look at the two knights behind her. Alanna had peeked at him with the affiliation glasses she was wearing, but he just read as a normal high school teacher.
176 Officer Rourke (infect with infomorph)(school security) + lue (planner) + Multiple memory eaters + rourke (deeper infomorph -> bully + that planner removed and planner was ingured) + rourke joined order + bully informorph wnated rouke to kill something + rourke gets an infomorph
“Officer Rourke. Good to see you again.” Alanna said calmly.
The gun pivoted to face her, and she mentally nudged her shield bracer to match the caliber of bullet. The bracers, it turned out, could only actually protect against things they’d seen before. But it wasn’t hard to add 9mm bullets to the list for all of them. “Hands in the air.” The cop barked.
“No.” Alanna said. “Do you not remember us?” She asked. “I mean, we haven’t met personally. But you know who we are. We’ve talked before.”
The man stared at her, narrowed eyes flicking between Alanna and the others. At the top of the ramp, Tyrone and Lua caught up, but stayed back as Alanna held a hand up. The school’s resident police officer was sweating, forehead furrowed as his hands trembled on his gun. “I don’t… what…”
“Lua.” Alanna said softly, not taking her eyes off Rourke. “You’re running Planner, right?”
“Of course.” The counselor answered. “Wh- oh no. Oh, he’s been infected?”
“Hm. Yes.” Planner’s pen scratch voice drifted through the hall. “Multiple memory eaters. Removed. Removed. Removed.” The words punctuated by an arm tearing something out of the air around Rourke, ethereal splatters flaring across the walls before small bursts of red sparks filtered into Planner’s space. “And something else. Deeper. The memories are ruined, but… there is a command here. Something giving orders. He has been compromised heavily. Officer, do you consent to me attempting to remove the intruder?”
“Oh god, my head feels… ugh.” Rourke doubled over. “I can *think*. And I want to fuckin’ puke.”
“Officer.”
“Rourke. Let Planner do his job.” Alanna urged.
“Please?” Sarah asked from behind her friend.
“Fuck.” The officer stabilized himself on the concrete block wall. “Do it. Before I have my mind changed again.”
Planner’s arms didn’t hesitate, darting into Rourke’s chest in wispy blue light motion. The officer opened his mouth in a silent scream, dropping to his knees, before a second later, one arm pulled away half gone, trailing ghostly blood, and the other came out holding the immaterial concept of the shape of a bully.
Planner ripped it in half. A fountain of red light pouring into their remaining arms. “I must… go. I hurt.” Planner’s voice sounded strained in a way that Alanna had never heard before. The infomorph just wasn’t a fighter, same as most of them.
“It wanted me to hunt something.” Rourke chimed in, wiping drool off the side of his mouth. “Hi. Again. It was in my head. Telling me I had to kill something.” His head slid sideways, and his gaze locked on the boiler room door. “Something in there, I think. That’s where it was taking me.” He whispered.
“Oh, don’t quit.” Alex added. “Alanna means pretend to be a cop, but actually do something useful instead. Maybe quit later.” The young girl shrugged. “Or, you know, stick around and get brainwashed again.”
“Alex, please.” Lua sighed.
“I mean, she’s right.” Alanna shrugged. “Your call.”
Rourke had already decided, he just needed the excuse to say yes. “Alright.” The not-really-police-officer said. “Yeah, alright.” He glanced down at Alanna’s hand. “Can I have my gun back?”
“We’re going to make a living creature to live in your brain!” Sarah cheerfully announced. “You’ll be responsible for raising them to be a good person, if it comes to that. It might not, though; they might stay dormant and then fade away. But either way, your consent matters.”
“Okay. Do it.” Rourke said, making the decision that would change his life.
Sarah hopped from one foot to the other, excited energy bleeding into her motions, the fight and the pointed guns already forgotten as she pulled the orb up to her face, and whispered something into it that Alanna couldn’t hear.
And then, the orb collapsed into a streamer of glittering dust, the ribbon flowing from Sarah’s hand and into Rourke’s head. She waited for all of it to move out of her grip and into the officer before she clapped her hands. “Done!” She announced.
“I don’t feel different.” Rourke said.
“You won’t.” Alanna said. “Thats kind of the scary part. But they’ll protect you. And you’ll see them, in your dreams, if you look. Be kind.” She ordered the man, who nodded solemnly at her.
176 high school -> boiler room -> inhuman shape (half-crow half-wasp form + feathers + stingers)
Because inside, something was lurking. Curled up under the boiler, an obviously inhuman shape lurked.
“Wait!” Alanna snapped, and they both froze, fingers on triggers.
“Wait.” Alanna said again. “Everyone back.” She waited for them to move, giving a reassuring nod to Matt’s questioning look. “It’s fine. I don’t think… look, the dungeon wanted this one dead, right? I don’t think we start with shooting.”
It was covered with black. Fur, she thought at first, but no; a closer look showed it was feathers. Uneven, patchy, almost dripping with some kind of slimy substance in places, but feathers.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Alanna said. “Can you talk?”
The creature uncurled from its ball, slightly, and Alanna stifled a hiss. Oversized and misplaced insectile eyes looked up at her from a broken face; an infected looking gash running down the feathered flesh and into one of the pained eyes. A black beak, cracked on the side and hanging open, drew the eye to the rest of the face. A handful of antenna or feelers sprayed out from the back of the creature’s head like hair blown in the wind; half of them cracked in half.
Its body was too thin, compressed in two places to something far too narrow; bones and exoskeleton clashing in the half-crow half-wasp form. Alanna could see its legs, four of them, sticking out from under the boiler, and noted that all of them ended with wicked looking stingers. Or at least, one of them did; the others used to, but those stingers had been shattered or snapped off.
The monster opened its mouth, and made a buzzing noise up at her that ended with a wet choking sound. A mix between a warning, and a sob.
It didn’t take Alanna’s brain too long to figure out what she was looking at.
The dungeon had sent out its ratroaches and unleashed its human attack dog early. Because it was hunting for something that had escaped it.
“Alex. Go get me a blanket, and a bottle of water. And armor; if I’m gonna carry this one out of here, I don’t want to get stabbed by accident.” Alanna said calmly without turning her head.
176 order (oregon) -> basement R&D -> briefing room = way too many people to list names again see highlights below + status quo(10yrs old group) + someone else created status quo + maybe find missing people = Lloyd = the Last Line Of Defense = last line
“Alright, what’re today’s problems?” Reed asked the assembled members of Research.
Almost everyone was in today. Eighteen of their twenty two human members, and all four of the new camracondas who had recently taken an interest in providing an alternate perspective. Planner was asleep, still recovering from something terrible, and a couple of their human members were either sleeping in, working Response shifts, or just skipping the meeting.
It made for a crowded basement, so Reed had opted to hold this one in the briefing room.
“Not everything is us causing problems.” Davis folded his arms over his suit jacket, looking profoundly out of place among the crowd of late twenties and early thirties majority of Research’s population. “Sometimes we solve problems.”
“Alright, *fine*.” Reed sighed, already having lost control of the meeting. “Have we solved any problems this week?”
“Uh, yes, actually.” A voice he didn’t hear much chimed in. John was one of those people who had been critically important in just getting stuff done and keeping things organized, but never really had any splashy results like building weird totems or puzzling out what a magic item did. So when he spoke up, Reed was instantly interested.
“Well, I think I’ve actually managed to put together enough of the Status Quo documents to give you an answer on them.” John said
“Really?” Nikhail leaned over, butting between two of their younger ‘interns’. Both of the high schoolers shoving him back with a generally playful attitude. “What did you learn?”
“They’re artificial.” John said.
“As in… fake? Because I think they…” Someone sounded *angry* about that one.
“No, no!” John instantly got defensive, and Reed prepared to step in if needed to defuse the situation. But he made a quick explanation, and everyone quieted as he talked. “I think… I mean, the documents all make it *look* like… I don’t think they formed themselves. You know? I think that something else pushed them into forming. Maybe even fabricated a history for them to believe. Because none of the paperwork is actually that *old*. It only goes back maybe ten years. Even the references and stuff. They literally could not have been older than that, and actually kept any files. And I’ve read *all of it*.” Some real emotion aside from nervousness in that last sentence. John had put in a lot of hours on this, and he was mad at the very concept of documentation by now.
“So, what did it?” Reed asked.
“Well, they wouldn’t even know.” John answered. “And so we can’t learn it from them. Could have been a dungeon. Could have been something like Lloyd or the Old Gun. Could have…”
“Lloyd?” A tired woman’s voice asked. Jessica, their resident biologist, knowledge earned the hard way and only supplemented with dungeon magic. “Sorry, what?”
“Uh, the Last Line Of Defense? James told us not to call it…”
Reed rubbed at his face. “James has a vendetta against proper language use. He is overruled, call it the Last Line if you have to. Also, that’s a terrifying theory. So, as far as you can tell, they were made to… kill dungeons?”
“Kill, monitor, exploit, they did a little of everything. I think mostly, they were made to keep the northwest US as a low-chaos environment.” John shrugged. “Again, it’s hard to tell, and… uh… the ‘why’ is basically impossible with no one left to ask. Even having cracked most of their code phrases, a lot of their paperwork is either redacted, or just doesn’t exist before a decade ago. But yeah, that’s what I have to give you. They were made by someone else.”
“Someone who might do it again.” Reed muttered. “Okay. Talk to me after this. We’ll take this to the council meeting tomorrow. Anything else? You said you got most of their codes?”
“Yes.” John nodded shortly. “Already referred the relevant stuff to Recovery. There were some addresses.” He said it simply, neutrally. Didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. “Maybe they can find some of the missing people.”
176 mars + skulljack + sort of working firewall + pulling out jack and plugging in directly
Mars, one of their new engineering team, jumped in. “I’ve got a *sort of* working hardware firewall for a skulljack.” He said. “It doesn’t stop someone getting in if they ‘follow you back’, if that makes sense. But it can filter out a lot of hostile actions. The code for it is half-emerald, half-me, and it’s honestly a mess, but it *is* just a prototype. Uh… I have a question, though?”
“Well, if someone’s in a situation where someone could plug into them… what stops them from just removing the firewall? Like, we’re not gonna weld them onto people, are we?”
“Uh…” Reed couldn’t think of a good answer to that. “Okay! Good progress! We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it! And actually, we do need to figure that out. Holy shit, we’re all idiots. Okay. Okay! I’ll make a note, and start talking to some people. If anyone has ideas, bring them to Mars afterward!” Reed resisted the urge to rub his head. “Alright, what’s next, that’s not gonna make me feel stupid?”
176 orange totem under a foot + arlo + Pages-Of-Books + Reed (arlo father), Davis, Nik, Arlo, Pages-Of-Books, and John
“We got a small scale targetable orange totem working. Like, under a foot this time.” Arlo looked super smug about the development. “*Almost* down to the size of the copier. I figure we can get it within a week. And then, we’re gonna absolutely *ruin* scarcity.”
“Good.” Reed nodded. “But also! Don’t-“
Davis, Nik, Arlo, Pages-Of-Books, and John all finished his sentence at the same time. “Don’t go too fast.” They chorused. “Yes, *dad*.” Arlo added on, causing Reed to huff out an exasperated, embarrassed breath.
“Oh, speaking of the copier, Anesh left a note for me.” Davis said. “They tried copying orbs inside a wallet of holding. Didn’t work. Same thing with potions. The running theory is that it can only copy one ‘layer’ of magic, but he said he’d get back to us.” He cleared his throat. “Not to ruin your totem thing.” He added to Arlo.
176 copier coffee = a cup of couper coffee = two hundred thousand dollars
Someone from the back chimed in, voice clear and vibrant, like a singer. “Has anyone ever tried brewing the copier coffee?” Pablo asked. “We drink a *lot* of weird coffee around here. We should drink some of that.”
“I’ve already done the math. A cup of copier coffee is worth about two hundred thousand dollars, given what we estimate the market rate for cancer orbs would be. You wanna drink two hund-“
“I’ll manage with the coffee that makes me smarter, nevermind!” Pablo cheerfully sank back into his chair.
176 Texture-Of-Barkdust (female)(green and blue serpent)(weighs 200lbs)(getting a flu) + Watcher-Of-Motion (male) + 3 other nest mates + Marjorie + Jeene + karen + camaraconda -> authorities yes/no
The camraconda uncoiled from the pile of blankets they shared with four others. Typically, they slept whenever they wanted, and none of them were really shy about casual physical contact, so there was usually someone to curl up with in the sleeping space. Right now, though, only Watcher-Of-Motion was here, pressed up against her side, occasionally twitching in his dream. Texture-Of-Barkdust appreciated this one. He, like all of her chosen nestmates, liked the quiet, liked their own private thoughts. But his quiet commitment to the Order matched her own, and she liked that.
Texture-Of-Barkdust settled herself onto a bench, and nodded to the kitchen staff who was around even at this early hour. Marjorie, the oldest human woman Texture-Of-Barkdust had ever known, gave a winning grin to the green and blue serpent. “Hello dearie!” She said. “Your usual?”
The older woman either didn’t notice, or ignored her fear entirely. “Still waking up, huh? Well! Your usual?” She asked. Texture-Of-Barkdust froze, as if one of her people had Looked at her. Her usual. Of course. Because everyone here… remembered. Knew each other. Cared. Yes. Her usual, please. She gave a bobbing nod. “Alright dearie! It’ll be a few minutes, Jeanne‘s helping me unload the food truck right now.”
At six fifteen AM, exactly when scheduled, Karen sat down across from her and opened a pair of manilla folders on the table, sliding one over to Texture-Of-Barkdust.
“Good morning.” Karen said, already sipping at a cup of coffee. “I have our reports from yesterday here. I’d like to get your opinion on how your people are reacting to having Authorities, but past that, today is business as usual.” Karen paused as the older woman came over. “Good morning, Marjorie. You’re here early today. My usual, please.”
Texture-Of-Barkdust was mildly offended. Of course she could-
She fell off the bench. Painfully. Her vision blinked momentarially as she hit the ground and a spike of pain went through her head.
Then, Texture-Of-Barkdust found herself floating. Well, not really floating. Karen had just picked her up, cradling her in both arms. She wondered how strong Karen was; Texture-Of-Barkdust was aware that she weighed about two hundred pounds. Wasn’t that a lot for a human to carry at a jog? Maybe not. She was having trouble thinking.
Deb wheeled a cart of tools into the room, pulling a contactless thermometer off and running it over Texture-Of-Barkdust’s surface. “We’ve never seen one of them get sick before.” She said. “A hundred and twenty. *Way* above camraconda baseline. She’s got a fever.”
“How hot are they normally?” Dr. Marris asked.
“One eight.” Deb answered, pulling a stethoscope out and searching for the flattest spot on Texture-Of-Barkdust’s surface to listen to her breathing. “Sunny’s basically a heating pad.” She pressed the stethoscope down, going quiet as she listened.
“None of us are.” Deb snapped back. “Barkdust, can you tell us what you’re feeling?”
The camraconda thought for a minute. “Annoyed.” She decided, trying to nod, and feeling her vision swim. “Aaaaahhhhh.” The word came out strained from the speaker. “My head throbs. I roil inside. Too hot. I am too hot.” Texture-Of-Barkdust rotated to meet their eyes. “Know this. I know this. This is heat rot. It kills us. I am going to die.” She stated, as matter of factly as she could. But even through the digital medium of her speech, the words came out scared.
“Yes.” Deb said flatly. “Okay. Karen, go find me a few other camracondas I can interview about this, but *don’t bring them in here* in case it’s contagious. Amy, run up to the kitchen and get a bag of ice please. Her temperature is high, but shouldn’t be lethal if we can get it down quickly. And in the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on her.”
177 deb + Texture-Of-Barkdust was recovering
Still, Texture-Of-Barkdust was recovering. That was good. It looked like she was going to pull through, and that was good enough.
177 deb + inhuman creature (half cow, half wasp, plus feathers)(designed to kill then to die)
Alanna had come by a couple times to check on the creature, but Deb had turned her away after Texture was quarantined here as a precaution. The quarantine rooms they used as hospital beds now serving a double purpose, as the strange Sewer creation Alanna had brought back was kept isolated.
It was, Deb thought with a shake of her head, a lot like the ratroaches. A painful mix of what looked like a crow and a wasp; feathers that seemed more stabbed into flesh than growing out of it, bright red infected lines where skin and exoskeleton met, shattered stingers and broken bones. A body that wasn’t designed to do more than cause damage to an enemy and then die.
The creature was sedated while Deb had its ‘blood’ tested. Wounds bandaged as well as they could manage, comfort chased after. They weren’t doing well, honestly, and Deb wasn’t sure if this one would recover.
Arrush and Keeka were broken creatures, but they were built to hurt, and keep hurting. This thing seemed built to kill, and to *die*.
Not that she was just going to let that happen.
177 Deb + Sophia + Sophia -> boyfriend -> interview with order + sophia -> tech person for getting x-rays + chat server -> help channel -> asks for 2 telepad people help with x-ray
“You’ve gotta stop asking me for weird favors, girl.” A beleaguered woman’s voice came back.
“Hey Soph.” Deb tried to keep the grin out of her voice. It wasn’t that hard; she was pretty tired herself. “It’s not a favor if I’m paying you.”
“You should start paying me then!” Sophia replied. “I had this whole gossip thing going on, about how my boyfriend had an interview at a place that I *guess has teleporters*, and you know what he tells me when he gets home?”
There was a half second of pause before one of the last people from her old life who remembered her, even tangentially, replied. “No…” She sounded almost disappointed. “Alright, fine. I asked around, and I think I can get you an in with the tech. The whole hospital is crammed, but it’s not like anyone needs more X-rays than normal.” There was another, almost imperceptible pause. “Why do you need secret X-rays, anyway?” Soph asked her old coworker. “You got an alien you’re taking care of or something?”
“Secret is less important than secure.” Deb answered without thinking. “And they aren’t an alien, they’re from Earth. Technically.”
“Where and when am I meeting the tech?” Deb asked with a sigh, listening as Soph gave her a name and the time the guy had lunch every day. “Thanks Soph. I owe you one.” She said after getting the information.
“Can I see the alien?”
“I’ll talk to you later Soph.” Deb said, ignoring the ‘no, wait!’ from the nurse on the other end of the line as she hung up. “Okay.” She muttered to herself, pulling up the Order’s chat server and firing a message off in the ‘requests for help’ channel.
Needed later today; two people to help transport via telepad a sedated patient to hospital X-ray. Must be comfortable wearing armor. Message for details.
177 deb + ann + member from response team = ann got shot -> fell down stairs -> gash on forhead
The who, in this case, was Ann, supported by another member of Response, still in her armor and bleeding from a messy looking gash on her forehead. The what was… well, the bleeding, Deb assumed.
She admitted them rapidly, making sure the door to Texture’s room was closed, and the two humans had masks on for safety. “What happened?” She asked rapidly, pulling up a chair for Ann to settle into.
“I fell down some stairs.” Ann said woozily.
“She fell down some stairs after someone shot her.” Her Response teammate said. “Bullet deflected, but she hit her head on the way down.”
Deb snapped on a pair of disposable gloves, and started pulling back Ann’s hair out of the gash, wiping away blood with a wet towel to see how bad it was. It was… well, it could be worse. But head wounds always bled worse than anything else.
The cut was over her right eye, and the knight kept flinching as a thin trickle of blood would drip down into her vision. Deb pressed the towel down, and instructed Ann to hold it in place. “This is going to need stitches.” She said, popping open one of the cabinets to gather what she needed. “Why didn’t Nik close this up?” Deb asked, realizing that this was the first Response injury she’d had in a while.
“He’s out with another team.” The new guy told her. “No one else has a medico yet.”
177 Morgan + Morgan dad (assuming apartment james met him first was Morgan dad that beat Morgan ) + morgan -> not actually order person + liz + Color-Of-Dawn
Morgan’s life had gotten weird.
Weird in a good way, he supposed. He didn’t have to live with his dad, anymore. He had reliable food, no one hit him, and he’d actually been able to sleep without nightmares for one night last week, which was a big improvement.
His best friend was an artificial magical life form, who had technically killed his mom, which was… something. He didn’t know *what*, but it fucking for sure was *something*. His other best friend, aside from Color-Of-Dawn, was Liz, who was mostly only his friend because they’d survived a few of the same things, but that was kind of enough.
It was, unbeknownst to Morgan, a problem that afflicted basically everyone his age at some point. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have stuff to do; he helped out around the Lair sometimes, he read a lot, that kind of thing. But he wasn’t actually one of the Order’s aspirants, and he didn’t have a *job* here. He didn’t go on ‘delves’, he just… existed.
Liz, though, was good at convincing the both of them to try new things. And that meant they couldn’t hide forever.
It was one of the *normal* strange things. Liz was actually really shy, always quiet, and would often imply more than she’d ever say out loud. But *she* was the one that kept nudging them to help the landscaping efforts, or take a guitar class, or something else that had popped up on the community board this week.
177 Morgan + Liz + Color-Of-Dawn + order interns (high schoolers) + Jess (female)(intern) + Marjorie + Bryan (male)(intern) + Maddie (female)(intern) + Evan (intern) = long story short (Morgan + Liz + Color-Of-Dawn) vs interns over ratroaches and ratroaches should not be in order = for a win interns should be here (order) instead.
Today, Liz had dragged him up to the dining area, to a social gathering, and Morgan was *absolutely* sure that she had gone crazy.
Because the people they were hanging out with were high schoolers.
Other interns. Well, interns. Morgan and Liz both had special circumstances, so they didn’t really count as part of that particular program the Order was trying. Color-Of-Dawn had basically the same special circumstances, but way more extreme. And now, Morgan was realizing that despite the similarities in lifestyle upheaval events and being the same age, he had *nothing* in common with these kids.
“Yeah, it’s kind of hard.” Jess was saying. She was a junior, and like every other one of the half dozen interns at the table, she was a huge overachiever. Her face, kind of round and showing off her Mexican heritage, was twisted into a grimace as she talked about her history class. “I mean, AP classes are all hard, right?” She asked the table, and got a couple sympathetic answers from the other students. “We’re covering the Great Depression right now, and it’s, like, two hours of homework a night.”
Instead, he got the somehow worse option. “Oh! Are you in the US History class too?” The guy across from him, an *impossibly* tall guy with a long red scar down the side of his face named Bryan asked him. Morgan was pretty sure the guy was on the basketball team.
“Uh…” Morgan floundered. “N-no. I don’t… I don’t go to school.” He said quietly.
“Oh, getting a GED or something?” Bryan asked him. Not unfriendly, just curious.
He surprised himself by breaking the silence. “Should I try to get a GED?” He asked. “I don’t even know what that would take. Like, I’ve been learning math by listening to Mars lecture me when we’re weeding.”
Another girl spoke up, a rail-thin kid named Maddie who tried to hide how skinny she was under a layer of thick sweatshirt. “Wait, you get to get high with the engineers?” She said with an affronted tone. “*I* want to get high with the engineers!”
Liz’s giggle made Morgan smile in turn. “He means gardening.” Liz said. “We help out with the garden and farm stuff. Mars does too, sometimes. He says it’s ‘meditative’.”
While Morgan was busy stewing in his own teenage angst, though, his friends *did* have something to say. “Hey, plants *are* cool!” Liz said, the cocoon of shyness around her shredding away as she catapulted herself to her friend’s defense.
“Yes.” Color-Of-Dawn agreed with a bob of its head. “Your world’s plants are beautiful. And most of them do not try to kill you. They are cool.”
Morgan flushed crimson, but felt a swell of confidence in his chest, and spoke up himself. “Uh… Rufus actually has some non-killing plants from your world, too.” He told Color-Of-Dawn. “They’re sweet. He lets me help trim them sometimes.”
“The skitterer grows them here? On purpose?” Color-Of-Dawn jolted upright.
“If you’re not growing them on purpose, they’re weeds!” Evan, one of the other interns who hadn’t spoken up yet chimed in.
177 Myles + EL home town -> hotel -> Red Lion + yin (female)(order -> rouge) + (myles + yin = lovers?) + myles -> non magic person for a test for order + Myriad-Shining-Stars
“Okay, thanks.” Myles suppressed a groan as he spoke into his cell phone. “Yeah, I’ll let them know. Have fun.”
He hung up, and let the groan out now that JP wasn’t within earshot.
Which was kinda funny, because he was currently occupying JP’s ‘office’ in his boss’ absence. He put ‘office’ in air quotes because it was actually just one of the larger rooms at the Red Lion, the only hotel in this city, and the building that they were operating reclamation efforts out of these days.
Myles said ‘they’ a lot, but he wasn’t really a part of this effort. He was just filling in for JP for a few days while he and everyone else who knew what they were doing ran off to… fight a cult? Myles wasn’t clear on exactly what the nature of the problem was. But it sounded important enough.
Myles was mostly here to help with communication and planning. His time as a spy, it seemed, was on temporary pause. A fact he and Yin both found kind of insulting. The two of them had been basically left on standby here while JP pivoted to the Alchemist case, which, *yeah*, really made it feel like his boss didn’t trust him to not get himself killed.
So instead of letting him chase after a bunch of potion-chugging body snatchers, Myles was dropped into a crumbling city full of angry necromantic hunks of clawed asphalt.
God, he was so angry at JP right now.
“What’d he say?” Yin asked, looking up from where she was crossing off buildings on the wall map. She’d stolen the more interesting part of the job that was split between the two rogues, and was basically in charge of the exploration of the city.
“Could be worse.” Yin told him, scratching a red X through a house that had been demolished by the asphalt assault during the Mechanic’s last attempt at apotheosis. “I mean, we’re not *really* on our own. We can always ask for help. It’s not like there’s any emergencies going on.”
“Talk to James about it.” The girl shrugged casually. “Get on a delve team or something. Oh! Did you see the update on the server last night? Rogue armory got a new toy. Next time Bill comes down he should have a purple for us!”
“For you.” Myles commented, checking his phone for any messages from the currently deployed team. The city had pretty bad service, what with how a psycho with a mace had demolished the local cell towers. The Order had gotten *one* working again, barely, and only because Camille hadn’t been through about her job, which was enough for them to make iffy calls. But it left Myles constantly paranoid about communication with the exploration teams, radios or no.
“For… us?” Yin rebutted. “You’ll like it. Chat says it gives improved manual dexterity. You know, for…” She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively.
Myles ignored the innuendo. “Nice. Have fun with that.” He said. “I’m gonna go check in on everyone before the teams rotate out. You’re looting the Kroger tonight, right? And everything in that little strip mall?”
“Talk to James about it.” The girl shrugged casually. “Get on a delve team or something. Oh! Did you see the update on the server last night? Rogue armory got a new toy. Next time Bill comes down he should have a purple for us!”
“For you.” Myles commented, checking his phone for any messages from the currently deployed team. The city had pretty bad service, what with how a psycho with a mace had demolished the local cell towers. The Order had gotten *one* working again, barely, and only because Camille hadn’t been through about her job, which was enough for them to make iffy calls. But it left Myles constantly paranoid about communication with the exploration teams, radios or no.
“For… us?” Yin rebutted. “You’ll like it. Chat says it gives improved manual dexterity. You know, for…” She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively.
Myles ignored the innuendo. “Nice. Have fun with that.” He said. “I’m gonna go check in on everyone before the teams rotate out. You’re looting the Kroger tonight, right? And everything in that little strip mall?”
“You need someone with no magic.” Yin finished. “Oh, buddy.” She moved in to hug Myles. “That’s so sucky! I’m sorry!”
He dodged the hug. There was part of him that wanted to let her know that the amount of catchup magic he’d been promised far outstripped what he was giving up, and that *patience* was something he was good at. But Myles was more or less done sharing for now.
Also Myles was not a hug person.
Myriad-Shining-Stars was new here. She looked kind of out of place; most camracondas did when they came here. Myles thought it was because it was the first time they realized just how *big* the world was. Not just one city, but several. Dozens. Hundreds. He made sure she was settling in okay, let her talk as often as he could, and got *just* loud enough in his replies about her interests to drag in one of the other Order members who was lounging around and killing time in the area. He left the two of them to talk about astronomy, and how clear the sky was here, and moved off with a grin.
178 sarah + anesh + camaraconda (green led for eyes)(captured)
Fortunately, though, the spell worked the way he wanted it to. Anesh moved *through* Sarah, his sensory self emanating from what would have been his actual position, but his physical form shattered into a dozen pieces. He got a good look at the camraconda that was staring her down, too, all blue Ethernet cable and one of those domed pod cameras for a head and a set of two rows of green LEDs down its flanks. It was weird, none of the camracondas that had become part of the Order had LEDs. Maybe they were an older model thing. And then, with minimal time to consider that, from a dozen different perspectives, Anesh slammed into the camraconda as he reformed into a single entity.
The end result was him on the ground with the snake in a chokehold, one hand clamped over its eye so hard he felt the plastic chitin cracking. At least one of his projections had elbow dropped the monster in the side of its neck, and its thrashing was weaker than Anesh expected as he pinned it down and freed Sarah.
“Please stab it!” He called, as the edges of the swarm still after them started to locate them from over the tops of the walls around their position.
Sarah, though, was not one for stabbing. “Yup!” She lied, a sparkling laugh in her voice as she ran over and threw a salvaged coat over the camraconda’s head, tying off the arms tightly in its mouth as it tried to bite her. “Okay, come on!” She grabbed Anesh’s arm and pulled him up with surprising strength, before hooking her fingers into the surface of the camraconda’s cables and yanking the hundred-plus pound serpent form up over her shoulder as well. “Let’s gooooo!” Sarah’s adrenaline fueled excitement failed to infect Anesh, who just shook his head and staggered after her. He felt out of breath and drained. But at least he wasn’t the one hauling their new captive around.
A whole half hour of running, dodging, and skirmishing later, they found themselves sitting against a door to an actual office space. The windows were frosted glass and obviously fake, the desk looked more like a grim altar than a place to do paperwork, and Anesh was pretty sure the lamp was staring at them, but the wall and door were a godsend for keeping them hidden.
Outside, the swarm still moved, but it was dying down as the humans couldn’t be found. Next to him, Sarah was panting heavily, the camraconda being held down by her legs as she caught her breath. Ganesh perched on his head again, similarly out of energy.
178 momo (23yrs old) + lua + high school + high school dungeon = momo + simon vs high school dungeon
If Momo could have hidden the duffel bag she was carrying behind her back, she would have. But she’d been caught unawares, and now looked a bit *obvious*, didn’t she?
“Nothing?” She ventured.
“Young lady…” Lua’s words were stern and disappointed as she crossed her arms.
“Does no one get that I’m *twenty three*?!” Momo was suddenly offended, and it merged with the lingering anger in her chest. “I’ll be fine! I’m just checking some stuff, or something. I’ll come right back out.” She pulled something out of her pocket. “Look, got a telepad and everything.” Momo waggled the paper around like it was a passport to anywhere. Which, well, it kinda was.
Lua’s voice was almost a whisper. “That door doesn’t open from the other side, you know.”
And then she was through the door.
As the rusted metal and flaked blue paint of the security door shut behind her with all the violence of a row of prison bars being slammed, Momo didn’t waste time finding a mostly dry spot on the rough concrete floor and dropping her bag.
She fell into a rhythm with her motions. Armor out of the bag, pull it on, tighten straps, hook to another plate. Repeat. It took her only a few minutes to be good to go; even though she wasn't used to doing this alone. Then, still moving rapidly so she didn’t have to linger, she brought out the bits of a staff, screwed them together, and leaned propped it up against the bag while she flicked a phone flashlight on and tucked the light into her armor’s chest rig. The dungeon had stolen her knives, which was annoying, but at least all the thick glass bottles she’d brought were intact. Then she added a half dozen inactive scrambler totems to her belt pouches, flipped open a pair of dungeontech glasses that highlighted sharp lines, and stood up to get moving.
Which was when she heard the door slam shut again, and jerked in startled fear as she realized someone had followed her in here.
“Fucking *dammit* Lua!” Momo snapped through her filter mask as she turned. “I don’t need…!”
She trailed off as Simon, already in his own armor, grimaced at the smell. “Ugh.” Her friend muttered. “Nope. Still hate this.” He added as he rummaged through a much smaller bag than hers. “Aw, it took my gas mask!” Simon complained like Momo wasn’t staring daggers at him, before pulling out a much less effective mask that matched her own and settling it over his mouth and nose. Added to that was an aluminum baseball bat that he pulled off a loop on his backpack, before he set his own phone flashlight. “Okay, ready.” He commented, ignoring Momo’s glare.
The dungeon, she thought grimly, had been growing. Changing. The path they were on had split multiple times by now, no longer a straight shot of a tunnel. And not only that, but the tunnel wasn’t a straight line either; it had swells and dips in elevation, twisted and curved. The branches were almost always very short dead ends, but that didn’t change that this was becoming less a hike and more a maze. More like an actual dungeon.
178 momo + nameless AI (momo accidnetly created) (dead)(momo AI child) = (simmon + (other james) + momo = lovers) ((((few chapters back someone was calling Miss molly or was it Moley or molley i do believe refering to MOMO
“Nameless died.” Momo said, handing back the empty bottle.
Simon paused as he took it back, but only briefly, tucking the empty container back in his pack while Momo withdrew a shaking hand. “The AI?”
“Yeah.” Momo tried to take a deep breath through her nose, and instantly regretted it, snapping her mask back into place and coughing out the smell. “The AI I made. By accident. And then let die.” She trailed off, and then turned to look down the upcoming pitch black tunnel. “Anyway, let’s…”
Momo nodded. “Yeah.” She said, kicking her legs out a couple times to try to reestablish control of them. “Wait, back up. James liked my ass?”
“Uh huh.” Simon nodded.
“And you… sort of *are* part James now?” She tapped a gloved finger to her chin.
“Yup.” Simon agreed, reaching for something and coming up empty. “Dammit, I lost my bat.” He muttered to himself.
Momo nodded. “So *that* means that *you* like-“
“Alright let’s goooo!” Simon announced a little too quickly, pushing past her and leading them into the tunnel.
They talked as they moved, now. Momo opening up, the floodgates broken.
“I just didn’t know what to do.” She confided in her friend. “I tried different totems, I tried adding stabilizing programs. Tried adding or removing hardware. Fuck, we even tried giving Nameless an authority.”
“Did that not work?”
“It didn’t take it. Wouldn’t accept it. Planner said it had to do with the nature of how Nameless thought, but I think the AI just… rejected it.” Momo seemed to deflate a little. “It wasn’t even trying to stay alive.” She said, pain in her voice. “It didn’t care. Like it didn’t *matter*!” Her words came out bitter and obviously upset. “And it *is* my fault! Because I built the thing to find dungeons, and not to be a person, and it’s *exactly* the shit James is always saying, about how we *don’t build people to be tools*, and I thought I was *smarter* than than! I’m supposed to be smarter than that!”
“Fuck off.” Momo hissed as she filled bottles with the twisting fluid. “I was supposed to be a responsible creator. And I got my... my kid killed.”
“You can’t even come close to knowing if that’s true.” Simon chastised her. “You *built digital life*, Momers. That’s probably a first for everyone. There’s no parenting guide for this.” He sighed into his mask. “I know that I can’t make it better, but I’m telling you, it’s not your fault. It’s okay to be angry, right? But it’s not your fault.”
Simon realized something, suddenly. “When did this happen, anyway?” He asked.
“Couple hours ago.”
He winced. “And you didn’t… and you came here?” For the first time, his words might have had a little bit of judgment in them.
“Anytime.” Simon said, easily. “Do you want to telepad out?”
“No.” Momo shook her head. “We’re almost at the exit, I want to grab some books, and also there’s something I need to do.” She said.
178 momo + simmon (other james) + high school dungeon + 3 books + ratrouch leader (Beautiful One = name)(white color ratrouch) + momo totems nocking ratroaches down
“Yessss.” The white furred ratroach in the middle of the arena greeted them, her voice rising to a howl that brought a reverent silence from the others around the place. She’d gotten bigger, and seemed undeterred by James kidnapping her two lieutenants a couple months back; two other ratroaches flanked her now, both of them looking… worried. Eight and a half feet tall, chitin polished to an opalescent sheen, the extra arm sticking out of her right arm now held up by an extra line of flesh that stretched like a ligament. Five mismatched faceted pink eyes blinked at them out of sync, and the acidic blue drool dripping from her fanged maw ran down carved canyons in her chin. “Welllcome-“
“Shuuuuuut up!” Momo snapped out. The words didn’t cut the ratroach off, but the pair of offensive red totems Momo clicked into place and flung out sure did. As the white ratroach - Arrush had called her the Beautiful One, but Momo didn’t see it - and her squad collapsed screaming and clawing at their heads, she spread her arms and turned to the stilled audience. “Anyone want a ticket out of here?” She yelled. “Sunshine, real food, and you can be *super* gay without anyone knifing you! I’ve tested it!”
Simon moved with a little more purpose while Momo did her act, skirting the edges of the totem’s range, ignoring the increasing yells of the ratroaches behind the fence as they raked claws and bone knives over the rusted metal. He held most of their green sparks, and he rushed to the lockers on the other end and cracked the first three he could afford, grabbing the books and shoving them into his bag as Momo kept yelling.
178 momo + simon (other james) + magneto (pet of them treated as a dog)
“You want to head back with me?” Simon asked, still concerned. “Magneto misses you.”
Momo thought for a minute, then shook her head. “If you can take my armor, I’d appreciate it. I think… I dunno. I don’t feel better. But I need to do something. Obviously violence isn’t helping. Maybe I’ll go wander around downtown and abuse my asphalt magic. I’ll come pet the magnet dog later.”
178 alanna + anesh + route horizon + two suns blazed; one red, the other a pale purple (((i though 1 red 1 yellow)))) = (alanna + anesh = car) + (bill + gunner = truck) + (mark + gunner = van)
Alanna looked out the side mirror where a shape like a playful wolf the size of a mountain bounded in the fog, either four feet or four miles away. “Yeeeeeah… but doesn’t this place like it when you’re… what did El phrase it as? Running away from something?”
“I am running away from something.” Anesh told her, tipping the tablet down and looking out the window at the hypnotic twistings of the fog between worlds. “I’m running away from a world where I have to do paperwork.”
As if the words were a magic key, the world unfolded around them. The fog pulling back in organic fractal patterns, building a dusty road under the wheels and an endless winding expanse of desert dirt and hot asphalt across the horizon. Overhead, two suns blazed; one red, the other a pale purple and almost brushing against the horizon. Together, they covered half the sky.
Anesh had his doubts, partially because he was already sweating and starting to miss overcast days, which was a bad sign. But before he could protest, another vehicle cut through the boundary of the entrance, and pulled to a stop beside theirs. Then another one, pulling up behind them.
Out of the pickup truck, the burly form of Bill swung out to the ground. “We all just loitering around?!” He called over cheerfully. “I thought we were here to work!”
“I love his enthusiasm.” Alanna spoke sideways to Anesh.
“I’m not here to work.” Mark yelled from the cab of the moving van they’d swiped for this job. “I’m here because no one knows how to drive stick!”
“Who wouldn’t want to be a dragon in a future life maybe?” Alanna grinned wolfishly. “Alright. We all know the plan, let’s go!” She was back in the driver’s seat before Anesh finished making sure every vehicle had a well stocked gunner.
The plan was simple, really. They knew Route Horizon was still asleep, and from experience, they knew sleeping dungeons were often far less hostile. It was the perfect time to explore, not just the roads themselves, but the land around them. The truck was stocked with supplies; water, food, tools, even sheet metal for driving safely over the caltrop trenches and out into the desert, and fifty gallon drums for siphoning gas.
And there was so much waiting here. Weird materials, navigator seeds, magic gasoline, shards of spellmaps, it wouldn’t surprise Anesh if there was literal buried treasure in here somewhere. And they aimed to find out if that was true.
Also to see what happened when you copied the map chunks. Also to test the limits of what could ‘burn’ enchanted gas. Also to… so many other things.
179 james + james cartomorph (james talking to) + sarah car + Arizona -> Near the southern US border - > town -> Gila Bend -> Dak’s Daycare, the burger joint + 2 tv production vans with cables running in Dak's Daycare + james cartomorph -> quest was done and cartomorph went to sleep + larry (waiter) + filmers = B-Roll + yelling guy + camera girl + camera girl -> intern + owner (male) of Dak’s Daycare, the burger joint + producer of film + Dak’s Daycare, the burger joint = collasped ((to long see chapter for details)) + james call to order -> response -> marcus -> sending people over + Guy Fieri (the film production thing is not Guy Fieri but B-roll / vacation thing)
The cartomorph in his head, which was leading him to presumably a pretty good burger place, wasn’t really a person yet. And that crux wouldn’t come until he made it where he was going. But a week of driving together had led to them working out a sort of communication channel between James’ waking time behind the wheel, and the ethereal life lived inside his thoughts.
Divergent routes were a simple ‘yes, no, elaborate’ system of the map asking him questions. But it worked well enough, and he was prone to rambling to himself anyway. On the third day, they’d also had to establish a ‘repeat song’ code, as it turned out the map really liked some of James’ music.
“More about what?” James asked out loud. “Leadership? Organization formats? What the Order’s been up to…?”
“You aren’t a person. Yet. But you’re still ‘you’. And you can learn, and sometimes want things. That’s a *weird* state to be in, because I’d kind of call that being a person? But obviously you disagree, and there seems to be some kind of hard conceptual gate you can’t get past until we get where we’re going. Like… kind of a lack of self-conceptualization. I *think* this is what Freud would call not having an ego, but I also don’t really want to give ‘ol Siggy credit for anything.”
“Yes” signaled the cartomorph sharing his headspace.
“Right.” James sighed. “And then we choose, yeah? *You* choose. You already know I’ll have you if you want to stay. If you don’t want me, there’s a whole Order to choose from. Or just hang out in until you find who you pair well with. Or *so many* options. You are, quite possibly, the first being who will be able to consent to whether or not you exist, before that’s an issue for you. That’s *amazing*.” James paused to glance down at his gas gauge before flicking his eyes back to the road, doing his best to push off the grim feeling in his gut when he thought about existence like this. “Also a little terrifying.” He added.
“Yes.” The cartomorph signaled, a few times in sequence.
Yes it was cool, yes it was creepy, yes it consented. James got the point, and smiled.
“I mean, humans have been arguing over what a human is for… basically for as long as we’ve been around. There’s this old, probably not true, anecdote of a greek philosopher explaining that man was a bipedal organism. And someone in the audience asks, ‘with feathers’?” James stifled a laugh as he told the old story. “So the guy nods, runs out, and comes back an hour later to slam a plucked chicken down on the table, yelling ‘Behold! A man!’”
“No.” The cartomorph signaled.
James chose to interpret this as incredulity. “Oh yeah.” He said, before correcting, “I mean, ‘oh, probably not’. Look, language is hard, you’re gonna have to get used to people sounding like idiots all the time. Which *might* be a human thing! That’s the point I’m going for. The story might be not real, but it highlights a very real problem that we have, which is that we don’t know how to define ‘human’. And we absolutely don’t know how to define ‘person’. You can think, but don’t feel, or want. Does that make you less valid as a person already?” He paused, and really thought about it. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I even *want* the word to mean. But I look forward to seeing you grow, I guess. That’s all. That’s where I was going with this, probably.”
Cartomorphs, or navigators as some people were calling the idea, were great for abstract exploration and adventure, but he was under no illusions that a GPS would have given him more of a heads up as to what lane he needed to be in. Hell, he’d checked a map on his phone repeatedly this trip, just to know where he was. “Near the southern US border”, currently. Not that it told him much about where he was *going*.
Around the car, prickly grasses and sharp trees flew by as James drove. An hour passed, then another. The mile marker signs ticked up, but he didn’t really know where he was going, right up until he saw the scraped up old road sign for a town called Gila Bend.
A much larger sign that looked like it was made in the 1970s greeted him after he’d rolled across a bridge over a thin river and started seeing buildings. Population 1,700 people and 5 old crabs. Quaint looking place.
He did *not* get a good feeling from the town. Even as he followed his cartomorph’s directions through it, most of his focus going toward driving safely while trying to ‘listen’ to someone else, James was noticing a lot of people giving him uncomfortable looks from sidewalks and porches.
Dak’s Daycare, the burger joint was called. It was like someone had lifted a building from a century ago and dropped it down into the modern day; polished chrome, red leather, a big sign with a weird looking Minotaur mascot on it. It was almost totally anachronistic, and yet, it also felt… not contemporary, but very real. A real place that was ready to go. Maybe it had been here the whole time, maybe it was built recently and the owner just liked the aesthetic. Either way, it fit perfectly into the run down vaguely hostile tourist town that, yes, *did* have at least two antique shops that James had seen on the way in.
What was confusing about it was that the parking lot was *packed*. And for a town of this size, that would have made this one building a hell of a tourist destination, but James hadn’t even been able to find this on google.
What made it more confusing was the pair of what looked like TV production vans, and whole ecosystems of electrical cables running across the parking lot and through the front doors.
“Just grab a seat anywhere!” A lanky guy with a scrap of hair left on his head and an apron around his waist called as he ran through James’ field of vision.
James shrugged, glanced around, found a spot, and took it. Settling into an uncomfortable chair at a small two person table, just as there feeling of something completing flooded through his self; an unlocking and a progression and a dozen other things all at once impacting the cartomorph in his head.
Just as soon as it happened, the feeling was gone. Something settled in, and the sensation of a long nap briefly brushed against his thoughts. And that was it. A two week vacation, and now James was done. He could go home right now; the actual objective complete.
“Hey what can I get for you!” The balding guy’s voice made James jump as it came out of nowhere, and he realized he’d spaced out for a few minutes. Larry, his name tag read.
“Oh! Uh, you know what? Surprise me. A burger of some kind, whatever’s good. No pickles.” James said. The dude eyed him with a kind of ‘really, man?’ Sort of look for a second, before shrugging and scribbling something on his order pad. “Also, hey, what’s uh… this?” James jutted a thumb toward the production crew.
“Different show.” Larry shook his head. “It’s a vacation thing. They said they were doing B-sides today?”
“B-Roll.” James autocorrected. And then, “Dang.” He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Looks like you’re having fun, huh?”
The cameras weren’t on. James had caught the same camera girl’s eye again, and they’d shared another confused shrug. The cameras absolutely weren’t rolling. It was kind of hilarious, honestly.
At a certain point, the owner came out of the kitchen with someone who looked like a producer, and got the yelling guy to settle down. James got the distinct impression they were friends, but that Yells was just kind of a known factor locally. The kind of guy who actually voiced a lot of buried disdain and hate out loud instead of just scowling at people.
“Also the building is a billion years old and we have a bet on if it collapses.” Her teammate and or unpaid intern added. “I bet no, because that would be exciting.”
“I bet yes, because I love tempting fate.” The girl said, before running off at a producer’s call to adjust a camera angle.
One ring, and someone answered. “Response.” The young man’s steady voice met him.
“Marcus.” James said. “It’s James. I have someone injured here.” He rattled off an address. And then, realizing at least two people were staring at him, and what was about to happen, added; “The team is coming into a crowd, they’re filming some cooking channel show. Tell Harvey… something.”
There wasn’t even hesitation. “Help is on the way.” Marcus said. “Arriving in thirty.” There was a pause on the line, before Marcus asked, “Is it Guy Fieri?”
“It is not Guy Fieri, I asked.” James reassured him, voice still thin from the adrenaline flooding his limbs. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks Marcus.” He said as he hung up, fumbling the phone back into a pocket.
179 james + response team (Nikhail + Ann + Knife-In-Fangs) = help folks out of collasping Dak’s Daycare, the burger joint building + (2 state troppers (cops) show up -> order scram + taking 3 injured + getting contact info for injured)
From twenty feet to James’ left, three people snapped into existence. Someone screamed, but he wasn’t paying attention. As Nikhail ran toward them and James indicated the fallen contractor, something green and flexible spiraling off his arm, James called out to the other two. “Ann! Triage! Sort this mess out! Knife! With me, we need to check the building!”
There were still a handful of people in the front of the building, those who were clustered at the tables, and had been blocked in by half the ceiling cutting off the door. “Everyone okay?” James called out, and got a half dozen different answers. Most of them were confused, many of them were people swearing at him, and at least one was a young kid screaming. “Alright. Knife, can you lock this in place?” James rapped his knuckles on the collapsed support beam.
“Done.” The camraconda said.
“Okay, everyone, let’s get you out of here. If anyone’s hurt, stay put. Everyone else, there’s a gap here you can crawl under. It’s not gonna fall, let’s go.”
One by one, James coaxed the diners out of the place, begging the building to hold itself together for as long as it took. A couple people didn’t want to move, or felt like they couldn’t move. He understood; not every day you had architecture fall on your lunch. But he kept calling for them, until even the most stubborn of them had gotten out.
“It’s not a secret, no one is… none of *my people* are going to kill you,” James hated having to make that distinction, “and you’re fine talking to me. I just mean that… look, I think one of your editors tried to attack my medic, and Ann has him in an arm bar. And I expect that’s probably the most reasonable reaction anyone would give.” He waved idly to the crowd of people in the parking lot, half of them sitting and staring at the building like they didn’t understand what just happened, half of them making calls, half of them yelling or arguing, often with each other. “Oh hey, I hear a siren! Wonder who shows up first?” He looked out behind them, to the expanse of road leading away from the town toward empty desert.
James had seen roads in Route Horizon that looked less desolate. But from this slight hill the restaurant was on, he could pretty clearly see a set of lights from a state trooper car as it sped toward the town.
“Police.” James crushed her hopes. “Might want to make ourselves scarce, keep this from getting out of hand. Everyone looks safe, though. And there’s not much else we can do here.”
Ann dropped the man, spinning away as he flailed on the ground. James offered him a sympathetic hand up, which he took suspiciously, while Ann turned away and barked a few simple commands to the other Response members. With rapid efficiency, the four remaining members of the Order wrapped up what they were doing, finished their conversations, circled up, and vanished as Ann tore a telepad.
“What… no!” The man James had helped up clenched a fist, yelling at nothing as he tried to dust off his torn suit jacket. “They kidnapped my cousin!”
“Oh, the contractor?” James asked him, getting an affirmative. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. He is, most likely, at the closest hospital. Teleporters, yeah? Last thing I heard was that no one was in critical condition, and they have a *very* good medic.” He pulled out his phone. “Did she ask for your contact info? Here, give me your number, we’ll call you when we know more.”
The sudden shift from being headlocked to being helped seemed to both put the man at ease, and confuse the hell out of him. James still got a number from him, but also a question. “Who the hell are you?” He asked.
James just grinned, stepping back and waving as he got back in Sarah’s car, and left the scene, passing a pair of state troopers as their own cars pulled into the crowded parking lot.
“So what’s up with the bracers?” James asked around a mouthful of the sandwich Nate had brought him. It was a chicken burger, which was delicious, but he wasn’t sure counted as a ‘burger’ exactly. Nate had told him it was healthier, and then said he had to go ‘do something more important’ and stalked off. “Or, actually, all the Status Quo gear?” James asked. “It all copies weird.”
“Ah.” Anesh said, holding up his index finger like James had just asked the million dollar question. “Well, if it holds to the same rule… it’s because the ones we looted from them are different. Modified. Which means… well, I don’t want to make assumptions…”
“I do!” James got an excited look in his eye. “I love making wild ass guesses! And this time, I can do it kind of smart. Okay, so, only one iteration of magic copies? And the SQ items were being spawned by those blood ritual things that we demolished and dropped a building on. So, yeah, Status Quo found magic items in one dungeon, then fed them into a copy ritual sort of like what ours is. Maybe the blood thing makes them ‘stronger’ or something? Doens’t matter. Either way, they get copies of magic items, with their own enchantment on top. Then *we* try to copy them, and just the initial magic item, no blood stuff.”
“That’s actually kind of everyone’s dumb idea.” Anesh said. “As far as we can figure out, anyway. There aren’t many people left to ask. And their files are woefully incomplete.”
“Cool. Okay, well, that changes a few things. We can mass copy natural resources, right?”
“Sort of.” Anesh wobbled a hand. “Easier than before, anyway.”
“Awesome. Okay, what else?” James asked. And his boyfriend took a deep breath while he took another bite of his lunch.
180 inhuman wasp-crow (half crow half wasp) = female
There was a wasp-crow in their basement. Deb was pretty sure the girl was going to live, but she was damaged beyond what a human could take. Alanna apparently felt some kind of responsibility for the creature from the Akashic Sewer, and was checking up on her every day.
180 Authorities + response + response authorities -> medic versions + camaracondas taking authorities that are order members but not order members not obtaining authorities.
“The Authorities are doing well?” One Anesh suggested, the two of them sharing a perfect timed curious glance before the other continued. “Yeah, so far, all the ones on Response are thriving. We don’t really have a way to measure ‘abstract magical power’, but they’re growing up smoothly. All of them are medics, by the way.” He nodded and his double took over. “The camracondas mostly turned down getting their own at first. Only the ones working with the Order in other capacities took the offers. There was a small public debate about species over the whole thing. Very awkward! Ultimately, I think the nascent culture of the camracondas, as a people, kind of pushes them to not take tools they aren’t using? But also Spire-Cast-Behind had a really good point that those who aren’t engaged with the Order *have* no structure for the Authorities to work with. So we’re looking for other ways to make sure our non-human residents are treated equitably and welcome.”
“I really want to just say that species doesn’t matter.” James admitted. “But that’s a lie; it *does* matter. I have a thousand small perks from being human, and ignoring that just dismisses the fact that the camracondas need the scales balanced. And it’s *annoying* that a lot of them won’t admit it because they have some weird fixation on ‘not being literal puppet soliders’ somehow being good enough.”
“Yeah, it’s not great.” Anesh said. “On the upside, we’re learning that Authorities seem to like manifesting physical forms as articles of clothing. And the camraconda ones are kind of cute.”
“What are the human ones?”
“I mean, you’ve seen Nik’s glove. I suspect all the Status Quo ones were ties. Because they were aggressively mundane.”
“Cowards.” James scoffed.
180 order -> retiual department -> leader momo -> took over shaper substance research
Momo’s growing Ritual department had taken over study of the shaper substance from an overworked Deb. There was a plan to hire more people, including medical staff, but it had been put on hold until the Lair could be expanded, or they could get another building somewhere,
180 order (LA office) -> meeting + Ferndinan + vending machine (unknown name) + james + anesh + Priestess-Under-Stone + Watcher-Of-Motion + Myles + Karen + Jake Redding + Harvey + coping platinum for money + townton -> seven banks -> order taking the money + response -> harvey -> report -> response really busy + james stepped down as leader and commitee formed
He walked in confidently, giving a high five to Ferndinan, the one potted plant they’d managed to befriend from the Office. “Looking green, friend!” James greeted the unspeaking life form. It had grown an extra foot of vine, most of it starting to wrap around the vending machine placed nearby.
James also gave the vending machine a polite nod, and bought something with a spare dollar in his wallet to drink during the meeting. He purposefully did not look at the label, choosing to embrace the element of surprise.
Priestess-Under-Stone was sitting at the end of the table near Karen, the two of them talking softly as Karen pointed out some stuff on a laptop screen. Watcher-Of-Motion was off in its own little space, and James had never actually seen a camraconda look like it *didn’t* want to be somewhere, so it took him a minute to realize the serpent probably disliked meetings as much as he did himself. And Myles was pacing by the window, watching the city and looking like he also didn’t really want to be here; or rather, that he had somewhere he was itching to get back to. There was one other person close to where James and Anesh walked in, who turned and stood as they entered.
“Oh hey. Jake, right?” James shook hands with the lawyer. “Good to see you again.”
“Mr. Lyle.” Jake Redding said, giving a charismatic smile and nodding as he returned the handshake.
“Not quite.” She said. “Harvey is going to join-“ There was a snap of air and Harvey appeared at the end of the room, drawing startled jumps from a few people and a high yelp from Jake. “Harvey is here. We can begin, yes.” It *looked* like Karen hadn’t even blinked, but James hadn’t missed that she’d twitched her hand toward her side. He took a minute to reevaluate Karen.
James looked around as what was a familiar back and forth started. Then he cut it off before it got too far. “Hey, do we not have anyone from Research or Ritual for this meeting?” He asked.
“Momo was busy and Reed said they weren’t needed for this one.” Anesh answered. “Technically, I’m our Researcher.”
“Okay. So, before you two keep going, can I cover the budget thing?” James asked, and both Karen and Harvey looked over to him with expectant eyes. “Uh… we can duplicate much larger chunks of matter now. Why not just make a huge quantity of something valuable, like platinum, or tungsten, and sell it?”
“We wouldn’t be making that much.” Karen shook her head. “Platinum especially would take multiple months to build up to a point where we were copying an appreciable amount, and there’s enough demand for it that we wouldn’t risk devaluing it below what’s useful for us. Especially relative to gold, which is worth more, but has less of a sustained demand.”
“Great! Do that!” James clapped his hands. “And then expand Response. Harvey, how many people actually work for you?”
“They work for *us*, for one thing. You are in charge here.” Harvey said. “And also currently we have a hundred people working with Response in some capacity, forty full time knights. Eighteen of our responders are camracondas.” He shot a nod to Priestess-Under-Stone, who nodded back with a bobbing motion. “A lot of those people are part time volunteers, which helps keep our costs manageable, but I am aware that we’re going to run out of money.” He added. “Also, we have sixteen Authorities on the roster now, though again, they’re not actually being paid. Uh… wow, I just said that out loud. We should be paying them.”
“Uh… there were seven banks in Townton.” He said. “And we’ve gone through three of them so far. No one has actually figured out why, but all of them were over the reserve limit, so there’s about two hundred fifty thousand in physical cash sitting down there. I didn’t realize budget was an issue, JP never mentioned it.”
James smiled quietly at the soft poetry of the camraconda’s comment. “Okay. Between that, and platinum sales - someone get some platinum? Karen? Yes, good - between those things, we should be able to start expanding safely.” James nodded. “Harvey, what do you want for Response?”
Harvey had prepared a report.
Every day, they had between four and twelve teams on call at any given time. Teams ranged from two to four people, with a standby pool of individuals for simple medical transport or shoring up teams that sustained injuries. Some teams were specialized; there was, for example, always one team and at least one backup knight specialized in mental health crises in the rotation.
Each team replied to between ten to fifty incidents. A day.
The actual incidents responded to were only about a fifth of the calls received. They’d hired more operators, and their phone network was arcanely enhanced enough to handle the throughput, but it was still a constant and stressful job.
Currently, Response was known to and working with sixteen different fire departments, forty one hospitals, and several well placed members of the Coast Guard and Park’s Service.
“Don’t you want to form a new government?” Harvey asked.
“Correct, all of you. The long term goal of the order is to build a collaborative system of government that maximizes value to the people.” James started pacing as he spoke. “Well, here’s the question. What kind of government do you want? Because I’m going to tell you right now, I don’t want one with someone in charge. Not like this.”
“Yeah. Well, a starting point anyway.” James said. “I want us to start moving toward a system of operations decision making based off expertise. I want us to have safeguards, yes; things like tolerance and compassion are ideals but they’re also *contracts*. We agree to do good for each other and everyone else, but there needs to be actually checks in place to make sure no one is abusing a position or corrupting the system. But fundamentally, when there’s decisions to be made, I want us to listen to the people best suited to make those decisions.”
“And what about decisions that don’t have a ‘best answer’?” Their new semi-permanent lawyer asked. “You’re going to run into a lot of questions, especially when it comes to budgeting, about what’s *better*, instead of what’s *correct*, and sometimes there isn’t a good way to tell.”
“Votes?” James asked with a rapid shrug. “Democracy isn’t useless. If it’s just a matter of opinion on what we try before we have hard data, what’s wrong with votes? If we run into stuff so nebulous that we can’t make a correct call one way or the other, then it doesn’t really make a huge difference which answer we try first. But also, look, I haven’t thought this out all the way. I don’t have a plan, I have an *idea*.”
“Should we not have representatives from the other departments here for this?” Karen asked. “If we are forming some kind of… committee?”
“Reed and Momo already said yes. I asked them earlier.” James said. “And with that, I am officially resigning as unwilling leader.” He dusted his hands off. “Consider me a delver, knight, and problem solver at your disposal.”
Jake started a polite clap, then trailed off when no one else joined in.
“Hey, message from JP.” Anesh said, looking up from his phone and cutting off the continuation of the meeting. “He’d like you to answer your calls, and also get your ass down to wherever he is.”
181 james + JP + dave + Utah -> some minuscule town + alchemist group + Frequency-Of-Sunlight + alex
James had dropped by their armory to grab some gear before teleporting down to some minuscule town in Utah and bailing JP out of whatever problem he’d caused this time.
“Nnnnno. No.” James couldn’t keep the grin off his face or out of his voice. “It’s to help JP with the people who made the depression potion. Or people linked to them, or something. I’m heading out now, but I wanted some backup. Also I’m not in charge.”
“Nah. JP just wants me there to be an ethics person, I think. He intends to do some diplomacy, and having someone who likes talking to people without tricking or flirting with them is a good idea.”
“Me!” Frequency-Of-Sunlight exclaimed in her digital voice. “Me me me! Take me!”
James shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Go find Alex for me, and we’ll meet upstairs in…”
The camraconda was already gone, toppling the chair in her wake as she slithered out of the room at ten miles an hour.
Alanna pivoted around in her chair to look up at James. “You get that Deb is gonna kill you, right?”
“Hey. You two ready?” He asked.
“You kept us waiting forever!” Alex complained. “It’s been, like…”
“It has been seven minutes.” Frequency-Of-Sunlight said matter of factly. “Which is still too long. We are impatient.”
181 winter climb + bill + expidention in 2 weeks
Bill sighed. “Nah.” He said, dejected. “I just keep missing him every time he’s in the building, and I need his particular voodoo.”
“Mmh.” Davis and Planner nodded in sync with each other, the infomorph’s angular ghostly face bobbing in the air behind the older man’s shoulder. “Uh, do you want the spell?” Davis asked.
“What?”
“There is an expedition being planned for fifteen days from now.” Planner scritched the words. “You are designated as low priority on the list of potential delvers, due to having a family, but the Climb has so far proven low risk with proper preparation. Broader distribution of utility magics to utility members is desirable.”
Davis noticed Bill’s flat stare. “They mean that it’d be good for the guy who needs the spell for air conditioning to have the spell for air conditioning.”
“Oh! Uh, sure?” Bill gave a rolling shrug. “I mean, yes. Absolutely. Yes? What kind of fucking idiot would I be if I said no?”
181 james + JP + dave + Utah -> some minuscule town + alchemist group + Frequency-Of-Sunlight + alex + 10 living poitions (9 people + 1 dog = 1 late fifties woman ) = 3 more order people + pendragon = 2 more potion people out there not in home currently
Three bodies snapped into place in the suburbs of a small town in Utah.
“Oh, I do, I’m just giving you shit because I’ve been bored.” JP said. “Okay. Here’s the deal.” He put on his serious voice, and rapidly outlined what had been going on, and what they’d turned up.
After they’d spooked a few of the Alchemists, one of them in particular had completely forgone the process of checking in with his fellows. They hadn’t spoken at all, actually, for some time. Even as they’d been traced back to here, through a combination of physically following them, and use of tracking devices.
As far as JP was aware, the occupants were not aware they were under surveillance. There were two other Rogues in the area that they were rotating out with, and between them they had the house under round the clock watch. No one had left, only people arriving over the last week and a half. Through carefully planted audio bugs as well as directional microphones, they also knew the house was worryingly quiet.
The Alchemist was not the first person to arrive at this house, nor were they the last.
“There’s three cars in the garage, plus the other three in the driveway and curbside.” JP said. “Some of them arrived carpooling, too. So counting the first one that was already here, there’s nine human shaped living things in the house, ten if you count the dog, and you should count the dog.”
The dog had also been silent this whole time. Well, almost this whole time.
Earlier today, just before JP had asked for James to drop by, the ninth human had arrived. Like all the others, they’d been let into the house by someone who appeared to look perfectly normal, a smiling late fifties woman in a black dress adorned in colorful polka dots. She’d had the same dress on every time she’d answered the door, and it was always perfectly neat.
And then, they’d started getting snippets of conversation.
“On the one hand, I’m appreciative.” JP told him. “Because it’s literally all relevant stuff. But they do *not* waste words. If they’re talking, it’s never small talk. It’s always sharing information, a relevant opinion, or making a decision.”
As for what they were talking about? Well, it was the Order.
“They’re not the people who have been making the potions.” JP told James, face serious.
“He’s gonna hate this.” Dave said from the passenger seat, headphones over his ears as he listened to the silence of the audio bugs.
“No.” JP told James. “They *are* the potions.”
James tensed up briefly, hands clenching on his forearms before he took a breath, and let his hands fall down to his pockets. “Yeah, that… makes sense.” He said, eventually. “Explains the not-very-human silence. All of them?” He asked.
“Even the dog.” JP replied.
JP and Dave didn’t have the whole picture, but they had enough of it from what they’d overheard. The potion people were, in short, terrified of the Order. And, really, they had good reason to be. An organized group that knew about them, had almost lost a member to them, and was most likely hostile? That spelled bad news for their survival prospects.
The potions had gone through a few potential plans, though it was hard to hear all of them clearly, so JP couldn’t give a full report. But the one that had amused him, in a grim way, was that they’d considered asking for amnesty from a number of organizations. Some were ruled out, like the WHO, some were still on the table, like certain governmental intelligence agencies, or, hilariously, Response.
They’d heard of the teleporting problem solvers, but hadn’t connected them back to the Order of Endless Rooms.
“Well, I mean, I called you.” JP said. James just folded his arms again and tilted his head up to frown at his friend through the van’s window. “Alright, fine!” JP admitted. “I’ve got three more people around here to cut off escape, Pendragon’s in the back, and if you say the word we can get the fireball gun out of storage and torch the place. There are two more untouched potions out in the world, according to them, but these are all the ‘people’. If we get rid of them, especially the Alchemist, then problem solved. Dust off our hands, done by dinner.” JP shrugged, like he was talking about taking out the recycling and not committing genocide. But his voice was strained, and he knew what he was saying. “If you think we need more backup, we’ve *got* more backup. Just, you know, say the word.”
When he eventually spoke, his voice was tight. “I’m going to go say hi.” He said, trying to force a casual grin.
“They tried to kill you.” JP said. “Through me, I should add. Indirectly at least.”
“Yup.” James said. “They did. And I’m gonna go say hi.” It was easier to say the second time. “I’d appreciate backup, for when this almost certainly goes wrong. But this is important.”
And then he walked up the small pebbled concrete path, and knocked on the thick wood front door.
When the door swung open and a woman in a black polka dot dress greeted him with a perfectly normal, slightly confused but still friendly “Yes? Can I help you?” James had an actual smile on. A bit fragile, but real.
“Hello.” He said. “My name is James Lyle. I’m here to clear up some confusion.”
“Okay, sorry, I should have been less cryptic.” James held up a hand, forestalling her comment. “I know what you are, because I have survived one of your people. I am a representative of the Order of Endless Rooms. I am not here to fight, and I’d actually rather like to talk. But I can give you a minute if you need it.”
182 james + JP + dave + Utah -> some minuscule town + alchemist group + Frequency-Of-Sunlight + alex + 10 living poitions (9 people + 1 dog = 1 late fifties woman + 1 Japanese man (Kando) + 1 early twenties girl + 1 male (Columbia )) = 3 more order people + pendragon = 2 more potion people out there not in home currently
TO MANY NAMES + MATCHING DESCRIPTIONS TO NAMES + LONG DETAILS ABOUT POTION PEOPLE MIXED IN
“You know,” James said from the back of the van that he was sitting in, “I actually expected my dramatic gesture to make this faster, not slower?”
“First off, it’s only been two hours. I admit, I’m also bored, and all that stuff Dave said is probably true, but chill.” James turned to look toward the picturesque suburban house. “Give them some time. Some jackass just threw their lives into disarray, we can wait a bit. Also, Alex, bad news. You probably won’t need to survive and triumph against overwhelming odds today.”
“- and also, I don’t think I care?” James let out a long exhalation. “Like… okay, they’re dangerous, sure. But are they? I mean, they’re created by killing people, but are the resulting life forms dangerous? More dangerous than just a normal person, I mean. Like, anyone is dangerous with a gun.”
“Not to me!” Frequency-Of-Sunlight chimed in, twisting to wiggle her tail and show off the shield bracer magically resized for a camraconda.
looking where JP nodded to see a tall Japanese man in a loose tan suit sporting truly impressive sideburns waiting at the end of the nearby house’s front path.
“Hey.” He said to the man at the end of the path, the one he knew wasn’t quite human anymore. “Are you the representative?”
“No.” The potion thing said with an economical shake of its head. “We have decided. Please… come inside. We will talk.” He sounded like he thought this was a terrible idea, but was going along with it anyway.
Eight other human shaped individuals, and one golden retriever, filled the space. Either sitting on the couches, or standing rather rigidly in a few spots around the room. The woman who James had first greeted at the front door, presumable owner of the house, was standing looking out the glass door to the back patio, and didn’t even turn as James entered. The Alchemist who they’d tailed here - ex-Alchemist, maybe - was sitting closest to the cold fireplace, rounded glass goblet of some amber liquid perched in his hand.
As they walked in, several of the seated people stood wordlessly, vacating the couch that sat opposite the others to move to other seating arrangements.
“Please, sit.” The man who’d led James in said.
The Alchemist with Columbia as a pseudonym met James’ eyes, and something *shifted* slightly. Like a veil pulled just an inch to the side to show off something underneath. “We are new.” He said in a dull, empty tone. “When we are our true selves, we have no history. No development. So short sentences, less personality.” He blinked, and suddenly, was who he had been the whole time. In a much deeper voice with some frustrated resentment in it, the old man continued, “So when you’re around to fake it to, we’ll use the faces, okay? Just save us all a headache.”
“Mmh. You sure?” James said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m fine with it if you want to be yourselves. I am literally the last person on the planet who would judge you for not being human.”
“We are human.” Three of them chorused at once in that dull tone. It didn’t sound angry, but somehow, James could feel the ire baked into the statement.
The room looked startled when she spoke. James ignored them and kept talking. “Yes, exactly. So, that began our espionage campaign against the Alchemists. Which has led us to here, now. And the question of what to do about a situation where they’re selling potions that kill people, and seem to either don’t know, or don’t care.” He looked around the room at the chaotic collection of people. “So, I guess now it’s my question. And I really need to know. What *are* you? And not just the basics, but, what’s the story here?” He said into the quiet air. And then leaned forward to patiently wait for an answer.
The group shared a number of silent glances, blank faces giving away nothing. The silence of the room aside from rustling clothes and the sound of people shifting on couch cushions would have been overwhelming if James wasn’t spending a chunk of his brainpower reading messages through his skulljack from the others.
“They sure seem to be communicating for people who aren’t a hive mind.” Alex sent.
“Are they lying about anything?” Frequency asked. “We should ask questions we already know the answer to.”
“Oh, yeah, also, they were startled to see Sunny.” Alex added. “They’re not used to weird shit. They might think they’re unique.”
And then, the woman who owned this house stepped forward and spoke up. “The Alchemists made us to be weapons.” She said.
“Ah.” James’ blood went cold. “So they are killing people on purpose, huh?”
“Doesn’t track.” JP sent through the link, watching from outside. “The other Alchemists were legitimately confused about it.”
And in a few words, the woman speaking validated that. She shook her head, and continued. “They don’t know. That their project worked, that any of us are alive. We are… a side effect.”
“A fortunately profitable failure.” Columbia’s voice was grimly bitter.
“Okay.” James said. “I think I’m seeing the picture.”
“We…” Columbia faltered, and then wiped away the emotion to speak in his other, timeless voice, “They were trying to brew a substance that would turn anyone. Instant conversion. Sell to governments, intelligence agencies, drug cartels, warlords, anyone. Who would not want the power to make your worst enemy share their secrets willingly? Die for you willingly? They had a marketing campaign ready.” They talked at a steady pace, not pausing when humans normally would. “The first test was a perfect success.”
James gave a pitying frown. “You?” He asked.
Someone else spoke up instead. A young man who looked almost perfectly nondescript. Short brown hair, sports jacket, jeans, absolutely normal, and quiet up until then. “Me.” He said, in the same dull non-voice.
The woman behind the couch spoke again. “And then me.”
“And me.” A scarred blonde woman chimed in.
“And me.” A young man with a pair of tattoo sleeves added his voice.
“I came later.” Columbia continued the story, switching back to human. “The problem with making a potion that turns someone into the perfect infiltrator…” He gave a sardonic grin, and downed the rest of his drink. “Well. Turns out, we didn’t know a damn thing about what we were doing. Par for the course, really. The subjects lied, well enough that the Guild assumed they’d made a totally different potion. A few more tests, and we had a product that was expensive to make, had a limited market, and just wasn’t really worth producing a lot of.” He glanced over at the homeowner.
“Our plan worked.” She said. “No more of us. We thought.”
“So…” James cupped his hand around his mouth, as he thought. “So what *are* you? Are you… okay, when you’re the potion, are you alive? Or is that just a catalyst for change? Is there anything left of who you were? Because if you’ve got all their memories and feelings… how is that different from being them?” He let his thoughts wander slightly to a question that had been bothering him, and gave it voice.
One of the potion people shook his head. “We can see who our victim was.” They said. “But it is distant.” His voice switched to more human, and in a cheerful Mexican accent he added, “Like how reading Sherlock Holmes doesn’t make you a druggie detective.”
“Well, not right away, obviously.” James gleefully returned the snark, before realizing that it… wasn’t real. Not really. “Okay.” He said, face slowly falling. “So, you’re new people, then. Just… with a record of the body you’re in?”
“Correct.” Columbia said. “The book metaphor is good, actually. Because on a long enough timeline, we can understand the feelings of our victim. Though we often don’t have time alone to consider. And it takes us time.”
“You keep saying ‘victim’.” James pointed out, taking a cue from Alex. “Can we go back to the earlier question? Are you alive when your potion is brewed?”
“No.” The homeowner said, shaking her head in an elegantly precise movement. “We become aware at the moment they are beyond recovery.”
“So, why are there so many of you? Are you all test subjects? Also, and I need to ask, why the dog?”
Everyone in James’ link breathed a sigh of relief as he finally asked about the dog. There were multiple messages in his vision about that.
Again it was the Alchemist who explained. “We didn’t *stop*, boy.” He said bitterly. “Oh, we convinced the Guild, through lies and through my own words as lead on the experiment, that it wouldn’t do to sell the potions to spies and murderers. I put more effort into making it only appear occult to those with mental health disorders than I did into researching the base brew when I was myself. But they wanted to keep making them. I made it expensive, but not impossible.” He shrugged, setting his empty glass onto a side table as he switched back to non-tone. “There were several more made. Sold to wealthy concerned parents,” he nodded to the young woman in the hoodie, “or to mentally collapsing executives,” a gesture toward Kando, “or, once we organized ourselves, bought by us through proxy. Securing as many as we could, to keep them unused.”
“Okay, that’s good.” James said. “Worrying, kind of. How many… no, wait. The dog?”
“We wanted to know if we could coexist.” The Hispanic kid said. “So we tried guiding the process. Didn’t work. Just made another us.” He reached down to pet the dog’s head, but the motion was mechanical. So was the dog’s reaction, a wagged tail that was too rote to be a real reaction.
“Alright.” James said. “What do you need?”
They all stilled, the veneer of humanity they wore like masks slipping slightly as the creatures inhabiting the bodies processed that. “What?” Someone asked.
“What do you need?” James restated. “You guys aren’t responsible for the actions of the Alchemists, you aren’t killers. From what I can tell, and what my rogue tells me, you’re all more or less trying to live normal lives. Except Columbia, who I assume is still an Alchemist for… cover? Sabotage?”
“Yes.”
“Right. So, what I’m mainly seeing here is that you are, collectively, victims yourselves. And you’re constantly paranoid about being found out. Also, you said something about keeping a stockpile of more of your own origin potions, so that’s also an issue. And… I mean…” He shrugged, and looked at his two allies in the room.
Alex leaned forward on the couch, putting her weight on her own crossed arms. “We help people!” She cheerfully added.
“Pathologically.” Frequency-Of-Sunlight supplemented the conversation with a nod.
Everyone looked like they really wanted to ask about the camraconda. But James had other conversation plans. “So, *I* almost died to the process that makes one of you, and that’s an issue. But it’s not your fault. You’re as much victims of this as the people who have died. The Alchemists are killing people, and they’re doing it because they tried to make life to be a tool. We have a *very* strong policy about that.” His voice was hard. “So we’re going to have to deal with that. Columbia, or however you’d prefer to be addressed, your help would be appreciated there. But in the meantime… I mean, you’re functionally refugees.” He said. “The Alchemists are almost certainly aware something is up, and that’s *our fault*. So we’re here to help fix that, and keep you all safe.” James sighed. “I’m not sure how you feel about the lives you’re living. Do you have families? Jobs? Do you *like them*? We’re gonna have to talk about this. Work some stuff out. But fundamentally, I want you all to be okay.” He checked a message through his link, and then added, “And also we have a. vault we can keep the potions in, along with the one that almost killed me, until such time as we find a way to hatch them properly.”
“Uh… properly being without killing anyone.” Alex clarified, as she realized James had gotten sidetracked by his line of thinking and hadn’t made that explicit.
“You don’t know what you’re offering.” The dog spoke up. And now it was James’ turn to blink with mild surprise.
Only mild, though. “How do you talk, as a dog?” He asked. “I have a roommate who’d probably like to know.” A quick ping from Alex came through his link, and he got a series of short clips of them talking. Before anyone could answer him, he made the connection. “Wait, how are any of you talking, without actually moving your mouths?”
“We are inside the bodies.” The golden retriever told him.
“Okay, we’ll table that for later.” James sighed. “What do you think I’m offering?”
Columbia paused in pouring himself more brandy to face James and speak with his dull voice. “You offer to stand against the Alchemists. You do not understand what that means. What they do.”
James leaned back, throwing his arms over the back of the couch. “So there’s a bunch of high burst foot soldiers, huh?” He mused. “I mean… how many do they employ, anyway? We have *some* experience with this, it’s not a dealbreaker.”
“Sixteen of the things. Always.” Kando said, bitterly.
“He killed one, once.” A tired looking wisp of a woman spoke from the corner of another couch. “They just replaced it.”
Frequency pinged their link. “They keep saying it or thing.” She mentioned. “Nonhumans?”
“Probably modified humans. Slave soldiers?” Alex’s words showed disgust through the text.
182 james + JP + dave + pendragon + alex + Frequency-Of-Sunlight + 9 potion people + 1 potion dog + ben (1 of the 3 order people)(missing) + ghost police (not sure if nobles) + nobles (from alchmist guild)
TO MANY PEOPLE / NOBLES / TO MANY DIED GAVE UP TRYING TO TRACK THINGS DOWN
“James.” JP’s voice came through the link, an interruption and not a message. All three members of the Order turned as a unit to look back toward the front door, the sudden cutoff of conversation, drawing concerned looks from the others in the room. “The police are here.”
“Why?” James said out loud, and to JP.
“Why wh-“
“Not you.” Alex silenced the question from Columbia.
JP’s response put James on edge instantly. “They’re claiming the van was reported stolen by the company that owns it.”
“The fake plumbing company?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh oh.” James and Frequency said out loud at once. James continued. “What’re you doing?”
“Cooperating. But they’re gonna open the back in a second. Also, Ben’s not reporting in; at least one of our rogues is missing.” JP paused. “I don’t think this is normal, I don’t want to send Dave and Pen away if it’s gonna get hot. How do you want it handled?”
Alex and Frequency-Of-Sunlight nodded to James as they made sure they were prepared. “Full on breath.” Alex said. “Stay behind me when someone starts shooting at you.” James didn’t bother to deny that was a likely situation.
“Okay. JP? Breakthrough tactic. Overwhelm them, get ready for teleports home. Links open. Stall for two minutes, then go. Columbia, or… ma’am I don’t know your name.”
“May.” The homeowner said simply.
“May. Get the potions you have stockpiled. Everyone get up, we’re getting out of here before it’s too-“
From the street in front of the house, there was a bellowing roar, and the popping of gunfire. It was, perhaps, already starting to be too late. James watched through his skulljack as Dave and Pendragon exploded out of the back of the van, slamming the two muscled, bald figures in police uniforms to the street. They were both wearing the fancy looking face masks that looked like cyberpunk rebreather things, but their eyes shimmered with anger as they glared at the the dragon holding them.
Before one of them slipped out, then the other, briefly fading to vapor under her claws to roll sideways and reform slightly farther away, guns already out and shooting again.
“Oh yeah!” James bit the words out. “They know you’re here!” The people in the room jerked to their feet, trying to spread out, looking to each other and the members of the Order with blank and confused expressions. Only Kando, tan suit jacket hanging open, grip of a handgun visible in his waistband, seemed like he was at all prepared for the chaos. “Everyone get moving to the front! We’re gonna evacuate you all! Wait for them to disable the ghost cops before you leave the build-!”
The side window in the kitchen exploded inward. Frequency-Of-Sunlight, whipping her head around with lightning reflexes, zeroed in on a small object just before it dipped below the kitchen counter in her view. A grey cylinder with a metal handle coming off it. A grenade of some kind, maybe non-lethal, but not good. “I got it!” Alex ducked past someone who was stumbling toward the door, the wordless motions of the potion people making an eerie scene as they all moved without speaking. She checked line of sight through her link with Sunny, then grabbed the grenade in a way that didn’t obscure anything, and started leveraging herself against it.
When the camraconda ‘let go’ of the object, Alex felt a spike of pain in her hand as she absorbed the force it had been holding onto, and then applied her own in reverse, flinging it back out the window before it exploded in a burst of sound and light a second later, the noise loud enough that it left her ears ringing.
The next volley held three more of the flashbangs, and came from two other windows. The house was thoroughly surrounded.
James stood in the hall, trying to usher people toward the front door. Alex was covering the back, and he saw her shield flare suddenly through the link and the corner of his eye. The sound of small arms fire filled the house as Kando took a stance at the shattered kitchen window, firing through with his handgun before a bullet hit him in the neck, a thick spray of scaled black blood exiting his body before slowly being pulled back in. He didn’t stop shooting except to reload.
“Go!” The thing wearing the form of a Japanese businessman said in an empty voice. “There are nobels. I will hold them.”
“Three people in the garden, closing in!” Alex reported after peaking the window. “Nine mil SMGs, they all look like the dudes up front!”
James tried to breath, and found himself coming up short. Things were getting too chaotic, too fast. There were five threats around the building, with the element of surprise. They needed to get out, now, and regroup. He had one telepad, JP had another, Dave the third. Just barely enough for everyone, and they couldn’t afford to split their forces.
James dashed through the front hall of the house toward the door to give JP and Dave some support, and was a bit surprised when a humanoid figure in grey-black fatigues blurred through the wall under the stairs to his right, and swung a glowing red right hook at his head.
“Nobel!” Someone yelled.
His eyes widened as he managed to mentally scream at his bracer to switch to blocking ‘punches’, but didn’t have the time to hope that would work before it connected.
The golden dome of light around him was blinding, but James kept his eyes open as it soaked the blow, and miraculously deflected the secondary effect too, though not the stomach-churning blast of noise that came with it. When the dome dropped, the hallway around him had been blasted away; varnished wood splintered away in a semicircle around where his shield had sprung up, edges of what was once a structure glowing cherry red, some of it straight up on fire.
“Oh!” James exclaimed as he realized what had happened. His gun was already aimed in a one handed stance when the shield came down, and he just unloaded repeated burst fire shots into the man standing before him, only having enough time to realize that most of them were just phasing through before another punch was sent his way. A quick left jab that James just shot, rapidly shifting targets. These bullets actually landed, drawing too-small pricks of red out of the oncoming burning arm before his shield triggered again.
James tried to pivot, to slam the man into the wall, and was half successful. When the shield flashed down a second later, the house was even *more* on fire around him, the chandelier in the entry hall making glass chimes as it rattled overhead. But at least his target was half buried in a wall.
“Everyone go!” He yelled, closing the gap as he kept shooting. He had *plenty* of gun bangle charges, and he could at least keep the bastard pinned down.
People started running past him for the front door, and James had no time to focus on them. His opponent lurched back to his feet, breathing heavy through his gas mask. Long, hissing gasps as he took stock of James.
“Yo.” James said, mugging for time as two more people slipped past behind him, trying desperately not to think about the fact that he was standing in the middle of a small ring of burning building. “So, you want to try…” The man sucked in a breath, a small plume of vapor coming out of his mask, and his skin warped into a stony substance, one fist starting to glow red again while the other brought an MP5 up to bear down the hallway. “Nope!” James flicked a hand, and the chunk of asphalt he’d pulled from the road spiked through the gun and wrap around it in a ball around the man’s hand, his own reloaded pistol taking another trio of burst shots into the man’s annoying ethereal face before his enemy took another swing.
James braced for the shield to flare up, but then the Alchemist foot soldier held back his hit, and *kicked James in the stomach*.
James slid back into the burning wall, knocking over a potion person as he coughed up a mouthful of spit. He wanted to know how everyone was doing, but he had to cover the last two people out the door. Everyone else was spilling out into the street, and he heard a roar and the scream of metal as Pendragon threw a car at someone. They were *fine*. They had a dragon. He had a pistol and an immortal angry ghost trying to kill him.
“One down!” JP pinged over their link. James was barely processing everything going on. The fight had gotten rapidly out of hand. But he could see Alex and Frequency’s view shift as they pulled back from the back of the house, and started moving toward the front door. Toward him, and the two potion people cut off from their escape.
One of his opponent’s hands was still encased in road; maybe it holding the gun was what was keeping it stuck, James didn’t know or care. But he did know he had to shift the fight out of the way so the last people could get out.
His opponent had clearly figured out that he probably couldn’t kill James right away either. So, uncaring of James’ interference, he pivoted and slammed his fist into the closest potion person who was trying to find an opening to get by.
James screamed something, opened fire, but his bullets barely moved the arm that he could actually hit while it was in flight. Then the strike connected, and he got to see the explosion of flame from two angles as the ball of fire spilled over him, Alex, and Frequency-Of-Sunlight all at once. It stung, and he felt splinters pelting his exposed skin, but it was fast and didn’t kill him. But he hadn’t been at the center of the blast.
When it cleared, the two people who’d been holding back at the mouth of the hallway were just *gone*. They’d died silently, without even screaming. The support beam overhead creaking as it swung down and phased through the monster standing there. The man who’d just murdered two people, without a word.
“*Red light*!” Frequency screamed from down the hallway. And then a screaming Alex slammed a kitchen knife through the man’s jaw, just as James shot him in the head repeatedly.
A human turned into a gory mess of meat in a heartbeat, blood and brain matter spraying into the building that was now burning in earnest.
“Scratch two.” James horasely spoke over the link. “JP, situation?”
“JP’s out.” Dave said. “I’m covering the last one out here. Pen says actually EMS are coming in, minutes at most.” He sounded calm even as James could feel him reloading and firing again. “What do you want us to do?”
“Telepad out with the rest. We’ve got the house.” James said, fumbling his own telepad out with stinging fingers.
In the hallway, Alex threw up, leaning against a crumbling wall, ignoring the splinters. “Kando’s dead.” She coughed out. “We’re it. There’s two more coming.” To punctuate her words, a flashbang went off in the kitchen.
“May ran upstairs.” James said. “Let’s move.”
“Here.” A voice from overhead caught his attention, and he looked up to see the woman whose home was burning around them standing behind the upstairs railing, holding a briefcase. “Had to get them.” She said. “I’m ready. We can-”
Her voice was cut off as a hand reached out of the wall behind her, and grabbed around her neck. She didn’t even react, except to meet James’ eyes, and release the briefcase over the edge of the upper floor, just before the masked soldier flexed his hand, and she collapsed in a boneless heap.
Still breathing, James noticed.
That didn’t bode well.
Frequency grabbed the briefcase while James laid down suppressive fire up the stairs, and Alex took his telepad, scrambling to write their destination on it. “R-ready!” She yelled.
“Look out!” Frequency cried as James tried to get close to them.
From down the hall, from the living room that had been so homey and normal not even five minutes ago, a masked bald man in grey black fatigues was charging forward toward them, green light simmering out of the skin of a cocked fist.
In a smooth motion, Alex flipped the telepad back, to be caught by James, stood to her full five foot five height, braced her feet, and extended a single flat palm toward the charging brute.
Then she *breathed*.
James hadn’t ever actually asked what spell she’d gotten from the mountain; from the book he’d made from his own Endurance power.
In a flash, the temperature of the whole house plummeted. The fire burning around them fighting the sharp and sudden chill. Alex shifted slightly, like she wasn’t sure of where her feet were, and then, twitched her hand just enough to catch the thrown empowered punch. Just as she breathed out, and her spell took hold, for just the barest instant.
She timed it perfectly.
The attack stopped.
Just stopped. It wasn’t deflected, or canceled, or grounded out. It *stopped*. For one moment, she was inviolable, immovable, *invincible*. Then her mana ran out, and she half collapsed back to be grabbed by Frequency and dragged to the floor next to the corpse they’d made, thrown down at James’ knelt feet.
The attacker didn’t fare so well. It turned out, when something stopped a mass of kinetic energy, that energy had to *go somewhere*.
Just before Alex fell, the assailant’s arm and half his torso *pulverized*, a spray of blood and bone chunks thrown backward by the rebound of punching what might as well have been a mountain.
Down the hall, the other soldier paused, showing the first sign of concern so far. Behind them, James saw an older man in a pressed black suit stepping through the wreckage of the patio door, dusting himself off like he was on a park stroll, not walking into a battlefield. James recognized him from one of JP’s intelligence briefings. Alchemist Amazon. One of the upper echelon of the reclusive gang of wealthy monsters.
James wrapped a leg around Alex, tagged a hand on Frequency’s head, gave the Alchemist the middle finger with his hand holding the briefcase, and tore the telepad with his teeth.
This was gonna be a bigger mess than normal.
183 order + lots of order people (if not new not listed) + 5 potion people + 1 potion golden retriever dog
The six people, five shaped like humans and one in the form of a fairly nonplussed golden retriever, who they’d gotten out of the house were clustered in a corner. Standing in what looked like a tense formation, almost. The reason was pretty apparent, as multiple members of Response had taken notice. Harvey, who was standing with crossed arms and looked very annoyed that this was interrupting something important. El, who looked a lot more concerned than James remembered seeing her be before. Ava, who was absolutely not supposed to be here and seemed to be hiding from everyone somehow. And at least two other whole teams who were either coming in or leaving on assignments when James had popped in and caused some chaos.
They were in a sort of low-threat standoff with the new arrivals.
“They’re fine.” James said, jerking a hand limply at the assembled group. “They’re evacuees. They’re fine.” He repeated. “Where’s JP and Dave?”
“Fuck.” James said. “JP said… he and Dave must have taken off somewhere else.” He tried to catch his breath, looking around. Frequency-Of-Sunlight had recovered from the abrupt teleport easily, but was still twitching at every loud noise. Alex, though, had pulled her feet under herself and was still on the floor. “Okay. Get me… get me division representatives. Harvey, Karen, Reed… uh… Sarah, probably? Nate for sure. I’ve got bad news.” He said. “We’ll meet in the briefing area. Public format. People need to know this one.”
“Sure.” Daniel said, nodding. “El, go get Reed. Ty, make calls.” When the two others gave him impressively bland *looks*, Daniel just threw his arms up. “I’m delegating! You both told me to delegate more!”
Deb had already turned and started calling much more even-toned orders to the Response personnel around. Getting the potion people a hand moving down to the newly expanded medical wing, clearing the room of everyone who was in the way, she had a lot more of a commanding presence than James did when he couldn’t make his brain focus on anything for very long. But when he spoke, Deb paused and turned back to him, eyebrows raised.
183 order -> basement -> orange orb expansion rooms -> 28 hospital rooms + Nate Marsili (nate nickname all this time)
But he didn’t have time to worry about how they’d turned one room into twenty eight copies of that room, tunneled those rooms through a fold in space so they didn’t accidentally destroy the plumbing infrastructure of the surrounding block, and then, just to show off, left small gaps in the totem’s warped space where the construction crew had installed supply closets, a break room, and bathrooms.
Nate was worrying about it a little. He could multitask.
Of the twenty eight rooms, seven were occupied, and six of those mattered. One, in particular, that Nate was standing outside of now while one of their newer hires gently plucked charred splinters out of the arm of the man inside. One of them had a dog, and Nate wasn’t going to worry about that either.
One of them had a… wasp thing? Nate wasn’t worrying about her, but for different reasons.
The glasses that showed affiliation read the man inside as “Guild of Alchemists, Alchemist.” Which was redundant, but honestly, he didn’t know what he expected them to call themselves. Not that anything was off the table; Nate knew for a fact that the KKK had a rank of ‘grand wizard’, and the fact that a group called the fucking Guild of Alchemists showed more restraint in their ranks was shocking.
“I need to ask him some questions.” Nate told the… medic? Nurse? Whatever the woman in scrubs was. “Is he stable?” He suspected he knew the answer, but asking, and leaving a trail of information, was important around here.
“Yes.” She nodded, round face giving him an instant and professional answer, which he appreciated. “No head injuries or anything serious. But you need permission from…” She pulled a clipboard off the wall and flipped to where Deb had left notes about who was allowed to screw around down here. “Whoever Mr. Marsili is.”
“Yeah, I know.” Nate said blankly. “I have officially given myself permission.”
“Oh.” The woman looked back at the clipboard, seemingly unfazed by the response, and checked a box. “Go on in then. Davis is flagged as your observer? I think that… means…”
“It means he’s making sure I don’t do anything unethical.” Nate nodded. “Don’t worry about it. I’m actually just here to ask questions. Thanks.” He slid the door open, and stepped into the room.
183 nate + potion person (Columbia. Or, William Jean, without the pretense. But those are the victim’s names)
“It’s fine if you drop the act.” Nate said, pulling up a chair and sitting down. “Or if it’s not an act, just don’t feel obligated. I’m Nate Marsili, I’m here to ask a few questions. You’re Colorado, yes?”
The man shifted, somehow, and suddenly Nate knew he wasn’t talking to a human. “Columbia. Or, William Jean, without the pretense. But those are the victim’s names. I do not have a name, really.”
“I’ll stick with Columbia, then.” Nate said, outwardly unflapped as he settled his pad of paper on his knee. “First thing, I’m sure someone’s told you, but you’re not a prisoner here.” The false person sitting on the hospital bed tilted its head at him, almost like a bird. “James says you need help. So you get help. You can go whenever, and you don’t need to answer anything I ask.”
“Reading me my rights?” The creation asked.
“Something like that.” Nate acknowledged. “But also, I do have questions, and you’re probably the one to answer them.”
“Alright.” Nate kept his disquiet off his face; a skill he’d mastered in his years at the bureau. “I need to know about the Alchemists.”
The creation blinked, and suddenly, was a human and not just something wearing the body. “Lucky for you, I know a bit about them.” Columbia said. “You okay if I talk like this? It’s more… eh, familiar.”
“It’s fine.” Nate chose not to acknowledge the shift more than he needed to. The question of what these people *were*, philosophically, was kind of up in the air, but more importantly there weren’t any established cultural mores for him to worry about. So he chose blunt forwardness. “How many are there?”
“Eighteen. Counting myself. So, seventeen now, I suppose.”
“The number isn’t important?”
“Nah, there’s not symbolism to it. We added a couple new people five years ago, and last year Thames kicked it. It’s just a number.”
Nate glanced at his notes from what JP had relayed to him already. “Someone said sixteen is the number of nobles, is that related to the previous number of Alchemists?”
“That’s a coincidence. There’s sixteen of the things because that’s how much sap is allocated to the upkeep.” Columbia reached his hand out like he was going for a drink, but came up empty. The man frowned, and looked back to Nate. “Also it’s ‘Nobel’. Not noble.”
“The chemist?” Nate said, adding ‘sap’ to his notes with a big circle around it.
“Exactly.”
“That’s… god dammit.” Nate quietly muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. His expectations were crushed. He wasn’t going to get away from absurd naming schemes. “Okay. Before we get to that, tell me what the Alchemists *want*.”
Columbia shrugged. “The same thing everyone wants. Money. Wealth. To buy nice houses, fancy cars, silk bedsheets, to pay to have housekeeping, whatever we want. Once you’re rich enough, you can have basically anything. Even respect, if you know where to look.” He blinked, and went blank, his other self adding in a monotone, “Or that is what they believe.” Before he flickered back to the proud gentleman.
Nate didn’t argue. He wasn’t James, he wasn’t here for ideology class. “Okay. So, your own creation, then. Monetary motivation there too?”
“Oh yeah.” Columbia nodded smoothly. “Who wouldn’t want a way to turn anyone into a personal spy? And if that didn’t work, who wouldn’t want a way to cure any mental disorder? Cash cow, right there.” He shrugged easily. “It hasn’t gone swell so far.”
“You don’t consider yourself a success?” Nate prompted.
The man across from him flickers away, and the replacement was there in his place. Nothing *changed*, exactly, but there was a feeling at the exact moment the disguise dropped. “My creation killed a man.” The potion said. “Not a good man, or a kind man. But someone. Neither of us consented to the process. I do not feel like a success.”
Nate was, mostly, trying for straightforward professionalism. But he softened at the comment. “You don’t decide how you’re born.” He told the other creature. It wasn’t much, but it was what he had to offer. But he still had more to ask. “I’m not the therapist here, though. There are smarter people than me for that conversation. What I need to know is, what *are* the nobels?”
“Alchemically enhanced soldiers.” Columbia leaned back and kicked his feet up onto the bed. “We hire them on contract, from some security contractor. Never bothered to learn the name. They get a standard suite of alchemical enhancements, and do the dirty work. That’s about it.”
“List of enhancements?” Nate cocked an eyebrow.
“Short. Do you want the Latin, or the easy names?” In reply, Nate just gave him a *look*. “Easy it is.” Columbia nodded. “Wraith form, complete hardening, detonation, and networking.”
“You’re going to need to explain the details on most of those.” Nate frowned as he scratched down the names, hearing a distant echo of the sound of a pen as Planner did the same. He wasn’t highly compatible with Planner, but the infomorph was basically always around *somewhere* in the building.
Columbia took a breath, and then paused. “Any chance I could get a drink?” He asked.
“Sure.” Nate said. “Water, beer, bad scotch, good scotch, or something else?”
“Bad scotch. No need to waste the good stuff.” Columbia paused. “Also water, or the nice nurse will be very disappointed in me.” In the space of a minute, Nate relayed an order upstairs through his phone, and settled back into his chair. Columbia started talking in the meantime. “Wraith form is what it sounds like. Incorporeal to non-living objects. Selective control comes with experience using it, but it can be trained. Complete hardening is a galvanization treatment that builds up over time. It solidifies the skin without impairing movement, reduces the need for air or water, and also deadens emotional highs. Detonation…” he looked down at his shredded suit jacket and the seared skin of his arm. “Well, it builds up heat and force in the body, before causing an explosion. Again, can be trained up to focus where it happens, and how it’s directed. Usually lethal if not paired with the wraith draught. Ah, thank you!”
“What about the last one?” Nate asked as the Alchemist pulled a sour face at the taste of his bad scotch.
“Networking? It’s a strange one.” Columbia admitted. “Let’s the person who takes it instantly react to orders from whoever is in charge of them.”
Nate looked up from his notes sharply. “Mind control?”
“In a way.” Columbia gave a tiny nod. “Very bad scotch, by the way, thank you. Mmh. But not, not fully mind control. Unless you’ve already removed the subject’s ability to worry, regret, or get angry. Which we do. At that point, it allows for one person to direct a battlefield with perfect synchronicity. Not that ‘battlefields’ are something that we tend to get involved with.”
Nate made some hasty notes. That sounded too much like the advantage the skulljacks gave them, and going up against it would be a nightmare if they were unprepared. “Nothing else?”
“They’re already trained killers.” Columbia snorted. “Why would we need anything else? We aren’t… you.”
Hard to argue with that. “Okay, couple more quick things. Sap?” Nate prompted, checking the time before he needed to be upstairs.
“The Sap Of The Tree Of Knowledge. Eden Sap, colloquially. Or just sap, once you’ve been doing this for a decade and the novelty wears off.” The older man ran a hand through his mostly grey hair. “There’s a tree in the basement that grows drops of it as fruit. We take them, process them with mundane ingredients, and get the potions we sell. I don’t have numbers, I’m not one of the masters. I just do a certain amount of simple mixing, and then a few experiments.” He sighed. “Or, rather, I did.”
Nate nodded slightly. A point of weakness. Good. “Okay, last thing. Does the Guild have any other xenotech capabilities?”
“Xeno... you mean occult?” The ex-Alchemist raised his eyebrows almost mockingly. “A few, yes. We have an orrery chamber that depicts relative strength power structures. A mostly useless cloak of invisibility. And a lamp that generates sunlight. Aside from that, no. The sap is our bread and butter.”
183 alex likes alanna not james
“Dang, she’s been working out. She could kick you in half with those calves. Also I think Alex is into you.” Alanna told James, flopping onto her belly by the poolside while he finished scrubbing any lingering soap off his skin.
“What? No.” James shook his head incredulously. “Also please don’t tease her like that. It’s not nice, and it discourages participation in attempts at making our own culture.”
Alanna looked like she was going to say something kind of snarky, but then gave a small acknowledging shrug. “Okay, yeah, that’s true. But she *obviously* has a crush on you.”
“I promise you she does not.” James said.
“Really?” Anesh asked. “Actually asking. How would you know?” He looked more curious than anything else.
“Okay, I love you and shit, but you are, hands down, the biggest dumbass when it comes to noticing if people are into you.” Alanna told him.
“Hey, that’s not true! I noticed… uh…” James trailed off. And then, in an effort to hide his true nature, slowly slipped down below the surface of the pool until only his eyes remained out of the water. “Shut up.” He bubbled.
Alanna nodded. “Yeah. See, I don’t get it. You’ve always been good with people. Not like JP is ‘good with people’ for getting people to give him their money and thank him for it. But, like… James people *like* you. You give a shit, and everyone notices. Even *Karen* likes you.” Alanna held up a hand with an outstretched index finger from out of the pool she was swirling it in, water streaming off her skin. “Platonically.” She amended.
“Uh… I don’t know if I should…” He trailed off as the other three people in the room all eyed him with determined looks. “Alanna, she’s not interested in *me*, she’s interested in *you*.”
“Wat.”
184 order (oregon) office -> next door restrurant (now is order) and now order kitchen
There was a restaurant ‘next door’, renting out a chunk of the same building. When the building had been on the market, Anesh had just grabbed the whole thing for them, and that restaurant was where Nate had moved his kitchen to, pushing out the size of the dining area and making the weird buffer zone where the not-underground bathrooms were even stranger as far as positioning went. But the front, cleared of everything else, had been kept the same as it was transmuted to a lounge and communal area.
184 order (oregon) office -> back end (use to be loading dock) -> assembly area / speaking area + (new person in story = Mary Ann (female)(order person)(Bill’s wife)) + Marcus (male from response) + field effect (70% of humans do not internalize magic at all and do not recognize magic at all)
The pods of desks and tables had been shifted around, clearing a wider semicircle around the stage. Every chair, bench, and beanbag in the room had been dragged over to fill that space, and more still brought in from the rest of the building. There were still paths to walk through, and it looked like *someone* was guiding the organization of it all, so that was good at least. But there were easily a hundred people in here of various shapes and sizes, and the atmosphere was charged.
They’d never really done something like this before. Not really.
The Order had grown a lot since James had shoehorned it into existence. From sporadic hiring of specialists and new delvers to recruiting dungeon survivors, turning FBI agents to growing the Response program, making new life to liberating creations from the dungeons. They sat now at over two hundred active members, and with the incoming resources they were planning on bringing in, James had hopes to scale that up immensely in the coming years.
But boy was it a shock to see a hundred people crammed into one converted warehouse space.
It was also interesting how people divided up. Response teams were *easy* to spot; they sat in their teams in small clusters, humans, camracondas, and sometimes manifested Authorities bantering with each other in a way James found intimately familiar. But Response wasn’t one unified bloc; all those teams were divided up among everyone else. The high schoolers, the ‘interns’ who the Order was trying to give the best tools to be good people to that they could, mostly sat in pairs, blended in with everyone else. Everyone else, the pattern was lost on James. It was just a jumbled mess of researchers, record keepers, engineers, gardeners, builders, wizards, accountants, detectives, spies, and whatever else the Order needed done at any given time personified as an emergent role.
“Oh!” He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I was surveying my domain.” James slid himself to the side, already preparing to explain himself and give an actual apology when a small boxy shape dragged itself down one of the aisles, between a pair of humans having a conversation, and toward James at the door. A shellaxy, obviously one of their tame ones since they were nowhere near the dungeon. But this one with a passenger on it. “Oh, hey Rufus!” James brightened up. “How’s it going?”
The shellaxy dragged its case over next to the woman, Rufus giving her a friendly pat on the leg with one of his own pen legs, before turning to James as his mount coiled its cables underneath itself and settled in. ‘Assorted Jelly Beans’ read the strip of masking tape on its side. Rufus peered up at James, and then pitched himself backward, crossing his front legs with a cock of his elongated stabler head.
“Oh no, I’m in trouble for something?” James guessed, and Rufus nodded. “Uh… am I… in the way?” He glanced at the woman. “Sorry, hi, I’m James. Nice to meet you. Am I still in the way?”
“I’m Mary Ann.” She replied, offering a hand to shake which James took, surprising him with a painfully tight squeeze. “You’re not in the way *anymore*.” She said. “But I have more people placing to do. Don’t loiter!” She said, wagging a finger at him as she turned and headed over to where a camraconda was sitting in the door with a similar look on its face to what James had when he’d first seen the Order’s full crowd. “My, you’re a colorful one! Let’s find you a seat!”
James let her words trail off as Mary Ann launched back into her duties as usher. “That’s Bill’s wife, right?” He asked, turning back to Rufus. The strider just narrowed his eye at James, shifting his legs to make it clear he was still cross with James. “Right, right. Um… Have we not hung out enough lately? Because I have an excuse for… no?” James raised his eyebrows. “Am I just *late*? Is that it?”
Rufus nodded, glad James was finally getting it.
“Okay, but like… it’s been half an hour! How did…!? Actually, nevermind. I’m sorry I’m late. Where should I be, here?”
“Oh, *you’re* not in charge of this meeting.” Reed told him, stepping over a camraconda and falling in next to James as they trailed behind Rufus the last couple rows of chairs up to the stage.
James sighed. “This is what I get for giving up authority.” He bemoaned. “Well, who is? Karen?”
“No, Planner.” Reed said. “Turns out, infomorphs can be in charge of things.”
“I…” James thought about it quickly. “I had not really considered that. That’s on me, really. Okay, neat!” He planted a hand on the edge of the raised stage platform and hopped up, ignoring Reed’s much more sensible path around to the short set of steps on the side. “I’m still not late though.” He added. “Also hey.” James greeted the people already on stage.
a guy from Response that James was almost certain was named Marcus, Texture-Of-Barkdust, and three empty seats, arrayed behind long tables that faced the audience. Reed slid into one of the chairs tapping at the tablet screen that was waiting for him on the table, leaving James standing awkwardly in the middle of the space.
“Alright.” James said. “Here’s how we’re going to do this.” He started pacing lightly, getting into the flow of talking to an audience. “I’m going to give an overview of the situation. Then, Nate’s got some supplemental information from our new guests. After that, we’re going to discuss what to do.” He looked at the crowd, meeting the eyes of everyone looking at him. “We’ve really reached the point where these kinds of decisions affect all of you, in some way. And so your input matters. Someone probably already told you this, but those of us on stage are all going to be trying to actively keep up on your input as it comes in. There are specific channels in the discussion server for each representative on this stage. If you have questions that aren’t being answered, thoughts you think matter, concerns, or even just your own take on things, put it there. If you don’t have a device for that, we’ll do a spoken Q&A twice during this discussion.” James took a deep breath. “We’re fumbling through remaking the democratic process here.” He said. “Right now, the people on stage are functionally acting as unelected representatives. But just because you didn’t vote for us doesn’t mean we aren’t here to listen to you, and take your advice. Especially on expert knowledge that you may just flat out know more than us on. The point is to reach consensus about what we should do, and outline how to do it, before we start assigning people to make it happen and cut loose. We won’t do something like this for every single issue, but we’re gonna try for the important ones. And this is an important one.”
“Thought from Response.” Marcus spoke into one of the pauses that James left in his briefing. “Are the replacement potions not self replicating?”
“No.” James said. “We originally thought they might be, but it’s been confirmed that is not the case. Just a weird cornercase; the kind that shows up a lot with dungeontech.”
“So no existential threat to humanity?”
“I mean… okay, quick show of hands or… tails? Who wants to come back here tomorrow and talk about the philosophy of species?” James called out to the crowd. “Like… like is it ‘bad’ if humanity is replaced by a different species? This used to mostly be a question about AI, but it’s kind of relevant to other things now.” More people than he was expecting raised their relevant appendages. “Alright. That’s a problem for tomorrow us. Right now, the answer is going to be a simple ‘no’.” He told Marcus.
“Works for me.” The dispatcher nodded. “Though I think it was meant as a *hostile* replacement? Like, a non-consensual one.”
“Oh, yeah. No.” James shook his head. “Anyway. That brings us up to the moment where I flipped off everyone left in the building and teleported out. Now Nate has some follow up information on the Nobels?”
“That’s already… kid, that’s a thing already. You can’t make this confusing for people.” Nate flatly replied before he turned back to the audience. Specifically, to the people taking notes. “The Alchemists have a short list of potions they actually sell, which will be on the server and copied to the ops manual, along with an incomplete list of experiments and non-sellers that Columbia remembers. But as for actual combat capacity and threat assessment, I’ve got this for you. In a straight up fight, we’ll win. The fact that a single camraconda stops their big defense, while they don’t have a good way around ours, means we can take ‘em. But they’ll take some of us with them. They’re *soldiers*. Or at least, defense contractors. Mercenaries. They aren’t bad at their jobs, either; the one James fought adapted real quick to the shield bracer. That easily could have gone the other way. So, I recommend *not* getting into a fair fight.”
“So.” James said, not really succeeding at suppressing a grin, and hearing a number of chuckles from the crowd. “That’s our tactical landscape. Now we need to decide what we’re going to do about it. Long term decisions about how to approach the existence of a changeling style life form can come later, and the short term defense of our people and homes until we know the situation is settled is already kicked off. What we’re talking about today is *what*, exactly, do we do about the Guild of Alchemists?” He paused, then gave a shrugging tilt of his head to the audience, stepped back to the seat at one of the tables that was left open for him, and settled in, clicking his microphone into the stand as he did so. “Let’s hear some options.”
“Okay. So, why are the Alchemists more our responsibility than, like, Nestle?” She asked. “I mean, they’re wizards, and we’re wizards, so maybe we’re uniquely suited to deal with them. And I *do* think we should do something about them; they’re kind of obviously a threat to at least someone, and the fact that they were brewing something to sell to the CIA to replace people is kinda fucked. I don’t think they should have power. But why them, and not, like, a corporation that uses child slave labor?”
“They’re small enough for us to deal with, and their limited arcane resources means their power base is easy to remove.” James answered coldly. “Also, magic, yeah. Reed, do you want to talk about the field effect?”
The head researcher startled in his chair, slamming his elbow into the table edge as he was called on. Once he was done hissing through his teeth, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Uh, yeah, so, the ‘field effect’ that James is talking about is the tendency for people to lose focus on paranormal effects or events. It seems to scale up the larger an organization the individual is a member of, like some kind of bureaucracy shield, but we haven’t done extensive testing on it yet. It’s part of why our anti-cancer lottery hasn’t gotten a lot of attention; we’re going through hospitals, and for some reason, probably… what, seventy percent?... of the people we deal with just don’t… internalize it? They understand what’s happened, the magic works on them, but they don’t change in any meaningful way to adapt to it. Which, yeah, does actually make the Order suited to these kinds of problems. Because we *don’t* seem to get hit with this.”
“Okay, so, the FDA is on the table then.” Marcus said, cheerfully ignoring how absolutely dire the camraconda had sounded there. “Other options include local police, FBI, or even just public pressure through whistleblowing and news outlets.”
Momo nodded. “Right. And because we don’t want them making more, now that they know that the potion does what they *thought* it did.”
“Correct.”
“Because we misjudged a thing that almost killed you, spent months spying on the Alchemists, then tried to spring a trap on them by telling them the potion did a thing that they didn’t think it did, but that they meant for it to do originally, then we waited while all the potion people came together, including one who *was* an Alchemist, thus leading the Alchemists right to them, putting all of them in danger, which is bad because they’re *not* trying to replace humanity, *don’t* want more potions made, and are innocents that we fucked up the lives of by blowing their cover, and now we need to stop the Alchemists from making potions that they want to sell to governments so they can make sleeper agents by killing people in sensitive positions in rival governments or organizations?”
There was a moment of quiet, and Momo taking a deep breath to replace what she’d just used.
“I mean, I vote yes.” Momo said quickly. “This sounds like a problem we created, which means it’s a problem we should solve.” She nodded twice to herself before adding. “Which means my *department* votes yes!” She seems excited about this prospect.
Reed glanced at her with narrowed eyes. “Your department is… three people? Anyway, Research already voted, we’re in.”
“Response, too.” Marcus added. “Though you can sort of safely treat us as being part of a command structure. You don’t need our votes to have our support.” He glanced into the audience. “At least, that’s what Harvey told me to say. I don’t know if that’s correct.”
“We do not think we should fight.” She said simply. “But other action is possible.”
“Okay.” James looked out at the assembled crowd. “Does *anyone* have a strong reason that we should do nothing?” He asked the assembled group.
“Okay. So, does the FDA thing not work? There’s no way the potions are legal for sale.” Marcus brought up again.
“It’s more that… okay, look, these guys have over a billion dollars in personal wealth, and probably more tied up in their Guild’s assets. They’re also only a dozen or so people, not a corporation with a major bottling factory.” Nate shrugged. “They can, and probably will, bribe their way out of legal trouble. Either just by paying off investigators, or by hiring a legal team that will drag it out so long that they’ll all be dead by the time it’s done.”
“Uh… what if we don’t use force?” Marcus asked, interjecting. “Sorry, I’m new to *this* whole thing. Maybe this is a stupid question. But what if we just… ask them to stop?” Everyone looked at him. Even Reed looked up from the constant input from his screen. The young man withered under the attention; somehow less comfortable to be talking to other members of the Order than he was answering emergency calls. “I just mean… isn’t that what you *do*? I’ve heard stories. Or, rumors, I guess?” Marcus asked James.
“In fairness,” Momo said, patting James on the shoulder, “you do keep using the power of friendship to solve problems.” Her words got a small laugh from a lot of the people seated around the stage.
“If we’re making contact, there’s a few options on the table, actually.“ Nate said, giving James a reprieve. “Just asking them to drop the matter might *work*, kind of for the same reason Barkdust brought up earlier. We’re an implicit threat, but it could be that neither of our groups *want* to fight. So we can find another solution. If we want to be the ones coming out on top, then yeah, we can try to absorb them into the Order somehow. Probably by buying them out.”
“A billion dollars.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said dryly.
“Okay, so, we’re looking at… what, just asking them to stop?” Reed paused. “That can’t be our best option, can it? They… killed people.” His voice wavered, got quiet even though it was still broadcast out to the room. “You can’t just kill people and not have some kind of punishment. Right? We could at least demand they give up the tree. Drain their bank accounts. Demilitarize them, or - yeah, Nate, I fucking know that’s the wrong word - just… something! Right?! Right?”
A rumbling of discontent passed through the room. Mostly from the newer human members who had joined them, though. James shook his head sadly at Reed as he answered. “It’s not about punishment.” He said. “I know… like, don’t get me wrong, I *get it*. I’m *mad*. They tried to blow me up, at least twice today. And striking back would probably feel good, right up until we counted our losses. But it doesn’t actually matter how it feels. What matters is getting results. We were literally talking about this a couple weeks ago; punishment doesn’t stop ‘crime’, right? And we actually want the Alchemists to stop what they’re doing, not just stop while we’re watching or until they can hide it better.”
“I don’t know!” He threw his hands up. “I’m using humor to keep from just swearing a lot at how this stupid rabbit hole of problems keeps getting deeper!” James stood again and started pacing up at the front of the stage. “Okay, we’re not going to hammer out any more details here today. But now you’re all on the same page we are. If anyone has any further thoughts, there will be a monitored discussion space for it.” He looked around at the crowd, nodding proudly without thinking about it. “I like this method.” James said. “We’ll refine this. As for the Alchemists, assignments. Nate, Momo, get me more information on the motive behind the potions.”
James rolled his eyes and turned back. “Texture-Of-Barkdust, please get a Recovery agent set up with the survivors. Make sure they get what they need. And for you,” He turned to face the three potion people who had stayed by the stage, listening the whole time, “we’ll talk after you’re settled in about the future. But this is as close as we’ll get to a formal introduction to the Order. Welcome. Wish it could have been better circumstances.” He sighed as the potions silently inclined their heads back at him. “Okay. So. We’re going with ‘diplomacy’ as our option. Response and Recovery, please pick someone suitable to be our emissary, and also Response arrange for a security team for it and when this goes horribly wrong.”
“You know Harvey’s gonna try to pick you, right?” Marcus asked.
“I have arranged help.” Texture-Of-Barkdust cut off whatever complaint James was going to make. “...What now?”
“Now?” James clapped once. “Now we put all the chairs back, let people get back to what they were doing, and I go back to pretending I’m not in a leadership position.” He grinned at the Order, a lot of them grinning back. “Thanks for coming. Get back to solving problems.” He made a shooing motion at them.
Reed stared at him, face contorting in internal conflict as he tried to figure out if he was angry, or just depressed by all this. Eventually, he sighed and turned away. “We’ve got a portable room done with the orange totems.” He settled on. “We’d like a few more, but you can safely use one to copy bulk mundane material now. Also I’ve got a design for a space elevator that should work, and we can put together in, like, a month. Let me know when you have some of the sap for me to start testing with.”
“How do you…”
“James.” Reed said quietly. “I’ve met people like this. I’ve met a *lot* of people like this. I grew up around people like this.” He turned, and James could see beads of tears in the corners of his eyes just past the rims of his glasses. “You’re gonna ask them to change, and all they’re going to see is someone weaker than them begging for them to give up what they’ve got. They won’t change. They’ll laugh at you. Even if you take everything they have, they won’t get it. They’ve spent *so fucking long* like this, they don’t… you could lock them in this building and force them to live like us, and it still might take years for them to actually fix their shitty attitudes. If they ever do.”
“Maybe that’s what we’ll do then.” James said quietly, pulling himself forward to meet Reed’s eyes. “I’ll put it on the list. But it’s going before gunfire, and after words.”
185 Morgan = 17 + james = I’m barely in my thirties
“Two things.” James held up his fingers. “First off, you are… seventeen? You are a kid. I know this because I’m barely in my thirties, and I still have some perspective on being your age. Don’t take it the wrong way or anything, it doesn’t invalidate you or something stupid like that. But if it bothers you, I’ll stop using the term.” James shrugged. He didn’t want to actually be an asshole, and if someone didn’t like being talked to a certain way, changing that was kind of the easiest ask. “Uh… oh, there was a two. Two! I’ve worked food service, and wish I’d thought of masks sooner. This whole *thing* has really made me hyper-aware of how much I breathe when I’m making food.”
Morgan looked down at the peppers he’d laid out on the cutting board, and then back up at James. “Uh…”
185 may -> potion person -> neck snapped -> dead!?!??! + Kando -> potion person -> shot full of holes plus shot in spine area?!?! -> dead?!?!?
“No.” The dog said in a monotone voice. “Everything has gone so wrong. We are not okay.”
“We have been talking.” The unkempt girl said. “We are afraid.”
“The Alchemists have the stolen samples. They have Kando and May. They know everything.” Columbia said, the older man using the same empty voice, face unmoving as he spoke. None of the potions were pretending to be anything at this point, all of them looking toward a shared point in the middle of the room and using the same hollow tone. “You want to help, but you can’t.”
James leaned back against the wall by the door, letting the metal slab of a door hang open so the place didn’t feel completely claustrophobic to him with seven people crammed into a small bedroom. “Yeah.” He uttered. “Though we did recover the potions May had. I swear that came up, but I guess not. So the Alchemists don’t have that. Also, May and Kando are dead, though I assume there’s some nefarious-“
“They are not.” The dog said. “Perhaps.”
“Wat.” James let the word slip out with suitable surprise, tensing up. “Are you serious?”
The potions all gave the same nod at the same time. “We can sustain a tremendous amount of damage to the victim’s body. Healing takes time, but is possible.”
James rubbed at his forehead. “We literally just had a meeting about our available actions, predicated on the assumption that there *was no emergency* happening. And now you’re telling me that they have prisoners?”
“Your people are committed to nonviolence.” The potions almost sounded surprised.
“Not if they’re keeping hostages!” James barked out, throwing one hand into the air. “God dammit! This changes our approach dramatically!” He sighed. “Okay, before I go talk to people about this, are you sure? Kando had a lot of holes in him, and May got her neck snapped.”
“Then May has perished.” One of the potions said with a warble to their otherwise dull voice. “Kando… maybe.”
“He got shot in the neck, if that changes things.” James felt like a butcher, discussing the injuries in this way. It wasn’t pleasant. Internally reviewing what he remembered from Alex’s point of view through their link, he added, “They shot him while he was down. Hit him there on purpose, I think.”
Columbia shook his head. “Then it is likely he is also gone.” The replaced person said, and the group… twitched. James was trying to get better at reading them, but it had been a long day. Still, it seemed like they were genuinely upset at the news. “We…” he looked to the other potions, and they exchanged a few short words, mostly yesses and nos in a way that sounded an awful lot like voting, before turning back to James, “...we are not an effect. We are physical things. Here.” He tapped the back of his neck, a couple inches below where most Order members had their skulljack port. “They were targeted then.”
“So the Alchemists… know?” James rubbed at his head. “They used attacks that would kill *you*, specifically. I mean, and anyone. Getting shot in the spinal cord kills most things. So far.” He felt his train of thought getting away from him and tried to pull it back. “Okay. Okay, this is more information to add to the web. Thanks for telling me.” He looked around at them. “We’re not… look, don’t worry about sharing that information, okay? We’re seriously not going to hurt you.”
“Any more than you already have?” The dog asked.
The comment stung, but it wasn’t unfair. In a way, this *was* James’ fault. He’d led the Alchemists to their victims, he’d been the one who’d pushed on the investigation.
But just because he had a hand in it didn’t make it his finger on the trigger. He was part of the chain of events, yes, but his part had been trying to answer the question of ‘is every living thing on the planet in danger’, and a little antagonism. *Not* murder.
But what he said was, “No more than that, no.” And it wasn’t technically a lie. “Okay. I should go update the board. Is there anything you all need? Snacks, bedding, wifi password, anything we can do for you?”
“No.” Two or three of them said at once. Like they’d reached a consensus earlier and were all prepared to let James know.
They weren’t human, and weren’t pretending to be here. That was fine, really, that was what James wanted. Even just among humans, people didn’t process emotion the same way. But at least with humans, James had personal experience - and several hundred years worth of recorded psychological research - to draw on.
185 may + Kando + rescure team if alive = james
“Yeah.” JP waved him off. “Oh, do you want a place on the retrieval force?”
“The what?”
“If either of the potions are alive, we’ll need to rescue them. Do you… you know…?”
It was a testament to how much James’ thoughts were scattered that it took him a minute to process that. “Oh. Uh! Yeah. Yes? Yes, sure. Shit, we’re going to need to move faster, if…”
“You let us worry about that.” JP said bluntly. “That’s how this works. You… man, you trusted me, and maybe you shouldn’t have. So this time, trust me, and I’ll put you where you need to be, okay?”
James grinned, and held out a fist. JP muttered something probably rude and looked away, but still returned the gesture, bumping his knuckles against James’ own. “Alright. I’m gonna go see what weird shit Research is up to.”
185 camaraconda = names ((new names? from story?)) = Texture-Of-Barkdust, Scent-Of-Rain, Warmth-Of-Sunshine + Elder of camaraconda -> choosing a name for himself
James wobbled a hand. “Not exactly? A lot of you guys have names that are about… like, sensations? Qualia? I’ve noticed a lot of the first wave of names just came from things that you were all experiencing for the first time, you know?” He ticked off names on his fingers. “Texture-Of-Barkdust, Scent-Of-Rain, Warmth-Of-Sunshine, a whole lot of names, really.”
James nodded with pursed lips, hiding a smile. “I kinda thought so, but I didn’t want to be rude. Also, you know you don’t need the three-hyphenated-words kind of name, right? You can be… I mean, you can be anyone. Everyone here will support you. The camracondas already all look up to you. You don’t need to follow their pattern.”
“It feels important.” The elder’s mechanical voice said. “As how we define ourselves. As part of our… our… shared selves?” They shrank down a bit, curling around their book as they lay their head down. “I do not know if that is good or not.”
“I get that.” James nodded. “You have a culture. Especially the survivors of the tower, but every camraconda in this building survived Officium Mundi. This has been worrying me for a bit,” he inched his chair around his desk and spun to face the elder, “are we, like, ‘we the Order’ taking away your species individuality?” James sighed. “I worry, a *lot*, that in trying to incorporate you into our society, even on the small scale that the Order is, we’re just asking you to act human. Even having names at all is a human affectation that I worry about pushing on ya’ll.”
The elder camraconda hissed bitterly. When he spoke, his digital voice betrayed none of that hurt, but the words were still dire. “We understood names all along.” He said. “It was our choice to not have them. Because we were going to die. Because it hurt to remember the names of the lost. You gave us an opportunity to have names. Didn’t pressure us at all.”
“Oooookay.” James was still concerned. “But it’s still not good for us to convert all of you to our culture.”
“Why?” The elder asked. “Isn’t that what you are trying to do to your own species?”
185 EL + EL infomorph = Speaker + speaker looks like ava -> infomorph -> hidden ((errr secert!?!??!)) + INFOMORPH SHAPES + AUTHORTIY SHAPES = (reveal hidden = kill hidden)
James was in the middle of typing a question about talking in dreams when there was a knock at his door. He glanced up, about to let whoever it was know they were welcome in, when El just sauntered into the room anyway.
Well, maybe not sauntered. She looked a little too pained to really call it a saunter. James amended it to that she ducked into his office.
Around her left shoulder, somewhat curled around the joint and extending into the air next to her head, something that glowed indigo and looked like a terrifying fish with too many painted on mouths floated.
“Yo.” He greeted her, nodding in time with the camraconda. “Nice fish. What’s up?”
“That’s Speaker.” El said by way of blunt force introduction, waving a hand up at the infomorph. “And she’s what’s up. I’ve got an issue.”
“Is it that you don’t like the fractal layering of fins and mouths Speaker has going on? Also hi Speaker! I’m James, nice to meet you out here in the world.” His eyes sparkled as he gave the infomorph a friendly smile.
The fish darted behind El’s hair in a flicker of ghostly indigo light, one small eye-studded fin peeking out. “Hello.” A tiny voice whispered.
El rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to be shy, kid.” She said reassuringly before turning on James. “Anyway. Yeah, so, first off, Speaker is cute as hell, don’t make fun of my precious fish friend. She’s only got one mouth, and she’s got exactly as many fins as she needs.”
“Several thousand?” James asked, a warm feeling in his chest seeing El go to bat for her hosted infomorph, even if it was mild ire turned on him personally.
“*Exactly as many*.” She restated with a glower. “But that’s also kinda… okay, so, Daniel’s got Path, right?”
“Yes, they’re adorable.” James nodded.
“And she’s a different kind of ghost, right?” El prompted.
James turned his computer away so he could face her fully. “Infomorph, yeah. They aren’t *dead* and they weren’t bestowed by the Traveller so they aren’t ghosts.” He stretched out his arms. “Look, what’s up? You don’t need to Socratic Method me.”
“Whatever, dude.” El huffed. “Why does Speaky look like Hidden?”
James paused. “What?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.
“The map ghosts look like… shut the fuck up James… the *cartomorphs* look kinda human. The authorities look like… I dunno, shirts? Unless they’re active, then they’re kinda fluid. The shitty word eaters from the Sewer are just cockroaches but invisible, which, gross.”
“Absolutely agree that is gross, yes.” James said with an empathic nod.
El lost a tiny bit of her edge. “Right?! I hate those!” She continued to her point. “But *Planner* looks like some kind of octopus thing, when they even manifest at all-“
“Is Planner an octopus thing? I’ve only ever seen a lot of hands from them, which is *also* an Office infomorph thing.”
“-And Speaker looks like a fish.”
“And Hidden also looks like a sea creature…” James finished quietly, dropping his snarky attitude.
“Yeah. So, why the hell?”
He thought for a second. Brushed up against the memory of a conversation he’d had in a dream, with the Right Person. Slammed his eyes shut in a wince as his head throbbed, before recovering and looking up at El. “There’s a few options.” He said. “We know the Office and the Route ‘know each other’, so it’s possible there’s some cross pollination going on. Or, it’s possible that there’s just different taxonomies of infomorph. Technically, we don’t know where Hidden came from at all.” He met her eyes, and sighed. “But that’s probably not true.” He said. “I think… I *know*... Hidden is what’s left of… something else. I think I could figure out how it ended up in your hometown. But I also am absolutely sure that doing so would kill Hidden.”
El’s eyes widened a fraction, her hand tightened on the back of the chair she was leaning over, before she forced herself to relax. “Oh.” She said. “Does it… matter?”
“Which part?” James asked. “Like, do. I think it’s a sinister plot?”
“Yeah. Or, *should* I know? Speaky’s been helping me with memory stuff the last week or so. I absolutely remember making art that looked like Officium infomorphs before.”
James nodded. “I think we should all know. But we can’t. It’s not sinister, it’s just a tragedy. We can know we lost someone, but we can’t push any harder.”
El stared for a bit, then pulled the chair out and dropped into it. “Well that fucking sucks!” She said.
185 james -> unknown informorph blocking him from saying things + EL finds out she lost friends and do not remember
The thought struck him like a truck. El had probably lost friends. And James had never told her. What the hell? Why had he never made time to just let her know? To help her put herself back together? He *knew*, from how he’d been having lost Sarah, just how much that could destroy a person. Why hadn’t he said something?
He opened his mouth to speak.
Only he didn’t. There was a disconnect in his attempt to say something and his actions. He was looking at his computer screen again, almost being dismissive of El. James pushed the screen aside, and looked up again. Opened his mouth.
Blinked, and said nothing.
Tried.
Failed.
“You’re acting fuckin’ weird today.” El said. She was sitting across the desk doing something on her phone, apparently having taken his distracted mindset as an end to the conversation. He checked the clock on his screen, and internally scowled at the part of him that didn’t actually know what time it was supposed to be.
“Probably.” James said. “I can’t say why, though.”
It was a little sad that he’d gotten good at the technicality-laced skill of slipping stuff past memory or language blockers.
El narrowed her eyes, tipping her phone down to stare at him. Then she rolled her shoulder, jostling the ghostly fish projection still trying to hide in her hair. “Speaky.” She whispered. “Am I an idiot, or…?”
“I can hear it.” The infomorph’s voice was a tiny, distant sound. Like it was calling from a hundred miles away. But James’ heart leapt all the same. “Help me?”
“Yeah.” El threw her phone on the desk and half-stood, leaning over James’ computer to try to grab him. “Hey. You’ve got a thing in your head. Hold still, we’re gonna…”
He knew what they were gonna, of course. James was pretty familiar with infomorphic surgery, which was another sentence that he liked a lot and filed away to use in the future.
James froze halfway to the floor, and El lunged for him before the parasite in his head could do anything worse. There was a flutter of fins like seraphim wings, and a rippling sensation across James’ thoughts. He blinked, and lost a chunk of time.
“I’m fine.” He said, waving off the attempts to help. “I just… holy shit, how long has that been there?”
“No idea! A while, though. It was buried, until you tried to say something.” El relayed information from her young infomorph companion. “Some kinda name eater, I guess?”
James closed his eyes, relief rapidly being replaced by dread again. “Not names.” He muttered. “Just… a concept. We were talking about lost friends.” He gave his core a workout, swinging his arms and pulling himself up to a sitting position next to El. James looked down at her lightly scarred face, framed by blonde and neon red hair with a fish fading away into it. “You had friends, once.” He said. “You must have. And I wish I’d told you sooner. The math didn’t line up, on the Velocity, waaaaaay back when you were showing Anesh and I your hometown dungeon. You… El, you must have lost people. And… and…” He trailed off, looking away out the bottom of his window as the sunset gave way to dusk and glittering skyscraper lights. And. And he didn’t know what to say. Just that he had to say something.
“Yeah, I know.” El’s quiet voice broke his racing train of thought.
“What?” James said. “You… oh. You said Speaker was helping you with your memories, is this…?” He felt a small bit of hope.
El burst out laughing. A laugh that went on a little too long, and ended with a few sobs mixed in. “I… I just… I am, you know? I’m happy enough. I freaked out and left the first time, but ended up here again like it’s fucking fate, and I’m happy now. This fucking place is a family. And also my mom is here, so that’s literally true. And it’s great! And it’s great and I’m here because my friends are dead, and I don’t even know…”
She’d curled up, moving up to a seated position, knees pulled up to her chest. Which was convenient, because it made it easy for James to shuffle himself up next to her, and wrap an arm around El’s shoulders. As he did so, the camraconda elder slithered around behind her, dragging his tail around her back as he pressed against El’s side. Even the small faded projected form of Speaker slid out of El’s hair, long form and a hundred fins hugging the side of her neck.
They sat like that for a while, as El loosened her cynical grip on the emotion she’d been trying to hold back.
Which is how they were still sitting when there was yet another knock on James’ door.
“Huh, they were right, you’re actually in your office.” Nate said, leaning in. “Do you… uh… am I interrupting something?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes.” James said, while at the same time, El answered with “Nah.” She sniffed and wiped at her nose with her sleeve, adding, “I’m good, it’s okay.” In a small voice.
185 james in his dream + how to stay in a dream + feather person next to james in dream -> scarcrow -> road for the cartomorph + endless road was already in james ((((assuming secert road path))))
The road wasn’t like the twisting highway of Route Horizon. Instead, it was simple black asphalt, maybe one and a half pickup trucks wide. It baked under a dark sun, as dry grass stabbed through numerous cracks in it seeking the face of the sky. A roughly splintered, and occasionally broken, wooden fence ran the length of the right side, separating the road from the eternal field of swishing grass in that direction.
James was walking.
One foot down, then the other.
But it was as he became aware of the dreamstate he was in, that he clued in to the fact that he was not walking alone. Something was next to him, something shaped like an open sky and a watchful guide. They had a lot of feathers.
James had gotten really, really good, at keeping himself half dreaming in these places, and not just because of the dungeon skill orb he’d picked up a lifetime and a half ago. And unfortunately, one of the tricks was to engage in sincerity, and not let sarcasm or cynicism creep in. So he refrained from actually thinking too hard on the thought of “Man come on, it has been a *long* day.”
James stopped walking when he realized his companion had. Turned back to see what was going on, and saw the sky-thing staring out into one of the fields. He followed the nonlinear gaze to what it was looking at, and spotted a scarecrow. Just a simple assembly of sticks and straw, but wearing a black leather coat, identical to the one James had tied around his waist, and that he’d used to cherish in waking life.
“What’s that?” He asked.
“I don’t know.” The cartomorph said, voice a series of flutes and chimes, filled with wonder.
“It’s your road.” James reminded it.
The guide shook itself, shook the head that it had poorly masked itself behind. “I awoke here. This was already yours.”
“Huh.” James leaned on the fence next to his mind’s new inhabitant, and looked out at the scarecrow. “Well, good morning.”
“I want to see the end of the road.” The navigator said, one dream forever later.
He grinned. “I dunno if there’s anything at the end.” James said.
“Exactly.” The living map shifted the sky in a matching smile.
186 way to many order members + Utah - > strip-mall -> meeting place for alchemist guild + ‘Richard Daniels, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Bishop’ + ‘Michael Holt, Rainy Day Insurance, Insurance Agent’ + “Violence” Melody, Harlan’s Wolfpack, Enforcer’ (female)( chemical plant dungeon person) + ‘Jim Reese, Central Intelligence Agency, Field Support’(male)(middle aged) + ‘Cathy Balker, Central Intelligence Agency, Nobody’(female)(middle aged) + 3 teenagers(all male) -> Moth Hill High School + ‘Maximilian Hart, Alchemist’s Guild, Alchemist’, ‘Joey Kim, Alchemist’s Guild, Nobel’ + 4 ‘Utah Patriots’ ->1 is a driver for a shipping company, 1 is a teacher at a middle school + 12 police -> Different city markings + helicopter + telepads -> blocked by a wall of fire and no teleport happened + 1 of 3 teangers -> Moth Hill high school -> a grey radiation the same color as what had cratered their telepad attempt seeping out into the ground
186 Sarah Moyle ((((finah figured out who Moyle was and it was not momo)))))
Unless, of course, you were here to meet someone in a public place, for the purpose of opening a diplomatic channel.
This strip mall was one big circle with shops on both sides, which was a great way to make traffic in the central parking lot a living hell. One side faced outward with your usual massive grocery store, flanked by an omnipresent Starbucks, a couple small restaurants, a place that sold lawn ornaments, and a half dozen other small businesses doomed to failure. On the other side of the parking lot was another row of mostly restaurants with a few business offices mixed in; great for if you wanted lunch and to get your taxes done, or file an insurance claim while you waited for your pizza. That space had a little courtyard in the center of it, with a tall clocktower and a scattering of old wrought iron tables, before you would come out the other side to the other half, dominated by a movie theater.
Two days ago, a small group of Order knights had started putting together a plan. Method of contact, team roster, contingencies, escape routes. Two plans, both as simple as they could make them; one for nonviolent contact and resolution, one as a fallback for failure.
“Karen and Alanna should be the only ones to make contact.” Nate said. “Specifically Karen. Alanna, you’re the muscle; listen, keep alert, be eyes and ears for everyone in the link, but don’t talk to them. Let them think you’re stupid.” Nate’s orders were dry and clinical, a mechanical process, the definition of ‘nothing personal’. “Team one,” he turned to Sarah and James, one of the two of them - the one who wasn’t James - saluting him energetically. “You’ll be going in a half hour ahead of time. Get lunch. Settle in. You’re on a date, and you’re not important. Fade away, don’t engage unless explicitly told to. Use the glasses, people watch, check out *everyone*, got it?”
“Lunch, spy things, pretend I’m fawning over James. Got it!” Sarah snapped her fingers, leaning over to drape herself across James’ shoulders.
“Hey…!” James started to protest, then just paused, and let the sentiment die. “Yeah, sure.” He said with a chuckle. “Petition to change our name to Team Romance?”
“Absolutely not.” Nate turned away to look at the larger chunk of nine people sitting around in more obviously dangerous gear. “Team two, you all have your squad positions. Rooftops and skies, stay in pairs, your job is to look for anything obvious coming at us, and to call it out. Again, don’t engage unless ordered. Stay out of sight if you can. Dave, keep Pen as high as she can go, got it?”
Nods and reliable looks. Team two was the only mixed team, camracondas and humans and one dragon. They were backup. In case things went wrong, they were the ones who would come in shooting.
“Team three, on site within half a mile of the Alchemist’s home base.” Nate said, repeating what they already knew. Team three was actually just a response team, *mostly* made up of people who had, and still were, Nate’s prep cooks in the kitchen. “Do literal nothing unless we verify hostages.”
Ann nodded, cracking her knuckles. “Got it boss.” She said.
Next to her, Knife-In-Fangs made a mechanical hiss. “Understood.”
“Last up, team four stays here.” Nate nodded once at Anesh and Reed and a few other Research members. “In the event that any one part of this goes to hell, you’re here to cover our exit. Don’t…”
Reed cut him off. “Don’t do anything unless ordered?” He asked cheekily. Which mostly got Nate to just glare at him, until he relented. “We won’t do anything until ordered.” He quietly said, sinking down in his chair.
“Good.” Nate snapped. “Teams two and three leave in an hour, team one hour thirty. The meeting is in two hours. Any questions?” There were none. “Everyone double check everything you can. We’ll deploy out of the briefing room. See you then.”
While Sarah said something out loud that James didn’t process but was probably more relaxed than he would be, he looked past her and focused on the other person with the Office procured glasses he was wearing. The floating note of ‘Sarah Moyle, Order of Endless Rooms, Knight’ blinked out as he looked over her shoulder, trying to focus just enough to get the glasses to trigger but not enough to draw the other person’s attention.
‘Richard Daniels, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Bishop’ was what he got from the man walking past rapidly with his head down carrying a nondescript tote bag.
Sarah shrugged. “I mean, I get why. But we’ve still got half an hour or so, and this place is just flat out empty. So I’m gonna enjoy my date! It’s been actual years since I’ve had an actual date, and I love everyone in the Order but it’s not the same.”
“Shit, you know, we didn’t talk about this much. I feel bad for not asking; were you in a relationship before…?” James made a kind of circular gesture with his hands, struggling to convey ‘dungeon kidnapping’ with interpretive dance.
Sarah stuck her tongue out and made a dismissive noise. “Nah. Uh… I actually…” Her cheeks had a hint of red creep in, which got raised eyebrows from James. Sarah was kind of the least embarrassed person he knew, in general. “I’d been going to ask Alanna out.” She said. “Just, you know, see how that went.”
James glanced away, not wanting her to see his grin, instead watching someone ordering their own lunch through the windows of a nearby food place. ‘Michael Holt, Rainy Day Insurance, Insurance Agent’. James shook his head at the man’s misfortune and looked back at Sarah. “You know you’re absolutely still allowed to do that, right?” He said.
His grin vanished as his glasses supplied him with a name and title. ‘“Violence” Melody, Harlan’s Wolfpack, Enforcer’.
James slapped the smile back onto his face with enforced emotion as he turned back to Sarah. Opening up his link to the rest of the group, James sent out an alert. “Hey. We’ve got someone here from that group that Nate ran into that took the chemical plant dungeon a few months back.” He relayed the woman’s name and a memory file of her appearance as he’d seen her before his brain mixed it up too much. “Do we call this off?”
“Hold on.” Nate’s dry, professional message came back.
The words had him grinning despite his worries, and he kept that smile on his face as a smartly dressed middle aged couple walked past and into the insurance office just down one of the outdoor paths out of the courtyard.
‘Jim Reese, Central Intelligence Agency, Field Support’ and ‘Cathy Balker, Central Intelligence Agency, Nobody’ came back to him through the glasses.
Nate cut him off, which was impressive when they could send skulljack messages roughly as fast as they decided to. “Team two reports the Alchemists arriving. This is turning into a mess, but we can still come out of this with something of value. Your call if we leave.”
Out of the corner of his eye, James watched a trio of teenagers with thin coats and thick backpacks go by, laden down with plastic takeout bags. The glasses identified them as students at a Moth Hill High School. He shook his head as he nostalgically fabricated memories of a time when he, too, would have snuck off his closed campus to buy lunch, though he stopped as soon as the group of students split around a pair of men entering the courtyard. The kids sat thirty feet away, loudly chatting about which teachers they hated, while the men stopped, standing underneath the clock tower.
The older one, grey hair and a charcoal suit jacket, pulled an honest to god gold pocket watch out of his jacket pocket and checked the time. Two steps behind him, his companion who was both younger and taller than him, sporting a hooked nose and a resume of scars on his face, slowly scanned around the pavilion, eyes narrowing as he glared at the students that paid them no mind. Big bodyguard energy, there.
“They’re here.” Sarah sent through the link.
‘Maximilian Hart, Alchemist’s Guild, Alchemist’, ‘Joey Kim, Alchemist’s Guild, Nobel’
“Hey. Normal date stuff.” Sarah muttered, reaching over and grabbing James’ hand in her own, making a sappy face at him. Over the link she added “The Nobel just said neither of their watchers are snipers, and he wasn’t talking about us.”
“Noted. Team two groups, begin rotating to secondary positions. Watch for reaction.” Nate commanded. “Let’s not keep them waiting. Envoy arriving… now.”
From a nearby rooftop, a message came in from Ethan, watching the more open space around the courtyard. “Hey guys? Four dudes with guns just got out of a camo pattern truck and are standing around. Magic glasses say they’re ‘Utah Patriots’”
“Two of them are. One is a driver for a shipping company, one is a teacher at a middle school. They’re all in camo though.” Simon corrected his squad mate. “Nate?”
“Newly formed far right militia. They don’t like being called a militia. No one gives a fuck. What guns?” There was a pause as Nate, new to skulljack operations, linked into Ethan and Simon’s feeds. “M15s. Shields to 5.56 when they start shooting.”
“When?” James tensed up, sending and saying the word out loud at the same time.
“Yeah, when. These guys are gonna be loud, stupid, and you’re going to piss them off. Karen, report.”
Across the courtyard, Karen cut herself off mid sentence, another comically effective power play, and raised a hand. “Excuse me.” She said politely, turning her head slightly to communicate with the group. “They are open to negotiations. I am unsure if they have captives, but I would estimate no. Euphrates doesn’t seem to know why they began their infiltration experiments either, and if nothing else, we may be able to turn him personally. In fact, I am not sure if he represents their entire organization, or just a splinter faction. He is nervous.”
“Good. Keep talking. You’ve got five minutes to wrap this up.”
“Understood.” Karen turned back. “My apologies for the interruption. Let’s discuss lines of communication…”
Then Dave deployed more bad news. “Yo. Police cars are all headed your way.”
“All?” Three people on the link asked at once.
“Everyone shut up.” Nate ordered. And then added, “Dave. All?”
“Yeah, like, we can see eight of them. Nine. Shit, twelve. Different city markings, too. They’re from all over. All headed… uh…!” Dave’s link messages were a lot more in the moment expressive than most people’s. A second later, he elaborated as to why he dropped off. “Helicopter! Came out of nowhere. Almost hit us. Pen’s fine. Cloak is still up.”
“Oh yeah.” She sighed, moving to stand up. “Thought you’d never… uh oh.” Sarah froze, one hand still pushing herself up the table. James followed her wide eyed line of sight to where another woman had just entered the courtyard. Her long grey hair, braided with what looked like small knives tied into the ends, dropping like gravity had only just caught up with it.
She grinned as she stood up from her arrival point. Where she’d fallen from the sky. The woman - *old*, James realized, skin stretched over bones and a birdlike face - brushed off the patchwork coat she was wearing
The glasses said *nothing* about her.
“Euphrates!” The woman cried in a voice that sounded like an enthusiastic grandmother greeting her favorite child, the kind of voice that didn’t overwhelm with volume, but that everyone always heard clearly. “Time to die!”
“Alanna. Get Karen out now. This is *not* our problem.” James said, trying to keep calm. “Nate, we need…” He paused. The connection was down to Nate, half of team two, and everyone else. “Sarah?”
“Reading.” She sent back. “Let’s run like hell.”
“Good call.” James stood and turned, mildly alarmed that the Wolfpack girl had vanished, and found himself facing down a cobblestone path out of this mess that was currently occupied by four angry looking men with angrier looking guns.
“Alchemist!” The foremost, and largest, one yelled. “You fucking gypped us and we’re here to collect!”
“Mister Moyer.” A soft, deadly dark voice of a man said suddenly as one of the CIA agents stepped out of the cover of a doorway, pistol leveled at the militia. “I have some questions you are uniquely situated to answer.”
“Absolutely fuck this.” James said out loud, pulling out his telepad. Across the courtyard, Alanna slapped a hand on Karen’s shoulder and did the same. They tore their pages at the same time.
Vanished.
James had a brief vision of a wall of burning grey flames. Solid, smooth, and entirely uninterested in offering him passage. The light and fire didn’t hurt, but it did *deny*. The vision lasted only a brief moment, barely enough to even be sure it was real, before he smashed back into reality.
Sarah reappeared next to him. Across the courtyard, Alanna and Karen reappeared as well, only a tiny wisp of pale grey fire following them back.
“Get me out of here!” The Alchemist was screaming at his bodyguard, the Nobel already moving to screen against the number of people who had apparently decided *now* was the time to take a run at his employer, two more of the mercenaries visible rushing toward them on one of the nearby flat commercial rooftops.
“No one’s going anywhere. We’ve got questions too.” James heard a young woman’s voice say, cracking with nervous panic as she yelled. Looking past the clocktower, over to an outdoor table between a chocolatiers and a tiny art supply store, he saw the young students; one of the boys standing behind the other two, arms outstretched, a grey radiation the same color as what had cratered their telepad attempt seeping out into the ground. The other two held swords and bucklers, and James instantly gave up on trying to figure out how dangerous the weapons were at a glance. With high school students these days, they could be anything from theater props, to cheap crap they bought online, to actual ancestral magic blades pulled out of some underground vault. That last one seemed likely, given how his day was going.
“I feel perhaps that I have chosen a poor time…” The old woman joked with a razor sharp grin on her kind face. Her words were mostly eaten up as the yelling began and people did what people did best.
The sudden noise of sirens cut in, and James whipped his head around to see a thin membrane of grey peel back, like the parking lot was separated from them by an unnoticed wall. Whatever the thing the kid was doing to keep them from teleporting, it didn’t seem to stop people coming *in*, and the noise of a half dozen different police and sheriff cars pulling up horizontal to the curb was enough to get some attention.
Then, just as Sarah was ducking behind a brick column and Alanna was slyly handing Karen a backup shield bracer where they were crouched behind a row of bushes, James saw the *other* CIA agent raise her gun and shoot her partner in the back from through the window of the insurance office.
187 (((((continue with last notes))))) police -> shooting at everyone + two or three new Nobels + female CIA agent = twins and fighting each other?!?!? ((((confused)))) + helicopter = civilian model -> lots of people landing out of it + police -> still moving with jerky, robotic movements + alchemist (dinner james talked to about a month back) + 2 more nobels + Euphrates (died by Harlan) + Harlan (old lady / grandma / lady with swords in hair) + law ((something controling cops it would seem))
“They’re shooting at us!” Sarah yelled alongside the low whump of a grenade launcher and a can of tear gas crashing through a window, a manic laugh in her voice as she processed that fact amid the screams from the handful of employees and diners in the restaurants around them who were starting to realize there were bullets in the air. And that the police were, in fact, shooting at *everyone*.
The woman who reminded him of his grandma was dueling the Nobel mercenary, and it wasn’t even a close contest. In the brief exchange, the man tried to pull back and bring his machine pistol up, but the woman just flickered forward like a dancer that could warp space and slapped the gun out of his hand. The Nobel might have been waiting for this, judging by the two other guns scattered across the courtyard that had already had this treatment, and as the woman curled her fingers into a claw that scythed through ghostly flesh without touching it, the Nobel’s arm began to glow a bright cherry red.
He lunged. She feinted. And then, the instant before the arm detonated, the woman had a blade in her hand. All of a sudden, a wash of warm kindness came over James, and it seemed to stagger everyone else around the courtyard too.
Then the woman cut the Nobel’s arm off, right where the explosive potion-induced tumor was forming. Yanked dripping red flesh and corroding bone away, and flung the limb over her shoulder.
One of the militia caught it. And died screaming a second later when it blew up and immolated him, catching one of his buddies in the side.
One of the militia broke instantly, throwing his gun down and running back the way they came. Their leader, the big guy, was yelling some kind of command and firing back wildly, while the other one actually bothered to aim his overly decked out rifle and started putting bullets into the old woman.
Every shot that should have hit her, instead, one of the tiny knife charms woven into her hair shattered.
“Stop that!” She admonished, a rush of kindness and compassion coming with her words, and the shooters froze.
Then she turned back, blade missing, and punched the Nobel that was still clutching the stump of his arm in the head hard enough to crumple him sideways.
“No running away now!” The smiling woman said kindly, moving up toward the door. “Face death with some dignity, Euphrates.”
“Y-you can’t kill him!” A young man’s voice challenged the woman. James tilted his head a fraction of an inch, and there, between the woman and Euphrates, was one of the students. He was bleeding from a gash on his head, wobbling, and entirely unprepared. But he was standing over the Alchemist with his sword in a white knuckled grip. “W-we need… he has to answer to us.” The kid challenged.
The woman raised an eyebrow. Glanced down at the sword. Then she reached out almost fondly, grabbed it by the blade, and plucked it out of the kid’s grip.
“Not bad.” She admitted with a nod, looking at the blade. “Made it yourself? Not bad at all, kiddo. You’ll go far, if you smarten up.” Then she balled her wrinkled, bony hand into a fist, the sword collapsing like light into a black hole. When she opened it again, she was holding another of those little charms woven into her hair. She let go, and it drifted up to tether itself to her scalp, joining the others. “Now out of the way.” She raised a hand.
“Alright, getting kind of-“ James didn’t get to finish his sentence as the woman took advantage of his altered shield frequency to leg sweep him. He reacted quickly, blocking her follow up strike with the arm holding his gun, but then she had a knife in her hand that radiated something James didn’t recognize. His eyes went wide as she stabbed down, and he got an arm up just in time to stop her from carving out an internal organ.
It still nicked him though, and suddenly, the ground didn’t feel quite right.
Actually, suddenly *down* didn’t feel quite right.
The woman snatched the gun from his hand, and James yelled something rude as his subjective ‘down’ changed to ‘that way’, and he plummeted away. Past the tree and the dying Nobel, past where he and Sarah had been having lunch, and straight into the plate glass window of the Ham House.
James fell through the shattering window. Shards of razor sharp plate glass tugging at his coat, one of them slicing through the thinner material of his pants and gashing his calf. And one, with a truly unpleasant feeling, catching against the cords on the back of his neck, pressing into his skulljack link and severing multiple important parts. But, at least, not slicing his neck open in the process. And the glass fell *down*, while James fell ‘down’, so he wouldn’t have to worry about landing on it. Not that he was thinking anything more complicated than ‘oh fuck’ during this process.
James looked up to see a handful of patrons and staff cowering behind the front counter, hands over their heads, a couple of them praying. There were at least a few bodies in the lobby, either moaning or unmoving, victims not of crossfire but the police targeting anyone who moved.
His path across came in the form of, alarmingly, *more Alchemists*. He didn’t see if any of their actual members had shown up to join the party, but there were two or three new Nobels who had arrived and, moving in precise and efficient flanking patterns, showed that *they* had no problem killing the police who were still jerking around like they were puppets on strings.
James didn’t have time to care. He decided to take a chance on the new knowledge that the barrier only kept things from leaving, grabbed his telepad, found a discarded pen on the ground from someone’s lunch bill, and wrote the name of the insurance office on it. He steadied his new rifle, and tore the page.
“It happens.” The CIA agent said, like that was normal. “Good-“
Then the figure split, resolving into an image of two people, one rolling off the other who was either unconscious or down for the count. A woman in a tattered suit and broken shades staggering to her feet and taking in the line of guns facing her.
“Your partner seems to be doing well.” James said reassuringly to the CIA agent. “And… uh…” He peeked up as far as he dared, getting a better look at who was on the bricks. “And her twin? I don’t suppose she has a twin sister, huh?”
“If she does, I wouldn’t know.”
He darted across the back of the building, confident that the barrier kept him from being jumped by anyone, and ducked his head out into main path to the courtyard. The helicopter - definitely a civilian model, this wasn’t some military attack chopper - carefully landed on the most open rooftop, allowing a number of people to jump out. It couldn’t leave, but it kept the engine running, and James tried to stay back and watch, while also scanning the surroundings for his companions.
The gunfire had slowed while he’d been busy being thrown through a window. It looked like the police, still moving with jerky, robotic movements, had more or less secured the area. It also looked like many people who had survived the fight - bystander or otherwise - had been dragged to the central courtyard, and were being held at gunpoint.
The old woman was nowhere to be seen, neither was Euphrates. But there *were* two other Nobel’s there, with a man James assumed was an Alchemist. He tried to focus to get his glasses to tell him, and only then realized his glasses were long gone. Probably from when he got refenestrated.
James shot a nod to the Alchemist who was on the other side of the path as him. “Truce.” He muttered.
The old man glowered at him, and James recognized him as the one he’d cryptically antagonized in a diner about a month back. “Oh, yes, *truce*. I’m sure that won’t ruin me.” The Alchemist looked annoyed. James couldn’t say why. He just shot him a smile and turned back to the courtyard.
The Alchemist’s guards had taken up flanking positions ahead of them, under cover from the surrounding buildings, but it looked like that was more of a tense standoff rather than an active gunfight.
A half a minute of waiting later, there was a *flood* of compassion, washing over the whole area as if exhaled from a kind star. It was strange to feel an emotion from a direction, but James was pretty sure he knew what it meant. “So long Euphrates.” He muttered, shaking his head. He didn’t have long to mourn their contact though.
What he liked less was the police, in unison, yelled out in a myriad voice, “Oh, but *I* am here for *you*, Harlan!” The human officers had tears running from their eyes as their vocal cords were pushed well beyond what was healthy. “Surrender, or we begin executing hostages.”
And then one of the officers dragged Sarah forward from behind the low wall they’d lined everyone up on, and James felt his heart stop.
“You can’t expect me to believe you, Law!” The voice from the roof echoed in his head again. “On either count!” But whatever they believed, it didn’t quite matter as one of the cops raised a gun to Sarah’s head with a stiff motion.
Manipulate Asphalt. Once, twice, three times, as many charges of the blue activation as he needed to get what he wanted. His nose started to bleed. Then, Maker’s Hand Upon The Wheel. Mercifully, draining Velocity to fuel the spell didn’t actually slow him down, but the tug in his chest threatened to distract him. He pulled on Aim, for the extra precision he needed. And he asked the navigator in his head for the right steps to take to not get shot while he was doing this.
From behind James, the parking lot bubbled, and then erupted. Finger-width tendrils exploded forward, forming arches as they pulled more and more material, keeping themselves solid and stable as they raced toward their targets at a hundred miles an hour.
Only two people got shots off before James’ arcane working was among them. The tendrils lashing out at high speed, burrowing into the barrels of guns and around their trigger. And then, James breathed out, wrapped a hand around the central trunk of asphalt that had rushed by next to him, and triggered the Perfect Strike on his earring. Two charges of that left, with an annoying high reload time, but if this worked he wouldn’t need any more.
The asphalt inside the officer’s weapons blossomed into starbursts, punching out through the metal, ruining firing mechanisms, and rendering guns into modern art.
James wasn’t perfectly accurate. No matter how enhanced he was, or how blocky the motions of the attackers, he was working with tiny targets held by moving people. A couple of his strikes hit nothing. And three of them hit flesh; punching into hands or arms, drawing blood by no screams. Even when he detonated them and turned limbs into shredded meat, the victims didn’t react.
James probably could have stopped those from making the strike. But he wasn’t in any mood for it right now.
Deprived of weapons, the police seemed like they hesitated. But only for a brief moment. As a collective, their hands - even if they were missing one now - went for batons and tasers. And seeing James, seeing the person who stood in the middle of the attack that had just taken away their advantage, they silently charged him.
The Nobels actually moved to cover him, but James held out a hand, pointing a shaking finger at them. “No killing!” He ordered. The two goons glanced back at the Alchemist, who was now staring at James with open terror.
“Do as he says!” The man snapped hurriedly, and the Nobels holstered their weapons without even a shrug, moving to employ their ethereal bodies and enhanced physical strength to begin pummeling the shit out of the approaching group of people that James was now absolutely certain were mind controlled.
“The Alchemist is dead, and I have places to be.” The woman said. “If ya’ll don’t mind, drop your fate weaving so I can get out of here.”
The two soldiers paused, glancing at each other and shuffling farther away, but not lowering their weapons. From the hostages though, sound started to rise up. People who were in shock sobbing or starting to ask questions, demanding answers. People who were injured quietly moaning or screaming. And one figure, pulling herself to her feet, glaring up at the old lady.
The student, barely a teenager, unarmed but still with a cracked buckler dangling from her arm, looked at the battle hardened lady with a fury that James could easily remember feeling when he was that age. “You can’t do that.” She hissed out. “We needed him to-“
“Kiddo, don’t tell me what I can’t do. You don’t know the half of it.” A pulse of kindness radiated from the woman, and she winced slightly. James doubted anyone else saw it. “Drop the fate crap.” Another burst of the emotion.
James decided to take a risk, operating on some strange instinct he wasn’t quite sure about. He dropped the invisibility, and stood up from where he’d been checking on Sarah. “We can help you with those answers.” He said to the kid. “But you should let her go. All of us, really.” He added, before turning to the woman. “Excuse me.” James said giving a polite incline of his head. “May I have my weapon back? It’s special to me.” He thought for a second, then held up the rifle. “I’ll trade you.”
And all that kindness, all that compassion, suddenly compressed in an almost physical pressure around them. Like the world was warping and starting to crack as James offered little more than a polite request and a friendly smile.
The woman looked at him, an expression of *deeply* bitter annoyance on her face. “Oh, you cheeky…” She trailed off, before shaking her head and laughing. “Sure thing, kiddo.” The rough old voice sounded only a little angry as she flicked one of the charms out of her braided grey hair, crushed it in her palm, and flipped her hand around to reveal James’ gun held out to him. But the cracks in the air pulled back as he she did. He took it, offered his stolen assault rifle, and got a snort of derision from the woman who just threw it over her shoulder into the bushes. “Now let me go.”
James looked over at the girl, and made a placating gesture as he holstered his pistol. “We know some stuff.” He said. “We can at least try to help. Without you getting shot at.”
She wavered, and then, like the weight of the whole day suddenly caught up to her, sagged and dropped back to her knees, shaking the boy next to her and muttering something in his ear.
A few seconds later, the grey around them dropped. The woman grinned, and nodded. “You kids be good now.” She said, before kicking herself upward and vanishing into the sky.
Noises rushed back in. Car alarms, sirens, shouts and yells. James stood and faced the two black clad soldiers, their body armor alarmingly familiar, tattoos on their faces a riot of color even under the bland light of mid afternoon Utah on a crappy day. “Wolfpack?” He asked, and they tightened their grips on their weapons, focused on him with critical attention. “Your girl’s over there. She fell out of a building.” He gestured to where the duplicate of the CIA agent was slumped against a wall. The two soldiers exchanged glances, and James saw through his enhanced eye that the tattoos around their ears *moved* slightly. Then one of them nodded at him, and they stepped aside, moving to grab their fallen companion.
At which point Alanna made herself visible, lowering her own gun and running over to join James. “Yo!” She called. “Karen’s out, team two had some nonsense. What’s going on, you weren’t answering?”
“Oh, lost my link.” James said, mouth suddenly dry, a bitter taste on his tongue. He wobbled as his adrenaline stopped flowing and quiet returned. “We should get out of here, before… uh…”
“Yup!” Alanna nodded, pulling out her telepad. “Grab Sarah, I’ll…”
“No.” James shook his head. “Is anyone else left around?”
“Yeah, but Nate’s getting us out. Why?”
“Get a medic in that building, patch up the guy in the suit.” James pointed as he sat down. “There’s a kid under a desk in the back. He’s coming with us. Get these two also.” He motioned to the kid. “And then we need to… uh…” He looked up as a person in armor, stubby shotgun slung to their side, bandolier of a rainbow of different shells across their chest, stepped up to him. “Hi?” He greeted them as Alanna tensed up like she was ready to fight this person if needed.
“Paladin.” The musical voice echoed in his head, and James realized the person’s mouth didn’t move. “Hell of a day, huh?”
“That’s my line. And, uh… I don’t have a title for you, but hi?” His voice felt thick in his mouth. “You’re not gonna try to shoot me, are you? Wait, more important, your title isn’t ‘alpha’, is it?”
“More important?” Alanna said, shifting her stance to be ready to tackle the newcomer.
“I don’t try, and wolves don’t work that way.” The person replied, shaking their bald, heavily tattooed head. “Thanks for the assist. We owe you one. No more dead kids, right?” They offered a gloved hand for James to shake, saying the last words like an incantation.
They were down one Alchemist contact, and possibly had spoiled that entire diplomatic avenue. They were also up between one and five new enemies. And yet…
188 order (oregon) -> 50 basements not 5 or 6.5 i think before but 50 basements!??!?!
He didn’t *have* a good answer. He hadn’t even thought of the question. But all the same, James pressed his fingers together in front of his mouth, and said the first thing that came to mind. “We could probably buy a helicopter.” He saw Alanna’s face twist into annoyance, and he smiled at her. “But seriously, that’s my answer! We could! We’re behind? Really? Are we?” James threw his arms out to the polished infirmary room around them. “I’m sitting here in a magical hospital that we built in one of our fifty basements, you’re bulletproof, and we can pick up a few centuries of expertise in an afternoon with the right orbs. Alanna, if we’re behind the curve, we’re in a lot of trouble. But we were *already* in a lot of trouble. We’re two hundred people. We can’t kill capitalism like this. We can’t reset the world’s problems. All we can do, all we were ever going to be able to do, is our best. And we’re already doing that.”
188 The Alchemists + the Wolfpack + the magical grandma + far right militia + police ((errr law?!?!))
“Yeah, and is that *enough*?” Alanna demanded. “I’m just… I dunno, I’m just worried. I don’t honestly know how you aren’t. The Alchemists, the Wolfpack, the… magical grandma, I guess? Oh, and the far right militia that was apparently buying potions. So *that’s* a thing. And we just keep doing what we’re doing?”
188 girl / half-crow / half wasp
The girl - as far as James knew it was a girl, so he was using that until they were conscious enough to actually ask - had black plumage with the sickly texture of an oil slick, with splotches of rust red and decaying orange mixed in. Feathers that didn’t quite cover the whole body, even the parts that weren’t currently under a blanket. The Sewer creation had a strange four legged anatomy, but those legs, James knew, ended in spikes and not feet or paws or anything sensible. On this one, all but one of those spikes had been broken, and while it had only been a week since they’d brought the creature in, they showed no sign of healing. Her eyes were closed, all five of them; two on one side and three on the other, offset and multifaceted.
Half crow, half wasp, and currently asleep. Chest rising and falling, IV drip secured to one of their wing arms. No longer their newest guest, and somehow, not even close to the most problematic.
“She’ll be okay.” James reassured Alanna.
“I know.” Alanna said, with a firm conviction that wasn’t just optimism or belief in their growing medical team. When James cocked his head at her in question, she added, “Because if she gets worse, I’ll just give her a skulljack, link up, and chug a bottle of Shaper Substance.” She clarified.
188 1 of the new camaraconda + james
The camraconda came to a stop just in front of James and looked up at him with a sleek grey box of a security camera. This wasn’t one of the survivors that James had seen liberated from their hidden tower, this was one of the *new* ones. The ones that they’d been kidnapping from the dungeon when possible, and integrating into their society. He could tell because of the diamond LEDs that patterned its back, something the older ones simply didn’t have.
“What are your favorite words?” The camraconda asked abruptly, in a stilted mechanical voice. The new ones were… well, new. They didn’t have the year of experience with the skulljacks and audio equipment that the older ones did. Or, it seemed, with casual conversation. But that was fine, James hated small talk anyway.
He thought for a second, and then answered directly. “I’m partial to ‘resplendent’, ‘horticulture’, and ‘conflagration’.” James said.
The camraconda’s lens widened and narrowed slightly in rapid succession. “Thank you.” It said, before turning and slithering away.
188 (One of the new kids James had promised answers to) + 2 other kids + one of the potion people. The girl who he’d first met wearing a tattered metal band shirt + Max (order-> rouge) + Lincon (someone with a blade)
A crash interrupted his thoughts, and James found himself already jolting into motion. Something solid had just slammed into one of the walls separating the back room, and the pain in his leg vanished in a burst of adrenaline as he threw open the side door and rushed in, checking his corners as he burst in, blood rushing in anticipation of whatever problem had just come up.
What he found was a fight in progress. Or, a fight that had just been interrupted.
One of the new kids James had promised answers to was standing just off to the side of an upended table, a scattering of notepads, pens, and one unfortunate laptop coating the floor around it. He was holding a sword in an uneasy grip, and glaring over at the wall James had just come through, where someone was slumped down on the ground.
The other two kids were in the process of scrambling out of their chairs, but they weren’t the only people here. The teen with the blade wasn’t moving, at *all*, because one of the camracondas in the room had locked him down almost instantly. And one of JP’s rogues had interposed himself between the knocked down person and their attacker before James had even entered the room. Two more Order members were already in the process of rushing over, too.
There was some yelling going on.
James wasn’t interested in the yelling.
The Order members noticed instantly, and stopped their own shouts instantly, but one of the kids didn’t. “Let him go!” The other teenage boy was screaming, his own hand out to the side, in a gesture that felt strangely like it was trying to be threatening. “You can’t-!”
He cut off as a second camraconda briefly silenced him. The third kid, the girl who had only just pulled herself to her feet, looked around with uncertainty, but ultimately just raised her hands, shrinking in on herself like she’d given up.
James strode through the middle of this mess to the person who’d been kicked into the wall, and extended a hand to help them up. It was, he realized as they took his hand with a too-fast motion, one of the potion people. The girl who he’d first met wearing a tattered metal band shirt, and who now was bleeding from the nose. At least her all-black outfit wouldn’t stain, though.
“You okay?” He asked. And she just nodded twice rapidly as he helped her to her feet. “Alright.” James turned back to the others, making eye contact with the teenager who wasn’t currently under camraconda lockdown. “Care to tell me what’s going on? Also, guys, let them go, just don’t let them stab anyone.” He motioned at the camracondas.
They dropped their locks, and the two boys jerked into motion. One of them staggering back and falling into his chair, the other one trying to finish his sword swing and getting frozen again.
James just sighed. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”
“That’s our friend.” The girl muttered in a shell shocked voice, pointing limply at the potion person. “But you did something to her.”
One of the rogues jumped in, an androgynous face with hair long enough for James to be jealous by the name of Max. “We were trying to put together how they got into this.” They said. “Getting a picture of their dungeon, infomorph infections, that kind of thing. As part of the Alchemist problem, we asked one of the potions to come up to consult, and… uh… Lincon tried to stab her. And now this is happening.” They looked at James with a quiet confidence. “So… postpone this for a bit, huh?”
James sighed again. “Okay. So, you… uh, what’s your name?” He asked the girl. “Also help me with this.” He bent down and tried to flip the light table back over, the kids moving stiffly as they helped, but the normal motion seeming to help a little to put them at ease. When it was back, James pulled up a chair and settled in, getting off his leg. “Your name?” He asked again.
“Emma.” The girl said, sounding on the edge of crying.
“Alright Emma. Can you… uh…” James glanced sideways. “Can you get your friend to calm down?”
“Lincon, stop it.” Emma said flatly. “Or I’ll break your arm again.”
The camraconda holding the kid irised his eye in mild astonishment. “Ah. Threats. Always useful.” He said, but tried dropping the lock anyway. This time, though, the teenager didn’t keep trying to stab anyone, and instead stumbled at the sudden motion, dropping his sword which dissolved into motes of grey light. “Hm.” The camraconda hissed slightly at the change in behavior as the kid just dropped to his knees.
“Yeah, don’t learn the wrong lesson from this.” James told him, before turning back to the girl. “Emma, we didn’t do anything to your friend.” James said. “Though something was done to her, and I’m sorry in advance.” He kept his voice calm and level, even though he keenly felt the tragedy of the situation. “We have some questions about how you crossed the Alchemists, but I depressingly suspect that I know the answer now.”
“The old guys?” Emma asked, and James nodded. “We… uh… I mean, we aren’t detectives or anything. We just started looking for them by accident. Brittany, uh, our friend… one of our friends ran away from home. And then vanished. Everyone said she’d been kidnapped, but she’d told me about a place she was gonna check out where you could make money somehow. It sounded… you know.”
“I know.” James grimaced. “But go on.”
“So we tried sneaking in, and almost got caught. They had guys with guns. Like, real guns. So we… well…”
“We needed to be stronger.” The other kid said. He hadn’t sat down, still pacing back and forth behind the table. One of the camracondas nervously watching him.
“Sorry, I didn’t ask your name.” James addressed him.
“Liam.” He said suddenly. “I’m Liam. Who are you?”
“Oh! James. Nice to meet you, barring the circumstances.” James said. “So. You wanted to find your friend. And you knew a place where you could get more power. And you kept following the Alchemists?”
Liam nodded. “I started skipping class. Found where one of them lived. Couldn’t get into his house though.”
“Yeah, I keep meaning to ask them about that.” James shook his head, and dropped the line. “Anyway. The fight today. You were there because you wanted answers, and saw one of them alone?” He remembered the Nobel who was present. “Well, mostly alone.” James gave a small shrug.
“Yeah. We thought… we thought we were ready.” Emma said quietly. “And then… everything.”
“Oh, yeah, believe me, we weren’t ready for that either. Especially since someone *threw up a weird fog dome over the whole area*.” James crossed his arms at her. “We’ll talk about that later, I think. Anyway.” He turned and motioned the potion person to come over, and she obliged with rapid steps before taking a seat. “We’re going to do what we do best, and fucking talk about this.”
“That’s not Brittany.” Liam said with the force of anger only a teenager could feel. “Something’s wrong with her.”
“You are correct.” The potion said. “And I am sorry. I cannot give your friend back.”
“No…” Emma whispered. “Why?”
“Because I killed her when I was made.” The potion said. “I can read her life, but I cannot be her. Not really.”
The kid with the broken arm looked like he was about to summon another sword and take a second swing, but the rogue that was with them quietly stepped up and laid a hand on his shoulder. James nodded to them thankfully. “They aren’t actually being completely accurate there.” He said, seeing the horrified looks on the kid’s faces. “But… well, your friend is gone. I’m sorry. The Alchemists took a lot of people that they thought wouldn’t be missed, and they used them as test subjects. And one of their potions…”
“Replaced them.” The potion said. “Made those like me, and turned our hosts into masks. We were made to be weapons.”
“That’s… Emma, they’re like…” Liam turned to his friend, a wide eyed look on his face.
The girl nodded, and swallowed hard, trying to pack down the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes. “Okay.” She said, after struggling to bring in a deep breath. “Okay. You’re not her.” She said. “I won’t be mad at you.” The girl decided suddenly.
“You said mask, there.” The boy still held down in a seated position by Max half-asked. “Does that mean you knew her?”
“Yes.” The potion said in that flat, inhuman tone. “Everything about her.”
“All her secrets? How she thought?” The kid - Lincon, James remembered the name - pushed.
“Yes.”
“Can you… be her?” He asked.
“Oh, hell no.” James started to say. “That is not-“
But the potion had already flickered over to being someone else. To being the life it had stolen. “Yup.” She said, in a completely different voice. “It’s not even that hard. Gotta try not to though, since it’s really fucked up and I don’t want to live in a graveyard.”
“Brittany.” Emma’s voice broke as she looked over at the imitator of her dead friend.
“Sort of! Not really though.” The mimicking potion person said. “I can tell you what I thought, or what I’d say. I won’t tell you any secrets, though, because… uh…. I don’t want to? Obviously. But I can be me for a bit, sure.”
“You… we could… but…” Liam stammered out. “But you’re right there.” He whispered. “How are we supposed to deal? With you being dead?”
“Well,” the imitation girl said sarcastically, “what do you want? For me to tell you we’ll meet up in heaven? Here’s a weird thing; actually being dead, I think it’s a lot easier to tell you that’s all bullshit. Don’t tell my dad though.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to deal with anything.” She added. “You’re good. Look at you, bunch of nerds with swords and magic and stuff. You’re as cool as you always wanted to be. You can go fight monsters. You don’t need me around. Besides, I was a bitch to you all the time anyway.”
“No you weren’t.” Liam muttered.
“You were our friend.” Emma added.
“Well, I mean, you were also the worst.” Lincon said, breaking out of his exhausted glare to say something that took the other two off guard. “But… you were our friend.”
“They can both be true!” The potion person said cheerfully. Then her smile turned sad. “Look, you know I’m not real. I’m just pretending. But that doesn’t matter. You three, you’ll be fine without me.” She shrugged, and when none of the other teenagers had anything to say, just shook her head. “You already know it! It’s okay to be fine, you morons.” And then, pushing back her chair and standing up, she stretched her arms over her head and wrapped up what she was saying. “I’m gonna put this person away now. One of me wants to be kind to you, but the me that’s Brittany, just kinda doesn’t give a shit. And she knows that you can make better friends anyway. So, see ya later, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Liam muttered, numb. “See ya.”
“B-bye.” Emma stammered out, while Lincon just let out a long breath and didn’t say anything.
188 3 kids (1 = Lincon) -> 1 of them can create swords = all 3 kids had families (that did not forget about them compared to many other order members) = possibly recruit into order
His friend jerked his head up, though. “Wait, recruit us?” The other boy asked.
“So.” James leaned forward. “I’m given to understand you can make swords? That’s neat. Want to talk about that, or do you have questions for me, first?”
James had gotten a poke from one of the interns that Harvey had dispatched to fetch him before he could learn exactly *how* a bunch of teenage students could summon swords, which had disappointed him immensely. But with the promise that they’d at least write it down, he’d cut off the flow of their questions and handed them over to a couple members of Recover to handle their more immediate needs in terms of shelter, food, and letting their parents know they weren’t dead.
They had parents. It was… James had forgotten people could have families. Well, not forgotten, but he’d gotten used to working with his family. To the Order being most of the world, for most of the people in it.
188 james + arrush (ratrouch) = looking better / healing better + little humans = arrush does not understand kids -> teenagers -> adult life cycle
“So are you, you look good.” James nodded at him. It wasn’t an empty compliment, either. Arrush had taken a wicked amount of punishment when they’d last ventured into a dungeon together, and despite Deb’s furious understanding that ratroaches were built to break, he’d healed up dramatically with proper care. No signs of broken bones or chitin, and the long term benefits of life with the Order had led to all the infected lines where his skin and chitin joined gradually receding to fur-obscured blendings. His eyes even looked clearer; the sharp cunning there that he’d kept hidden for so long finally allowed to shine. “Are you two okay with… you know… all the people here?” James asked with concern.
The two ratroaches who had joined their ranks were… well, “shy” was a word that got thrown around a lot, and it was technically accurate but also didn’t quite encompass just how uncomfortable the two could be around *anyone*. The remnants of their literal toxic upbringing taking more than just an abrupt relocation to shake off.
“Keeka is hiding.” Arrush said simply. “Effectively.” The ratroach gave a slow dip of a nod, a motion he’d practiced to make sure he didn’t spray his acidic drool onto the floor when he answered. “I am… learning.”
“Oh?” James couldn’t help a small smile. “Making friends?”
“I don’t… know yet.” Arrush admitted. “Don’t know… what that means.” He rasped out, chest starting to rapidly heave as he had to take more shallow breaths to keep up. “And am not… human. Don’t fit. Not proven.”
Arrush gazed down at him, mismatched and misaligned eyes narrowing. “Small… humans… think I am… monster. Not a person.” He gasped out, swapping between English and Spanish when the words were shorter.
“Sure, if you want to.” James said with a nod. “But only if *you* want to. Ask around, see if anyone needs help with something that interests you. Find your own place. There’s no rush. And if you need to, you can always go back to the empty city for a while.” James grinned. “Also, ‘small humans’ are called kids, and… actually, wait, you do know how human life cycles work, right?”
“…no?” Arrush was more confused than sheepish. The question had never occurred to him.
“Ah. Okay. So, I need to get to a meeting, and this is absolutely a longer conversation than I was expecting. I’ll be around later tonight, if you want me to try and fail to explain it. Or, like… Deeeb? Deb could explain… Deb is busy.” James licked his lips, a concerned expression on his face. “Who would be good at… Sarah! Go talk to Sarah! She’ll either be good at this, or it’ll be incredibly funny.” James decided.
“Thank… you.” Arrush said suddenly, tightening his hand around James’.
188 harvey + james + order going public more + orginizations + experiment with response and firing some people
“I’m not afraid of change, I’m afraid of changing into something that I hate.” James said. “But… Harvey, you’re in the same building I am. You know the kind of people we work with, who we’re building this with.”
“I do.” Harvey cut him off. “Good people. And not all of them started that way.” He pointed out. “We recruited some real assholes for Response.”
“How’s that experiment working out?” James asked, suddenly curious.
“You can only work here for so long before the rough edges get worn away, or you quit.” Harvey said. “Or get kicked, I guess. We’ve fired a couple people who wouldn’t learn. But even they left better than they got here.”
“I’m glad.” James said. “Glad it’s working. So yeah, let’s move forward. You don’t need my permission, though.”
188 harvey + james + online web pressence + hiring some folks for it
“It’s not the same.” Harvey said. “Alright. I’ll have Karen start setting things up. In the meantime, I want to recruit a couple people to run online presence for us.”
“Oh… uh, why?” James asked.
“Because you keep getting in fights on camera, and algorithm or not, people see that. It’d be worth having someone who knows how to be civil in the comments section, and represent us well.”
James nodded begrudgingly. “Find a couple people, and I’ll make time to interview ‘em.” Harvey gave him an incredulous stare, and James held up his hands defensively. “I like doing the interviews!” He said. As Harvey shook his head and laughed, and James stood up, he had one last thought. “Oh, what *is* the comment section on that video like? Do people… uh… fuck this is gonna sound stupid. Do people at least think I look cool?”
189 3 KIDS (from large last fight) Liam (male)(good at sword stuff)(creates swords -> sticks into a slot of their souls) + Lincon (male)(good at game and misc stuff) + Emma (female)(good at defense stuff) + morgan (winter climb-> breath mana)(mostly immune to cancer)(mom is dead)(father absuive alcholic)(small room but lives with his family (order assuming)
So you just have to think about it, and you get a sword?” Morgan asked, feeling a little silly as he said the words. “I mean, that sounds cool, I guess.”
The other teenager gave a shrug that didn’t do much to cover up a boastful smile. “It is cool.” Liam admitted. “But it’s not just thinking about it. We have to focus on the spell for a while, and then it sticks into a slot in our… uh… souls, I guess? And then we can use it.” He shut up as the two teens went up to the counter of the convenience store they’d walked to, and paid for their snacks under the suspicious leer of the older woman behind the counter.
Morgan waited until they’d left before speaking up again. “So, like D&D wizards, huh?” He asked.
“Not my thing.” Liam admitted. “Linc’s more into the game stuff. I just like the action. I guess that’s why I’m good at the sword one. Emma’s better at the defensive stuff, and Linc just… I guess he’s good at whatever else. Mistellanious?”
“You know, your magic or whatever. What can you do?”
Morgan gave a drawn out and awkward ‘uh’, before saying, “I store breath as some kind of mana? That’s mostly on accident, because I didn’t die in a snowstorm. Oh, and I’m mostly immune to cancer!”
“Well, my mom’s dead.” He said casually, weaponizing an awkward aura like it was nuclear fallout. “My dad literally forgot she existed, and became an abusive alcoholic. So, you’re not *wrong*.” He shot Liam a look, noting the horrified expression on his walking companion’s face. “But also shut the fuck up.” Morgan added.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Liam backtracked. Sort of. “Wait, shouldn’t you, like, be living with family or something? That still doesn’t explain the tiny room.”
What Morgan wanted to explain, but couldn’t be sure he’d be be able to say without sounding excessively defensive and… small, really, was that the room he had now was bigger than where he’d been living before. So instead, he replied to a different part of the sentence. “I have a family.” He told Liam. “I *do* live with them.”
189 james + arrush + bill = bill likes arrush = bill acting like dad for james
“I’ve been busy!” James said. “With… lots of stuff, I guess. I spent all of yesterday with Bill, because he dragged Arrush and I out to run experiments with the heat transfer spell, and holy shit was that exhausting.” He paused, idly tapping a pen on the table while he formed a thought. “Also, can I just say, Bill is a really impressive dude?”
“How so?” Alanna asked. “I mean, yeah, he is. But how specifically?”
James framed an empty space in front of him with his hands. “What, exactly, would you classify Arrush as?”
“Adorably gay.” Alanna said instantly. “No, wait, you mean to a random person. Uh… kind of terrifying, probably? With the extra arms and the acid drippy thing and the… is it pronounced chitin? I’ve never gotten a clear answer on… wait, there wasn't a problem with that, was there?”
“There was not. That’s my point.” James nodded. “Bill is so aggressively meritocratic it’s almost painful. I think he likes Arrush more than me, just because Arrush can carry more at once.” He rubbed at the ache in his shoulders, a reminder of yesterday’s labor. “I dunno, he’s kinda the closest thing we have to an outside perspective around here right now, alongside our lawyer, and I get that that’ll keep on fading over time, but it’s just nice to have a ‘normal’ person who has no problem with nonhuman life.” He concluded.
“Okay, yeah, that’s a start.” Alanna conceded. “He’s not doing the ‘your dad’ thing, is he?”
“My dad continues to be missing, Alanna.” James said slowly. “I’m not sure… oh, you mean the really unpleasant version of pseudo-tolerance, don’t you? Dammit.” James pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, he’s not doing that. He actually did acknowledge it, too, sort of. Of course, then he had us generate a test flow system for a small building’s internal temperature control, which he was obviously more interested in.”
189 3 kids (liam, lincon, emma (spelling for names is wrong)) -> there spells (not skills as they call them) -> james say the spells suck and they skipped something in their dungeon + momo -> sent to steal info from 3 kids as friends
“They work like D&D wizards.” James said. “I don’t see any obvious synergies with anything we have, really. The spells they were using were Protective Intercept for blocking - oh, they bought those shields off eBay, by the way - Tether Together for the dome shield thing…”
“Is that the one super gram said was a fate thingy?” Momo interjected.
“Yes.” James said before continuing, ticking off on his fingers as he went, “And then they had Manifest Blade for the swords. Research apparently got one of them to try that, they’re actually worse than the sword JP carries everywhere.” He shrugged. “Then they have a handful of things that I have categorized as ‘why’. Seize Seat makes a chair. Dire Prune seems to actually remove matter, but only dead matter that’s on plants and is harmful to the plant. And Saint’s Wrap lets them make a towel.”
Alanna coughed into her fist. “Sorry, a towel? Like… a hand towel?”
“I mean, a shower towel. A me-sized shower towel, not a you-sized shower towel. It’s not a great towel.” James said with a shrug. “Their magic… I hate to say this, but it sucks. I feel like they *must* have missed something in their dungeon.”
“I mean, they did trap you in a dome of fog or something.” Momo said. “And anything with the term ‘fate’ applied just cannot be good. Right?”
“Oh, right. Momo. I think they’re missing magic items somehow. Or missing how they can actually use the books and spell slots they got. Can you talk to them sometime? But, like… be sneaky about it.”
“Sneaky how and why?” Momo asked with narrowed eyes.
“They’re teenagers.” James said. “And they’re not… they’re not bad people, but they are *exactly* who we should be thinking of when we say someone isn’t ready for power.” He shrugged. “But we’re still willing to trade quite a bit for their dungeon’s information. So that’s your job. Make friends.”
189 Gingerbread Cookie (shellaxy) + chevoy + mars + anesh + space elevator (chooped out long explanation for space elevator)
One of the shellaxies noticed his mild confusion masquerading as distress, and waddled over on its cable tendrils to butt itself against the little fence that kept them all in, chiming at him softly. Anesh blinked once, focused on what he was doing, and stooped down to pet the boxy creature.
‘Gingerbread Cookie’ read the nametag piece of electrical tape on the shell. Anesh chuckled. The Research department was having to dig deep to find new names for these little friends. He looked up at Mars and Chevoy. “Okay.” He said calmly. “So, to be clear on this. At one point, James and I mentioned the future of humanity in space travel in passing, and you then designed a space elevator?”
“Yes!” They said at the same time.
“This is like… we asked you for some ketchup, and you went out and pulled a heist on a McDonald’s cargo ship.” Anesh patted the shellaxy one more time and stood up, dusting his hands off and trying to ignore his knee popping. “Okay. Cool. I love it. I really do. But, mates, I came down here to ask about the blue orb thing? I really don’t have time to talk about how… I mean… this revolutionizes launches, at least, in terms of cost… we could probably rent out… hm. No, no!” He shook a finger at them accusingly like they were the problem. “The orbs!”
189 the alchemist -> internal fued ready to tear each other up + james + alanna + arrush + EL + james planes to sweep up the alchemist into order to get all their toys and riches
The Alchemists had a problem. There was some kind of internal schism going on with them. A problem that had been brewing for a long time - James had gotten flat looks from the others in the vehicle when he’d said that out loud - and had only just started to boil over. Euphrates, who had made the independent decision to sell out his colleagues, was confirmed dead, but they weren’t talking about any other losses. But it looked pretty dire for them.
From information the Order’s rogues could piece together, based on the new contact from the Alchemists, they had made hidden enemies of a few specific CIA operatives. The kind that looked unrealistic when they got Hollywood movies made about them. They’d been in some way coerced to resume work on the puppet potion, failed miserably, *realized what they were doing*, and had started tearing each other apart trying to find someone to blame or fight or bribe or anything.
“If they’re gonna self-destruct… uh… let em?” Alanna suggested from the driver’s seat.
“They… the old guys?” El asked, rustling through her backpack and passing Arrush a bottle of water without even thinking about it. “They don’t need shit, though! They’ve got their own… oh.” She looked forward, meeting James’ eyes in the rear view mirror. “You want them on your team.” She said. “Like, not just vaguely, huh? You want them, specifically.”
Alanna started laughing. Barking a heavy, loud laugh that had a hard edge of respect behind it. “Holy shit.” She said with a shark’s smile on her face, wiping a tear out of her eye while she stayed focused on the road. “They’re a bunch of people with massive stockpiled power, in a few different forms, and none of it has kept them safe! They’re at their absolutely lowest point right now, and you want to swoop in and save their asses! Holy shit!”
190 Officium Mundi -> chasem -> going on a deeper delv than normal -> seems more stuff than normal? + james + alanna + arrush + EL + tyrone + momo + two other order vechiles with skelton crew in them = 2 batches of four go up elevator (total order members?) -> (highschool intern of order) + alex
And yet, it was happening, and that meant when the two vehicles full of the skeleton crew they were delving with this week pulled up into the parking lot just before one AM, they found an asphalt expanse that wasn’t as empty as James had gotten used to.
“Hm.” Alanna had said as they’d pulled up to the front, watching the others pile out of their own car and start over to the van to grab their duffel bags.
James raised his eyebrows a little, but mostly covered up surprise with a smile. He was about to say something, when there was a hammering on the back door of the van, and everyone in the vehicle except Alanna jumped. “Oy! Open up!” Momo’s voice came from outside.
Collectively, they grabbed their bags, trooped up the steps to the front, and funneled single file past their friendly security guard and into the lobby.
Up an elevator in two batches of four, out onto a floor that was all at once familiar and alien. A place that James had once known, had been at so often he’d grown a kind of bored contempt for it. Even when the dungeon stuff had started. But now that he wasn’t supposed to actually be here, and there were humans in the building to catch him, there was a feeling of knowing where all the halls led, but being low-level unwelcome in them.
Then they had to backtrack once, because the company had remodeled part of the building and one of the halls did not lead where James assumed.
Then they spent around forty five minutes haunting the break room, waiting patiently for the window in which the Officium Mundi door was accessible.
“This place is enormous!” The high school intern they’d brought along for this trip called from where they’d stopped, jaw dropped, shortly after coming through the door. They were standing next to Arrush, who had an expression on his face that probably meant mostly the same thing, neck craned to look upward at the distant sight of the horizon.
Anesh gave a chuckle from next to James’ side. “I’ll give him five minutes to gawk, then I’m reclaiming my lab assistant.” The student was part of the Order’s plan to rotate new people in through safe dungeon exposure first, and for someone who wasn’t even eighteen, that meant that the most dangerous exploration the new kid got to do was help run the duplication ritual. “Good luck out there tonight!” He leaned in and shared a kiss with James, before slipping around his partner and landing a similar strike on Alanna.
“Have fun shattering the economy!” James called after Anesh as he and the others headed up the tower’s internal ramp, carrying a small case with a deployable orange totem and another with as much platinum as Karen had been able to purchase on short notice. Momo and Alex had tagged along today, and James was pretty sure it was so they could argue about orb metaphors without anyone in the Lair interrupting them.
190 dungeon (office) -> james + alanna + EL + Annesh = entire chapter basicly just these 4 in dungeon (office) lots of items stated and a new rubber band monster
190 dungeon (office) -> Decision Tree
And most importantly, on the way out, they passed by the Decision Tree that they’d discovered out here. The monitor lizards in it, little shards of glittering LED screens in the shape of geckos, stood in neat rows upon the branches. This decision tree was a half dozen shades of grey, its branches much more orderly than the others they’d found. And it liked them. Or at least, it liked El. It wasn’t clear why, but the monitor lizards had agreed to a trade of orbs at a far, far more favorable rate with El than with anyone else.
191 math tutor girl (((((( i think this is anesh extra side girlfriend???!?!))))))
“Can I ask a question?” The math tutor raised her hand while Anesh was busy falling into existential dread.
James grinned. “Always.” He said.
“Okay, so…” The girl looked kind of embarrassed. “If I want to skip a class, could I just get elected to something that you hand me an orb for, and then… I dunno, take a test or something? Do you even need to go to class, in this… uh… science fiction world?”
191 take orbs and need for school !?!?
“Okay, so…” The girl looked kind of embarrassed. “If I want to skip a class, could I just get elected to something that you hand me an orb for, and then… I dunno, take a test or something? Do you even need to go to class, in this… uh… science fiction world?”
“No, arcologies are not science fiction.” Knife-In-Fangs politely corrected her.
“Kind of a good question though.” James admitted. “I’m actually not sure! Classes and school would probably still be useful though? Just to have fewer points of failure, and also, you know, something fun to do. Also, Anesh, did you have some theory about the yellows all being the same or something?”
191 skulljacks to teach and no need for school !?!?!
“I say this, knowing my track record on the subject.” Alanna started. “But. What about skulljacks?” James glanced at her with a ‘go on’ kind of look on his face; raised eyebrows and pursed lips. “Well, we can share memory files already. Why not just use them to teach? Hell, you can even teach stuff derived from orbs, because you’re still getting someone’s personal context and take on it, right?” She shrugged. “It kinda a gets you what you want, but without the resource cost.”
“Wait, is this just a resource thing for you?” James asked. “You’re not gonna accuse me of technocracy, too?”
191 Jeene + ava + alanna + anesh + hidden + planner + EL infomorph (girl) = jeene wanting to move away from order + find job outside order
“I’m really sorry,” the normally friendly woman had an exhausted look as she cut Alanna off, leading her daughter into the room. “I’ve got a job interview on short notice, and I wanted to see if you could keep an eye on Ava for a couple hours?” She motioned to her daughter, the preteen looking *decidedly* unhappy to have an eye kept on her.
“Oh, sure.” Alanna agreed easily. “I’ve not got much going on today. But, uh… job interview?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.
“We can’t keep living off you forever.” Jeanne stated with a determined smile. “Besides, I want to look into getting back to the east coast. Back to family.” Her kid looked even *less* happy about that, but still said nothing as her mom shook her head. “So, a job.”
“You do realize we’re becoming fabulously wealthy, right?” James asked. “We can set you up with… something. Or, like, a job here? You actually have no idea how hard it can be to find people that actually engage with the weird stuff, even if they complain constantly about it.”
Jeanne rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, I’m sure you could use a medical receptionist.” She said sarcastically. “Besides, I need something to *do*.”
“Don’t let Karen hear you say that or she’ll try to give you a job.” Jake, now two academic papers deep into his research into a tangent, commented.
“She did.” Jeanne said. “But I really don’t need a pity job. I need something *useful* to do.” She checked the time. “I have to go. Don’t let Ava sneak into the Response floor, or drink coffee again!” She said, turning and rapidly walking away after giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead.
“Mom!” The kid protested as her parent left her in Alanna’s care. “I’m not a *kid*.” She said angrily, in that way that only kids could.
“Aw.” Alanna leaned over to ruffle her hair as Ava took a seat at their table. “Yeaaaah you are.” She said, continuing as Ava glared at her. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not a person, right? Your mom cares about you. She’s just… uh…”
James sighed. “She doesn’t really trust all this, I think.” He said. “Karen’s job offer was absolutely real. She just wants to be a bit separate. Which is *fine*, not everyone has to work for us. But… we actually are rich now?”
“Well, getting there.” Anesh said. “Give me a week or two.”
“She wants to move away.” Ava said, leaning herself forward onto the table, head laid on her arms as she watched them. “But I’m not leaving.”
James, Anesh, and Alanna all shared a look. The kind of look that said ‘uh oh’. And then followed that up with a brief silent conversation that went something like ‘that is gonna be a problem’ and ‘can we somehow make this *not* a problem?’ followed by ‘probably not.’
“So…” James ventured. “How’s Hidden doing?”
Ava perked up immediately. “She’s making friends!” She told them. “Cause El has a little sister like her too, and then there’s Planner, and they can talk to each other without Hidden getting hurt!” Ava looked very smug for about two seconds before she realized something, got a worried look on her young face, and added, “Don’t tell my mom though!”
“Why would…” James paused and rubbed at his eyes as a thought occurred to him. “Oh. You mean that they’re making friends, in your head, because you gave them all space.”
“Yeah…” Ava looked like a mix between guilty and proud, without really knowing what either of those emotions were.
James nodded. “Cool.” He said.
“No, not cool!” Anesh gave James a light swat on the shoulder. “We still don’t have *any* idea whether hosting an infomorph is actually developmentally bad for a human child!”
“I’m sure it’s fiiiiine.” James said, half-meaning it.
“James, people said that about tobacco for centuries.” Anesh rubbed at his own forehead. “Please. This is something we need to be careful about.”
191 karen + james + 3 kids (utah mess)(hiding there spell issues + hidding dungeon information) + dave + pendragon
They had two things to do today. First, they were going to drop off the kids they’d bailed out of the Utah Mess. Directly. In front of their houses, via dragon.
The kids were simultaneously hyped as hell to be given a ride in a dragon shaped troop transport, but also more than a little mortified that Karen was going to be explaining the situation to their legal guardians in terms that would be a lot easier to ignore if there wasn’t a dragon being parked in their driveways.
It was, in a way, a form of strength projection. The Order of Endless Rooms was making a statement, not just to themselves that they were *going* to operate in the open, but to these potentially allied delvers, that they *could*.
The kids had chosen to keep their dungeon secret, and unless there was some kind of unknown taxonomy of infomorph at play, it looked like it was just them not trusting the Order. Which matched what everyone had been able to put together about their powers, too; they were absolutely holding something back. Morgan had told James, right after he’d asked about scholarship stuff the other day, that Liam and Lincon had both readily complained about the time it took them to internalize their spells. And while they were teenagers, and therefore genetically guaranteed to be impatient, the time it took shouldn’t have been *that* bad. So, there was something going on there. Something they were hiding.
They could keep the secret; the Order would have loved access to another dungeon, but they didn’t *need* it. They weren’t even fully taking advantage of the ones they already had.
191 field effect -> going over details that keeps things hidden
When James had first heard members of Research talking about the Field Effect, he assumed they were just talking about a particularly annoying memeplex. They had experience with those from Officium Mundi, and also to a lesser extent the Akashic Sewer; infomorphs that were more like structures than people. Geographically centered, and basically dedicated to what they’d started calling the masquerade suite of effects. Don’t notice this, if you do don’t remember this, if you do don’t talk about this.
Memeplexes sucked, because they didn’t actually care if you were someone who was interested in or even involved with the weirdness that dungeons brought up. They hit everyone pretty much equally, and some of them had bonus nightmare fuel in the form of erasing records of their victims, cutting the memories out of people who knew you, or just driving you slowly mad.
The Order tried to keep an eye out for them, as best they could, and killed them if possible. That had happened exactly once, and then Daniel and Pathfinder had gone on vacation for two weeks to recover. The two of them had instantly begun planning a more coordinated strike against the other memeplex they knew about, with broader backup from the other infomorphs of the Order, but that wasn’t what was going on here.
The Field Effect wasn’t a memeplex. Or if it was, it was a memeplex in the same way that a mountain was a rock. *Technically*, that was accurate, but it wasn’t exactly useful.
Something was going on. Something was going on with a level of suspicious bullshit that they really should have noticed it before. Or rather, an uncomfortable lack of anything was going on. *Nothing* was going on.
The Order was known to at least one department head at the FBI. They’d gotten involved in a shootout that had left bodies on the floor with at least two CIA agents present. They knew the police in their area knew about them and didn’t like them much. They had been present when a high school had almost been demolished by a displaced dungeon. They *blew up a building*. They were *openly operating a public safety force* with *teleporters*.
And nothing changed.
Well, not nothing. People called Response, the FBI tried to bribe or threaten at least one knight a week, and a couple times now someone had uploaded one of their videos to YouTube or made a Reddit post about them.
But that was it. It wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t just that they were getting unlucky going viral. It was that information was being stopped from spreading. *Somehow*. Through a method they didn’t quite understand and had a hard time tracking. But there were a couple amateur sociologists in the Order, and enough people with related orb skills to back them up, that they had been able to put together a quick study of people Response had interacted with.
Ninety percent of people who had seen Response actually teleport in, had never told anyone about it. Not in any detail. They still *remembered*, and when talking to people *from* Response they had as good a memory as could be expected of the event, but they never passed that on to anyone ‘out of the loop’. They even stopped sharing the Response phone number; the people who heard about them almost entirely got the number from someone who hadn’t ever actually called it. It was spreading on blind trust, and without any knowledge of what Response could really do.
That statistic was overwhelming. And terrifying. Because it applied everywhere, not just in a single place. It wasn’t a memeplex; it wasn’t an infomorph of any kind they could identify. It was just… a thing. An effect. The Field Effect, as Reed kept calling it. And the name seemed to be sticking.
James was mad at it, and really wanted to shoot it somehow, but he couldn’t, so he got Dave to land his dragon on a golf course instead.
191 karen + james + dave + pendragon + alchemist guild (whole guild / what is left of them) + Yew Branch Country Club Lodge and Golf Course + Alchemist Tigris (male)(Albert) + Alchemist Nile (male) + Alchemist Indus (male)(George) + Alchemist Red (female)(Amelia) = 4 alchemish killed the other alchemist due to going to get them kill and being stupid + (tigris + indus + red = agree to surrender to order ) + nile fought and fled
That was just the first part of the day. Because coming up shortly after that, James and Karen were meeting with the Guild of Alchemists.
Not a representative. Not a rogue member. The whole Guild. Every one of them that was left.
There were fewer of them left than James had realized.
Things had not been going well for the Alchemists. Things had been going so badly for them, that they were panicking. Not just panicking, they were tearing themselves apart.
Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say they’d *torn* themselves apart. An internal dispute over methods that had escalated to a power grab, and then a series of alchemical knife fights in the shadows. And in the course of half a week, a group of people who’d been working together for a minimum of a decade shredded each other down to only a handful of survivors.
Loss of most of their members, not to mention their foot soldiers. Destroyed stockpiles of potions. Legal scrutiny as estates and lawyers started looking into the affairs of the deceased; or at least, those who had been discovered. Worse legal scrutiny as the money they’d used to buy off the local police suddenly started to not look like quite enough.
James wasn’t going to pretend he understood feeling anxiety over having ‘only’ tens of millions of dollars left. But he understood feeling afraid. Feeling like you had to take a shitty option, over no option. Feeling that pressure of dread closing in all around you and just struggling to find something, *anything* comfortable and familiar to stave it off while you hoped for a solution.
So, he and Karen were going - with significant backup on hand - to the Yew Branch Country Club Lodge and Golf Course, to have lunch, meet the Alchemists in a place they were comfortable, talk about the future.
“Good afternoon.” Karen nodded politely to the golfers as they passed by, the trio of middle aged men staring at the two of them practically open mouthed as they passed; the mid twenties kid they had as their caddy recording the whole thing on his cell phone.
“Don’t push it.” Karen deadpanned, stepping up to the back door of the patio, her heels clicking with satisfying impacts on the treated wood. The door was already held open for them by a balding man in a server’s jacket. “Good afternoon,” Karen repeated her greeting with a kind of practiced precision, “we have a reservation.”
They passed by a few members and staff as they walked with purpose, James noting that the few people having lunch seemed to all be men in their fifties and at least half drunk already. They got a few looks, possibly because he was the youngest person in the building that wasn’t working in the back of the kitchen, but no one stopped them with their staff guide. The dining room they were taken to, which was one of three different sectioned off areas that James could spot as they moved, was down a small set of carpeted steps, and was similar in terms of appearance, even if this one did actually feel like it got used. It was being used right now, in fact. Exactly one table was occupied, positioned to take up the whole of the floor space.
Three men and one woman sat on the other side of it, facing down James and Karen like a tribunal as they entered. All of them dressed in a way that James knew he should recognize as stylish or professional, but that even with at least one sartorial skill rank, he couldn’t really identify.
And then, with a tense voice, one of the Alchemists spoke.
“Good afternoon.” He said, setting aside the mostly empty glass of an amber liquor that he’d been sipping from. “I’m Alchemist Tigris, you have already met Alchemist Nile,” he motioned to the frowning man next to him, “and this is Alchemist Indus, and Alchemist Red.” He indicated the man sitting at the end of the table first, a face James could only describe as jolly covered by a pair of thick round glasses and a fluffy white beard, followed by the woman on the other end who was fidgeting with one of her earrings and pretending she wasn’t glaring at them.
All of them looked so exhausted. Though only the woman had done a good job of hiding the dark circles under her eyes. James wasn’t a huge fan of makeup in general, but it seemed like if they wanted to present as in control, the guys should have taken some cosmetic advice from her.
“James.” He introduced himself. “This is Karen. I’ve gotta ask, why rivers?”
“When some of us were younger, it seemed like fun.” Indus answered simply, his tired voice hitching a couple of times as he spoke.
“What he means is that it has become tradition.” Nile said with a small amount of anger. “And not that-“
“Nile? Shut up.” The woman next to him spoke with fury in her eyes. “You aren’t in a position to posture.” She snapped.
There was a brief pause as the door to their private room was opened with a light knock, and a skinny kid with immaculate hair came in and provided Karen and James with their drinks before vanishing after it became clear he wasn’t needed for anything else.
And then Alchemist Tigris faced them with folded hands on the white tablecloth. Calmly, without sighing or expressing anything, though James could pretty easily pick out that he was putting a lot of effort into appearing calm. “So then. Business.” He looked between James and Karen, as if trying to determine which of them was in charge, before settling on the older of the pair. “It is my understanding that you wish to establish a form of working relationship with our group?”
“Of a sorts.” Karen began, settling back, her drink untouched in front of her. “Something of mutual benefit to all of us.”
“Feh!” Alchemist Red snorted, the woman fixing an unpleasant stare on Karen. “You expect us to believe anything you have to say, after what you started?”
“Amelia…” Indus started with a sigh, tiling his head to into his palm and rubbing his forehead. “This isn’t the time-“
“No?” Red snapped back. “Then when will be the time, *George*?” She demanded. “Maybe after we have lunch? Maybe when we’re all dead? Should I *pencil you in*!?” She hissed at him.
“Very well.” Karen nodded. “Your organization, the Guild of Alchemists, is responsible for a large amount of damage, harm, and loss of life. You have proven irresponsible and dangerous. Our *proposition* is for the suspension of your activities as an independent group, the payment of restitution where possible, the surrender of your assets, and rehabilitative assignment of your membership until such time as you are capable of behaving in a constructive manner without adult supervision.” She cleared her throat lightly, reaching out and taking a tiny sip of her tropical juice drink, the muffled clink of the glass back on the table deafening in the silence that followed her statement.
“Do you seriously expect-“
Alchemist Tigris raised a hand, cutting off the objection from the expected source. “Your demand is unreasonable.” He said simply.
“No it’s not.” James answered calmly. “You don’t really have a position to argue from here. We’re not a government or police force, we’re not gonna throw you in a hole and punish you. But you have absolutely fucked up, and it’s time to fix it.”
James shrugged. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you, since I almost died to one of your potions.” He didn’t really explain. “We don’t have the whole story, but we do know that you’ve been killing each other. Would you like to tell us exactly, why?”
There was a long moment of silence. Followed by a snort from Alchemist Red. “Because they were going to get us killed.” She said.
“Amelia…” Indus looked like he was legitimately close to shedding a single manly tear. “Please, don’t make light of-“
“Or what, George? You’ll be cross with me? You’ll not help with my research? Does it even matter? Did it *ever* matter? Everything we did, everything we were! Gone in a week, because they were too stupid to-“
“They were our friends!” George bellowed, half rising out of his seat, thick crystal glass in his hand like he was about to pitch it at her head. “They trusted us! We were supposed to be *better than this*!”
This time, Tigris interruption came to the defense of his subordinate. “Our… membership had a falling out, of sorts.” He said. “In simple terms, we disagreed on who we worked for. Though of course, it’s more complex than that. For some of us, we’ve been here for forty years or more. Plenty of time to form a web of rivalries and grudges.” He looked down at one of his hands, and James noticed that under the cuff of his suit jacket, there were bandages wrapped up the length of his arm. “We are, yes, diminished. But we are not out of tricks or strength. And your demand,” he looped the conversation back, “is not acceptable.”
“We won’t be taking marching orders from you, for a start.” Nile started, getting a sigh from his right and a hiss of anger from his left.
James was pretty sure he’d put together the social dynamic of these survivors pretty well by this point, but there was some nuance to it. Nile was still so sure he was invincible that he was prepared to fight for what he considered he was owed, and was a constant frustration to the others who didn’t want him here. Red was just angry, at all of them, but especially Indus, absolutely related to their civil war. Indus was the eldest, and the way he talked made it sound like he was maybe one of the first to call themselves an Alchemist; a founder, but no longer in charge. And Tigris…
Tigris liked how things were. Liked being so rich he could throw money at problems until they fucked off. Liked having people show him respect, or deference. Liked having power.
He wasn’t an idiot, but he was a bit behind the reality of their situation. He was so used to being in command of any given situation, that it didn’t seem to have occurred to him where he stood relative to the people in front of him.
“Well. We are obviously not willing to give up our methods or secrets. However, perhaps an exchange of goods and services? Our brotherhood, has a number of stockpiles of our elixirs. And, currently, find ourselves in need of a certain level of security. Perhaps you would be interested?”
“What volume are you talking about, exactly?” Karen, ever the businesswoman, asked directly.
Alchemist Nile, for once checking to make sure he should speak before answering, jumped in. “We have four hundred gallons of the muscle and skin regenerators. Two hundred of the literacy elixir. And…” He glanced at Red, sharing a look of grudging respect with her. “Eighty of the lung purifier. Thousands of doses.”
“Yours.” Tigris said. “All of it. If you can simply help us relocate, free from those who would still do us harm. We’ve seen you in action; far more capable than our previous security, to be sure. Oh. Transport, along, of course, with a few proprietary pieces of equipment.”
“We know about your stupid tree.” James said with a sigh. “Sorry, lung purifier?”
“It purifies lungs.” Alchemist Red said, and James *almost* liked her for the tiny smirk in her voice. “A recent creation of our collaboration. Highly effective, safe. Removed carcinogens, toxins, chronic damage though not underlying diseases, scar tissue. Even cures cancer.”
That was, perhaps, not the best thing to say in front of James. His eyes widened a fraction, as he realized what he’d just been told, before Karen silently set an arm on his shoulder. “Interesting.” She said. “However, this does not account for the damages you have done. Alchemists, you have *murdered*. Intentional or not, that is not something that can be left unsaid.”
“What we did, we did with good reason.” Indus said softly, like he was speaking to a small child. Still standing over by the window, he turned to look at James with a sad waver in his eyes. “Some of us, I suppose. There was a cost to be paid, to learn, and to discover. And what discoveries we have made. We could change the world, with what we’ve found. Imagine. Cures for all diseases. Perfect bodies, perfect minds. The next step for humanity. Do you ever understand, how much has been *lost* this last week? Do you even *care* that immortality was within our grasp?”
“You really should reevaluate who you are speaking to.” Karen said with dry amusement.
James was less amused. “I do not care about your reasons.” He said. “I would love to live in that future, but not if we build it on a graveyard. You, *all of you*, need to answer for what you have done.”
“I won’t be a prisoner.” Red stated with glittering anger in her eyes, hands rapidly tapping on the tablecloth.
“On this one thing, we agree.” Nile snarled.
Karen passed a series of ethereal sheets of paper across the table, which none of them touched and all of them looked at with suspicion. “Good.” She said. “We have a different view of justice than you may be used to. This is the outline of what we have planned. In short, you would be integrated into our Order. Kept watch on, yes. But your freedoms would only be limited insofar as that you would not be allowed to repeat your crimes. As your social and mental health is determined to be stable, fewer restrictions would be needed. Until, ultimately, you would be full members of the future *we* wish to build.”
“A lot.” James acknowledged. “Though I’m less armed than normal. And if you say no… well. We have no authority, as you said. You’d all walk out of here. And then we’ll tip off the CIA about you. They *are*, in fact, quite angry at how things have been going. Well, the handful of them in the state looking for you, anyway.” James frowned. “Or we’ll send the mountain of evidence in your involvement in a variety of crimes, including kidnapping and murder, to the police, who you can no longer afford to bribe. We will begin systematically removing your assets, your ability to make war, and your motivation to cause harm. And… this may sound kinda silly… and I’ll feel *really bad* about it. Because it all could have been avoided.” James met Tigris’ eyes, and gave a small shake of his head. “But I’ll fucking do it all anyway. And if it looks like it’s a choice between you and a random civilian, I will bury you myself. But, but, *but*… this isn’t a *threat*. This is us, coming here, to ask you to be *better*. To give you a chance, to change, instead of just…” He trailed off.
“This isn’t a negotiation at all, is it?” Alchemist Red asked. “This is just a shakedown.”
“It is a negotiation.” Karen firmly stated. “The negotiation is for you to convince us that you are worth saving. James has decided that you are, but many of us remain unconvinced. And then, the negotiation is for the terms of restorative justice.”
With a glance out the arched window at the end of the room, Tigris took a breath, and spoke in a tone like someone leading a proceeding they had done a hundred times before. “All members in favor of accepting terms.” He raised his hand. The other Alchemists at the table did the same, almost silently, though with one last grunt of annoyance from Red. “We…” he swallowed hard, pouring himself a glass of water from one of the decanters on the table with a shaking hand. “We remand ourselves to your mercy.” He finished.
James stood up, settling himself into a relaxed stance. “The Order of Endless Rooms formally accepts your surrender.” He told them, taking a cue from Karen and leaning into the gravitas of the moment. “We will-“
“No.” The word cut through the room, filling the space with a defiant tone. James raised an eyebrow, turning with everyone else to where Alchemist Indus was looking at them from the window he still hadn’t stepped away from. “No.”
“Of course it doesn’t.” Indus replied, taking deep breaths that seemed to reinvigorate him more and more with every gasp. “But look. *Look* at me! Sixty eight years old, and you can barely hold your own!” James disagreed, but Indus was on a roll, so he didn’t interrupt. “You can’t stop me, I *will* see my research finished, and no upstart child will get in my way!” While he’d been yelling, James had noticed the Alchemist going for something in his coat pocket, and he didn’t bother to stop Indus as the man uncapped a flask and took a swig from it. And then, puffing up his cheeks like he’d crammed to many grapes in there, titled his head back like he was going to spew something at James, a bright cherry red glow coming from his skin.
James knew too much about fantasy tropes to get caught by this one. The movement was almost reflexive at this point; tick down the bracer to three charges, set the block to ‘fire’, and make sure everyone was behind him.
The inferno that Indus spewed out was a little more like an actual dragon’s breath than James had anticipated, but it splashed against the shield of light all the same, even as the temperature in the room spiked up and the curtains and tablecloth started to smolder.
Before it ended, Indus was already taking a drink from a separate vial, while James coughed and blinked away the sudden smoke from the attack. Whatever negative thoughts he had about the old bitter Alchemist, lack of adaptability wasn’t one of them. And it only took him a half second of seeing that he hadn’t killed them all to down another potion, before throwing himself sideways through the wall of the building, and sprinting away across the green of the golf course, making a beeline for the parking lot. He covered fifteen feet a step, he was moving so fast.
“What just happened?!” Red demanded, flinching away from the burning table. “What did you do? Why did George *do that*?!” She screamed. “Tigris… Albert… what’s going on?” Her voice started to crack, almost becoming a sob.
“He’ll be going for the mansion.” Tigris said in an empty voice. He’d barely moved through the fight, except to stumble out of his chair when the fire hit. Like he was resigned to his fate, like something had broken in him. “To recover the tree.”
“Indus won’t stop, you know.” She said. “Teleporting or not, if you don’t hurry, he’ll clear out our stockpiles, and run. He’s… I knew he was dedicated, but this…”
“Don’t worry about it.” James said, voice tight and pained. “He didn’t get very far.”
He’d given the order to the backup team through their link before Indus had even pulled his wall phasing trick.
192 Tennessee -> townton -> Red Lion hotel + james + yin + kirk (mid-forties man) + Route Horizon still sleeping + necroad watching, hiding, and forming packs + kirk to look after 1 of the achlemists
“I’m not busy.” Kirk replied, trying to cover up his worry by sounding casual, closing the book he was reading. No, not book; manual. Something highly technical. James didn’t even try to read the name.
“I’m not busy.” Kirk replied, trying to cover up his worry by sounding casual, closing the book he was reading. No, not book; manual. Something highly technical. James didn’t even try to read the name.
Krik was one of a handful of the Route Horizon cultists who had both survived the Mechanic’s attempted apotheosis, and also chosen not to accept a memory wipe from Planner. He, along with three others, instead chose to accept the Order’s form of restorative justice. Working mostly to secure and salvage the ruined city of Townton, the sandy haired and scarred man and his fellow ex-cultists did what they could to balance the scales on the atrocity they’d been part of.
Kirk set the technical manual he’d been reading on the couch arm next to himself. “It’s still a mess.” He started. “Everything is… kinda bad. Lots of rotting food, so it all smells kinda awful. A bunch of places where fires took out residential blocks, buildings falling apart when the road spikes give out, that sort of thing.” Kirk looked away. “Lots of bloodstains everywhere.”
“Man, you don’t have to justify yourself to me.” James almost laughed. “How’s the dun… the road, anyway?”
“Still sleeping.” Kirk said, excitement creeping into his voice as he talked about Route Horizon. “We’ve only been in four times; the necroads like to hang around the entrance so we have to be careful when we do it. But the inside is… calmer. And without the old man… without…” His voice cracked, and he clenched a fist, but he met James’ eyes all the same. “Without going in to sacrifice someone, there’s just more time to explore. We’ve been collecting map scraps and gears and a bunch of other stuff, and there’s more out there than I ever imagined.”
“Glad to hear you’re enjoying it.” James said earnestly. “What was that about the necroads? They’re still around?”
“Oh, yeah. There’s a lot of them. I mean, there’s *thousands* of them. We used to fight them, when they showed up while we were out searching the city. But they kinda stopped. Some of them still watch us, and there’s packs of them that go by the Horizon’s portal, but I think a lot of them are hiding.”
“Well that’s… something.” James rubbed at his chin. “Okay. So, personal question?”
Kirk nodded. “Good. Glad that worked out.” He said. When James gave him raised eyebrows, he just shrugged. “We’re not out of the loop down here. We get Order news! Also, half of us were there when you decided on the strategic approach to these twats.”
“Heh. Well, okay. This gets to my question.” James pressed his fingers together and arrowed them at Kirk. “Would you be interested in being the guide for one of these people?”
“…Like… an AA sponsor?” Kirk asked slowly.
“I’m not actually sure how Alcoholics Anonymous works, but probably closer to that than a probation officer, which is what someone else compared it to.” James said. “So ‘a little yes’, let’s say.”
Kirk tilted his head back, not thinking much before he asked in his firm voice, “Why me?”
“Because you’ve been there.” James said. “Because you know. And also, more personally, because I think you’d resonate with the feeling of wanting to explore something weird this particular person seems to have.”
192 james + momo + dedicated experimentation basement + order (oregon) -> explanation of basement levels + primarly about blue orbs + ((((((if chapter 192 split into 4 parts evenly. the middle 2 sections is about orbs and experiments)))))))
It wasn’t *really* the dedicated experimentation basement. They had a pretty hard time dedicating their basements to any one singular task. The Research basement was also where they kept their spatially folded medical wing, a garden, and their vault. The Response basement was home to a recording studio, a garden, and their private servers. There were two different basements set aside for full or part time residents of the Lair, and those… well, okay, those were mostly exactly what they were. Though one *did* have a cavernous public bathhouse in it.
Compared to that, the basement they hadn’t really done much with yet was *practically* their dedicated experimentation basement.
192 alchemist wealth / property / and like
By the end of the next day, Nate’s team had stripped the Alchemist’s ‘business’ mansion and all of their known stockpiles for everything of value.
The fact that they had a business mansion, and then their own individual personal use mansions, made James a *little* sick at the sheer waste of it all. But by this point, the knowledge that capitalism was an exponentially unfair system of exploitation wasn’t exactly new, so he shrugged it off. There were more solvable problems right now.
A lot of the personal wealth of the Alchemists had been lost with the crippling of their organization and the deaths of many of their members. They had kept their operation an open secret, but they weren’t protected by any informorphs as far as the Order could determine, and so when they’d died, mundane systems had taken over and things like estate lawyers and tax law had kicked into effect. James was fully prepared to get into a stand up fight with a dragon, but he was less willing to get in the way of the IRS. Not *now* anyway.
But personal wealth aside, their true power wasn’t money, whether they acknowledged that or not. No, the thing that made them dangerous, and the thing the Order had more or less fully plundered, was four things.
First, and strangely least worrying, the orrery. The Alchemists had called it a room, but it wasn’t really. It was just room-sized. An assembly of polished iron arms and wires and spheres. Moving it had been a nightmare, as had finding a space for it in the Lair, though eventually it had settled in the experimental basement near where James and Momo had been running their blue tests the day before. The problem was… no one knew how to use it. The orrery was so *flagrantly* magical, and every Alchemist who was currently under their care knew what it did *in abstract*, but none of them knew how to make it work.
In theory, it showed relative strength of different organizations. It could, if you knew the way to do it, target geographical locations, filter by policy, focus, or even size of the organizations you wanted to sort through. And through careful study, you could build a picture of who had influence where, and what they wanted.
No one had a fucking clue how to make it work. Some people were on it though.
Second was the Alchemist’s stockpiles. Casks, sometimes *barrels*, of potions that had been produced and stored away for a rainy day. Or ones that had simply not been taken to market yet. It was… too much. And yet not enough. The logistics of big numbers reared its head again; they had now enough of the exercise potion to give everyone a year of heavy physical conditioning in under a week. Hell, they could do that for a thousand people, maybe two. But then… they’d be out.
Stockpiles weren’t production. And without the ability to rapidly replace the potions, they were useful, but not reliable. Still, though, the one that could purge lung cancer that they now had forty thousand doses of was something that they were already planning to filter through their growing network of medical contacts.
Third and fourth together were… well, the ability to replace potions. A tree that grew fruits of golden liquid that could be processed into magical elixirs. And, to go with that, the collective research of the Guild of Alchemists. *Decade* of notes, test logs, and experiments. Not to mention the combined understanding and instincts of their pseudo-prisoners.
It was… disappointing. Their collective knowledge was disappointing, there was no other way to say it. James had frowned as he’d skimmed through the entires as Research had diligently added them to the Order’s databases. There wasn’t *enough*. Decades of notes, and this was all they’d come up with? Thirty working potions, half of which were barely useful, and the other half of which had taken years of iterating to get to their current potency? That was it?
The Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. Alternately, the Sap of the Tree of Knowledge, though it was still technically fruit, as far as anyone could nail down the taxonomy of something that was obviously not mundane in origin. It was, on its own, nothing. Eating one wouldn’t even taste like anything. But the liquid inside it was an arcane catalyst that could turn *anything* into something wondrous.
Or lethal. Or just bad. Their notes were full of failures.
The tree itself had left James laughing for about ten minutes when he’d seen it. He’d been imagining some kind of proud elm tree, golden light glittering through leafy green branches, towering over some central room in the Alchemist’s headquarters. And he had, to be fair, been *close*. It was certainly close to an elm tree in appearance.
It was also a bonsai, and maybe two feet tall.
“I am starting to see,” James commented to Nate, “why they might have had a hard time producing large quantities of their potions.”
“Don’t touch that lamp.” Nate told him, arms folded, not indicating which of the three grow lamps around the tree he actually meant. “It likes the lamp.”
193 order (oregon) office -> meeting 50 plus order folks + Sarah + Texture-Of-Barkdust
‘’Good evening everyone.”
James once again stood on a stage at the back of what was, basically, a converted warehouse space.
“Alright, for anyone new or who needs a refresher, the four of us…” he turned and looked at the people on stage, counting. “…Seven of us are going to be discussing our strategy for the next few months. If anyone in the audience has a question or comment, either put it in the relevant part of our server, and we’ll address it when appropriate or at the end, or, if you don’t have a phone or laptop on you, signal one of the interns and they’ll come get it from you.” He motioned to the small group of volunteers, one of whom waved cheerfully.
Sarah was here, obviously. She wasn’t representing a particular division of the Order; instead she was simply one of the people who a lot of people had asked to be here. Functionally, she was filling the literal role of a representative.
On the other side of her from James, Texture-Of-Barkdust sat as the primary representative of Recovery, the camraconda coiled in the basket seat in such a way as so her brain could be wired into the laptop in front of her comfortably for maximum efficiency.
Past her was Marcus, for Response. The young man who had originally been recruited just to be a dispatch operator having stuck around, and gotten good recognition from a lot of people for his calm spirit, was now here as something like one of Harvey’s lieutenants. Marcus was also a good example of one of their noncombatants; the kid had no interest in fighting, or dungeon delving. He wanted to work where he’d be useful *now*. James respected that, and so did a lot of other people. James also respected the constantly growing tableau of pride flag pins on Marcus’ jacket. It was comforting.
Next was Reed, making a rare appearance from the Research basement. Though that was a little uncharitable; he actually spent a lot of time all over the place. The Order had a few empty lots in the middle of nowhere now where they tested orange orbs or - apparently - space elevators, and Reed did a lot of work on both of those. He also did work looking into statistical modeling of dungeon effects, identifying magic items, and generally keeping an eye on and leading the rest of the Research department.
Reed was currently surrounded by Planner, the infomorph being the other nonhuman person on stage. An octet of tentacled limbs with a ghostly green surface that somehow still seemed rubbery, markings like sketched notes trailing down them. Planner was here to provide legal and logistical insight, and also the unique position of the infomorph side of living that any of their long term plans might impact.
And JP, for the first time at one of these meetings in his actual role as head of their rogue division. James still did consider JP his friend, even if the two of them hadn’t actually had a chance to hang out in what felt like forever.
“Sap of Knowledge.” Reed dove in. “And yeah, she’s right. Which is actually what I wanted to get confirmation on, and sort of direct some funding and focus toward. The tree grows *about* a fruit a day, though the sizes vary, and I’ve got a *lot* of requests on different things to try. If we’re not interested in making this our business, we get a lot of room to experiment, and if we can devote more time to finding patterns, we can take more targeted shots on effects we need.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head, the unrestrained poof of curly hair on his head bobbing as he did so. “Also we have a lot of weird stuff around here people want to turn into potions?”
“Funding for a few supplies, and for lab rats. Alternately, if someone could make us a xenotech cup that could tell you if a liquid in it will kill you, that would be nice? I don’t really want to use animal testing, but I really, *really* don’t want to use person testing. And a lot of the recorded potion tests the Alchemists did were actually not good for whatever drank them.”
“Who did *they* test potions on?” JP asked, that cold anger sparking again in his chest.
“Also lab rats.” Reed said. “Mostly. Uh… mostly. We can talk about that later, if you really wanna know.”
193 tree of knowledge / Sap of Knowledge + going back over alchemist notes + reed + davis + red / amelia
The blender hummed as it ran for about three minutes on the purée setting.
The fruit from the tree - no one was going to call it by the ‘official’ name, especially not while they didn’t have another “the tree” to reference - reduced by efficient mechanical action into a golden slurry.
So far, it didn’t appear to make any difference whether the ‘rind’ of the fruit was included. Which was, itself, notable. Because literally every other ingredient did matter, and that included ambient dust. They ran their tests now in a clean room, in hazmat suits. But the chunks of non-liquid material from the fruit were *entirely* neutral in potion formula, which was bizarre.
It did make it a lot easier to process them, though. No need to use an eye dropper to get every last spot of fluid when you could simply turn it all into a consistent mass.
The blender clicked off. The material inside was carefully moved into individual treated containers, to minimize loss. One of them was handed off and taken to be added to the current experiment.
Davis didn’t glance up from where he was monitoring the temperature on the distillation process for his own work. “No.” He said, desperately wishing he had a way to itch his scalp through the hazmat suit. The Alchemists had, among other things, potions that encouraged hair growth. And as the Order didn’t really have any plans to sell them to the Alchemists’ old customers, he’d used a dose himself. As a punishment for the previously-balding man’s vanity, his head itched, and he was trying to ignore it by staring at a thermometer. It ticked up by one degree, and he hit a button on the heating element, allowing it to start cooling. “Okay, yes.”
193 Jo Hyori (had lung cancer) (order member) -> community medical facility near the border of Sierra Leone + Jo Hyori -> wife + Jo Hyori -> daughter + Russian woman + women (lung cancer)(speaks Mende) + Port Loko
Jo Hyori walked through the halls of a community medical facility near the border of Sierra Leone, secretly wishing that he would at some point take the advice that business suits were not appropriate dress for everywhere he went. It was 32 degrees, and while the air was dry, his forehead was damper than a swamp. Most of the rest of him probably was too, but he decided it would be unprofessional to think too hard about how much he was sweating.
He didn’t feel comfortable here. He was an outsider to this country, this community, and this building. So far outside his comfort zone he wasn’t sure if he was still on the same planet. He’d lived his whole life in Seoul, grown up there, gone to school there, worked there, worshiped there.
Nearly died there.
Three months he’d been dying. Lung cancer. Caught too late to be easily handled. Surgery had been off the table, so he’d started chemo.
His wife and daughter had found renewed faith with his illness. They’d passed the test, as it were; his slow slide into death had pushed them to believe more, to pray harder, to refuse to be broken by the ordeal. He could respect that, somewhat.
Three months ago he’d been dying. Two months ago, he wasn’t.
A chance meeting with a stranger that was probably no chance at all. A broad wall of a Russian woman who had appeared in his hospital room one night, and demanded to know if he wanted to live.
Hyori had briefly thought this was God offering him one last out. A temptation that he could prove his belief by refusing. But… he did want to live. He didn’t know why yet, but he did. So he drank the tiny sip of foul cherry liquid the woman had given him, had a coughing fit that brought doctors running, and never seen her again.
Two weeks ago, he’d picked up the work where she left off. His coworkers included bizarre alien life, and ghosts. And yet his job was familiar; information management. Processing hospital records, finding people who most needed their help. And making a few deliveries.
“Good afternoon.” He said to the woman inside, before realizing he’d spoken in Korean. “Good afternoon.” He repeated, switching to Mende. One of the eight languages he’d learned the easy way, through the actual, honest magic that he’d just been handed.
The woman on the bed stared at him with suspicious eyes. “You aren’t the doctor.” She said accusingly.
She didn’t say anything, and so Hyori spoke instead. Words he’d practiced and a feeling he didn’t need to, easing him out of his anxiety at being somewhere new and into the routine of solving a person’s pain. “You have large cell carcinoma.” He said. “Untreatable here, you’d need to travel to Port Loko to have a chance.”
“Your accent is terrible.” The woman said, turning away from him and staring at the far wall.
“Yes, I was given the language, not the experience.” He nodded softly. “I could use English, if you prefer.” Hyori waited, but she didn’t answer him, so he moved on. “This will fix your lungs.” He said, holding up the small hard plastic vial of liquid he’d brought out of his case as the woman whipped her head back to glare at him.
193 skulljacks -> use them more commonly -> issue with security -> higher normal programmers + not a text book sharing but more of an IDEA sharing through skulljacks
Sarah was practically bouncing in her seat as they moved on. “The skulljack thing!” She tapped the table between them. “Okay, so, basically everyone who has one of the things is already doing the thing where they’re skipping actually listening to my podcast and just sharing memory files, right?”
“We need to stop being afraid of using them for more things.” Sarah said. “Even me. Especially me! The memory file sharing thing is actually super cool, and we should lean into that. Make sure it’s safe, and then make it common. Make it a part of our little collective culture. Even if it’s just for skills.”
Marcus leaned forward on his elbows with a nervous grimace on his face. “Ehhhh, okay, but…” he started, then stopped, not sure quite how to phrase this. “I don’t know how to say this but, ‘safety’?” He spread his hands. “Those things are real dangerous, and I’ve seen how easy they spread. There’s a *ton* of crimes that’re gonna happen when those get out to the general public, you know?”
“We do know. We’ve had this conversation before.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said. “We have been lax in preparing.”
“Yeah, I actually did hire engineers to start solving the security problem.” James said, turning to face Reed. “And then those engineers became delvers, gardeners, and mech designers.”
Reed leveled a finger at James, despite the embarrassed flush on his face. “Okay, first off, this is what we’re all talking about! You don’t hire people for one job, you hire *knights*! Also, *you asked for the damn mech* so don’t blame my engineers!”
“If we budget you funds, will you personally hire normal programmers and engineers to solve this problem?” Planner asked. “I would rather solve the problem than place blame.”
“Cool. So, as to Sarah’s question… well, yeah, it would be super useful if we could save memory files to be downloaded by anyone who wanted to learn something, Matrix style. But I actually do have a concern on that.” James said. “Show of hands everyone here, even you lot,” he addressed the few dozen people still in the audience, “how many people have gotten a memory recording of Sarah’s podcast, and felt like it was… different?”
He raised his own hand first. And, slowly, a lot of other hands and camraconda affirmative signs went up. Even Sarah’s own.
“Hey, hang on.” JP said indignantly, pointing at Sarah.
“Yeah, that’s the thing.” James said with a sigh. “Memories aren’t just information, it’s personal. We can’t download a textbook like a yellow orb does, we share *our* idea of a thing. Maybe that’ll be different if we’re sharing dungeon skills, and we *should* try that, but that might make it a bad idea to make this a large scale thing? Like, outside of it being Art.”
“Body differences also might complicate.” Texture-Of-Barkdust added. “We should test it though.”
193 planner (assignments)(“Right but Planner is a ghost octopus who can eat schedules?”) -> highschool dungeon -> books -> planner can use those magic
“There’s non-skulljack options, too!” Sarah added. “They just take more resources, kinda? Like, the relationsticks allow for literal actual power sharing, which is really wholesome and stuff. And we can make ‘class’ copies of the Sewer’s textbooks, which lets us spread that around a lot more.”
Planner gave an approving noise like rustling a sheaf of papers. “Yes, the textbooks. My species can use those. It would be interesting to try.”
“Wait, hold on.” JP tilted his head. “Your species, like, assignments? Or infomorphs in general? Because I’m still waiting for some kind of problem to come up due to how navigators are different from authorities or something.”
“…I will seek answers and return them to you.” Planner said.
JP held out a hand. “To be clear, I also think you should get your own magic? Like, just to make sure that no one misquotes me on that.”
“Uh, actually, are infomorphs not already magic?” Marcus asked. “I kind of assumed…”
That question, Reed answered with a shake of his head. “They’re magic in the same way your hands are magic. It’s impressive that you have thumbs, but if you gave someone else thumbs,” he jerked an indicative thumb at Texture-Of-Barkdust, “then they’d know it’s just a normal type of body.”
“Right but Planner is a ghost octopus who can eat schedules?” Marcus rattled off the pseudo-question. “Right? Sorry if this is offensive Plan, I just… uh…”
193 Clutter Ascent was growing + order pillow fort base -> many order members
What he was sure of was that he had to walk a lot farther to get to the pillow fort this time. The path becoming… not denser, but more cultivated. The clutter more purposeful, the paths more designed.
The narrow trail he followed through the furniture, garden tools, and boxes of ancient crumbling tax forms, had gone from being a straight line where he mostly had to worry about tripping on something to a winding maze where dead ends and open clearings threatened to turn him around.
There wasn’t *much* maze, really. There was only one clearing, and two dead ends that he ran into. And the dead ends had both stopped at cabinets that were clearly placed separately from everything else. He’d tried one of them, and found himself once more plunged into sensory deprivation until he could solve the ‘puzzle’ of what scene he was supposed to imagine.
When he finally made it to the spot deeper into the dungeon where the Order’s ‘base’ was, he’d been a little surprised by how many people had been there, how busy it had been.
Sarah was reading some kind of book while a clump of dense fog orbited around her head. Anesh was hanging out, supervising Rufus and Ganesh as the two of them played with the strange chimera creature named Fredrick, along with a pair of new life forms that had been made by the Order that looked an awful lot like Pendragon had as a ‘baby’. A couple of people were sweeping the area, doing some cleanup and basic organization, one of them the child care specialist James remembered hiring what felt like a century ago. And a couple people just seemed to be… relaxing.
“Hey Deb.” James said to the woman as he approached.
She looked up from where she was rearranging a bookshelf. “James.” She said, with a small smile. “How’re things?”
193 skulljack -> swordfight + james + sarah + anesh = james (currently 1 of 8 create bad memory files vs 2 others that have created good memory file) -> james memory file works with addon of liking anesh alot + (sarah + clutter ascent -> book + sarah emotionsticks -> bonds -> 30 plus other people = making someone super human) + raincloud
Instead, he just held up the small black rectangle he’d brought with him, along with the cable and adaptor that just so happened to fit into the port of a skulljack. “Well, you and Anesh were both on the list of volunteers for this, so I figured I could catch you both at the same time.” He said. “Want to see if I got it right this time?”
“It’s specifically swordfighting.” James said. “Again. Still trying to get it right on something mundane before I try making Office skill copies.”
He’d been trying to successfully make a skill shareable via skulljack for a *while*. Months, by this point. It wasn’t literally the only thing he did, James did have a life after all. Even if he spent a lot of it delving, or recovering from delving.
The problem that the Order was running into, when it came to making memory files that could teach something complex, was that it *actually was complex*. You had to put a lot of focus into hitting all the little idiosyncrasies, all the base understanding that would help with the corner cases, and counterintuitively into not making the weave of memory too tight. If you didn’t leave enough gaps, the human mind would process it once, nod contentedly, and then put it in a box.
And that wasn’t how people learned. That was how people crammed for tests where they wouldn’t need to know the information two days later.
James was one of eight people who’d managed to make bad memory files. And hopefully, if this worked today, he’d be one of three able to make a *good* memory file.
He and Deb collected Anesh, and James handed each of them a wooden practice sword, moving out of the pillow fort to the semicircle of open floor in front of it, standing among the dust dancing in the eternal sunsets coming through four different windows and four different angles.
Both of them took a minute to separately transfer the file from the hard drive to their personal meat substrates. Their brains rapidly absorbing the increasingly familiar file type through the skulljack connection. It was, importantly, a *different* kind of fencing than Anesh already had a skill orb for. But even then, it was part of the test.
“No!” Deb turned to face James, leaning forward on her knees and panting, raising the arm with the broken sword to point at Anesh. “The part where your boyfriend is hot!”
Anesh turned a deep coppery red. “What?” He stammered out.
“I mean, you are.” James said easily.
“Yeah!” Deb said. “And a lot of your practice doing this comes from him, and now *I* remember it, except I also have all the times that you thought his eyes were cute whenever you crossed guards!” She leaned the sword against her leg and deliberately did not look at Anesh. “It’s *really weird* and I feel like this is not great!”
“Shit, I’m really sorry.” James said honestly. “I did not actually mean to do that. I didn’t even realize I put that into the file.”
“Okay, I’ve changed my mind. This is adorable.” Deb said. Then, after a brief pause, widened her eyes, “Wait, did *I* change my mind or did you?” She pointed at James. “Oh hell, I dunno if I like this anymore.”
“The only bond I have is with Sarah.” Deb said. “For sharing temperature, not sleep. Did you actually feel me take from you? Maybe it was something else.”
“Try it again.” James said.
Deb scrunched up her face and focused, before letting out a breath and dropping her shoulders. “Nothing.”
“Uh…” Sarah’s voice came from the entrance to the blanket fort. “That’s my fault.” She said. Everyone glanced over at her, and she held up the book she’d been reading. The strange, weird, impossible book the dungeon had made. “I felt it too.” She said.
“Felt… the transfer thing?” James asked.
“Yeah. From you, to Deb. Through me.” Sarah added. “Here, try it now.” She cracked open the book, and looked down at it, getting quickly lost in its shifting pages.
James reached out, and found that he absolutely could. He could feel Deb right there, in addition to Anesh. And he could give or take speed from Anesh, but *sleep* from Deb. And not just sleep either, but something else too… But it wasn’t *just* them either…
“Sarah…” He started to ask. “What… exactly…”
She snapped the book shut with a thump of strange paper. “I knew there was something magic about it!” She exclaimed. “Now I know! When I’m reading it, it expands the reach of my bonds!” She pointed at James, then Deb. “You and I share sleep, you and I share heat. Deb, to me, to you! Two steps, not one!”
“Then all those other people I can feel out there as sources…” James said. “Wait, wait, hang on. There were, like, thirty people!” He looked at Sarah with an incredulous stare.
“Is it that Sarah lets us turn one person into a superhuman through the power of friendship?” James asked quietly. Anesh gave a single laborious nod. “Yeah, I’ve now also had that thought.”
193 Scent-Of-Rain -> having issue with 13 new camaracondas ((acting like kids and having behavior issues))
“Planner, make a note please. In the meantime…” He looked back to Scent-Of-Rain, who looked mildly confused that the response had been that rapid and positive. “I’d like to get a kind of after-school program set up around here. We already have a lot of human children at a roughly analogous development stage, and it would probably be a good idea to get everyone mixed together. But also have some actual guidance, and people they feel safe talking to. Can you stick around after, and we can start workshopping that?”
193 (Morgan, Brian, Color-Of-Dawn, and Resplendent-Pine-Smoke) + El + Marcy + you don’t get a service dog like Navya + no skull jacks spreading around + upgrading video editing software
Morgan, Brian, Color-Of-Dawn, and Resplendent-Pine-Smoke arrayed themselves before the greatest enemy the group of four teenage or teenager-adjacent life forms had ever met. Prepared to collectively stand unified against the most difficult conflict that most of them would have faced so far.
A responsible adult.
“No, you absolutely cannot!” El said, crossing her arms at them.
“Because,” El told them, “the skulljacks aren’t toys.” She paused. “Okay, that’s not true. But they aren’t *just* toys. They’re also kind of incredibly powerful weapons, and handing that to *you two* seems like a terrible idea. You, who built a catapult a month ago, and nearly hit Marcy with a high speed rock.”
“Okay, well, that’s good at least.” El said. “And good job. But *also*, no skulljack. Because we’re trying to make sure those don’t spread until we’re absolutely ready to make them *safe*. I don’t want any of you accidentally wiping out your own personalities by accident, okay?”
El looked at the four of them for a long moment. “First of all, speciesism. I feel like James would be disappointed with me from wherever he is if I didn’t help with that. Second of all, that’s like complaining you don’t get a service dog like Navya does. A fix is different than an upgrade. Even though, *yes*, they’re also still upgrades. We’re working with what we have.” She held up a palm as the kids looked like they were going to launch into more of the debate. “*Third* of all! Weren’t you four making a short film this weekend? Why is this coming up now?”
“Alright.” El laughed. “How bout this. We’ve got a whole stockpile of the things that grow programs. You tell Research I said you can use one or two, and figure out how you’d upgrade a video editing program. And in exchange, *please* hold off on getting the brain slot, okay?” She wrapped an arm around Brian’s shoulders. “You’ll have plenty of time to modify your body when we find safe and less spreadable ways, alright?”
193 EL -> mom to others + Jeanne has job with order
El grinned and shook her head as the four teens ran and slithered off, arguing amongst each other like only actual friends could. Then caught herself, and snorted. “Man, when did I let James trick me into being a mom?” She muttered.
“You’re not bad at it.” Jeanne said with a calm smile, the actual mom overhearing El as she passed by, her own summer activity group spilling past her through the front door of the Lair. “I’m also not sure how I got tricked into this though.”
“You’re easy.” El said. “Your kid loves it here, and they offered you a lot of money.”
“Hey!” Jeanne put a hand over her chest, adopting an offended look. “That would only work for a very long while before I’d catch on!”
193 mark daiz (scheduled for winter climb delv) + Mark Diaz - wife -> Marcy = she removing him from going into dungeons + james veto marcy demand
“My husband,” the woman at the microphone said, “wants to go into one of those dungeons.” She had a rather unhappy look on her face, and James only vaguely recognized her from a couple sightings around the Lair.
“I’m sorry, I don’t… who is your husband?” He asked.
“Mark Diaz.” The woman said. “I’m his wife Marcy.”
“Right!” James nodded. “He’s scheduled for the next group to go into Winter’s Climb. Which… I am… guessing by the glare that is threatening to melt my lapel mic off, you do not approve of?”
“Well, then take him off the list. He isn’t allowed.” Marcy stated.
He cleared his throat, and tried to speak evenly. “Marcy, I’m not going to do that.” He said. And before she could snap at him, continued quickly. “Your husband gets to make his own choices. And I could tell you that we’re going in as well equipped as we can, that we’ll play it safe, that we’re not planning on taking stupid risks. But you’re right, it *is* dangerous. I could tell you that I don’t care who goes, but I really, *really* do. Mark and Bill actually had a similar argument to this, *loudly*, in the lobby a couple days ago. Bill lost by the way, because he has kids.” He sighed. “I don’t want anyone to die and leave someone behind. But a lot of people want to be able to do more, to be more, to go beyond what baseline humanity offers. And all I can do about that is make them as ready as possible, and promise that if they die, their families get taken care of.”
“Or that we try to bring them back to life!” Sarah added.
193 winter climb + james + Arrush + Mark Diaz + marcy (mark's wife)
James’ boots crunched into powdery snow and he sunk two feet despite the snowshoes. The transition into Winter’s Climb was still jarring, but at least it didn’t cause the nausea and headache that the Sewer did.
“It’s August, dear.” James heard Marcy say to her husband behind him, loud enough to be heard over the wind. “Australia is colder in August.”
“Well what about in here?” Mark asked his wife as the two of them adjusted the weight of their delve gear on their backs and followed after James.
End book three