Avarice: The Realm Chapter one: Freax

Freax

I leap across the gap between apartment buildings, flying over the alleyway, my shadow swimming across the concrete. My quarry is two buildings ahead.

I hold up my hand and activate my Freax. A metallic bow materializes in my fist.

My quarry turns and flips backwards in the air, two shotguns pointed at me. Both fire at the same time.

I deflect one slug with my bow and duck under the second one. The ping of the bullet hitting the building’s roof sounds behind me. I slide behind an air conditioning unit.

So, he means to fight.

My quarry rips open a door to the building’s stairwell and dives in. The door slams behind him.

I take a minute to catch myself and use my Freax to conjure several arrows. One of them contains an autonomous drone, to which I have a video feed.

I fire the drone arrow across two alleyways and, once it lands and deploys the drone, I direct it into the stairwell.

All is clear. My quarry seems to be on the run, after his shots missed. A short fight!

I jump across two alleyways and rush into the stairwell. My drone is still in front of me.

I lose feed to the drone. On instinct, I press against the wall. A blast of hot air shoots past me, singing my nose.

I dematerialize my bow and materialize a trench spike. My quarry is close. I can smell it.

The sound of footsteps going down stairs echoes in the stairwell. I creep towards the source of the sound.

A door to a landing opens. A man steps out—a civilian.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he says. “You’re not authorized!”

I conjure a small memory taser and knock him out. His body slips to the floor, guided by my hands. He won’t remember me being here, and will wake up in half an hour.

The sound of my quarry’s footsteps has faded. I slow my pace even more and continue down the stairs.

There is a slight tug at my feet. A sudden blast pops off next to my head.

I catch a dart in between my fingers—a booby trap. My quarry has a similar Freax to what I have, so this is to be expected. I toss the spike to the side and continue down the stairs.

I cone out into an open stairwell. Three layers down, my quarry is still running. I conjure my bow, arm an arrow, and shoot him in the side of his neck.

My quarry slips and falls to the ground. The tranquilizer in the arrowhead takes effect.

Target captured.

I slide down the stairs and come to where the man is laying.

He is a tough-looking fellow, with several scars and many tattoos. I’m not sure what he was wanted for, but I’m not the person who should know. All I do is catch people.

Bagged, tagged, and taken down. Another successful mission.

Two days later, I stand in front of my operator, inside the government’s secret FREAX-C program headquarters. I’ve had my usual break and now it’s time for my next mission.

My operator, Jones, paces back and forth in front of me.

“We’re going to send you into a game,” he says.

I blink. “A game, sir?” I say. “You mean, like a computer game? A VR game?”

“Neither,” says Jones. “This is a much more deadly game. It’s called The Realm. A black-market Freax-users-only game that teleports players to a realm in another dimension where they play by rules similar to VRMMORPGs. Death there is permanent. You play with your real physical body.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand,” I say. “Why would the US government want to play around with a bunch of stupid Freax-addled adrenaline junkies?”

Jones tilts his head. “I was about to get to that,” he says. “There is a reward for completing the game. Collect one hundred ‘gold’ cards, and you will receive a certain reward.” He pauses, tapping his fingers on his shoulders. “We, the government, do very much care about the reward ourselves. However, we are more concerned with terrorists or other enemies of the state getting their hands on the reward.” He turns around, facing the wall. “There are thousands of people in this game,” he says. “And there are dozens of those types of people. The government already has a large stake in the game, but we’ve decided that we need a specialist to deal with those … Loose cannons, so to speak, who threaten our national security.”

“Tell me more about this game,” I say. “I played video games as a child, but it’s been a long time since I was current with all that technology.”

Jones chuckles. “Yeah, I expected that,” he says. “You’re stone-faced most of the time, after all. I wouldn’t expect you to be interested in entertainment of any kind.” He sighs. “But we really need your help. The game can only be accessed by Freax users, and you’re the best spec-ops agent capable of that who is available right now.”

“Do other governments have an interest in this game?” I ask.

Jones shrugs. “Of course. The rewards are great. Japan, South Africa, and most of NATO are allied with us inside the game. Russia and China aren’t exactly at war with us inside the game, but they aren’t helping us either. India, on the other hand, is actively trying to stymie our advances. And then, of course, there’s all the non-superpower nations who scrabble by as best they can.” Jones turns to face me. “We won’t bother providing you with a translator. There’s a Freax enchantment over the game world that automatically translates between players.” He shrugs. “Though I do know you can speak at least seven languages.” He taps his foot. “Your assignment begins the day after tomorrow. We’ll let you into where we keep the consoles.”

I salute, and step away from the briefing room. As I walk through the hallway, I nod politely at several of my coworkers. Even though we’re bounty hunters and assassins, we still get all the benefits of being an office worker. Health, dental, 401k. All the good stuff.

I get into my sports car and drive towards home. The center is located in Millvale, Virginia, a tiny town of less than ten thousand people that is actually quite close to an international airport.

My house is not exactly a mansion, but it is bigger than your average domicile. Standing at two stories tall, it is inhabited by me and my two dogs, Richard and Glive. When I open the door, both dogs pounce on my.

“Hey, boys,” I say, as I rub their ears. “Glad to be home.” I crack open a couple of cans of dog food and put it in their bowls. They seem to like it—I always buy the most expensive stuff. I feel like it’s my obligation to make sure that my money makes someone happy.

I head to my cultivation room. It’s a large room the size of a martial arts dojo, with mirrors on the walls and lots of swords, bows, and weapons hanging on racks. I sit in the room’s center, cross-legged, and begin to cultivate. Freax is a temperamental power source. It takes a lot of willpower and concentration to keep it in shape. And, of course, I always aim to improve. I spend the rest of the day cultivating, as well as the day after.

When I arrive at the center to report for my next mission, I find that Jones is standing at the entrance, leaning against a wall.

“Andrew,” he says. “You’re early.”

I nod as I swipe my ID card at the entrance. I walk past him.

Jones peels from the wall and follows me.

“I’ll be sending you with another agent,” says Jones, as he follows me. “You won’t be with her for all your missions inside The Realm, but she does know a lot more about the place than you do. She’ll be training you in how to use The Realm’s mechanics.”

“So The Realm has mechanics,” I say.

Jones nods. “Yeah. You can use things called “cards” to perform all sorts of cool feats. It’s really quite game-like. Though I’ve never seen the place myself, as only people with Freax can enter.”

I continue to walk. “I see,” I say.

Jones points me to one of the meeting rooms that always seems to be empty. “In there,” he says.

I enter. A rather brusque girl with copper red hair is sitting in an office chair at the meeting table’s head. She turns when she sees me.

“So this is the famous Andrew Dayne,” she says, her arms crossed.

I frown. “You don’t exactly sound like you like me.”

“I don’t not like you,” she says, “But your record is too spotless for me to think you’re a good person. Someone as dedicated as you is probably a stuck-up job-only type.”

“Um, sure,” I say. I turn to Jones. “Should I sit down?”

Jones nods, winks, and leaves the room. I sit.

The woman folds her hands in front of her. “The name’s Garnet,” she says. “I’m a veteran of The Realm. There’s a whole lot in there that I need to give you a crash course in.” She turns around in her chair. “We’ll do most of it in-game. But I’m here now to tell you that the place is a hell-hole. Lots of casualties on all sides. There are some organizations that would go to very excessive lengths to achieve a win.”

“So,” I say, “What, exactly, does a win entail?”

Garnet sighs. “We’ll start from there. To win the game, one must collect one hundred and one golden cards.”

“That’s it?” I say. “It’s a collect-athon?

Garnet chuckles. “I’m surprised you know the name. But no. Sort of. The game is more akin to a trading card game.”

I shake my head. “I never played anything like that as a kid.”

Garnet sighs. “Well, I’ll tell you the basics. Each card has something that it does or represents. Gold cards represent very powerful things and objects. You can turn any card into its object or effect, but once you do, it’s gone. Thus, collecting one hundred gold cards is difficult, as you’ll always be tempted to use them.” She turns back around in her seat.

“Our job isn’t to find the cards,” she says. “It’s to keep them out of the hands of terrorists, criminals, and enemies of the state.” She looks me straight in the eye. “And I heard that you’re pretty good at dealing with enemies of the state.”

I shrug. “I suppose. Someone has to do the job.”

Garnet winks. “Well then. Should we enter?” She stands up.

I nod, following her into the hall and to an elevator, which we take to the fifth basement layer. The doors open to show a large, cavernous room equipped with row after row of FunCons, a popular gaming system from two decades ago.

“So this is what they run on?” I say, as I approach one of the consoles.

Garnet chuckles. “Yes, indeed. The last compatible console is, as you can see, the FunCon.”

I touch one of the consoles. It is rather dusty and a bit warm. Four original controller ports are modified with docks that allow more controllers to be attached, for a total of sixteen input spaces.

Garnet walks to one corner of the room. “This is our console,” she says. “All the other spaces are being used by other agents.”

I approach the console Garnet is standing beside. She plugs in a controller and sits down.

“Just press start!” she says, “And activate your Freax!”

Her body disappears in a flash of light.

Well, that was unexpected. I pick up a lose controller and plug it in. When I press start, the whole world lights up and my body disappears.

The League of Displaced Magical Individuals Chapter One: Magic is Super

Magic is Super

Sunflower sprinted down the track, ahead of the crowd, just barely, keeping herself regulated. The teacher blew her whistle twice, meaning that the set was over. Amber, standing at the white line, clicked her stopwatch and smiled broadly. Sunflower slowed to a stop and returned to the point where Amber was standing, looking at the stopwatch over her shoulder.

Amber was a slender girl, brown hair, blue eyes, a real beauty whom most of the guys in the class had a crush on. Sunflower wasn’t quite as pretty as she was, in her opinion, and she always looked up to Amber as being the model of beauty.

Sunflower checked the stopwatch. 6.023 seconds. A new class record. Amber gave Sunflower a high-five, and Sunflower just barely remembered to keep her strength in check. For fun, she matched her own fingers to the fingers of Amber in the split second before her hand impacted. A perfect high-five. Amber pulled her hand back, rubbing it.

“Do you have to high-five that hard?” she said, smiling tenderly.

“Your turn,” said Sunflower, grabbing the stopwatch out of Amber’s hands.

When P.E. class was over, Amber walked to where Sunflower stood at the water fountain and poked her in the back. “See him?” she said, pointing to Drake Baxton.

“I do,” said Sunflower, glancing that way, then glancing back at her hands, embarrassed. They had made eye contact.

Amber squealed, quietly. “He made eye contact with me!”

“No, it was me,” said Sunflower, and then she covered her mouth with her hands. “I mean, it was you. It had to have been you.”

Amber punched Sunflower on the shoulder. “You know who it was.”

“Both of us,” said Sunflower, sagely nodding her head.

“Exactly,” said Amber. “We can totally share him.”

Sunflower laughed, and then stepped away from the drinking fountain. She sat through school for the rest of the day, and when the day was over, she walked over to the school gate, made sure that no one was watching, and took a turn away from her home, towards the inner city. She stepped into an alleyway, found a small water pipe that had long since outlived its purpose, and pulled a sword out of its depths. It was a long katana, expertly forged, ancient as the wind and agile as the breeze. She pulled it out of its sheath and the light shimmered on its surface, covering the walls in pieces of reflected brilliance. She swung it, once, cutting through the air with a metallic sound. Then she sheathed it and strapped it to her back. She pulled a superhero mask out of her pocket, putting it on. She had made it herself, and it covered just enough of her face to make her unrecognizable, just the eyes and the portion around the nose.  

She jumped and landed on the roof of the nearest building. Running, she sprinted across the rooftops, dodging TV antenna and satellite dishes, expanding her mind into the world around her, reading the thoughts of the people below. She found a distressed thought and jumped down, doing a summersault in the air, landing in an alleyway behind a parking lot next to the local supermarket. A woman was fighting a man, and it looked like the man was about to rape her. Sunflower flickered over to where the man was and tapped him on the neck once with the butt of her sword.

“Hey,” she said. “You should stop that.”

The man jumped back in surprise, and Sunflower stepped out of the way of his stumbling grab for her. She pinned him to the wall.

“What were you thinking of doing?” she said. She glanced at the woman who had been assaulted. “It’s okay, ma’am, I’ve got this.” She punched the man in the head just enough to knock him out, tied his hands up, and pushed him into a corner.

“Call the police,” said Sunflower, looking down at the man’s pants. They were unzipped. “Say Rose helped you.” She kicked at the man’s groin, once, and the man’s entire body reacted, toppling over to the side.

The woman nodded once, meekly. Sunflower smiled, winningly, making sure her mask was still on straight with a touch. Then she kicked against the ground, shooting up, hovering in the air for a moment, adjusting her momentum and landing on the roof of the nearest building. She stood up. One woman saved, one bad guy put away. She flew across the rooftops, scanning the surrounding area, helping the city out for the rest of the night.

The next day, at school, Drake approached her in the hall. She turned to him, her face flushing, and opened her mouth to speak. She closed it, thinking that perhaps he was making eye contact and a suggestive motion to someone behind her.

“Sunflower,” said Drake, stopping right in front of her. Sunflower stammered, searching for words. He was three inches taller than her, and she had to look up to meet his gaze. When she did, she almost swooned. He was close. So close.

“Y—yes?” said Sunflower. “Why do you need me?”

“Meet me after school behind the gym,” said Drake. “Right when the bell rings.” Then he smiled, and stepped away, waving. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Sunflower sighed, putting her hand to her chest, and closed her eyes, savoring the moment. She was surprised when she heard the sound of a dropping backpack behind her. She looked.

There was Amber, standing, her mouth open, tears not in her eyes yet but threatening to come. She wiped at her nose. “He finally choses you, doesn’t he?” she said, her voice filled with pain and venom.

“I—I don’t know,” said Sunflower. “I don’t know what he wants to speak to me about.”

“Fine,” said Amber. “We always knew this would tear apart our friendship.”

“No, Amber, wait, I—“

Amber turned around and walked away, wiping at her eyes, and Sunflower stood there in the moment, unsure of what to do.

“That was …” said Sunflower, reaching out to Amber, but Amber was gone, holding her backpack in one hand, turning down the hall, disappearing.

Sunflower spent the rest of the day in a daze. She didn’t talk to Amber like she normally did, and for the first time since school had started, she ate alone. She didn’t like eating alone. Drake was sitting with his friends, laughing, and Amber was having fun with some of her other friends, a circle that Sunflower hadn’t gotten closed to since it was difficult for her to make friends.

Amber was the only person who would talk to her at the beginning of junior year, since Sunflower had just transferred in, in the middle of high school, having gone with her parents to a new job location. She had lost all of her old friends, and she had been hoping to gain new ones, but one thing had impeded her progress. Her powers. She had gained them through a story that was longer than she was comfortable telling, but which involved a vampire, the Grim Reaper, and a sacred bottle of Mexican coca-cola. It had been a feverish seven days in which so many things had happened that Sunflower had been changed forever. She did not like looking back on those memories. They scared her.

As Sunflower was walking to the trash to throw away the rest of her lunch, one of Amber’s friends reached out her leg to trip her. She stepped over it nimbly, having noticed the move even before it had been telegraphed in her body, simply through her natural state of awareness. She noticed the look of surprise on the girl’s face and read her mind.

Stupid geek, thought the girl, whose gaze Sunflower was meeting. Always the best at everything. Always on the top. She doesn’t deserve to have friends. Now she has Drake? On top of everything else? It’s just not fair. She’s got so many guys after her and this is how she handles it? If I was in her position …

Sunflower pulled away from the girl’s mind, and walked back to her lunch table, sitting down and folding her hands. Guys never talked to her. Not in person. Occasionally one of them would text her or talk to her over Facebook, but they never approached her at school. Sunflower thought that she was somehow putting them off, that she was ugly in person and no one wanted to talk to her. That was her current theory, though she had held multiple theories as to why no one liked to talk to her in the past.

Her mind whirled for the rest of the day, until school ended, and she headed to the back of the gym and waited for Drake to come. He came, walking around the corner, looking both ways as if he was searching for people who would be watching.

“There’s …” Sunflower said, hesitating. “There’s no one watching.”

Drake nodded once. Then he smiled, awkwardly. Sunflower braced herself.

Here it comes.

“Sunflower, have you ever heard of a superhero named Rose?”

Sunflower squinted her eyes shut and spoke as fast as she could. “Yes, I like—“ then she stopped. “What?” she said, opening her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Drake seemed just as nervous as Sunflower did. He wiped his brow with his arm. “I’ve been hearing a lot about her, from my dad mostly, and I wanted to check to see if you knew anything. Your name is Sunflower, and the superhero’s name is Rose, and they’re both flowers, so I just wanted to see if you knew anything about her. You know, since your names are so similar.”

Sunflower couldn’t help but let her mouth drop open. So he wasn’t going to ask her out. He was asking about Rose. Rose? Rose was the name of the superhero who Sunflower became after school. Rose was someone entirely different from Sunflower. Sunflower knew this. She wanted to cry. She wanted to kick her feet up and pout. But she knew, as a young woman, that those reactions wouldn’t be the best. So, instead, she smiled, as best she could.

“My name is Sunflower, but that doesn’t have anything to do with this Rose you’re talking about.” Maybe I should have chosen a name further from my own …

Drake smiled awkwardly. “Because, I think, I’m in love with her,” he said. “I’ve seen her pictures in my dad’s files, and I think she’s the most beautiful girl in the world. I’m sure if she wasn’t wearing that mask she’d be even more beautiful.” Drake was red all over, from the tip of his ears to his cheeks.

Sunflower couldn’t help it. She fell in love with Drake even more in that moment, and knew that she was no closer to him than she was yesterday, because if he was in love with Rose and not Sunflower, then his statement about her being beautiful without the mask couldn’t be true. Otherwise he would be in love with Sunflower without her mask. She turned away, about ready to cry.

“Did I say something wrong?” said Drake, reaching over and touching Sunflower on the arm. He pulled back almost immediately. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you.”

“I don’t know anything,” said Sunflower. “I know nothing.”

“There are other superheroes out there,” said Drake, hesitating. “I’ve read about them online. They hide their identities, but they’re there. I’ve been researching them, and my favorite one is Rose. Rose is the most awesome woman in the entire world. She’s super-powerful, and wields the most epic katana in the world. Firia, everyone calls it, though I don’t think she gives it a name. Some of the things she’s done, they’ve caught it on camera, and she can run at more than fifty miles per hour, and she can jump ten stories, and she can withstand bullets to the chest like she was wearing a bulletproof vest. She’s amazing.” He sighed. “And my father doesn’t know who she is.”

“Your dad is a detective, right?” said Sunflower. “Why is he searching for Rose?”

“Everyone is searching for Rose,” said Drake. “Everyone wants to know who she is.”

Sunflower hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should ask. Then she asked. “Can you tell me something about the other superheroes?” she said, unsteadily.

“Yeah, there are really cool superheroes, like Raygun, and Aquamarine, and then there are the stupid ones like Ignus and Loli.”

Sunflower nodded, going along with Drake’s quick speech and obvious excitement about the subject matter.

“Raygun has a special gun that shoots lasers, that’s why he’s called Raygun. He can shoot a quarter out of the air at a hundred meters. Aquamarine is just aquamarine. There’s nothing special about that except the fact that she’s special. I really like her. But Rose, Rose is the best of them all. She can do everything. She’s the most beautiful superhero in the world, and everyone agrees that she should take her mask off and show people who she is.”

Sunflower almost said it, almost told Drake that she was Rose, but then she pulled back at the last minute, unsure of how he would react when he learned that Rose was an unattractive woman who wasn’t beautiful at all, just appeared beautiful when she was wearing a mask, because Sunflower knew that most of that beauty was just because the mask left everything about her up to the imagination, or at the very least, her eyes and nose. That was the part of her that wasn’t beautiful, right? It had to be. So she hesitated, holding back the information that she wanted to give to him, and instead spoke about the first thing that came to mind.

“I like Rose too,” she said. “I’ve met her.”

Drake’s eyes went wide, and he pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! So you did know something about her!”

Sunflower turned her head away, aware that it would now be a lot harder to reveal who she was to Drake. She sensed someone watching them, in that moment. She smiled, gently, and turned away from Drake.

“I have to go now,” she said, reluctantly. “I really do.”

The presence that was watching them turned into Amber, and then a couple more presences appeared—Amber’s friends. Sunflower didn’t want to get involved in any trouble, and so she wanted to end the conversation short before something bad happened.

“Sorry,” said Sunflower, bowing slightly. “I have to go now.” She turned around and walked away from Drake.

“Let’s talk again sometime,” said Drake, calling out to Sunflower from behind.

Sunflower nodded once, and then turned around the corner of the gym, out of sight from everyone. Then, she burst into full sprint, leaping over the school gates, tears streaming down her eyes and her cheek, biting at the wind. This wasn’t supposed to be how it happened. It wasn’t supposed to be this confusing. Drake’s last statement had given her some hope for the future, but that hope seemed small, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Drake wasn’t in love with her. Drake would never fall in love with her. He loved someone else, someone who was different than Sunflower, someone who Sunflower could never be without her mask. Sunflower had said that she knew Rose. What would that bring? How would that affect her relationship to Drake and Amber? Would Drake really continue to talk to her?

Those questions bounced around inside of Sunflower’s head for the entirety of her run home. When she arrived at her house, she stopped. There was a black van parked in front of her driveway, and Sunflower couldn’t see inside of it with her mental telepathy. She wondered who it was, vaguely sensing an aura of power and danger. Ignoring the feeling, Sunflower walked up to her door and unlocked it with her key. She stepped inside. There, in the living room, was a black-suited man with sunglasses. He looked like a bodybuilder, massive muscles, thick arms, thicker legs, chest bulging at the hem of his suit. He looked at Sunflower and smiled.

“Hello,” he said, just as Sunflower’s mother entered the dining room, carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Oh, hey, Sunflower,” said Sunflower’s mother. “Your debate club advisor is here to pick you up and take you to the competition tonight. Why didn’t you tell me you had a competition? It’s good, you can go, but next time make sure to tell me.”

“Debate club?” said Sunflower, suddenly remembering that she had told her mother that she was in the debate club to cover for the fact that she was usually gone after school. “Right, that,” said Sunflower, after her mother gave her a confused look. She sat down across the table from the black-suited man and looked around herself, awkwardly. “Is there something you wanted from me?” said Sunflower. Sunflower’s mother left the room.

The man extended his hand. In it, he held a business card, all black, with a single logo in its center that was shaped like a shield and had the letters DMI on its surface. Underneath the shield was a name.

Laster. That was it, just one name, no last name. Laster continued to hold the business card out as Sunflower stared at it. “Go on,” said Laster. “Take it.”

Sunflower took it. A light popped up in her hands, and a blue sphere materialized above her palm. The sphere darted around the room, trailing blue light, and then it circled Sunflower’s head five times before puffing away into nothing.

“That’s it,” said Laster. “It’s time to go.” He stood up. “Come with me.”

Sunflower stood up and followed Laster out the door and into the street. Laster got into the black van. Sunflower stood by its side, hesitating. Who was this man? Why was he taking her somewhere? Sunflower thought of all the possible things that could be happening, and then decided that, whatever happened, she would be able to break free. If this was a kidnapping attempt, then they had kidnapped the wrong girl. She stepped into the van. The door closed at her side, and Laster started the engine. They drove through the streets, Laster saying nothing, until they made it to a small tunnel in the middle of nowhere, passing underneath a railway. Laster gunned the engine and they flew through the tunnel and into a world of light, bright light, light that flickered around Sunflower’s body as she floated up in her seat, slamming back down after the light disappeared. They had traveled through some sort of portal, and when Sunflower looked outside, she could see a picture of the planet Earth as if it were being viewed through a spaceship’s window. Only, this spaceship was huge. They drove along a causeway in the center of a long hall, hundreds of other vehicles around them, and then they drove through a door and into the center of a metropolis. The planet Earth shrunk, just as they passed through the door, and Sunflower was aware that she was no longer anywhere near her home world. She was in space. They drove across roads populated with traffic until they came to a tall building near the center of the gigantic space station. Sunflower looked up. She could see hundreds of buildings on the ceiling, upside-down, and she could even see people walking with their heads closer to her than their feet.

“Where are we?” asked Sunflower, leaning forwards in her seat so that she could catch a glimpse of Laster, in the driver’s seat.

“We’re inside of Polis,” said Laster. “The city in the sky. The capital of the known multiverse. Try not to do anything too spectacular, but I’m sure that there are more spectacular people than you out there doing more spectacular things all the time. Just, don’t worry.”

Sunflower leaned back in her chair. Everything was happening too fast. Here she was, in the middle of a space station city, and just ten minutes ago she had been sitting in her own living room. She didn’t want to think about how far from home she was, and so she simply sat down in the car and waited to see what would happen next. They drove into a parking lot next to the tall building and parked. The curvature of the space station was making Sunflower feel giddy, but she pushed that feeling away as she stepped out of the car and onto the pavement. It was remarkably similar to an ordinary building in her home town of Yelldvis, except for the decidedly sci-fi aesthetic that the building possessed, all round curves and architect skyscraper bulges. Sunflower followed Laster into the building and through the ornately decorated main lobby. Everything was bright, bold, and put to a taste that was wholly different from what Sunflower was used to seeing back on planet Earth. The color blue was everywhere. Gold plating covered most of the light fixtures, and potted plants accented a waterfall that flowed through the center of the room.

Laster stepped into an elevator, and Sunflower followed. They stepped out into a hallway that was carpeted, homely, and looked about as rich and wealthy as the lobby that they had passed through.

“Welcome to the office of the DMI,” said Laster. “This is where we’re going to get you signed up with us.”

“Signed up?” said Sunflower, walking behind Laster. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“We have several missions that need a new member,” said Laster, “Or, of you work alone, there are some minor jobs that a newbie like you might be able to handle by herself.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Sunflower. “What’s the DMI? How are we in space right now?”

Laster held up one hand. “That is a story for another time,” he said. He stopped in front of a door that was just like all the others, and opened it, stepping into an ordinary office space with cubicles spread out in its center and doors all along its walls.

“This is the headquarters of the DMI,” said Laster. “We’ll get you processed here, and we’ll make sure to tell you everything you need to know.”

Sunflower looked around at the people scurrying back and forth. She was brought to a desk in the center of the room, behind which sat an old woman with an aura of knowledge and wisdom. She smiled, holding out a piece of paper on a clipboard. “Fill out this ten-nintey-J,” she said, “And then we’ll talk about bounties.”

“Bounties?” said Sunflower.

“What,” said Laster. “You thought we weren’t going to pay you for the work you’ve done for your city? Everyone gets paid when they save the world.”

“But—“ said Sunflower, and then she looked down at her paperwork. After about half an hour, she had it all filled out, and then she handed it to the old woman, who filed it away at a complex holographic computer display system. Then she smiled.

“That’s about it,” she said. “You’re now in the system. It’s time for your briefing.”

Sunflower was already baffled enough about what was going on, but at the same time, she was curious to know what Laster had meant by saving the world, and what the old woman had meant by bounties. She had already taken everything else in stride. What now but to take the rest of the surprises as if they weren’t surprises at all? Sunflower had already been through enough stories as it was. What was another story to add to her collection of weird things that happened to her?

Laster took her out of the office and into the streets, where he stood next to her and lit a cigarette. He smoked it once, and then left it hanging next to his leg.

“I suppose you want to know who I am,” he said, flicking the ash off of his cigarette. “I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that you’re in the system now. The system knows you. No one knows why we have to put people like you in the system, but we do, and once you’re known by the system, strange things begin to happen to you. Your home world, Earth. It has an extremely low magical individual density compared to some of the places out there. It’s a place in dire need of people like you, people who can help the world, people who can bring about the kinds of change that need to be brought about in a backwater place like Planet Earth. In all honesty, the only reason why I even bothered recruiting you is because I’m from Earth as well. I was born and raised there. My hobby is picking up magical individuals from Planet Earth and giving them big missions. That’s just what I do. People think I’m crazy for worrying about such a low-key place, but hell, I don’t think I can handle not helping out my home world when I have all this power.” He took a drag from his cigarette. Then he let it fall again, flicking it twice. “I’m just a human being. A human who’s been thrust into something bigger than himself, something huge, something that could mean the end for Earth if nothing is done about it. I’ve been trying to tell people. They haven’t listened. Earth is a charity case to them, a backwater planet with a population small enough that it doesn’t even have any seats on the intergalactic senate. That’s how small the Earth is. It’s worthless. I’m the only one out there who’s watching out for the planet. No one else will do it.” He took another pull from his cigarette. “That’s where people like you come in. I have a proposition for you. Are you willing to spend some time up here, in the multiverse? Are you willing to help out your home planet with your powers? Because your powers are a lot more extensive than you know. You’re clear from your house and your school for the next week. To your mother, you’re going on a debate team trip. To your school, you’re still going to be there, and it’s just that people won’t notice you’re gone. And don’t worry. We have technology that will help you recover from the missed schoolwork.”

Sunflower thought for a long moment, wondering why this was happening to her, wondering what was going to happen if she accepted the offer and became a protector of Earth, whatever that meant. She had power. She just didn’t know what to do with it, was all.

“You said we’re getting paid,” said Sunflower.

“I did,” said Laster. “You’re going to be paid approximately one hundred thousand dollars for the week’s work. Don’t worry, the price is about right for the danger of the stuff you’ll be doing if you accept this mission.”

“I …” said Sunflower, thinking for another long moment. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what the right thing to do is.”

“You’ll be hopping dimensions, fighting wars, doing espionage and generally saving the ass of every human being who lives on Planet Earth. You’re the only one who even looks like they’ll take the job. Everyone else refused. I’ve been cycling through heroes on Planet Earth for the past two weeks, and every single one of them doesn’t even step into the car to follow me.”

“That’s because you’re driving in an unmarked black van,” said Sunflower. “You have to get that part of the job down right. No one trusts a man in a black suit with a black van.”

“It’s company policy,” said Laster. “We have to look professional. I can’t go against that rule.”

“So?” said Sunflower. “Why hasn’t anyone else taken up the offer?”

“They all gave one excuse or another,” said Laster. “Especially Aquamarine. She saw me once and then she kicked me in the face with her hydraulic pressure booster or whatever the hell it is that she uses.”

“I see,” said Sunflower. “So I’m the only one who responded to the call.”

“You’re Rose,” said Laster, “The person I thought least possible as the only one who would respond to my call. Every other hero has rejected the mantle. Only you have responded to the call to action that I’ve given you. It’s frustrating. I don’t want to believe that no one else wants to save Planet Earth from impending destruction.”

“What kind of destruction are we talking about?” said Sunflower.

“There is a war going on right now,” said Laster, “And Earth is about to become a battleground. Earth has one thing that both sides need in this conflict, and that’s water. Both sides need huge amounts of water to feed their war machines, and they’ve been sucking water worlds clean for the past three centuries, which is how long the war has been lasting. And finally, it comes close to where we are now. Where I used to live, the place I still call home. I have family down there. They think I work overseas, and I want to keep them ignorant. I think that’s about all you need to know, and the one thing that I’m going to tell you is this: be careful out there. You’re on your own for this one. I know you can do it. I’ll give you the tools and the security clearance, and you’re going to have to figure out a way to stop this war from claiming the Earth. No one else cares. No one else is working to stop the war from coming to Planet Earth. Only I know what’s going on, and no one else is listening to me.”

“How long do we have?” said Sunflower.

“About a month, your time,” said Laster. “I told you that you have a week free, but in a month’s time, about, the war will come to Earth.”

“So basically Earth is just getting caught in the crossfire of an interdimensional war,” said Sunflower. “Is that it? Is that going to be the end of it all? You’ve got to be kidding me. I sound like I’m in the middle of a B-list sci-fi movie.”

“You can choose to do something about it, or you can choose to ignore it. If you ignore it, I can’t be responsible for what happens to Earth.”

“I’ll take the job,” said Sunflower.

“And of course, we’ll pay you,” said Laster. “I have a plan.” He took a drag from his cigarette. “It’s just that, it’s going to take some serious brains to complete, and I don’t have any people with those kinds of skills that would listen to my call. You were my last try.”

“I can find someone,” said Sunflower. “I can help you gather people to fight against the war that’s coming.”

“I don’t know how to stop it,” said Laster, “But I’m pretty sure that if we show that the Earth has the ability to contribute to the Galactic Empire, they’ll give us their protection. There’s a mission that the Empire has put on maximum priority. A person that needs to be rescued from a level five lockdown sector. He’s an important Imperial diplomat, who was sucked into a hyperspatial wormhole and dumped in that sector, exactly where, no one knows. That’s why I told you a week. A week is all we have before his life support systems run out.”

“But you need someone smart to be able to find him, right?” Sunflower said, looking up at Laster.

“Right,” said Laster. “And I don’t know anyone that fits the bill. Not anyone I’ve tried to recruit, and I’ve tried to recruit dozens of people from the two cities where superheroes exist.

‘Two cities?” said Sunflower.

“There are two major ley lines that recently opened on Planet Earth,” said Laster. “Before this, there were no superheroes, no superpowers. Ley lines are what cause you to be able to run and jump like that, and that’s what gave you your super reflexes.”

“What can you tell me about, er, Aquamarine?”

“I’m sorry,” said Laster. “That’s classified information. It’s just company policy that I don’t hand out details to people like this. Because, in all honesty, this is completely under the table. If management were to catch me using the database like this …”

“But,” said Sunflower, “Isn’t your personal reputation worth the salvation of the entirety of Planet Earth?”

“I told you,” said Laster. “Aquamarine doesn’t want to be bothered. Neither do any of the other superheroes in Yelldvis.”

“Fine,” said Sunflower, stepping away from Laster. “If you’re not going to help me, I’ll find them on my own.” She turned around. “I’m going home.”

“Take the number eleven and get off at stop five,” said Laster, calling after Sunflower, as she walked away from Laster and towards the street. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, looking both ways, until she found the bus stop. The bus pulled up next to the stop, hissing, a double-decker lighted in neon and chrome and looking exactly like she had expected a bus from the future to look. She checked to make sure it was the right one. The number eleven. Strangely enough, she could read everything on it. Eleven, the right bus.

If Laster couldn’t do anything about the war that was about to take over the Earth, than Sunflower would do something about it. She had a week. One week to save the world.

Nice coat, will I get one too? (Durham School Services Day One)

So basically there's two ways to get a real nice "neon coat" for bus driving. You know, some bus drivers have that sort of meshy, webbed vest that just goes over their clothes, right? Well apparently if you are accident-free for three years, you'll get a full-sized overcoat that looks really spiffing. Or you can order one online for sixty bucks.

Both of the ladies who trained me today (my first day of bus driver training) wore that kind of coat. I asked, naively, after they gave me the simple mesh vest: "am I getting one of those?"

Nope. I'm not getting one of those. But the lady who had the non "special safety" vest (that she bought for sixty or so bucks) said she would sell it to me when her special "safety coat" arrived, which it was due to arrive.

I don't know how serious she was but I'm totally willing to take her up on her offer.

I learned a bit about school buses from training videos that were reminiscent of that Spongebob episode where they showed the Krusty Krab training video. The kind of stuff you watch before each new job. I've been through a lot of those.

But the bus, the bus is different about this job. This job requires a full knowledge of how buses work so that we can keep them in good shape. Because, if a school bus driver screws up, they put a whole lot of kids in trouble. And we're all about protecting those students.

The bus inspection is done through a scanner and a series of little RFID tags that are attached to the bus at various inspection locations. The system is called "Zonar" and it replaced the paper and pencil method of pre and post-trip inspections, which I assume is a good thing, because the paper method looked tedious.

The inside of the bus isn't as mind-boggling as a Boing 747 cockpit, but it does have a bunch of buttons. I'll eventually learn what they do.

I'm happy to try something new and I hope that everything leads to a positive outcome.

The Adventurers of Moray: Book Two Chapter Two: Restaraunt

Restaurant

The aftermath of the sniper attack is only slightly more prolonged than the attack itself. Mandrake summons a sheet of glass to replace the broken one and puts it in place with a couple of slaps. The broken glass pieces are shoved into a trash bin and I am the one to carry it into the street.

Mandrake grins. “That damn bastard. The sniper was probably hired by the Darks to give us a scare.” He holds the bullet he caught between two fingers up to the light. “But I must say, using pure gold bullets sure stinks of petty overspending.”

As he says, the bullet is indeed made of gold.

“Well,” says Mandrake. “At least we know that the Darks have a good source of funding. But we could have guessed that, right?”

I nod. “Can I see the bullet?”

“Sure,” says Mandrake, dropping the solid gold nugget into my hand. It is a lot heavier than I thought it would be. Since it was caught perfectly between two fingers, it hasn’t been deformed much by impact.

“Can I keep this?” I ask.

Mandrake chuckles. “Sure. Though I don’t know what a kid who can easily buy as much gold as they desire would do with a tiny nugget like this. For me this is a lot but for you? No.” He pauses. “It would take some serious capital to buy enough of these to win in a sustained firefight. Plus, it’s just wasteful.”

I cup the gold bullet in my hand. It is warm.

Mandrake rummages through a bin and pulls out a sheet of metal.

“This is a prototype I’m working on,” he says. He hands it to me. “Since you’re the metals expert here, I was wondering what you’d think of it.”

I rub my thumb along the metal. “It’s fine,” I say. To tell the truth, I actually do not know as much about metal as Mandrake seems to think I do.

Though I have studied up a lot in my quest to find a way to teach those conjurers Crayton hired for me.

“Good,” says Mandrake. He takes the sheet and tacks it to the window with nails. Now the only light in the room is coming from a desk lamp. Mandrake sits in the recliner properly this time. He takes out a cigar and cuts it. After a thorough examination, he lights it with an antique lighter. After a single puff he lets it hang out of his fingers.

“I trust you have a strong conscience,” says Mandrake. “You were able to avoid causing trouble even with the huge amount of resources at your disposal.”

“Um, I’m not sure they’re so huge,” I say.

Mandrake takes another puff of his cigar. “Nonsense. You are the master of the entire contents of an S-class portal. Including the bosses. With that power you could conquer the world.”

I shake my head. “But I don’t want to.”

“Exactly,” says Mandrake. “However, your power makes you a sought-after figure. Everyone will want you to be on their side, and they will offer very tempting things in return.”

Besides reviving Alice, which I don’t think anyone would be able to do, I really don’t know what I want deep down inside. I just want to relax and enjoy life while I have it.

Mandrake stands up from the chair and walks to the kitchen. He is still holding his cigar.

“I was going to offer you something to eat,” he says, “But this safe house hasn’t been restocked in a while.” He opens the fridge. “All we have is a couple of microwave dinners.”

I shake my head, and then turn to Sebastian. “What’s the fanciest restaurant in London?”

Sebastian seems to think for a moment. Then he smiles. “A restaurant opened not too long ago that serves conjured meals. They recently gained their third Michelin Star.” He puts his finger to his temple. “I think it was called ‘Conjuratus.’”

I grin. “Great,” I say. “Let’s take Mandrake there.”

Mandrake walks out of the kitchen. “So, do you want something to eat or not?” He looks between me and Sebastian. “What?”

“We’re going to take you out to eat,” I say.

“Well then!” says Mandrake. “I hope it’s somewhere not too expensive!”

“We’re heading to Conjuratus,” I say.

Mandrake’s eyes open wide. “I would love to,” he says. “Are you sure you want to be spending that kind of money on me?”

“You’re a silverbones,” I say. “Don’t you have a lot of money anyways?”

Mandrake shakes his head. “No. As a matter of fact, I make just enough money to live on.”

I am confused. With his power, he could be doing anything, making a ton of money.

Mandrake tilts his head. “I see you’re confused. It’s just a personal creed of mine. I’m very against the idea of wealth.” He shrugs. “But I can’t refuse the kindness of others, either.” He smiles. “Let’s go!”

Sebastian leads Mandrake and I through the building until we reach the street. Our limo is already pulled up next to the sidewalk. Sebastian opens the doors for Mandrake and me. I get in first.

Mandrake sits down.

I open the mini fridge. “Do you like alcohol?” I ask.

Mandrake raises an eyebrow. “What’s a minor like you doing with vintage whiskeys?”

“There’s also brandies and gin,” says Sebastian, from the front seat.

“I’ll take the gin,” says Mandrake. He grabs a bottle of gin and pours himself a glass. Glancing at me, he smiles. “Well, I suppose you need something to drink as well.”

I open the hidden fridge and pull out a diet root beer, popping it open with a snap.

Mandrake chuckles. “Diet root beer. Good choice, lad.”

Sebastian sighs from the front seat. Yeah, yeah. Diet root beer isn’t exactly suited for a rich young prince like me. Appearances and all that. I take a guilty sip of the beverage and set it down on the table with high edges.

Mandrake watches the cars beside us, not saying a word. I am left wondering what he is thinking.

“You haven’t told me directly,” I say, “But what’s the purpose of the Silverbones?”

“Immortality,” says Mandrake. “Or, at least, the search for it.” He sighs. “Plus a lot of other things. Look, lad. Don’t worry about what we do before you’ve made a decision.”

“But it’s obvious what I want to do,” I say. “I’m no bad guy.”

“So they all say,” says Mandrake. “I’m not counting on your presence until after the Darks contact you. We’ll see how moral you are after you’re presented with their offer.”

We pull into the parking lot of Conjuratus. It’s a fancy building in the London suburbs that is decorated as one would expect a high-class restaurant to look.

Sebastian opens the door for me, and I step out. Mandrake follows.

Sebastian bows. “I will not be accompanying you this time,” he says. He hands me a card. “Here is the method of payment.”

It looks like a simple debit card. I shrug and put it in my pocket.

“That’s a British Express Platinum, my boy,” says Mandrake. He seems genuinely impressed.

I take the card back out of my pocket and examine it. It doesn’t look that special to me. Sure, it’s shiny and has good build, but I would expect that of any payment plastic. I place it back in my pocket.

Mandrake chuckles, and then turns to the entrance of the restaurant. “This will be the first time I’ve eaten high-class conjured food,” he says.

We both step in. I am dressed sharply—it’s been a habit of mine ever since I realized I could—and, of course, Mandrake is wearing a black suit and fedora. We are dressed for the establishment.

A waiter approaches us.

“Reservation for Mr. Red, correct?” he says.

I nod.

“Right this way, gentlemen,” says the waiter. He leads us to a rather private table near the back of the establishment. I can catch a glimpse of the kitchen from here.

We both sit down. The waiter hands us our menus.

I read through it and decide to try the Duck Flambe.

“So, what are you going to have?” I say, to Mandrake.

“Just a steak,” says Mandrake. “I’m not very used to establishments like this.”

“Neither am I,” I say. “But I suppose at chances like this I have to try something brave.”

“That’s a good way to think about it,” says Mandrake, as he puts his menu down. He folds his hands and rests his elbows on the table.

“I have to ask,” he says. “Do you know where your money is coming from?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I say. “I just accept the fact that the portal beings working for me aren’t causing too much trouble.”

“Hrm,” says Mandrake. “You also have your Rearden Metal, right?” he says.

I nod.

Mandrake crosses his arms. “It’s normal for any human who has absorbed a multi-thousand-year ring to manifest many special powers. Entrance to the Silverbones requires absorption of at least a five-thousand-year spirit,” he says. He taps his finger on the table. “I myself have acquired a twelve-thousand-year spirit. I was originally the owner of an organic compound manifestation. A certain polymer that doesn’t have an official name. I was assigned to be an adventurer because I could use the polymer to create shields.”

“So you’re a tank-class,” I say.

“Correct,” says Mandrake. “And I manifested a wide range of powers having to do with plastics and organic compounds. That metal sheet I showed you is actually an organometal.”

I whistle. “I should try making something like that.”

Mandrake chuckles. “I don’t doubt you could. Rearden Metal and my creation are in different classes, but both are strong.”

The waiter comes to the table and we order. After the waiter leaves, Mandrake folds his hands.

“So, you’re here in London for just another month, right?” Mandrake says.

I nod. “Just long enough to teach the conjurers Esmex hired to produce Rearden Metal.”

Mandrake sighs. “I don’t know if that will come to good or not, but it’s part of my personal creed to neve profit from what I can produce.”

I shake my head. “I don’t really want to profit,” I say. “I just want to be useful to the world.”

“Well, that’s noble of you,” says Mandrake, with a small smile.

The waiter arrives with our dinners.

“That was quick!” says Mandrake, as the food is placed on the table.

The waiter gives a professional smile. “All our food is conjured in its final form by our head chef.”

I look at the beautiful duck roast in front of me. As the waiter leaves, I take a bite, making sure to adhere to the English etiquette I was taught not long ago.

There is a loud screech and a crash. A car comes barreling through the front of the restaurant and smashes the wall, sending tables and dishes flying.

A couple seconds of silence pass. The car doors open and a gigantic, beefy man with Schwarzenegger-class muscles steps out. He is holding a chaingun.

“Get down!” yells Mandrake, as he tips the table in the direction of the attacker. He forms a semi-clear barrier of organic material between us and the gunman.

The gun opens fire, sounding less like individual bullets and more like the tearing of a cosmic sheet of paper. Screams are everywhere. Broken dishes and tracer rounds fly all over the place. One of the restaurant goers seems to be an adventurer and tries to fight back. Before he can take out his weapon, he is turned into a fine red mist.

“Damn Ronald,” says Mandrake, as he crouches behind the table and his shield.

“Is that his name?” I say, as I watch the restaurant explode.

Hundreds of bullets are pinging against Mandrake’s shield.

Mandrake’s face is deadly serious. “Yes. He’s not someone you want to mess with.” He pauses. “Not that anyone in the Darks is to begin with.”

The chain gun is still firing. I’m pretty sure that, by now, everyone in the room is dead. And yet the gun keeps firing.

Finally, the chain gun stops. All that is left is the sound of it spinning, and then that stops.

Ronald takes a couple of steps towards us, shells clinking beneath his feet. He stops in the middle of the room.

“Come out, come out!” he says, with a thick German accent. His eyes lock on us. He grins. “We need to borrow little Markus for a moment,” he says. “If you don’t turn him over,” Ronald holds up a bomb detonator, “I will put a hole in this street. Many people will die!”

“You’ve already killed enough,” says Mandrake. “Why do you want to kill more?”

“Kill?” says Ronald. “I do not kill. I stomp. I crush. I flatten.” He turns the chain gun towards us. It begins to spin again.

Mandrake whispers to me. “If he directs the gun against my shield, I won’t be able to hold long.” He cringes. “I’m going to have to let you go. They won’t kill you or torture you. You’re too valuable.”

I shake my head. “I have an idea.” I reach into my personal dimension and find the stone golem boss from the S-class portal. It’s still there. When I see it in my mind’s eye, it stands up from a sitting position and kneels before me.

“Master,” it says.

I snap my fingers.

A white portal appears on the restaurant floor, covering several broken tables and dead bodies. The golem begins to rise from the ground. First its head, then its shoulders. When it is at its waist, it tears a hole in the ceiling. With two gigantic steps, it walks out of the portal and tramps towards Ronald.

“You bastard!” yells Ronald, as the golem picks him up in both hands.

“Guns don’t work against portal beings,” I say, grinning slightly.

Of course, my grin falls when I see the dead bodies.

It returns for a split second when the golem throws Ronald like a professional baseball pitcher and sends the killer flying over the city skyline. Then the golem bows to me, returns to the portal, and sinks back into the floor.

“That won’t kill him,” says Mandrake. “It will barely scratch him.” He sighs. “Now they’re probably going to punish you at some point. And they won’t be attacking you alone anymore. If you try the golem trick on Blastoid, you’ll end up with a cloud of steam and a pile of broken rocks.” Mandrake wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.

Police sirens wail in the distance.

“Well,” says Mandrake, “After the theft at the National Gallery, the news will have a lot of things to report today.” He turns to the dozens of dead bodies covering the restaurant floor. “Namaste,” he says, holding his hands together.

“Rest in peace,” I say, holding my own hands together.

It looks like the war has just begun.

The Adventurers of Moray: Book Two Chapter One: Dark and Bright

Dark and Bright

A month after my arrival in London for the CCC, I am about to bury my face in the sand and scream. The conjurers Crayton hired to produce Rearden Metal are nowhere near adhering to the schedule set before me. At this rate, two months will be nowhere near enough time to teach them how to create a single-crystal superalloy.

I am sitting on a couch in the lobby of the Esmex building. The people passing by me, wearing well-fitted business suits, give me a sense of peace that I like to enjoy. Soon my eyes close and I am asleep.

I stand in the middle of a labyrinth. The echoes of a girl crying reverberate through the empty halls. Strange, oscillating art pieces climb around on the walls. The walls themselves are made of wood, concrete, fence, steel wire, leaves, paper. There does not seem to be any coordination.

The crying sound grows louder.

Mother.

The name ricochets off the floor and dimly-lit ceiling. I do not know who is speaking, but the cries are full of a longing for that which is lost and can never be recovered.

I wake with a start. Someone is shaking me. It’s one of the bellboys who work in the building’s front.

“Mr. Blanche wants to see you,” he says.

I sit up. This is the first time in two weeks that he’s wanted to speak to me personally. Though he appeared fine at the party after the defeat of the S-class portal, since then he has slipped into a deep depression. Alice still hasn’t woken up from her coma. I know now that Crayton’s wife died, and Alice opened the portal because she was trying to resurrect her. Losing the only memory he has of his wife has really shaken Crayton up. Plus, you know, Alice is his daughter.

I take the elevator to the building’s penthouse. It’s been a while since I was up here.

When I open the door I am hit with a wave of putrid stench. Trash bags, TV dinner boxes, and dirty dishes are stacked in piles all around the living room. I make my way through the maze, trying to find the door to the bedroom.

“Mr. Blanche?” I say, as I pick through the mountains of filth.

There is a sound from the bedroom. I knock on the closed door.

“Come in,” says Crayton. His voice is almost too soft for me to hear.

I open the door. The bedroom is worse than the living room. At least two dozen takeout boxes are stacked on the bed. The floor is covered in spilled—what, soda? Drink? Some sort of dark liquid.

Crayton himself is sitting in a lounge chair, watching home videos of Alice and, I assume, her mother. He doesn’t turn to look at me.

“Mr. Blanche?” I say. “You wanted to see me?”

“You heard it, didn’t you?” says Crayton.

“What, sir?” I ask.

“Her voice,” says Crayton. “Alice’s voice.”

I think back to the dream that I had sitting on the couch. “I think so, sir,” I say.

“She was crying,” says Crayton. “She was calling for help.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” I say.

“Get your network to figure that out,” says Crayton. “I’ve hired the best doctors. The best healers. The best of anything. Nothing works. She’s still … Sleeping.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I say. “I care about your daughter as well.”

Crayton says nothing. Instead, he reaches towards the half-full twelve-pack of beer by his chair and pops it open. He takes a long draught.

“I’ll do what I can, sir,” I say.

Crayton wipes the foam from his mouth. “I wanted to ask you,” he says. “How is the work with Rearden Metal going?”

I cringe. “I’m sorry, sir,” I say. “I haven’t been able to produce good results.”

Crayton turns towards me, looking at me for the first time. “Well, we can’t help that, can we?” he says. Then he turns his face back towards the TV.

The TV is showing a birthday party. Alice looks to be about ten. Her mother is stunningly beautiful. The kind of beauty that Alice will probably become when she’s twenty-five. Her mother is smiling, laughing, and I can tell why Crayton isn’t over her.

It looks like it’s Alice’s birthday. She blows out the candles, and then is presented with a veritable mountain of presents. Expensive dresses, collectors’ dolls, and lots of chocolate.

I turn my gaze away from the TV.

“Sir,” I say to Crayton. “You need to clean up your penthouse.”

Crayton waves his hand dismissively. “Just call the maid.”

“Why hasn’t she been coming?” I ask.

Crayton says nothing, only takes another draught of beer.

After a long pause, the home video ends. Crayton looks at me. “Save her,” he says, “And I’ll reward you with whatever you want. I have money. I have artwork. I have anything you could ever desire. Just save her!”

I nod. “I’ll work on something,” I say. Of course I’ve been racking my brains too to see if I can come up with something to save her. I’ve asked my devils and the new workers I gained from the S-class portal and no one has any clue why Alice is still asleep. Nothing we can do can help her.

“Is it okay if I visit her today?” I ask.

“Go ahead,” says Crayton.

I bow, and then back out of the room. I leave the penthouse and ride the elevator to the ground floor. When I get there, I head to the receptionist’s desk.

“Mr. Blanche has requested a maid to clean his penthouse,” I say.

The receptionist looks visibly relieved. “How did you get him to agree to that? He’s been rejecting all entry to his penthouse for the past three weeks, besides the takeout boy.”

“Well, I convinced him somehow,” I say. Then I pause. “Do you have the address where Mr. Blanche’s daughter is being held?”

The receptionist nods. “We just received word a minute ago to give it to you. Hold on.”

I hold on. After thirty seconds of rummaging the receptionist hands me a piece of paper with the hospital and room number on it.

I take the paper and walk out of the building.

Sebastian, I call, through the magic phone line I keep on me. Come pick me up.

Five minutes later my limo arrives. Sebastian steps out and holds the door open for me.

“Master,” he says.

I step in, handing him the paper. “Take me to this hospital.”

The trip takes less than ten minutes. Almighty Mercy Hospital is a towering structure with at least ten floors and a huge footprint. Sebastian drops me at the entrance roundabout and I pat myself down to make sure I’m looking okay.

I ask the nurse at the front desk to point me to Alice’s room. Once I get the number and permission to visit, I take the elevator to the long-term care ward.

Alice’s room is in the middle of the hall. I knock gently on the door. There is no answer.

I open the door and step in. Alice is laying in the room’s bed, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling slowly. She is hooked up to an IV and a bunch of other equipment. This is the first time I’ve seen her since the portal opened.

I sit on a chair beside her bed, and take hold of her hand.

“You did it for your mother, didn’t you?” I say, not expecting a response. “I can understand that.”

Portals are dangerous things anyways. It’s not her fault that this S-class portal existed. If it wasn’t her, I’m sure someone would have opened it eventually.

Alice’s eyes flicker underneath her closed eyelids. She is clearly dreaming about something.

A couple of images flash past my eyes. Blood. A searing crash, glass shattering. Then the images go away.

Is she trying to tell me something?

Whatever it is, I can’t understand it. I spend five more minutes watching her eyes flicker and then stand up. “I was told to look for a cure for you,” I say. “I’m going to find it. You and your father will be back together.”

I have forgiven her for using me on that date three weeks ago. I know she did it because she wanted her mother back.

I leave the room and close the door behind me.

A man wearing a black suit and a fedora is leaning against the wall outside the hospital room.

“Are you ready to make a choice?” he says.

I shake my head. “Um, who are you?”

“Just an agent,” says the man. “Nothing important.”

I frown. “Am I ready to make a choice about what?” I ask.

“White or black,” says the man. “Make a decision soon.”

The world folds around in front of me and, with a shimmer, the man is gone.

I am left wondering what in the world he meant. Was I hallucinating?

Anything is possible in this brave new world.

I leave the hospital in worse spirits than when I arrived. Both the appearance of the strange man and Alice’s vision in my head have taken their toll on my mood. Sebastian is waiting for me next to my limousine.

“Have you been waiting long?” I ask him.

Sebastian shakes his head. “Not long at all,” he says. He opens the door for me and closes it after I get in.

Somewhere in the city, police sirens are wailing. A lot of them. Is something happening?

“What’s going on?” I ask, to Sebastian.

“There was a robbery at the National Gallery,” says Sebastian. “A portal artifact of great worth was stolen.”

I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This sounds a lot like what happened with the S-class portal.

Black and white. I have a feeling that this robbery is linked to what that man in a fedora told me.

A shadow falls over the limo. A body slams into the windshield, and Sebastian stops us with a violent motion. My neck is jerked forwards and backwards.

The man on the windshield is wearing a white tee shirt and jeans. The windshield, being bulletproof, hasn’t cracked.

Sebastian pulls the car to the side of the road and gets out.

I am about to step out as well when Sebastian puts his hand out.

“It’s dangerous, master,” he says.

I stay in the limo.

The man’s body begins flashing like a Mario Kart bomb. I flinch.

The body explodes with a cartoonish blast of red and yellow. The limo’s airbags expand, and the window is blown off. A white, tingling powder floats through the air and coats my body. I am left coughing, feeling as if I’ve swallowed a mouthful of dirt.

Confetti fills the limo’s interior. I pick up a piece of it. It’s got a smley-face emoji and the words “Hi! I’m Generica!” written on it.

I let the confetti fall to the ground.

Sebastian opens the limousine door, clearly flustered. “I’m sorry, master!” he says. “I failed!”

I shake my head, still trying to spit out the taste of dust. “No, it wasn’t your fault.” I pick up a piece of the confetti. “Do you know who Generica is?”

Sebastian’s face turns white. “Master, were did you learn that name?”

I hand him the piece of confetti.

Sebastian shakes his head. “That is not someone you would be wise to interact with.” He crumples the confetti in his hand. “I would suggest you forget this name immediately.”

“Am I in danger?” I ask.

“Not with your loyal servants around,” says Sebastian. “We will keep you away from this … Individual.”

I look at where the body hit the windshield. “Was that an actual person?” I ask.

Some of the people who had been walking by when the body fell have stopped and are staring at us. There is a bloodstain on the concrete, but no body, and a whole bunch of confetti.

“Someone call the police,” I say. “I think someone committed suicide.”

There is a hushed wave of whispers among the bystanders.

I catch sight of the same man in a fedora who greeted me at the hospital. Before I can call out, he slips into an alleyway.

“Excuse me for a moment,” I say to Sebastian, as I push through the crowd to get to the alley.

“Wait, master!” says Sebastian. “Don’t follow him!”

But I am in the alleyway before Sebastian can push through the crowd.

The man in the fedora is sitting in a fire escape, looking down at me.

Sebastian stops behind me. “Master,” he says. “Who is this?”

The man in the fedora tips his hat. “Mandrake Sommelio. Member of the White Silverbones.”

Sebastian’s face goes ghastly pale. “Silverbones?” he says.

I shake my head, holding out my arm in front of Sebastian. “Let’s hear what he has to say,” I say.

Several police cars pull up next to where the man fell. Sebastian looks back. “I’m having some other operatives deal with the police,” he says. He turns to me. “If you want to follow this man somewhere where we can converse, I would not stop you.”

The man in the fedora drops down from the fire escape. He brushes off his suit. “Well then. Since you seem to be cooperating, I’ll lead you to a special place.”

Mandrake begins walking backwards through the alley, both his hands on his suit.

Sebastian and I follow him. We go through the alley until we come through the other side. Mandrake leads us to a small, run-down tenement along a busy side street. We go up a thin Victorian-era staircase and enter a tiny little apartment with just three rooms. The living room is meticulous, with a couch, a recliner, and an old television.

Mandrake sits on the arm of the recliner, holding his hands together. He snaps his finger and a soft bubble expands, covering the room’s walls.

“This is a safe house,” says Mandrake. He pulls a bottle of wine, which appears to be a lever. Two of the apartment’s walls turn over to reveal a smorgasbord of adventuring weapons. “I’d suggest you keep this place in the back of your minds as you go forwards. The Darks are after you. They’ll give you an offer that you can’t refuse. I want to make you an offer first, before they do.” He taps his fingers on the coffee table next to the chair. “There’s not much that material wealth will do for you,” says Mandrake. “And we don’t have anything else of worth that we can give you. If you do decide to side with the Brights, your only reward will be your conscience. That is our offer to you.”

A flash of a moaning wail echoes through my head. I again see, slightly, the maze that I dreamed of earlier. Then my mind snaps back to reality.

Mandrake appears troubled. “You hear it too?” he says. “The disturbance in the ether?”

“I do,” I say.

Mandrake nods. “I see you are an anima spirit.”

“It’s been a while since someone has called it that,” I say, “But yes.”

“And with your considerable and varied powers, you are choosing to masquerade as a conjurer?” says Mandrake.

“Um, yeah,” I say. “I guess I can’t fool you.”

“You can’t,” says Mandrake. “I’ve done my research.”

“Do you know anything about Generica?” I ask.

“She’s a real bad Dark One,” says Mandrake. “Has a nasty habit of blowing people up. Filling them with all kinds of things. Worms, and razor blades, and burning embers. Very painful.”

I cringe. “So the Darks are the bad guys,” I say.

“I suppose you could call it that,” says Mandrake. “But, at the same time, they do provide for their own. And they are willing to do things that we Brights are not.”

“Well, it’s obvious who I’d choose,” I say.

Mandrake shakes his head. “That’s what everyone but the most psychopathic say before they join the Darks.”

I am troubled. “So they’ll offer me something I can’t refuse,” I say.

“At the very least, something that you will have a hard time rejecting,” says Mandrake. “There’s a nasty bugger, Elina is her name, she can tell what anyone wants most, deep down in the depths of their soul.” Mandrake turns around, pointing to the rack of weapons. “I suppose you wouldn’t need any of these weapons, considering your ability to conjure anything you can imagine.” He sighs. “We’re all powerful here. There are six Brights and eleven Darks in this world. All of them are converging on London because of you.”

“And together you constitute the Silverbones?” I say.

Mandrake snorts. “I suppose so,” he says. Then he looks longingly through the window. “I suppose so.”

The windows shatters, a bullet flies through the room, and Mandrake catches it between two fingers. He examines it, and whistles.

“Well, the game has started then!” he says.

The Lesser One Arc 1: Last Chapter: Ghost

Ghost

I wake up to a doorbell ringing. When I stand up, I realize all my clothes from yesterday are still on, complete with bloodstains. I want to change, but I have to answer the door first. It’s probably nothing.

I open the door to reveal a man in a bright red bellboy’s shirt. He bows and hands me two envelopes.

“I have been sent from her majesty’s court,” he says. “Please respond as soon as possible.” He then bows again and turns around.

I close the door, holding two envelopes in my hands. Both of them are marked with a royal seal.

I open the first.

You have been cordially invited to a specially scheduled Garden Party to celebrate the taming of Portal U-375. Present this invitation at the door.

Below is an address that I recognize to be Buckingham Palace.

Well then. They said there would be a party.

The next envelope is also from the Queen. It requests an audience tomorrow at two. I can make that!

The party is tonight. Before then, I have to fulfill my contract with Esmex, though at this point it feels a little bit anticlimactic considering what I’ve been through recently.

I take a hot shower, change into some clothes I find folded next to my bed, and make sure to put on deodorant. I walk out of the room and take the elevator to the floor with my lab. Since this is the Esmex building, I don’t even have to leave it.

Two conjurers are already there. The rest arrive before the day officially starts, and I spend the rest of my working hours trying to teach these people how to make Rearden Metal.

I think they’re showing promise!

When I return to my apartment after the working day is over, I see a formal dress neatly folded on the table in the living room. I put it on and look at myself in the mirror. I look a lot better than I thought I would, though I’m still not satisfied with my hairstyle.

Oh well. I’ll get someone to fix it eventually. I head to the elevator.

Sebastian meets me in the entrance lobby. He bows. “Master,” he says.

I follow him into the limousine, and we drive through London until we reach Buckingham Palace. There are already a lot of fancy cars waiting to drop off their important people.

I am dropped off at the entrance to the palace. A pair of men dressed in red uniforms escort me to the garden inside the castle. There are already several dozen dignitaries and high-level adventurers milling about, drinking fine wine and eating hors d’ouevres.

I see Crayton, but I don’t see Alice. I approach Crayton and greet him politely.

“Ah, Markus,” says Crayton. “I assume you want to know how Alice is doing.”

I nod. It’s no use beating around the bush. “Is she okay?” I say.

Crayton shakes his head. “She took a huge blast of psionic energy. She should be medically fine, but she just won’t wake up.” He shakes his head, though I can tell he is very, very worried about her. Then he seems to brighten up a bit. “I hear your efforts with Rearden Metal are coming to fruition,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I think at least some of the conjurers you hired are getting it.”

“Well, then keep at it,” says Crayton. He seems to want to avoid talking about anything but superficial things regarding Alice.

I don’t know what to talk about next. The party seems to be going well, and everyone looks happy, but I have a feeling that everything here is fake and plastic. But what could I expect? This is high English society at its finest.

A man wearing a tan suit approaches me. He extends his hand, a smile on his face.

“I’m Raputin Drommel,” he says.

I shake his hand.

Raputin nods. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Everyone is talking about what you did for the country. And you’re from America! I never knew those Yankees had it in them!”

“Well, we did win both World Wars,” I say, mostly intending it as a joke.

Raputin frowns for a split second and then is smiling at me again. “Ha! A fine sense of humor we have here.” He tilts his head. “So tell me. How did a young man, so clearly still in high school, attain the sought-after designation as an S-class adventurer?”

“I killed a balrog,” I say. “With a little help. A, uh, Dungeon Striker missile did most of the work, but I was the one who pointed it.”

Raputin gives me a false grin. “Very interesting! I’ll do my best to convince the government to invest in more of those! I heard they were very instrumental at the Battle of Crickhowell?”

I am about to shake my head, but then think better of it. I don’t want to reveal how small the effect of those super-expensive missiles was against an army of A-class monsters. I certainly don’t want to burst the military’s bubble and discourage more research into anti-dungeon monster technology.

I do my best to smile. “Yes, they certainly turned the tide.” I pause. “I recognize you. You were at the battle, right?”

“Just for a moment,” says Raputin. “I’m the guild leader of the Green Blazes. They evacuated me when it got too hectic.” He sighs. “I wish I could have seen those beautiful Dungeon Striker missiles in action.” He winks at me. “I helped design them, after all.”

“Just a little bit,” says another man, who approaches from the center of the garden. He extends his hand. “Icarus Oppenburg. Leader of the Rocking Shooters’ Guild.” He puts his arm around Raputin. “Don’t listen to this man’s bragging. He barely did anything for the Dungeon Striker program.”

Raputin seems to be taking the downsizing well. “Ha! And you didn’t do anything,” he says. “At least my guild fought better than yours at the battle!”

Icarus smirks. “Of course, my good sir,” he says. “But our guild had the oh-so-important job of evacuating citizens. How many peoples’ lives did you directly save by charging in there like a mad beast?”

Raputin winks. “More than you would imagine,” he says. “My guild is formed of only the best adventurers!” He looks at me with a strange expression. “Would you like to join the Green Blazes?”

I shake my head. “I’ve already made a deal with the Blue Dryads. Plus, I belong to another guild back home, the Riding Valkyries.”

“Pah,” says Raputin. “That corporate bunch leading the Blue Dryads has no soul. They’re like the McDonalds’ of adventuring guilds,” he says. “And I don’t know anything about American guilds, but I don’t recognize the Riding Valkyries.”

“You wouldn’t,” I say. “It’s a small guild.”

Raputin frowns. “You’re an S-class adventurer,” he says. “You should be with a big, famous, and well-led guild. Like mine!”

Icarus shakes his head. “No, your guild isn’t as famous as mine,” he says.

“When you read the last guild popularity poll,” Raputin says, “The Green Blazes top the Rocking Shooters!”

“That was a recent upset!” says Icarus. “The Rocking Shooters have been on top a lot more than you!’

I bow, and retreat from the oncoming storm, taking it upon myself to wander around the garden’s edges. The people at this party seem to be ignoring me for the most part. Perhaps I just don’t have the pedigree to deal with these kinds of people. I’m a commoner from America and I don’t understand how British high society works.

A man wearing a normal-looking suit approaches me. He stands next to me without saying anything, sipping champagne out of a glass.

“You have qualified,” he says, after a long pause. “You must choose a side. White or Black.”

I turn to ask him what he means, but he is gone, like a ghost.

And I am left wondering what will happen next.