NOTE!!!! This story is coming down in June. I finished a round of longer editing and am doing much quicker small edits at the moment (5/24). So you may not want to start unless you are a fast binge-reader.

Location: Terra 172.

Cycle: 0.

Local Time: 4:51 p.m.

I stood opposite her, weaponless, in full uniform.

Miranda Price brandished a pair of daggers on the opposite side of the arena formed from perfectly polished blue granite. Her white blouse sleeves had been pushed up her taut forearms, exposing faded scars on their undersides. Not that she cared. Her stance was low and squat. She shook her head once, and her short brown hair swayed, giving the impression of a lion shaking its mane.

Price was Lloyd's twenty-year-old head laundress. I was his butler at twenty-five. Lloyd collected an odd lot of us. He had us do rather odd things, like this duel. You could say that he was odd himself.

Around us, thirty feet in the air, an elevated platform formed a semi-circle about the arena. Dozens of men and women lounged in an enormous curved hot tub with transparent walls built on top of that platform, the world's longest such tub according to the contractor. About half of them were in drenched gowns and suits. Others wore swim attire, and still others wore less. Chins and limbs dangled lazily over the side.

"Twenty grand on the fine gent!" someone shouted, the words slurred.

"Which one's that?" Laughter followed. Someone threw a wine glass. It shattered on the edge of the arena.

Price's jaw clenched briefly, but she hid her anger. We all did. Working for Alan Lloyd meant that you became used to putting up with a lot more than insults and snobbery. The current spectacle being a prime example of that.

Lloyd was what the press called eccentric, what I called bonkers, and what our groundskeeper Maller called every combination of four letters in the English alphabet. But most importantly to the world, Lloyd was rich. Dictator levels of rich, I was sure.

And he was obsessed with two things: the end of the world and medieval history. Combined, that made him a nutty billionaire prepper who refused most modern technology. He didn't stockpile firearms or ammunition. He stockpiled museum-grade pieces. Swords, maces, spears. Arrows. Armor. Then, he had us learn to use them. Well, sort of.

On top of our regular duties, Lloyd insisted that every member of his staff learn how to fight with these relics under the tutelage of the world's foremost combat instructors. We tried, but we were butlers and maids, not soldiers. This absurd duel was supposedly part of that training, although it was just as much of a circus show for his guests. Lloyd wasn't just crazy. He was a bastard.

Price and I silently stared at each other across the arena, ignoring the jeers from above. Lloyd wasn't making us murder each other. Yet. Price's steel daggers were blunted and had a thin line of wet red paint coating their edge. The rules were simple. If Price painted me anywhere, I lost. On the other hand, if I remained in the arena for three minutes without dirtying my clothes, I won.

Jason Jennings, chief of security and one of the combat instructors, served as a referee from the arena's edge. Part of security's role was image, and he leaned into his with a buzz cut, sunglasses, and square jaw. Jennings didn't mind humoring Lloyd but he had drawn the line at the order to ditch his firearms. He had a single pistol holstered on his right hip. On his left, he had a thirty-inch blade in a dark scabbard, courtesy of Lloyd.

Jennings held up a stopwatch. "You two ready?"

I tilted my head towards my opponent. "Ms. Price?"

"Danny." Price shrugged. "Let's just get this over with."

"Start!" Jennings barked.

Price immediately came for me, stabbing with precise strikes, exactly as Jennings had taught her. I dodged sideways, backwards, and spun away to put distance between us while staying within bounds.

Price grimaced as she turned to face me. She found the whole affair disgraceful and demeaning, which it was. I had to admit, though, I enjoyed the exercise more than a little, other than the crowd. It wasn't entirely different from what they had made us do in that butler crash course I took, navigating all sorts of obstacles with a tray of plates piled high.

I skittered along the edge of the arena, staying ahead of Price without breaking a sweat. Price showed no signs of slowing, either. She might have been slower than me, but she was relentless. She nearly caught my leg with a quick slash and I had to hop while twisting to avoid the red paint. I spun again, narrowly avoiding a follow-up swipe.

"Cut him up! Let's see blood!"

"Use this!"

Something metal glinted as it landed on the surrounding grass. A steak knife. I had to duck to avoid a black high heel. Price paused, looking upward with a glare.

"Don't," I whispered.

It wasn't that I didn't share her anger, more that I had a very tight rein on it these days. Ever since my...treatments.

See, Lloyd had saved me. He had saved every single one of us in his household, somehow, in some way. That was why we put up with all this. That was why we let Lloyd play his games with us like good little servants. It wasn't about the money--at some point no amount of money would ever be worth it.

He had saved me, and I had promised him ten years of loyalty. It was a fair trade, a decade for a death. More than fair, even, in my favor. It had been rough at first, but I had managed, mostly due to Summers' guidance. Others, like Price, were still adjusting.

I took a step closer to her, ignoring the game. "Ms. Price. This is our job. Keeping composure in front of guests is paramount."

Price's knuckles were white, her fists trembling. She glanced upwards. She was a moment away from hurling her daggers at them.

I cleared my throat. "Please. Miranda."

Price gritted her teeth and returned her attention back to me. Another wine glass shattered near the center of the arena. More shoes, broken glass, and cutlery soon littered the previously pristine blue granite, making it harder for me to pick my way through without losing my footing. Jennings held his tongue from the side despite the interruptions. All three of us knew better.

Price kicked a man's oxford out of the way and charged, slashing wildly, her eyes blazing with anger. She likely meant to end this quickly, but I wouldn't let her win like that. If anything, this was my small way of showing those above that I didn't care what they did. That they couldn't stop me.

I leaped sideways, my sole crunching on broken glass. I pivoted and bent one way, then the other to avoid two slashes. Price was no longer following the disciplined strikes of a trained knife fighter, instead attacking with abandon. It was actually easier to win now, even with the uneven footing.

Price's eyes suddenly widened. "Danny!"

I whirled about to find a heavy metal platter thrown like a discus coming straight for my head. I caught the platter, more reflex than conscious thought, swinging my arms in an arc to break the momentum. I kept my face rigid, but inside I was seething.

"Time!" Jennings shouted.

It had been only two minutes. I had been counting like I always did. Price and I shared wary glances with Jennings. His mouth was set in a tight line. He came over to me and grabbed my gloved hand, raising it.

"The winner. Our esteemed butler, Mr. Danny Taylor."

There were hoots and whistles, some boos. A bikini bottom landed at my feet. More laughter.

I looked up. The sun was right behind him, crowning him in a golden glare, but I didn't need to see his face to know which silhouette was his.

Alan Lloyd rose and turned away.

***

Location: Terra 172.

Cycle: 0.

Local Time: 5:55 p.m.

After Price and me, it had been Jennings' turn, along with his deputy, Hopkins. The two men were to fight a chained tiger, each of them armed with only spears and shields. It was one of Lloyd's worst obsessions, having the security staff practice slaughtering live animals, many of them exotic and endangered, in a twisted blend of private safari and underground fight club. Luckily, no one had been seriously injured so far.

I said we were loyal to Lloyd. I never said he was a good man.

Lloyd had left to return to the castle before the exhibition began, which meant that most of the partygoers also followed him back inside. An hour later, I was in the castle courtyard still serving cocktails along with the other footmen, when Sean Foster came up to me, whispering in my ear.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"Mr. Lloyd wants to see you. He's in the study." The youngest footman pushed his glasses up as he waited to see whether I had any questions or further commands. I passed him my tray of cocktails and walked briskly to the edge of the courtyard.

Unfortunately, the Gordons, who had been lingering near the exit, spotted me. Mr. Gordon tapped his wife and pointed in my direction. I stepped behind a pillar and used the cover of another couple to change direction.

"Taylor! Taylor! Come here, Taylor." Mrs. Gordon's shrill voice pierced the courtyard. A dozen heads turned in my direction, which meant there was no escape.

I swiftly changed course, smiling politely as I approached.

"Mr. and Mrs. Gordon." I bowed slightly. "How may I be of service?"

"Oh, I can think of a few ways." Mrs. Gordon bared her teeth. She grabbed my upper arm and squeezed.

Honestly, I would have preferred facing tigers. Lloyd was crazy, but crazy I could handle. It was all the leeches chasing Lloyd that would drive me crazy. I had lasted in retail for a whole three months, and it was like all the worst customers had gotten plastic surgery, traded their beaten-up Nissans for Bentleys, and decided to hang out in Lloyd's castle.

Yes, castle. The man built a castle in four months on a remote plot of land in New Jersey. Rome wasn't built in a day, but Rome didn't have Alan Lloyd. He had broken dozens of construction laws, maybe a few science or engineering ones, too. No reputable contractors would take on the project, so he had hired from the far corners of the world, taking on those willing to use unproven techniques and materials. In the end, he did it. He built a castle in months. If nothing else, that feat should have told you how both crazy and rich the man was.

Mrs. Gordon squeezed tighter. She giggled. "You moved so well out there. Like an ocelot."

"Ocelot?" Mr. Gordon asked, frowning.

"Remember, in Brazil? The Carvalhos. They had ocelots."

The old me would have fantasized about driving a stake through her heart like the B-grade movie horror that she was. Might have done it, too. That wasn't me any longer. I held back a sigh. Too bad no stakes were handy.

"What?" Mrs. Gordon flashed me a hideous smile.

Mr. Gordon pulled his wife's hand away. "Bessie," he hissed.

I realized that I might have murmured something out loud. A rare lapse of discipline. "Steak," I said clearly. "Our head chef Roche is preparing a delicious wagyu course. She never misses her mark. I'm afraid I need to check on the rest of the preparations." I raised my eyebrow a quarter-inch, counting the seconds while the Gordons bickered among themselves. It was the seven second rule. Seven seconds of being ignored, and I could make a polite attempt at excusal.

Seven...six...

"People are watching," Mr. Gordon murmured as he adjusted his cuff links.

"So? It's just the butler. No one cares." Mrs. Gordon patted her husband's cheek. "Besides. They're just jealous. You know that, Georgie."

Four...three...

The Gordons were Lloyd's only relations, although that wasn't saying much. Lloyd's parents had died when he was a teenager. He had been an only child, as had been both of his parents. The Gordons had a distant claim through a fourth cousin. That connection, however tenuous, was enough to make them the de facto leader of Lloyd's hanger-ons. The others could snipe and backstab, but it was the one thing no one could steal or replace. And while Lloyd wasn't the sentimental type, he allowed the Gordons more leeway than the rest, further solidifying their social status.

Two...one...

Mr. Gordon abruptly shoved an envelope into my hand. "There's a project. Nothing too big. A couple high-rises. We'd just need his signature. I know Alan's busy, but if you could convince him..." He stared pointedly at the envelope.

I looked down at the envelope. There was something else underneath. I flipped over the envelope to find a five-dollar bill. It was no longer insulting at this point, just amazing. Amazing that the Gordons never learned, never changed.

I handed the bill back to Mr. Gordon. I placed the envelope inside my coat, bowed, and left the courtyard without another word.

The halls inside were lit by candles placed at regular intervals. We had electricity and gas, mostly due to the Gordons' constant nagging, but most of the castle wasn't wired. It wasn't that Lloyd wouldn't allow technology but that he wouldn't allow us to be in a position where the loss of power would put us at even a momentary loss. The man was beyond paranoid. It's not like you couldn't hoard gasoline and build generators, but Lloyd would have none of that.

I arrived at Lloyd's study, knocked twice, and entered. The study was spacious, large as an entire small house. The entire castle was the same drab gray stone, this room being no exception. Lloyd hadn't been concerned with furnishing his rooms with anything beyond the bare essentials. Candles placed at even intervals about the walls provided steady light. Red and orange flames flickered in the fireplace to one side. There was a desk, a bookcase, a single tapestry hanging from the wall, and a ten-foot-tall grandfather clock. A sofa was pushed to one side.

Lloyd sat in a leather recliner near the center of the study, staring into the flames. The chair was angled so he could see me out of the corner of his eyes as I entered.

"Sir." I paused, reaching into my coat's pocket. "The Gordons--"

"Burn it."

I pulled out the envelope and tossed it into the fireplace, not without some small satisfaction. I waited for him to speak again. Minutes passed. I kept my eyes on Lloyd.

Lloyd was in his mid-thirties, not much older than me. He wasn't particularly impressive looking, if you didn't know who he was. Short brown hair, pale blue eyes, ordinary features, medium stature, clothed in a bland sweater and chinos. It was what he did or said that set him apart, and not necessarily in a good way. For now, though, he seemed content to gaze at the fireplace, looking utterly unremarkable.

I must have waited over fifteen minutes. The grandfather clock chimed six times, each note a loud clang that would carry far down the hallway outside.

Lloyd finally sighed. "Be back here at fifteen minutes until midnight. Bring that girl you danced with earlier, the groundskeeper, your favorite footman, the cook. Alice." He paused. "I want him here, too. The captain."

"Here, a quarter to midnight." I repeated his instructions to confirm that I had understood correctly. "Myself, Ms. Price, Mr. Maller, Mr. Foster, Ms. Roche, Ms. Summers, and Jennings."

Lloyd grunted in acknowledgement. "Taylor?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Trust no one. Absolutely no one, do you hear? No matter what."

It was one of those strange pronouncements he made every now and then. I nodded. "Trust no one. Very good, sir. Yourself excepting, of course."

Lloyd turned his head, his eyes narrowing. "No one."

I bowed to avoid his somewhat disturbing gaze. "Will you need refreshments later?"

Lloyd turned back to the fireplace and waved his hand dismissively. "Not tonight. You can go. Wait, there's more. Tell the captain I want the castle on full alert through the night. Every guard at his station, armed and ready."

"Yes, sir."

"Armed with steel, not guns. Tell Jennings, no guns."

The men would grumble, but Jennings would make sure Lloyd's cumbersome orders were carried out. A typical Tuesday night, really, for us. "Yes, sir. I'll inform him."

"And everyone is to stay inside the castle after eleven. The night crews. Guests. No exceptions. I don't want anybody on open land. Have Jennings enforce it, with force if necessary."

A curfew? That was unusual. The staff wouldn't mind but the guests staying overnight wouldn't like that. "Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"That's it. Remember, a quarter to midnight. Don't be late, not even for the end of the world. Is that clear?"

"Understood, sir."

The rest of the evening passed swiftly. Jennings received his orders with the expected professionalism. Half of the guests left after dinner, but the rest stayed in the ample lodging provided by the castle even with Lloyd's curious curfew. Given the lack of modern amenities, it was surprising that so many had stayed, but I think they viewed it as a rite of passage of sorts. Later, they would brag to their friends how they had survived a night in crazy Lloyd's castle, as if it were some kind of great trial. Lloyd weirdly did nothing to dissuade them, regularly providing free accommodations. That puzzled me since it wasn't like he was genuinely friends with any of them.

I mean, he had done the usual playboy thing in the past, everything you could imagine, plenty more you couldn't. Everything had changed some years ago. Ever since he had survived a freak car accident, he had become obsessed with the end of the world. It wasn't just the typical prepper stuff taken to billionaire heights, which frankly wasn't that uncommon. It was his bizarre orders. The castle. The weapons. The paranoia. He had upended the entire staff, replacing almost everyone, which was how I had ended up as his butler.

Ten years. It wasn't too bad, all things considered, even without the debt I owed him. Not any worse than retail.

Summers and the housekeepers were busy long into the night dealing with the antsy guests, as were the footmen and other staff. Roche had to stay up preparing a steady supply of late-night refreshments, too. No one was particularly happy about meeting with Lloyd. The delay in duties would only mean dealing with extra annoyed guests once we returned.

Still, an order was an order, especially when dealing with Lloyd. I arrived five minutes early, lingering outside the door. Summers was the only one who had beaten me there. Most of the younger women opted for a modern blouse and pants these days, but Summers stuck to a full dress, her gray hair tied back into a prim bun like the proper maid she was.

Summers smiled politely when she spotted me. "You handled that very well outside. With composure."

I gave a small nod back. "My teacher had the patience of a saint, or so I hear. Must have rubbed off."

"If only a fair temperament was something to sprinkle. I would have buried Miranda in fifty pounds of it."

Summers' eyes twinkled as Price came walking down the hallway, along with Foster and Maller. Jennings followed soon afterwards. Roche arrived last, the stout chef huffing as she hurried over.

"So, what's the deal?" Price asked, her arms crossed. "Danny? Jack?"

I shook my head to indicate that even I didn't know.

Maller yawned, showing yellowed teeth. "Nothing good, I'm sure." His stomach grumbled loudly. He scratched it. "Aw, hear that, Nellie? She wants to play."

Roche glared, not dignifying him with a response. I checked my watch. It was time.

"Mr. Maller, behave," I ordered. "Ms. Price, posture." I surveyed the rest of them. "Masks, everyone." They knew what I meant. Everyone's face immediately took on a stiff, formal expression.

I opened the door into Lloyd's study. Lloyd had turned his chair so that it faced away from the fireplace. We entered and lined up opposite him like soldiers under review, left to right in order of staff rank. Me first. Summers followed to my left, Roche, Maller, Price, and Foster. Jennings was technically not part of our pecking order, but he anchored the line on Foster's other side.

No one whispered or fidgeted, not even Price or Maller. You did not toy with Lloyd's attention.

Lloyd tapped his fingers on his armrest, looking us over from left to right, then right to left. He nodded.

"Would you die for me?"

I stared for several seconds, my mask still in place although I was utterly confused. The others broke discipline first.

"Huh?" Maller let out a cough to cover the blunder.

I could hear Price sucking in the air between her teeth. There were other soft noises here and there. I took a step forward, raising my voice. "Pardon me, sir?"

Lloyd studied his fingernails with a disinterested air. "Would any of you die for me?"

The others were looking to me to reply. I grimaced inwardly, trying to think of the best way to handle this. Honesty wasn't always the best policy, not when Lloyd was involved, but something compelled me to be straightforward.

"I don't know, sir. In some circumstances, possibly. In others, perhaps not." I paused. "It's difficult to predict such a thing. Sir."

"Circumstances." Lloyd tasted the word, rolling his tongue inside his mouth afterwards. "Would you die to save each other, then? For the group's sake. For the world. For humanity. What about that?"

"I'd like to think I could, but I can't say for sure. Not until I was there."

Lloyd nodded silently. Further down the line, Price spoke. "If I can be blunt, sir. Screw the world. What's this miserable place ever done for me?"

Maller snorted loudly. "I'm with the girl."

I tried not to wince, but Lloyd didn't appear offended. He turned to Price and nodded again. "For justice, then." He turned to Maller. "For her."

I glanced out of the corner of my eye. Maller was frowning. Price just shrugged.

"It's almost time. Kneel. Now. All of you, kneel as you would before your lord." Lloyd stood up abruptly.

We looked at each other in confusion even as we began to move. It was a strange request, but not exactly unusual considering his obsession with castles and swords. I knelt on one knee, both of my fists planted on the ground in what I hoped was the correct etiquette for such an occasion. I had no idea what he had in mind. A raise, I prayed silently.

Lloyd went to Jennings first, fastening a thick black cloth about his head as a blindfold. Lloyd jerked the knot tightly, drawing a small sound from the hardy veteran. Foster shot me a panicked look, but I shook my head slightly, telling him to bear with it.

Lloyd went down the line, taking his time to blindfold us one by one.

I was soon plunged into darkness, my knee on the hard stone floor and my temples aching from the tight blindfold. Just how strong was Lloyd? He would have been gentler with Summers, I hoped.

From somewhere ahead of me, Lloyd spoke. "Listen carefully. This is for all of you, but only one of you will remember."

A new game? Like the duels and fighting? Some kind of mental challenge, maybe. I waited.

"He's coming for me. He's coming to take it all."

Not a game from the sounds of it. A lawsuit?

"Stay in the shadows. Alone. Keep your strength hidden. Find and kill him before he finds you."

"If this is a security issue--" Jennings began.

"Silence!" Lloyd thundered.

The only sound was Lloyd's heavy breath, followed by the squeaking of him pushing or kicking his recliner.

"I can't tell you more. Watch and wait. But not too long. Kill him before he grows too strong. Finish this."

Something was off. This didn't sound like his usual delusions. He sounded almost scared, like this was actually for real. What could possibly worry the man? A scandal? Some sort of blackmail? He had ordered us to be quiet, but I risked a question.

"Kill who?" I asked softly.

Lloyd didn't reply immediately. When he did, his voice was a whisper.

"The Enemy."

I could hear the capital 'E' in the name. Well, that was a relief. Just another delusion.

Lloyd's next words carried a strange weight, though. "You were my most faithful servants. I will remember you, always..." His voice faltered, a rare occurrence for the proud man. "I am truly sorry."

My stomach dropped.

Crap.

That single note of humility terrified me more than anything else he had ever done. Not the wild animals, not the rich idiots nearly taking off my head with a metal frisbee, not the occasional screaming bouts.

Alan Lloyd never apologized.

I debated whether to rip the blindfold off and--do what? Demand answers? Make a run for it? What was I even running from?

The grandfather clock ticked, followed by the first chime. All twelve chimes rang, uncomfortably loud.

Forget being the good butler. I tried to stand, but my legs had fallen asleep. "Sir--"

I froze as blue lights flared in front of me. Not lights. Words. Small rows of text hovered in the space directly ahead of my eyes. I began to read.

>Warning: Your plane has begun integration into the Unified System.

>Processing...

>Assigning Realm borders...

>Assigning roles...

>You are a Minion.

>Your Core Lord has claimed you as his Minion.

>Creating Cores...

>Your System setup is complete. View your Status message at any time with the STATUS command.

>Your--

Someone--it must have been Lloyd--gripped the crown of my head with his hand. What the heck? He squeezed, almost painfully so. My vision turned stark white as the pain of a thousand stabbing needles exploded in my skull. I shouted, screamed, gasped as I thrashed. I tried to break free, but his grip was impossibly strong while my own muscles went limp. At some point, I lost complete control of my body, dimly aware of it convulsing.

The pressure on my head disappeared, as did the pain. I collapsed, my teeth slamming together as my chin hit the stone floor. The blinding light was gone, but everything was empty and dark. I groped about weakly.

A voice whispered, "And so it ends."

I heard a dull thud nearby. Then, there was nothing.