Justin Lee spoke into his comms device as we walked, making our way back through the building’s extravagantly decorated hallways to the elevator. The attack appeared to have been coordinated, using help from inside House of None security forces. As we walked, Justin’s personal security told me that the attack had been launched almost immediately after my hovercraft had entered the building’s garage.

I quietly moved back through the group of delves and stood at Justin’s side as we walked.

When he took a breath and looked up from his comms unit, I got his attention by clanking my armor into place. “Most of them will be distractions,” I told him. “If it's a serious attack, they’ll primarily be clustered here and in the mine, unless you have other important infrastructure in the city.”

Justin looked up at me with a scowl. “Our CFO’s apparatus is across town. An inverted pillar, you can’t miss it.”

“I’ll go once you’re secure. Do you have a panic room you could use?”

He shook his head as we fell a few steps behind our escorts. “Not here. The demolition storage room in the mine below is secure though, I could use that short term.”

“Who can you trust on your security team?” I asked in a whisper.

Justin Lee looked up at me and scowled. “All of them, I should hope. But no, I don’t know them personally.”

Sessara noticed our distance and stopped. As she turned she drew her sidearm. I stepped in front of Justin.

“Sir?” the delf woman asked. The other security officers stopped and turned at her voice. More than one of them lifted their weapons at me, but the confusion of the moment held any real response in check.

“Go,” I said. “Get to work out there, I’ll ensure the CEO’s personal safety.”

“Sir, I can’t do that,” Sessara replied. She kept her gun lowered, but raised a hand with her palm flat toward me. “I need you both to come with us.”

“Captain Sessara,” Justin said from behind me. “Do as Tyson says.”

She holstered her sidearm and turned, just in time for one of the building security officers to drop a metal ball on the floor. It ruptured and a cloud of darkness spread instantly, blacking out that portion of the hallway.

I grabbed Justin and pushed my suit, flying us back down the hallway to his office, where I shut the doors before shoving his oversized desk in front of them. Pinpricks of blue light blasted out of the door and desk before ricocheting off my armor.

With a grunt, I moved aside, getting out of the line of fire. Handheld railguns had far less power than the rifle-sized versions, but the ammunition fired at us was radioactive too. A warning sprang into view on my anti-magic helmet, warning me of a ‘wasting spell’ on the rounds. That and their glow told me what I needed to know about them.

“Justin!” I shouted. “Brace yourself, and hold your breath!”

He did as I asked, squeezing his eyes shut as I flew toward him. I grabbed the delf and then pushed the suit, hurtling backwards through his office’s window. Justin screamed in spite of my warning, but I ignored him and pushed us toward the mine as fast as was safe for him. My body could withstand a lot more than the average delf. Even unaltered, humans were considered far hardier than delves.

The external mine compound was filled with low structures, most of them warehouses. Tool storage, vehicle deployment, ore transit hubs, even locker rooms for the miners. It all spread out beneath Justin’s tower in a maze of productivity and industry, surrounding and leading to a singular black hole cut into the wall of the cavern.

I followed the tracks into the dark entrance and turned on my helmet’s fairy fire spell-function. It bounced off the walls and gave me a generated map as we went. The mine was an oversized cavern at the entrance, where hover carts and mining apparatus were stationed. Most of it was against the walls, but the carts all floated above their tracks.

Each cart had not only a sizable cargo department, but seats for a dozen miners, and external racks for equipment storage. The cavern walls around us were cut evenly, and supported by metal or stone pillars. Back when it was run by delves with nothing but hand-tools, they had carved the stone to create its own structural support, so they could dig deeper.

Only seconds after I had entered the mine, an explosion from outside rattled the air around us, and the lights all clicked off. Hovering carts fell to their tracks, and emergency lighting strips began to glow.

Justin moaned in discomfort as I flew him deeper into the darkened mines. I flew at the maximum speed I could while preventing damage to his body, and followed the twisting tunnels ever deeper into Midnight’s crust.

After a couple hundred twists, turns, and intersections in the sprawling mine, I stopped and let my passenger go. Justin immediately fell to his knees and groaned.

We were in a staging area, where equipment was stored for miners. It featured one way in, that led back up to larger open areas, and one route down that lead to the ore vein that was being mined.

I pulled up BuyMort and dove into ad space. I needed the extra time it provided me when fully engaged. My mind raced. I had to find immediate radiation treatment for my delf friend. The railgun rounds had been irradiated enough to give off visible light. The damage they would cause, even by proximity, would be lethal for the House of None’s CEO if I didn’t act. Mentally inputting “emergency fast radiation treatment” into BuyMort, the search results exploded in front of my vision, flooding my mind with its images.

First up was the RadAway Express Bed, a sleek medical marvel framed in shimmering blue light. The ad showed an elegantly designed medical bed. Over top of the image, a smooth voice began to speak. “Our state-of-the-art radiation treatment bed neutralizes harmful radiation within minutes! Equipped with automated organ repair and anti-radiation canopy protection, the RadAway Express Bed ensures maximum comfort and safety. Instant delivery available!” The image shifted to a woman, pale and sweating, lying down, only to sit up moments later, bright-eyed and healthy.

2,250,000 morties, 4.6 stars.

“10% off with a subscription to RadAway Health Pro+!” the ad chimed sweetly. “Organ repair function requires addons sold separately.”

Next, Anti-Rad Booster Shots hovered before me, three metallic syringes spinning in the air, their sleek, chrome design giving them an almost luxury feel.

“Fast-acting radiation boosters—because every second counts! Neutralize radioactive poisoning in the bloodstream instantly. Perfect for emergencies, compatible with humanoid and delf biology.” The scene changed to a miner who looked like Justin, clutching his side, only to inject the shot and return to full strength in seconds. “Works best when paired with our radiation detox bed!”

750,000 morties, 4.2 stars.

I grimaced, wondering if 4.2 stars would be good enough for the situation we'd found ourselves in.

Then came the RadClean Body Chamber, a towering device that looked more like an iron maiden than a medical tool. The chamber opened up with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a glowing cocoon lined with soft light.

“The ultimate in flesh-based radiation detox. Completely purge any body of radioactive particles in under 30 minutes. Precision molecular filtration and body wrap therapy.” A naked human, his skin red and covered by blisters, stumbled into the chamber. The door sealed shut, and the readout showed the radiation levels dropping to zero.

6,000,000 morties. 4.9 stars

I clenched my jaw. Expensive, and it was suspiciously worded. I struggled to assume it was a life-saving device, it sounded like it would let Justin die while it cleaned the radiation out of his cells.

Feeling my reticence, a more budget-friendly option blinked into view: Radiation Detox Patches. “Affordable and easy-to-use patches for immediate radiation protection. Peel, stick, and stay safe for up to 24 hours. Perfect for field use or while waiting for full treatment.” The ad was practical, but the little disclaimer about “mild radiation exposure” was a dealbreaker. Justin would definitely need something stronger.

The last option intrigued me more than I expected: RadGuard Personal Shield Generator. It was a compact, portable device that clicked onto a belt, generating a glowing shield around the user.

“Deploy instantly to create a radiation-free zone! Ideal for field operations or mobile teams. Monitor exposure in real-time with our advanced rad-monitoring bracelet. Protect your team and yourself with just one tap!”

1,800,000 morties. 4.8 stars.

The shield looked tempting, but it wasn't a treatment, just a protective measure.

I scrolled past them quickly, mind racing. Justin groaned on the bench nearby, his face already going pale, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I didn’t have time to overthink it.

I picked the bed, then saved the ad information and flicked it to Justin. The delf was doubled over on a nearby bench, clutching his stomach. The bench was in front of a set of lockers, and looked like a dressing area for the miners. There were even curtains on a rail one could pull to provide limited privacy from the rest of the staging area.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Buy that, right away,” I told the sick delf. “I can't afford it.”

The delf looked up, his eyes dim, and swiped at the air in front of himself. A BuyMort pod tore into place beside the bench and warped in an oversized box. While I tore into it, I suddenly noticed that the tape was normal. No flesh-tape was present on the box anywhere.

I cast aside the thought and got the specialized bed unpacked as rapidly as I could without breaking it. Once it was on and the startup screen was glowing softly, I picked up Justin and laid him down on top of the specialized hospital bed.

The bed’s mechanical arm swung out with a large cuff that I hurriedly put Justin’s arm through. When it blared an angry alarm at me, I turned and stared at its small screen to find a clothing impediment warning blinking back at me. I grunted and pushed up Justin’s sleeve, then snarled and tore it off at the shoulder when the obscenely soft silk refused to stay bunched up and out of the way.

“No!” Justin cried. “Oh that suit was expensive,” he groaned, laying back as his complexion paled and his eyes dimmed further.

“Sorry!” I snapped, playing with the bed’s primary control panel. I set it to radiation therapy and told it to start its program.

The medical bed beeped in alarm, informing me of the patient’s rapidly declining state, then hissed into motion. A needle on the end of a tube shot from the cuff into Justin’s arm, establishing an intravenous port that quickly filled with thick, yellow fluid.

Soft light turned harsh beneath Justin, and the bed deployed its canopy, rolling a flexible length of translucent cloth across the body and then inflating the entire thing. Its ends self-adhered to the bed’s inner lips, and I was barricaded from directly interacting with my friend any further. As I watched, a breathing mask deployed itself across Justin’s face and the machine within began aiding in his breathing.

The small readout told me a list of interventions the bed was attempting in order to save the life of its patient, but major organ failure had already begun. A surgical suite upgrade option popped up on my BuyMort, and I flicked it to Justin.

He weakly raised a hand and swiped at the air above himself.

Another BuyMort pod flashed into existence at my side, and I paid attention this time. There was no scent with the pod like before, and the package it delivered was notably bereft of flesh-tape. Only plastic tape and staples held the massive cardboard box together.

That had to mean Tower wasn’t working for BuyMort any longer.

I shook my head and tore into the new package. It was a literal add-on to the medical bed, so I opened its instructions in my BuyMort popup menu for a small fee, then got to work installing it. With the starfish suit it was easier than I had expected, but it still took longer than I was comfortable with. I heaved it into place, cradling the bed in its L-shaped structure. Then I locked its docking clamps into place and connected both power-sharing, and data transfer cables.

The surgical suite sprang to life, responsive and quick as advertised. It began immediately printing a new delf liver from its store of cellular material, while other arms got to work on Justin Lee himself. His suit remnants were cut away with lasers, removed with delicate, metal pincers, and discarded onto his legs.

His IV changed color momentarily, and then the surgical suite began cutting on him. The delf’s liver was swiftly removed and replaced by a rapid-printed one the machine had produced. With that accomplished, his vital signs began to increase again, and the machine’s various alarms and alerts calmed somewhat.

Justin Lee was still irradiated, but the treatment was working and his liver had taken it the hardest, so no further surgeries were needed. I took a breath and looked around the staging area in the mine. The miners, whenever they needed this section to work in again, would certainly be surprised to find the medical bay in the middle of their locker room.

I stared at the machine and its patient for a long moment, then decided he would be fine until I could return for him. The mine was a maze, and without power there would be no way to track his location since I had flown him in personally.

“Unless they follow the radiation,” I muttered to myself.

BuyMort popped up once again when I glanced at the icon in the corner of my vision. “Show me mercenaries from Storage,” I said.

The space around me warped into a vivid, pulsating scene. The gritty underworld of Storage filled my mind with its twisting alleyways and rusted metal scaffolding. Flickering lights buzzed overhead, and the echo of distant machinery made it feel as if I were standing in the belly of a forgotten industrial zone. The smell of smoke, oil, and unwashed bodies clung to the air, assaulting my senses. BuyMort was nothing if not immersive.

The first ad materialized with a metallic clang. A hobb appeared before me, tall, wiry, and draped in ragged clothing that looked like it had been scavenged from various battlefields. His gray, pebbled skin glistened in the low light. He moved like a shadow through a series of dark tunnels, an icepick in hand, his scarred body almost melding with the rock walls.

A deep voiceover boomed through the dark space, smooth and confident: “Hobb Vagabonds: Experienced in harsh environments, these hobbs are quick, silent, and adaptive. Equipped with rudimentary weapons, they thrive in confined spaces like tunnels or mines. For just 200,000 morties, hire a seasoned survivor to watch your back. Military equipment sold separately.”

The hobb lunged forward in a blur of movement, his icepick sinking into the throat of a delf soldier caught unaware. Blood splattered across the tunnel wall. The hobb barely made a sound as he dragged the body into the shadows, disappearing just as fast as he had appeared.

I nodded, getting Rambo vibes, but before I could process it, the scene shifted. This time, a squat human male appeared, covered in dirt and grime, his clothes stitched together from spare parts and materials clearly salvaged from the worst of Storage. He clutched a jury-rigged railgun in one hand, its mismatched components glowing with a faint blue light. The scavenger ducked behind an overturned storage unit, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain for potential threats.

The voiceover kicked in again, its tone eager to sell: “The B-Team: Masters of improvisation, these fighters know how to turn any scrap into a weapon. Quick on their feet and even quicker with their hands, they can rig explosives from just about anything they find.”

The ad shifted to a fast-paced scene: the scavenger running toward a group of ai-generated delf mercenaries. He threw what looked like a large jar at them. It exploded mid-air, sending shrapnel in all directions, taking out the entire squad. “Just 15,000,000 morties per job, homemade grenades sold separately,” the voice added in a way that made me sure the speaker was winking.

Without warning, the visual transformed again. The ground shook as an orc emerged from the shadows, towering and brutal. Chains wrapped around his massive fists, scars criss crossing his bare chest like battle trophies. His green skin gleamed under the dim lights, and his feral grin sent a chill down my spine. The ad showed him standing in a dark pit, fists raised, surrounded by a crowd of shouting delves and humans alike.

“Team Garthrust: Once nobles, this fallen house has given up grandeur for a life of crushing skulls and eating sapient hearts. Unstoppable in close combat, these orcs live for the fight, bringing unmatched brute strength and raw power.” The orc roared and charged at an opponent, sending the other fighter sprawling with a single punch that shattered bone. The crowd erupted in cheers. “30,000,000 morties per job. Includes one free rage stimulant injection for enhanced combat efficiency.”

The next ad gave me a small jump scare as a small, wiry figure darted across the screen. there were words being whispered, just below my level of hearing, but soon enough they became legible. "Ratfolk, ratfolk, walking your way. Ratfolk, Ratfolk, stalking their prey. Ratfolk, ratfolk, small but mean. Ratfolk, ratfolk, your TEAM IS SLAIN!"

The last words were shouted, and the ad dove into a squeal of heavy metal and hard drumming as rats wearing camouflage uniforms and carrying miniaturized combat devices came swarming out of every location possible. Quiet like ghosts, the ratfolk swarmed through a cramped tunnel, tiny claws tapping softly on the metal floor as they set up traps on the fly—small explosives and tripwires carefully hidden along the path. Their beady eyes met mine, gleaming maniacally, before they turned and fled back to where they had come from. The music overlay and died back down to its original creepy whisper, and I watched, my heart pounding, to see what came next.

A platoon of delves marched in, eyes wide open and wary, yet none of them could see the horrific minefield the rats had strung for them. The first stumbled into a trap, and the heavy metal squeal began again. Multiple guitars shredded as explosions, sweeping blades, and gouts of acid came from seemingly everywhere, reducing the delves to a pile of mulch. The rats came back out to examine their handiwork, and as they did, the ad zoomed in on one particular rat grinning smugly and giving it all a big thumbs up.

“Ratfolk Saboteurs: Experts in sabotage and disruption. Not suited for direct combat, but perfect for weakening enemy defenses or laying traps in industrial zones and mines. Only 10,000,000 morties per job. Includes free tripwire setup and one basic explosive device.”

Finally, the visual shifted again, the dark tunnel fading into a high vantage point overlooking an industrial wasteland. A figure all in black materialized in front of me, cloaked in shadows, a slim figure with a high-powered sniper rifle cradled in their arms. The ad zoomed in on their face, showing intense, calculating eyes peering through a scope. The sniper adjusted, inhaled, and fired. A target in the distance dropped without a sound. The sniper’s cloak fluttered in the wind as they disappeared back into the gloom.

The voiceover was almost reverent now: “Clan Gutterborn: Silent, deadly, and precise. Perfect for long-range support and eliminating high-value targets from a distance. 25,000,000 morties per job, with a free set of camouflaged clothing, ideal for mines or low-light environments. Sign them up now and gain Gutterborn Fan Club Membership free for 30 days.”

I glanced at Justin Lee, who was still groaning on the bench, barely holding on. I'd asked for cheap mercenaries, and these were the ones who popped up. It made me wonder what the expensive ones looked like.

I could only afford one of them, so it was an easy choice to make.

“BuyMort, hire the Hobb Vagabond,” I muttered.

They arrived a moment later, through a normal BuyMort pod. I couldn’t afford instant delivery.

In front of me stood a hobb wearing rags. He was tall, lanky, with pebbled gray skin. All of the main features I remembered, but intensified somewhat by bare survival existence. His body was scarred, and his ragged clothing was interlaced with equipment. He carried a length of thick climbing rope around his torso, and wore a thin backpack. It was his best-preserved item, and looked like it had been recently purchased.

“Hi,” I said in perfect hobb. “Today is your lucky day. Let me explain why.”

The hobb’s eyes were wide and searching in the dark of the cave. My suit’s glowing eyes, the medical bed, and the thin strips of emergency lighting combined to create a glum environment where shadows loomed.

“Your last job earned you enough for that pack, I’m betting,” I told him, allowing the armor to bounce my voice off the caverns around me. “Probably a pretty big help, living in Storage.”

He nodded, taking me and my armor in with a concerned scowl. The hobb carried a sturdy looking icepick in one hand, and had a home-made shotgun resting against his back.

“Yes,” he said after a long silence. His hand touched one strap unconsciously, as if reminding himself that it was real, and still there.

“Well this job will set you up for life. Forget the pay I already sent, forget your cut from the merc company. This,” I said, pointing at Justin Lee’s medical station. “Is the CEO of a top ten affiliate, and I need you to guard them while I go deal with a situation. If you do that successfully, this delf will provide for your relocation to any world in the BuyMort system, as well as enough morties to set you up with a normal life. No more Storage.”

The hobb scowled and listened as I spoke, then looked around. “Are there lights?” he asked.

“Nope, my enemies hit the power plant, and very well might be searching this mine as we speak. I moved fast, but I can’t promise none of them saw me. If you see combat, it will be against delves who are better equipped than you are. But, you pull this off and you never have to see Storage again.”

He nodded, then glanced around the area again. Moving silently, he walked across the darkened cavern and pulled down a heavy-duty mining laser. Something the miners used to carve entire sections of stone and metal out of the mountain’s walls.

“Can I use this?” he asked.

I nodded. “Use anything you can, just protect that delf,” I said, then I lifted off and flew back through the mine toward the surface. My new employee was highly motivated, and the maze of the mine was Justin’s best defense, but I thought about how the media would approach my actions if they caught wind of them and cringed internally.

It was fine, I’d just have to get the hobb a bonus for lying about his hire date. My wallet simply couldn’t afford better. But that worked in my favor too, since he would be desperate to have his escape from Storage fully funded.

I put it out of my mind and brought my current task into focus. The Cult of Eternal Darkness had launched a full-out attack on Lithtin, and I had to stop it.