Brock joined Mikael and a group of other people exiting the Miyazaki onto a crooked cobblestone-lined lane. Once they were clear, just as many began boarding, and after they all got on, with a hiss of steam, the train-tendril retracted down the street and out of sight.

Brock tried not to shiver.

"Why is everything here so weird?" he complained, but Mikael just laughed at him.

"This is all stuff your people made, Brock. If you want to blame anyone, blame them." He set off along the row of wooden buildings. "Elvish Joe's is only about a minute from this stop. Come on."

They set into motion, Brock once again trying not to gawk at everything around him.

How do they keep the wood so clean? What kind of wood even is that? I bet Verdant probably knows, I should ask her.

After several twists and turns, and about a minute of walking, Mikael came to a halt in front of a three-story building set on the corner of a five-way intersection. An animated sign of a winking face with pointed ears, holding up a basket of fruits and vegetables, protruded out above the doorway, and running along the top of it in golden cursive script were the words "Elvish Joe's". Large glass windows fronted both sides of the building, allowing Brock to see groups of tables and booths inside, along with what looked like some sort of bar.

It looked remarkably similar to a diner from back home, only instead of laminate black and white tile and squeaky red plastic seats, the wooden furniture appeared to grow directly out of the floor itself, and the cushions were a dark green moss studded with tiny white flowers. Glowing firefly nests hung from the ceiling, giving the interior a subdued, yet classy lighting.

"Is this some kind of fancy restaurant?"

Mikael snorted.

"Hardly. This is one of several hundred Elvish Joe's scattered around the city, and they all look the same. Apparently one of his powers is 'franchising,' only he franchises out himself. Plus, he's not even elvish."

Mikael pushed open the front door, causing a silver bell to gently tinkle, and he and Brock walked inside.

"Real elves can't stand Joe, but he does a decent vegan spread. Just, whatever you do, don't say anything about the ears."

Before Brock could respond, a willowy figure appeared from behind the bar, through a swinging door where Brock assumed the kitchen was. He was dressed in a high-collared brown leather tunic embroidered with silver thread, green leggings, and a thin silver circlet held back fine golden hair.

"May I help you?" he asked in a refined voice, a trace of some exotic accent tinging his words. "We don't open for another hour and-"

He froze, staring at Mikael and Brock, then groaned. When he continued speaking, it was in a much less cultured tone.

"Well fuck me if it ain't Vandal, and the Blade himself. What do you wankers want? I haven't done anything wrong."

"Wellness check, Joe," Mikael grinned, striding forward and stopping on the other side of the bar. Hesitantly, Brock followed a step behind. "Just making sure those mushrooms of yours are safe for consumption."

"Oh come on, you know I'm clean these days. Licensed psychedelics only, and I make sure the customer knows what kind of trip they can handle. I learned my lesson."

"Just doing my job, Joe," Mikael tutted, spreading his hands along the polished wood, "just doing my job. This way, recruit," he added off-handedly, pushing himself from the bar and towards the kitchen. "Let's inspect some shrooms."

Elvish Joe's eyes narrowed, and he peered suspiciously at Brock, who found himself tugging nervously at his collar again.

"'Recruit,' huh?" he mused thoughtfully. Brock gulped and stared back, then found his eyes wandering to the sides of Joe's head. Beneath the fine golden hair was a pair of pointed ears, only the points looked like they were hastily made additions from whatever flesh-colored material was on hand and then sloppily glued on. One was tilting to the side, and wobbled each time Joe exhaled.

He's gotta know people can tell those are fake, right? It's like the worst toupee I've ever seen. Worse, even.

"Necessary needs?" Joe suddenly asked in a low voice. Brock flinched, then nodded, remembering the role he was supposed to be playing. Joe smiled bitterly. "Well, at least you took out that asshole Vandal. Good on you. What's your name?"

"Uhhh, Brock."

"I'd say 'nice to meet you,' but there ain't nothing nice about necessary needs." Joe's voice turned nasty. "Just try to keep me out of the blast radius when you finally snap."

Before Brock could ask what he meant, Mikael yelled from the kitchen.

"Recruit!"

Joe flipped a hand towards the area past the bar, where Mikael was noisily rummaging around with something. "Go on, then. Your master's tugging your leash. Best follow before he starts using the whip."

Wordlessly, Brock walked past him and into what looked like an industrial kitchen, filled with stainless steel racks and high quality oven ranges. Mikael was busy shifting pots and pans around, looking at the backs of the shelves.

"Mikael-" Brock started, but was silenced by an extra loud crash of cookware.

"Looks clean in here," Mikael announced loudly. "Let's see those grow rooms, Joe."

"You know they're upstairs, prick," came the angry response. "Knock yourself out. Ain't nothing in there that ain't supposed to be. Fucking pig."

Mikael smiled slightly, then sauntered towards a narrow stairway tucked between a pair of refrigerators, beckoning imperiously for Brock to join him, and Brock felt the first flushes of anger running through his system.

Why's he being such a dick?

A thin film of grease covered the walls with an oily sheen, and Brock tried not touch anything on the way up. As he crested the last step, an earthy mustiness hit his nostrils, the loamy richness of a forest floor after heavy rain, and he emerged into an underwood paradise.

The entire upper stories of the building appeared to be given over to raised troughs of soil from which a wide variety of plants and mushrooms were growing, bushy green herbs alternating with umbrella-like fungal caps, all stretching to a distant roof barely visible. The dim lighting coming in from scattered windows somehow only added to the feeling of walking beneath the canopy of towering arboreal giants. Brock spun in a circle, not quite believing he was still indoors, irritation momentarily forgotten.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

"Wow," he whispered. "Wow."

"Yeah," Mikael said quietly beside him, a red-black haze suddenly cutting off the view past ten feet, "Joe actually isn't that bad for a Sekkie, which is why I'll never let him hear me say it. He really just wants to knock his brain offline and make the occasional tofu wrap. If he didn't have the annoying ability to weaponize those psychoactive compounds and a complete inability to say 'no' to people who want to buy them from him, we'd be more than happy to leave him alone."

"So why are we here then?" Brock asked distractedly, bending forward to examine a cluster of thin, brown-capped mushrooms. They seemed to glisten in the muted light, like an extruded part of the earth itself. Hesitantly, he reached forward to poke one.

"I wouldn't touch those," Mikael recommended, "unless you want to be licking Joe's walls for the next four hours." Brock quickly pulled his hand back. "As for why we're here, well, Elvish Joe and his franchises are all over the city. Much like his favorite fungi, he pops up everywhere, and right now, he's ready to spread the story about Squad Six's newest press-ganged member to anyone who cares to listen. There are quite a few notable figures who frequent his establishment that might potentially lead us to our prize. Not that you're obvious bait or anything of the sort, I know how you feel about that."

Brock decided not to dignify that with a response.

"Anyways," Mikael continued in a suddenly harsh tone, letting the concealing haze drop, "the most basic rule when searching for contraband is to see what's hidden in plain sight." He paced down the aisle of planters, then lifted the leaf of a particularly bushy shrub. "Eyes over here."

Startled at the abrupt shift, Brock hurried over to join him.

"What-"

Mikael silenced him with a swift chop of his hand, causing a fresh surge of irritation to fill Brock's thoughts.

Why's he changing back and forth between friendly and like he doesn't even know me? It's annoying.

"Basic concealment," Mikael said in a lecturing tone, as if pointing out something obvious to a toddler. Brock looked closer at the wooden box. The soil beneath the leaf was dry and barren, empty of all but scattered bits of fertilizer, in stark contrast to the dank mustiness of the other well-watered beds. Mikael chuckled darkly, his other hand dropping to his katana hilt.

"Watch."

With a slash more felt than seen, he cut through the top half of the planter, then lifted the entire upper section up. Beneath, rows of broad red-capped mushrooms dotted with white spots filled the hidden space.

"Amanita muscaria. Edible, hallucinogenic, and highly toxic if refined properly. Hey, Joe," he called out, "you want to come explain this?"

A minute later, Elvish Joe was standing beside the revealed mushroom grove, wringing his hands together, ear prosthetics threatening to droop off entirely.

"Awww, c'mon Mikael, you know how it is," he whined. "The normal stuff don't do much for me anymore, and I can't trust the staff not to kill themselves if these are out in the open. I know I'm not supposed to, but how's a bloke gonna get by?"

Mikael grunted, then lowered the upper half of the planter back down.

"So these are only for your personal consumption?"

"You have staff?" Brock blurted simultaneously.

"I swear," Elvish Joe wheedled nervously, "they're for my morning tea. Promise." He glanced over at Brock. "And of course I have staff. There's only so much I can do by myself with this on, you know?" He tugged at something beneath his high-necked leather tunic. "I only manage my franchises; I don't run them. Per the rules." He looked at Brock again as if he wanted to say more, but held his tongue.

"Just so long as you're only making that tea for yourself, Joe, I think we can let it slide," Mikael replied magnanimously. "Anything else I might find if I go poking around?"

Joe tugged at his tunic again, causing one of the ear tips to slide almost halfway down the side of his head.

"There may be, uh, a few fire lilies in the back, but only because I like looking at them, I swear!"

"Hmmm..."

Mikael let the silence drag out, broken only by the steady drumming of his fingers on his sword hilt. A line of sweat popped up on Joe's brow, and his left ear tip seemed on the verge of falling off altogether.

"Well, as long as they're purely decorative then I suppose that won't be an issue."

The whoosh of air expelling from Joe's lungs was almost explosive, and Mikael turned back to the stairway down.

"I'll give you a pass this time, Joe, but I better see some permits for those mushrooms next time I stop by. This way, recruit."

Fuming, Brock followed Mikael out of the indoor grove and back down through the kitchen. As they re-entered the main dining area, he opened his mouth to ask a question, but Mikael gave a curt swipe of his hand, and Brock glared at him. "Stay out of trouble now, Joe," Mikael called out as he pushed his way through the front door. A few half-heard obscenities drifted out of the air, quickly swallowed up by the noises from the street, and then the two of them were out amongst the crowds once more. Without a backwards glance, Mikael set off in a brisk stride, Brock hustling to keep pace, a sullen expression twisting his lips.

After several blocks, Mikael looked over at him with a slight grin.

"You can talk now, kid."

"What the hell was all that?" Brock burst out. "I thought you were supposed to be teaching me what to do! And why all the 'no talking allowed,'" he pantomimed Mikael's slicing hand gestures. "How am I supposed to learn if I can't ask questions? And why are you being such an ass? 'Recruit?'"

"I was teaching you," Mikael replied drily. "What did you learn from Joe?"

"Uhhh, he likes to get high? And his ears suck?"

A gnarled finger flicked Brock square in the temple.

"Ow! What the hell?!"

"Use your brain, kid," Mikael said sternly. "I told you Elvish Joe is the closest thing to a safe Sekkie that we have. Heck, we let him set up his franchises all over the city. I know it wasn't long, but what did you see while we were in there?"

"Uhhh..." Brock racked his churning thoughts, forehead still stinging. "He was hiding some plants? That might be toxic?"

"He was breaking the rules, Brock, even knowing the consequences." All traces of humor were gone from Mikael's voice, and his eyes were shadowed. "I could have had his Limiter triggered and been perfectly justified from a legal perspective, and he knew it."

"You would've vaporized him for a few mushrooms?"

"I would've vaporized him for being a convicted killer unable to abide by the terms of his sentence." Mikael stopped and bent in close, causing Brock to stumble back onto his butt, the mass of people surrounding them swirling around the momentary obstruction. "Get this through your head, kid. Sekkies are obsessed. In Joe's case, yeah, he's mostly harmless because he's obsessed with getting blitzed, which is why I let him slide, but let loose he could still take out a couple hundred thousand people before we brought him down. The rest?"

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned down until he was almost nose to nose with Brock, an ominous aura pushing people away until they were in a relatively clear bubble of space.

"They're obsessed with power, and they will do anything to follow their obsession, even after they've been collared. The dumb ones get caught, eventually. The smart ones learn how to channel it in productive ways that don't threaten others, and we turn a blind eye because everyone's gotta have a hobby, but don't let the veneer of civilization we've forced on them fool you."

He straightened, letting the stifling sensation fade from his presence.

"The lesson you're learning today is the same lesson every member of the Cataclysm Squad learns on their first day - Sekkies are dangerous, no matter how benign they appear, and every one will try and break the rules."

Mikael sniffed, then extended a hand.

"Except for you, apparently, which is still fucking with my mind. This is as much training for you as it is for me, kid. It's going to take me a while to trust you for real."

He helped Brock to his feet and brushed down his coat.

"As for my hostility, well, you needed some help selling your role as an involuntary necessary needs inductee."

"You succeeded at that," Brock said sourly. "Am I really that bad at this?"

"You're terrible, kid," Mikael replied, but without any malice. "A normal necessary needs recruit would've barely been able to stand being in the same room as me. Joe thought you were Starak until I clued him in." He clucked his tongue. "The Director's got a lot of faith in you, but you're still going to have to try."

"But no one's told me what to do," Brock nearly howled. "It's all 'Brock just be yourself,' and 'Brock go learn this new horrible thing,' and-"

"That's perfect right there," Mikael laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "Just the right touch of bewilderment and self-absorbed petulance."

Brock glared at him, hands clenching at his sides, when something from the morning training suddenly struck him.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? This is like how harems work, right? Manipulating my emotions without me realizing it? Only instead of making me like you, you're doing the opposite."

Mikael patted him on the shoulder again, except this time there was a gleam of respect in his eye.

"Now you're starting to learn, kid. Come on, we'll go practice on some more of the small fry before we dangle you in front of one of the big fish. Just try not to talk much so you don't slip up. Pretty much every Sekkie has some way of keeping track of what goes on in their domain."

"...you guys suck. This job sucks."