As the first refugees started trickling through Brexis’ gates, the BOBs went to work getting them fed and checked in. Everything was going so well that Francis found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it never did.
Hank's calculations for how many people they would need to hire to support the refugees turned out to be spot on. “Well, originally I had assumed we would be hiring prison guards instead of social workers, but the math ends up about the same,” the kobold explained.
Locke was particularly impressed. “Wow! Would you look at that? It does me good to see the old city full of life again.”
Francis felt himself start to panic. “Shit, I forgot. What about the background radiation thing?”
The kobold shook his head. “Don't worry about it. Everything came down to safe levels when the pumps came on. And, we were able to flush the city’s pipes while we were at it. My guys arrived a few hours ago and have been hard at work.”
“Oh, ok.” The Marine sat back down in his chair. They had set up some food and drinks in the garden for the support staff, but were still keeping strangers out of the palace for security reasons.
It was getting late, and there was a chill in the air. “Do you think we have enough blankets for everyone?” he asked.
Willow rubbed his knee. “We've still got plenty of blankets, and food. Most of the refugees won't arrive until tomorrow or the next day. So, relax.”
Francis wasn't sure if he could relax. The whole day felt so surreal. He had been fighting for his life, Jack had almost died again, and now there was Locke and Wilbur to deal with.
Both of them seemed cool enough. Locke’s area was very popular with helpers ending their shift. Wilbur had taken over the kitchens, with some help from Mark and Violet. (The two chefs had settled their differences for now and were sharing a room.)
Mac settled onto Francis’ lap. “You owe me,” the demonic cat said.
Francis smiled and started petting his familiar, feeling some of the day’s stress finally melt away. Off in the distance he could see Murder Cube, hovering above the city like a particularly well armed neighborhood watch member. (It made Francis a little homesick.)
His faithful friend Jack strolled over with a joint. “An offering for the god of Brexis? Some incense for the temple?”
The Marine almost declined, but in the end he decided to take the comfort that was given. Tomorrow might be just as bad, and he needed to switch off for a bit. He couldn't let the post battle stress get to him.
“Jack, are you alright?” Francis asked as he took a hit and passed it back. “You died again.”
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The hound settled into a chair across from his friend. “Yeah, well… I'm used to it. Besides, I didn't actually die. I only mostly died.”
“How do you ‘get used to dying’?” the Marine asked as he took a sip of his beer. “It seems like the kind of thing you only get one shot at. Or two, if you're a portal jumper.”
“Things are different where I come from, death isn't always permanent. And sometimes your job isn't done, so you get back up and finish it.” Jack explained.
“I was originally a teacher, and I lived a long peaceful life until I died. Then, I was offered a choice. Stay in the ground and rot, or stand up and fight.” The hound shook his head. “I don't regret coming back. I was much more useful to my people as a soldier than a corpse. But, sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision.”
Francis wasn't sure if he understood exactly what had happened to Jack. “So, they brought you back to life?”
“Yes. We have amazing technology where I'm from. They put my mind in a new body, trained me how to fight. And when I fell in battle, they lifted me right back up again, good as new.” Jack leaned back in his chair. “I've been blown up, chopped to pieces, shot, burned, and disintegrated. But today was the first time someone removed my skeleton while I was still alive.”
Mac looked up at Jack. “Oops, sorry about that. I hope you weren't still using it.”
“I was, in fact.” The hound let out a chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. “This place is wild. We've got demons, AtropOS is hanging out in the kitchen, and I'm smoking a joint with a god.”
“Yeah,” Francis said as he took another hit and passed it to Mac, “When you put it like that, the place doesn't sound half bad.”
***
“If Francis ever gives me that much rum again, I'm going to kill him,” Mac said, still recovering from the previous night’s festivities.
The demonic cat was hating life and trying not to puke as it stumbled out to the garden. It shoved its head into the fountain to cool off, causing a massive cloud of steam to rise into the morning air.
“Ah, much better.” Mac purred, drawing questioning looks from one of the new volunteers. “What? Haven't you ever seen a Familiar before?”
The man shook his head and slowly backed away. Mac let out an evil laugh and went off to see what was happening with its new city.
Technically it was Francis’ city, but Mac was calling on the ancient laws to claim partial ownership. The specific passage in question was, “quod vult feles, feles accipit”. (What the cat wants, it gets.)
Things were really coming together. The revenants were checking everyone in and assigning them a tax identification number. Volunteers and new hires were explaining how everything worked. The Adventure Guild had even set up shop to get some quests rolling.
Mac thought it was amazing what Francis had accomplished by simply delegating everything out and letting others do all the hard work. But that was how things usually went with gods. Very few of them actually got their hands dirty.
To the demonic cat's surprise, it spotted the god in question helping to unload a cart. Mac watched Francis work for a while, engaging in the very important feline tradition of supervision. (If Francis screwed up, Mac would tell him about it.)
But the quiet of the morning was shattered as Hades appeared in the skies above Brexis. Off in the distance, a giant lizard approached the city.
“Hey, Francis!” the god of death called out.
“Just to clear things up ahead of time,” he pointed to Stompy, the Chthonic Titan of Devastation, “That's my guy.”